by David Evans
Through tears and spittle, Felicity finally spoke. “But I saw you. I saw what you were doing.”
Brannigan responded calmly, “Sometimes when you saw me holding her arms, it was because I was restraining her. She used to have these attacks … I don’t know … fits sometimes, and I would hold on to her to stop her from hurting herself. You saw what you wanted to see. You saw me hurting her, but that wasn’t the case.”
She was shaking her head. “I don’t know. I just don’t know.”
“Look, I’m not interested in what’s happened recently. But I think you need to contact Andy. He’s a good lad and it’s not fair the way you’ve treated him.” He stood. “I’ll go now. I just had to speak to you. I don’t want you to destroy what you and Andy have. He loves you, I’m absolutely convinced of that.” He walked to the door, turning to face her. “Think about it eh?”
* * *
Strong and Ormerod approached the scruffy terraced property where Tracey had told them they rented a room. It was on the first floor at the front. The detectives were on the other side of the street.
“No lights on, guv,” Ormerod said quietly to his boss.
“I’m not so sure, Luke. Is there a low glow behind those … what are they, sheets up at the window?”
Ormerod squinted. “Could be. Candlelight maybe?”
Strong crossed the road, took hold of the house door handle and turned. As he thought, it opened. He glanced at Ormerod then stepped inside. The hallway was in darkness, only the street-lighting providing illumination. Two doors led off to right and one to the left, the staircase coming back towards them on the left-hand side at the far end. A TV was on behind the first door and music was coming from the second. A smell of cabbage cooking mingled with stale curry as the pair made their way quietly to the stairs.
Strong led the way cautiously, one careful step at a time. He paused when he could see through the banisters onto the floor at first level and picked out the door to the room at the front. Looking to Ormerod, he indicated a dim wavering glow below the bottom of the door; definitely a candle. Ormerod nodded and took another step up. A loud creak from the wooden tread startled them. With that, the glow under the door disappeared.
That made up their minds. They rushed for the door. Ormerod turned the handle. Locked. Inside, they could hear scuffling. Ormerod put his shoulder to the door and crashed in. Halfway out the window, a young man looked back startled. Strong dashed past a stumbling Ormerod and grabbed the man’s legs. He struggled and almost broke free before Ormerod lent his efforts and the man was dragged back in and onto the floor.
“You’re not making this easy,” Strong said.
“Who … who are you?” the man squeaked.
Strong flipped open his warrant card as Ormerod held the man. “Police,” he said. “And you are?”
The man struggled before replying indignantly, “Nobody.”
“Well, Mr Nobody,” Strong said. “We believe you can help us with our enquiries into the murder of Mark Thompson and we’d like you to accompany us to Wood Street Police Station.”
With identities established as Simon Glover, originally from Wakefield, and Tracey Morris, originally from Mirfield, Strong decided the pair should be held overnight in the custody cells, to give them time to think about the position they were in. It had been a long day and it would be best to question them fresh tomorrow.
Ormerod had gone home and the Incident Room was quiet. A glance at his watch and he headed for his office. Time to catch up with Bob before he went home.
A number of messages had been left on his desk. He sat down and flicked through them. The one that stood out was a sealed envelope marked Private & Confidential. He opened it and read; it was from the ACC.
‘Contact Det CH Supt. Gilfoyle from Staffordshire re our friend.’
A mobile number was written below.
He felt more positive. He didn’t think he’d have a number to ring if there was no possibility of talking to Nichols. Unless, of course, it was to tell him there was no chance. In any event, he’d make that call in the morning. In the meantime, he’d give some thought to the two they were holding in connection with Mark Thompson’s murder.
But now, something more uplifting. He pulled his mobile from his pocket and dialled Bob’s number.
* * *
Susan closed the front door to the flat and leant back against it. She was exhausted; and shocked. Danny had told her everything he saw that night. And he told her where the killer hung out. The lad was scared, no doubt about that. He maintained he wouldn’t tell his story to the police. But that placed the strain on her. She’d have to talk to Bob. He’d know what to do. Somehow, Susan thought she was the first in tonight. But suddenly, the living room door opened and Sammy appeared.
Sammy looked at her, a confused expression on her face. “I thought I heard you come in,” she said. “Is everything alright? You look as though you’ve seen a ghost. Oh, God you haven’t had a premonition have you?”
Susan shook her head. “No.” She pushed herself off the door and walked towards her friend. “Have we got any wine in? I think I need a large one.”
Sammy watched her walk past into the kitchen. “I think there’s half a bottle left in the fridge from Saturday night.”
“You want one?” Susan asked over her shoulder.
“Might as well. Sounds like I might need it once you tell me what’s got into you.”
When they’d sat down on the sofa, a glass of wine each in front of them, Sammy began the conversation she knew they’d have to have. “So, what’s upset you, Suz?”
Susan looked to the ceiling, drew a deep breath and responded. “You remember we spoke to that lad, Danny?”
“The lad on the bike – next door neighbour to the murder victim?”
Susan nodded. “He contacted me today, asked me to meet him. That’s where I’ve been.”
Sammy swivelled on the settee to face her friend. “Well whatever he’s said, he’s upset you.”
“He saw it.”
“Saw what?”
“The murder.”
“He needs to go to the police – to Colin.”
“He’s scared. The guy’s not right in the head; addled by drugs.”
“He knows who it is?”
Susan gave a nod.
“Well you need to speak to Colin. I’ll come with you.”
“Not yet. I was going to speak to Bob first.
“And what’s he going to tell you? The same as me.”
Susan paused a moment, a grim expression on her face. “Danny told me where he hangs out. I thought I’d check it out first.”
Sammy looked incredulous. “You mean you plan to walk up to his front door and confront him? I can think of a few good reasons why that’s not a good idea.”
“It’s not as straightforward as that. I thought I might check it out tomorrow; lunchtime maybe. Will you come with me?”
Sammy picked up her wine glass. “Well I’m certainly not letting you go on your own.”
56
Tuesday 26th February 2002
“So what’s the strategy, guv?” Ormerod was standing in the doorway to Strong’s office.
Strong looked up from his desk. “I think you and John take Simon Glover and Kelly and myself will handle Tracey Morris. Get them up into the interview rooms and we’ll coordinate the questioning at …” he checked his watch, “nine-thirty. Give them time to sweat a bit longer.”
The DC grinned. “Will do.”
“Can you just close the door a minute, Luke.”
Ormerod did as asked and left.
Strong waited until he’d gone before lifting the receiver and dialling the number from the bottom of the ACC’s note. It was answered on the fourth ring.
“Is that Detective Chief Superintendent Gilfoyle?” Strong asked.
“Who wants to know,” came the guarded reply.
“I’m Detective Inspector Colin Strong from Wood Street CID in Wakefield. O
ur ACC Mellor has given me your number.”
“You’re in your office now?”
“At my desk, yes.”
“I’ll call you back.”
The line went dead. Strong put the phone down. No more than he expected. He could have been anyone ringing that number and claiming to be a detective.
Three minutes later his landline rang.
“DI Strong,” he answered.
“Colin, right? It’s Joe Gilfoyle.” The voice had the slightest hint of an Irish accent. “I understand you’ve been making enquiries about a certain Paul Nichols?”
“That’s correct, sir,” Strong responded. “I’ve been tasked with reviewing an unsolved murder case here in West Yorkshire from twenty years ago. Paul was one of two boys at the time who discovered the body.”
“But you have the original statements?” Gilfoyle queried. “Why would you want to speak to him again?”
“I have new evidence which I believe he could help me with.” Strong then proceeded to make the case for having Nichols confirm what Kenny Green had told him about the tunic button found at the murder scene but never reported to the enquiry at the time.
“And you think he might still be in possession of this button?” Gilfoyle asked.
“I’m not sure about that. If he has, that would be useful, but if he could at least confirm that he picked it up and what it actually was would be great. According to his friend, he collected them as a hobby and would be able to identify which regiment it would have come from.”
The line was quiet for a second or two. “Okay, let me talk to him. I can’t tell you why he has a new identity but we have to be careful here. If he doesn’t want to talk to you, I can’t force him.”
“I understand. But this seems to be an interesting piece of new evidence we didn’t know about before.”
“Leave it with me, Colin, I’ll be in touch.” Gilfoyle hung up.
Strong replaced the receiver and pushed his chair back from the desk. What had Nichols become involved with that made his identity so sensitive? He’d probably never find out but he only hoped that Gilfoyle could persuade him to at least talk to him on the phone; face to face would be better, but he couldn’t raise his hopes. In the meantime, he had a couple of interviews to conduct.
* * *
“Are you sure this is a good idea, Suz?” Sammy was flicking her eyelashes with a brush in front of the mirror in the living room.
“I need to check it out,” Susan responded. “I know what you said last night about taking it to Colin – and I will. But I’d like to make sure Danny hasn’t given me some duff info.”
Sammy put her eyeliner back in its case and closed up her make-up bag. “You never told me exactly what this Danny said to you,” she said as she faced her friend.
Susan shrugged into her coat. “No. It’s best you don’t. The fewer people who know the details might help give credence later, if what he told me is true.”
“Have you spoken to Bob?” Sammy grabbed her bag and coat and headed for the door.
“No. I thought I’d see if he was in this morning. You know they’re letting me use his desk part-time for this piece we’re writing on Claire Hobson?”
They closed the front door behind them and Susan led the way outside to her car.
“You dropped on lucky there,” Sammy said.
“Right, I’ll drop you off first then head to the Post. And I’ll pick you up at twelve?”
Sammy climbed into the passenger seat. “I’ll text you once I’ve confirmed I can have a longer lunch break. I’ll have to make it up tonight though.”
Susan started the engine and set off into the rush-hour Leeds traffic.
* * *
“What can you tell us about the card you and Simon Glover used in Agbrigg Road off-licence on Sunday 17th February this year, Tracey?” Stainmore was once again leading the interview with Tracey Morris in Interview Room 3. Next door, Ormerod and Darby were conducting a similar one with Simon Glover.
Strong leaned back in the chair waiting for Tracey to respond.
“It weren’t my idea,” the young woman finally replied. She glanced at the duty solicitor on her left, the only other person in the room.
“But you were with Mr Glover when that fraud took place. And I don’t need to remind you that we are investigating a murder here.”
Her head dropped for a second. “I know.” She took a drink from the styrofoam cup of coffee brought in for her, then continued, “Simon told me someone he knew had found a wallet with some cash and cards in it. This friend had kept the cash, obviously, but thought Simon might be able to use the card.”
“This friend, has he got a name?”
“I only heard Simon refer to him as Billy the Fish.”
Stainmore couldn’t hide the brief smirk that appeared on her face. “Billy the Fish?”
Tracey glared at Stainmore. “I’m not taking the piss.”
“And you don’t know this character’s real name?”
“No. Apparently, he went to school with Simon.”
Stainmore scribbled some notes. “And he claims this ‘Billy the Fish’ found the wallet containing this card?”
“Yes.”
“And where is the card now?”
“I think Simon destroyed it after he heard you were looking for it.”
Stainmore turned to Strong. “Our ever-helpful shop assistant, Brian,” she said.
“I think we’ll pause the interview for now,” Strong said, rising to his feet.
Strong knocked on the door and entered the other interview room. Ormerod made the necessary announcement that, for the benefit of the tape, he had come in.
“How are we doing here?” Strong asked.
“Our Mr Glover doesn’t seem to know anything about anything,” Ormerod answered.
Strong glanced a moment at the duty solicitor drafted in for Glover’s benefit, a young lad in a shiny suit with gelled hair, before turning to Glover himself. “You do realise the seriousness of your situation Mr Glover,” he said.
Glover shrugged.
“Well let me remind you that this is a murder enquiry and our evidence shows that you used the deceased’s credit card just hours after he was killed.”
“Got no evidence for that,” Glover retorted.
“Oh but that’s where you’re wrong.”
“Can’t rely on CCTV.”
“Is that what your mate, Brian told you?” Strong leaned onto the table and spoke closely to the man. “You see, Simon – if you don’t mind me calling you Simon, we have witnesses who saw you use that card. Now as you were the last one to use it … well, you can see how it looks from our side of the table.” Strong stood back up and walked to the back of the room.
Glover leaned in towards the solicitor and mumbled a few words.
“If I could have a few minutes with my client?” the brief said.
“Okay,” Strong agreed. “We have plenty of time. Just you consider your position, Simon.”
Outside in the corridor, Strong updated Ormerod and Darby on what Tracey had told them in her interview.
“You think he’s scared of this character, Billy the Fish?” Ormerod was unable to keep his face straight as he asked the question.
“I know it sounds a bit far-fetched,” Strong admitted, “but let’s just give him another ten minutes to think about things. I’d rather he told me about this character than mention the name to him, but we’ll see.”
The trio were about to walk back to the CID room when Glover’s solicitor opened the door. “My client is ready to tell you what he knows,” he said.
With the interview resumed, Ormerod, sitting opposite, kicked proceedings off. “I understand you have new information for us, Mr Glover,” he said.
John Darby had taken up his seat alongside Ormerod as before and Strong leaned against the wall next to the door.
“I didn’t steal the card,” Glover began. “An old school friend gave it to me. He said he’d found th
e wallet the night before.”
Ormerod flicked through his notes. “That would be Saturday 16th February?”
Glover nodded. “Yea, the day before we used the card.”
“Did he say where he’d found the wallet?”
“No. Just that he’d had the cash from it and he thought he’d do me a favour and give the card to me. He thought I could use it if I was quick.”
“So who is this school friend of yours?”
Glover looked down and hesitated.
“You will need to tell us,” Strong confirmed.
Glover looked to the solicitor who gave a slight nod. “He was in my class. Billy Pollock, but since we discovered what a Pollock is, we all called him Billy the Fish.”
Ormerod gave a slight reaction when he heard this. “And where can we find this … Mr Pollock.”
Glover let out a deep breath. “His dad died when we were in primary school and his mother when he was thirteen. He went to stay with his grandparents after that.”
“So where do they live?”
“Well his grandma died three years ago, so it’s only been him and his grandad, but he’s been going doo-lally. When he was younger, Billy used to help on his grandad’s allotment but he got into drugs a while back. Since his grandad’s not been so great, the allotment’s been left alone. Except …”
“Except what, Simon?” Ormerod prompted.
“Billy tends to go there to smoke a bit of weed and that. There’s this shed.”
“On the allotment?”
“Yeah.”
“We’ll need some details here – his grandad’s address, and this allotment’s location.”
Glover told them what they wanted to know and the interview was terminated.
57
Strong and Ormerod pulled up in one car outside the council house address that Glover had provided for Pollock’s grandfather. Stainmore and Darby were close behind in another vehicle.
Strong stepped out of the Mondeo, Ormerod close by, and approached the front door, Stainmore and Darby covering the rear. The front garden was overgrown and the windows looked dirty.
Strong’s knock on the door received no answer at first. After a moment or two, he tried again. This time they could hear some movement inside.
