by David Evans
Interesting as they were, that wasn’t why he’d come up here. He wasn’t sure what he was looking for, just a clue as to why his mother had been visited recently. If he couldn’t have a look at the DI’s desk, he would try to look on DS Stainmore’s. But which one was hers?
Rather than risk turning lights on, he swung a beam of light from his torch around the room. Over the back of one chair, he spotted what looked like a woman’s cardigan. That was his target. There were a couple of files to one side, a photo of an elderly couple, presumably the officer’s parents and a desk tidy. In the middle, a few sheets of paper partly covered a pad, a discarded pencil by its side.
Now he was here, he was even more uncertain of what he might find. Casually moving the loose sheets, the doodles and diagrams on Stainmore’s pad were revealed. He was about to walk away, thinking there was nothing here for him to learn when it clicked in his brain that he was looking at his initials in the middle of the page. Lines linked them to other sets of initials above. His mother’s, AM and his dad’s, RM. But what was the significance of the line to the left linking a big question mark with him and his mother? Then the list of features below? And a line down to the initials. CH. What did that mean?
He picked up a pad of post-it notes from the desk and began to copy what he read; Leeds taxi driver, early thirties, five six/five nine, short hair, smoker, tattoo left forearm.
“Alpha Lima Two Four, where are you Gary?” His radio suddenly sparking into life made him jump.
Hesitating a second, he pulled the post-it note sheet he’d written on from the pad and folded it together before putting it in his pocket.
“Come on Gary,” his colleague’s voice spoke again, “We need to get back out.”
He pressed the button on his radio. “Be right with you,” he responded.
Throwing down the post-it pad, he made a hurried exit from the room.
51
Monday 25th February 2002
DCS Flynn approached Strong as soon as he stepped onto the first floor at Wood Street. He seemed to have been searching him out as a matter of urgency.
“Colin,” he said, “A word.”
Strong flipped through what he’d been up to in recent days to try and work out why Flynn’s face was so serious. “Something wrong, sir?”
Flynn said nothing, leading the way to his office.
Strong was still replaying what Kenny Green had told him that morning when he’d spoken to him on the way in. It was confirmation of what Susan and Sammy had told him yesterday.
Once inside his office, door closed, Flynn spoke again. “The Deputy Chief Constable wants to see you,” he said.
Strong was mystified.
“Any ideas?” Flynn went on.
Strong shrugged. “Absolutely no idea, sir.”
“Right, well …” Flynn frowned. “Best get on up and see him. He asked me to catch you as soon as you came in.”
Assistant Chief Constable Roy Mellor’s office was on the next floor up, protected by his secretary, a stern-looking woman in her forties. As soon as he walked through the door into her office, she looked up at him. “Ah,” she said. “Mr Mellor asked me to let him know as soon as you arrived.”
After she lifted the phone and announced his arrival, the office door opened and the man himself beckoned Strong in.
Mellor was a tall man with a straight back and full head of grey hair. Closing the door behind them, he bade Strong sit in front of the large mahogany desk, walked round the other side and sat in the leather chair behind.
“Detective Inspector Strong,” he began, “I’ve heard some good things.”
“Thank you, sir,” Strong responded.
Mellor opened a file on his desk and put on a pair of rimless reading glasses. “Now you’re probably wondering why I’ve pulled you in,” he said.
Strong remained silent.
“Can you think of anything?”
Strong thought for a second. “Unless you want to speak to me about DCI Hemingford, sir?”
“We might come to that. No, I was thinking about something you’ve been looking into; conducting a computer search.” Mellor lifted a piece of paper from the file. “One Paul Nichols.”
It finally dawned on Strong. “Ah, the reason he seems to have dropped off the radar.”
“Why have you been trying to locate this man?”
Strong hesitated. “Has DCS Flynn spoken to you about the DNA result from one of our new recruits?”
Mellor took off his glasses. “He has, yes.”
“So you’ll know he’s asked me to investigate discreetly?”
Mellor nodded.
“Well that led directly to the Claire Hobson case from twenty years ago. Paul Nichols was one of the two boys who discovered the body.”
Mellor leaned forward. “But all their statements are in the files. Why would you want to contact them again?”
“I understand from Kenneth Green that his friend Paul found something at the scene that he kept and never told anyone about. The only person who knew what he’d done was Green.”
“And you think Nichols could confirm what it was?”
“More than that, sir. I think Nichols may still have the object in his possession.”
Mellor leaned back. “I see,” he said and was quiet for a moment. “Well, as you’ve probably guessed, Paul Nichols’ file is flagged. He’s actually in a witness protection scheme. He’s not living under that name. He’s not even in West Yorkshire anymore either. At the moment, I can’t divulge any further information. I’ve been contacted by the liaison officer from the force responsible. All I can do is request an interview for you. But if they refuse because they don’t deem it safe for you to meet, or Nichols himself refuses to cooperate, there’s not a lot more we can do.”
Strong exhaled loudly. “I understand, sir. But it would be important to the Hobson case if we could recover some new evidence. Even if the object is no longer in his possession, I’m sure he could give a pretty useful description.”
“As a matter of interest, what object are we talking about?”
“It was an army tunic button.”
“Okay, Colin, leave that with me.” This was the first time Mellor had used Strong’s Christian name. “But before you go,” he continued. “Have you given serious thought to what might happen when DCI Hemingford goes over the Pennines?”
“I can’t see how that will concern me, sir.”
“Come on now …”
“After last time,” Strong interrupted.
“The timing might be different now.”
“’Might be’?”
“Just don’t do or say anything to close doors, that’s all I’m saying.”
Strong stood. “Thank you, sir,” he said.
Mellor also got to his feet and held out a hand. “I mean it, Colin,” he said.
* * *
Susan and Sammy joined a grinning Souter looking through the observation window to the Special Care Baby Unit. In an incubator next to the glass a pink, healthy-looking baby with an identification band on his little wrist was wriggling.
“Isn’t he the best thing you’ve ever seen,” Souter said.
“Well he’s bald and wrinkly, just like …” Sammy’s quip was cut short by a nudge from Souter’s elbow.
“How is he?” Susan enquired.
“Great. He’s doing well, despite being four weeks prem. The nurses reckon he can come out of the incubator tomorrow.”
“And Alison?”
“We’ll go up and see her next. She’s likely to be in HDU for a few days yet.” Souter’s demeanour grew serious. “She had a post-partum haemorrhage after he was born.”
Susan tried to lighten the mood. “Get you, talking like a medic now.”
“It’s been serious, especially with her pre-eclampsia. At one point in the night I thought …”
“Well don’t. She’ll be fine,” Susan interrupted.
He stood a moment and looked at the pair. “List
en,” he said, “thanks for taking care of me yesterday.”
“Come on, you big pudding,” Sammy said, leading the way to the door. “I want to see my friend.”
The three approached the nurse station at the doors to HDU. Souter recognised the white-coated doctor with her stethoscope dangling around her neck that seemed to be the badge of honour all the medics wore. She was huddled over a file and writing some notes into it. Her name badge on a lanyard was turned wrong way round but he knew she was Dr Moore.
“How’s Alison this morning? Mrs Souter,” he added quickly.
She looked up and smiled. “She’s still tired. All that effort yesterday, plus the scare she put us through during the night, but she seems stable.” She looked at the two women with him. “Three might be a bit much just yet,” she continued. “Perhaps five minutes only, two at a time maybe?”
“Sure, doctor.” Souter looked round at his friends. “Who wants to come in first?”
“You go, Sammy,” Susan said. “With staying with Alison last year and helping to get your job and all, you’re probably closer.”
Sammy smiled. “I won’t be long.”
Souter led the way into the room where Alison lay on a bed coupled up to an array of monitors, cannulas in both hands. Her eyes were closed.
“Hey,” Souter said softly. “How are you this morning?”
Her eyelids fluttered.
“I’ve got someone to see you.”
“Hi, Alison,” Sammy said. “You’ve done really well.”
A thin smile appeared on Alison’s face. “Hello you,” she said. “I hope you’re looking after this big lummox.”
“This big one here has been going all soft,” Sammy replied. “We’ve just been down to see the little one and he looks gorgeous.”
“I hope they can let me see him again soon.”
“Have you settled on a name yet?”
Souter’s face broke into a broad grin. “We have, haven’t we,” he said.
“We’re going to call him David,” Alison said.
“After my dad,” Souter added.
“Aw, that’s lovely.” Sammy reached over and squeezed Alison’s hand. “How are you feeling though?”
“Tired. Ripped apart. Other than that … you know.”
“Susan’s outside. I’ll just let her come in for a minute.” Sammy said. “I’ll come back and see you later. Get some rest.”
52
Deep in thought, Strong made his way down from the ACC’s office to the CID room. It all made sense now, Nichols disappearing off the face of the earth, or so it seemed. He wondered what he’d been involved with that made him so valuable they’d placed him in Witness Protection. He might never find out. More to the point, he might never be able to establish whether there was a piece of missing evidence from the crime scene at Horbury railway sidings.
About to turn into the CID room, he came across Stainmore and Ormerod on their way out.
“Ah, there you are, guv,” Stainmore said. “I was looking for you earlier.”
“I got waylaid on my way in, Kelly. Where are you two off to?”
“I thought we’d follow up on that CCTV footage we looked at yesterday and pay our friendly off-licence manager a visit.”
“Give me a minute and I’ll come with you,” he said.
Weak sun had appeared as the trio left the pool car Ormerod had parked on a side street off Agbrigg Road. They walked around the corner and opened the shop door. Brian, the same assistant Strong and Stainmore had spoken to nearly a week earlier, was serving an elderly woman with cigarettes and some cans of soft drinks. Two schoolboys were browsing the lager section but made a hasty exit when they saw the detectives.
The woman placed the cans in a carrier bag and the cigarettes in her coat pocket before holding out a hand for change. As Brian placed the coins in her hand, he spotted Strong, Stainmore at his shoulder.
“Oh, it’s you again,” the shop assistant said.
“Indeed it is, Brian,” Strong replied.
The woman gave them a stare as she shuffled past and headed for the door.
“I think you might be able to help us a bit more than the last time,” Strong said.
“I told you all I know.”
“I don’t think that’s strictly true.”
Further conversation was disrupted by sudden activity at the shop door. The woman customer stumbled into a display of cans on a shelf as two figures bundled past her and made a hurried exit.
Ormerod, who’d wandered towards the other side of the shop rushed over to help her up. Stainmore dashed towards him. “I’ll look after this lady,” she said, “You get after those two.”
Strong watched, surprised for a second, before dashing for the door.
Outside, there was no sign of the two fugitives but he just caught sight of Ormerod racing up the road on the opposite side and disappearing down a side street. He quickly followed but, by the time he made it to the corner, all was quiet.
Ormerod had been suspicious of the two characters towards the corner of the shop behind the blanked-out window since he spotted them furtively looking at the display of white wine. It was as he turned to watch what progress his colleagues were making by the cash till that the two sprinted for the door, knocking over the elderly woman who had just been served. He rushed to help but then set off in hot pursuit once he saw Stainmore was assisting the woman.
It surprised him how agile they were. By the time he made it outside, one had already crossed the road and was sprinting up the other side, the second narrowly missed being knocked over by a taxi, rolling over the bonnet and back onto their feet before following their companion.
Traffic had momentarily stopped and Ormerod took advantage to sprint across the road and hurtle after them. By the time he reached the corner where they had turned, the lead individual had disappeared but he was gaining on the second. After about a hundred yards, the character turned sharp left and into a ginnel. A few yards later, he was close enough to grab the collar of their anorak and haul them to the ground. A barrage of muffled expletives and insults were thrown at him as he pulled their arms behind them and put the cuffs on. It was only as he turned his prisoner over that he realised the twisted face before him, still hurling insults and spittle, was a woman.
“Calm down,” he told her. “We need to talk to you.”
“Bastard!” she yelled, “Get your …”
But Ormerod blanked her out, hauling her to her feet and marching her down the street and back to the shop.
Stainmore had helped the woman to her feet by the time Strong returned. With assurances she was fine, the woman just wanted to be on her way.
“Have you seen those two before?” Stainmore asked her.
“Not sure,” she responded. “Hoods up, they all look the same.”
“Are you sure about that, Mrs er …?” Strong joined in.
Her body language and expression told him she would have nothing to say but he always had hope in situations like these.
“Like I said, they all look alike. Now, can I go? I need to get home, the grandkids are coming round after school.”
“Okay, but we may need to speak to you again,” Strong said resignedly.
The woman left the shop reluctantly giving a name and address to Stainmore.
Strong focussed his attention on Brian who was standing behind the counter having watched all the action. “You know what I’m going to ask you?” he said.
Brian nodded. “The CCTV tape, yes.”
Before anything further, Ormerod bundled the young woman back into the shop.
“Get your fucking hands off me,” she was saying, although with less enthusiasm than she had out on the street.
She looked from Stainmore to Strong. “Are you his boss?”
“And you are?”
“Never mind that,” she said looking to Stainmore now, “I want to make a complaint. He was havin’ a feel of my tits, dirty bastard.”
“Befor
e we get onto that,” Strong said, “Can you tell us why you shot off out the door in such a hurry? Causing injury to that other customer, by the way.”
She looked round. “Where? I don’t see anybody. We never hurt anyone.”
“That’s the other thing we want to speak to you about. Who’s ‘we’?”
“Did I say that? Never seen them before.”
Strong smiled. “So why did you leg it?”
“Remembered I had to be somewhere.”
Strong had had enough of the prevarication. “Can you take this … lady to the car, Kelly. We’ll continue this ‘discussion’ at Wood Street.”
The woman began to protest again. “You can’t do that, I’ve done nothing wrong.”
“In which case we can clear this up fairly quickly.”
As Stainmore bundled the woman from the shop, Strong turned back to Brian. “Now,” he began, “can we have a sensible conversation from you. Those two … who are they?”
“I’m not too sure. I think they call her Trace – I assume that’s Tracey.”
“So you have seen them around?”
“A couple of times, yeah.”
“So what about the other one – the bloke?”
Brian had coloured. “Si. I think I’ve heard her call him Si.”
“So where do they live, Brian? Obviously nearby?”
He shrugged. “I’ve no idea – honest.”
Strong looked over at Ormerod who’d been standing silently by the door. “I don’t think Brian here could be honest to save his life.”
“But I don’t,” Brian protested. “I see them come in here and I see them leave. I’ve no idea where they go.”
“But they come in regularly?”
“Not that regular.”
“But they were in the Sunday before last.” Strong leaned over the counter towards the man. “The Sunday when they came in and used the stolen card.”
Brian looked down and slowly nodded his head then looked up. “But I only realised that long afterwards.”
“Well, thanks for calling us to say that.”
A shrug.
“Okay, we’ll have the CCTV from today. DC Ormerod will give you a receipt.”
