The Curator (Washington Poe)

by M. W. Craven

  The room went silent.

  ‘You’d better explain, Tilly,’ Poe said.

  ‘Weekends excepted, Howard Teasdale went to Carlisle every day in that period. The train receipts are conclusive.’

  She opened her laptop and turned it so everyone could see the screen.

  ‘Amanda Simpson was working at an independent clothes shop. This is her annual leave card. As you can see, she booked time off for the same two weeks that Howard was in Carlisle.’

  ‘And Rebecca Pridmore,’ Nightingale said, ‘was she on leave at the same time?’

  ‘She wasn’t, Detective Superintendent Nightingale. Her leave record shows she spent two weeks in Portugal in July and a week in Paris in November that year. Her bank statements support this.’

  ‘But …’

  ‘But I don’t think she was at work, either.’

  She brought up Rebecca Pridmore’s credit card statements for the preceding six months.

  ‘Travelling from Dalston to BAE systems in Barrow-in Furness is a daily journey of one hundred and sixty-eight miles. Taking a median working month of twenty-one point seven five days that’s a monthly commute of three thousand six hundred and fifty-four miles.’

  ‘No wonder her marriage was fucked,’ Flynn muttered.

  ‘According to the manufacturer’s website, the average miles-per-gallon for her Range Rover is twenty-nine to forty-four on a motorway. The fuel tank capacity is just less than twenty gallons so if we assume an average miles-per-gallon of thirty-six and a half she would have to fill up every four days. Which is supported by what her bank statements say. Sometimes it’s five days, sometimes it’s four.’

  ‘But she didn’t fill up in the two-week period we’re interested in?’ Flynn said.

  ‘Not once.’

  ‘And if she only needed her car to drive from Dalston to Carlisle, which is what … five miles?’

  ‘Six.’

  ‘Twelve miles a day for two weeks. Easily done on a full tank.’

  ‘Easily,’ Bradshaw agreed.

  ‘Car sharing?’ Nightingale asked. ‘Don’t BAE encourage it? Part of their corporate responsibility policy.’

  ‘They do,’ Bradshaw replied, ‘but it’s unlikely in this case. Rebecca Pridmore had a highly classified job and she usually made phone calls while she drove. I called Malcolm Sparkes to see if she’d had access to a car we didn’t know about. She hadn’t.’

  ‘Anything else, Tilly?’ Nightingale said. She’d gone from sceptical to convinced right about the same time Poe had when Bradshaw had explained it to him half an hour earlier.

  Bradshaw brought up a different image.

  ‘Her phone records. BAE have a strict policy on mobile phones. They don’t allow them inside. Very few exceptions and Rebecca Pridmore wasn’t one of them. As you can see’ – she pointed at the list that was far too small to read – ‘she only ever made calls before and after work.’ The next image came up. ‘But in the two-week period we’re interested in she made calls and sent emails at all sorts of times.’

  ‘So she wasn’t on leave and she wasn’t at BAE,’ Nightingale said. ‘She could have been working from home, I suppose. Maybe she was ill?’

  Bradshaw shook her head. This time when the image changed it showed three sets of phone records, side-by-side.

  ‘The thing is,’ she said, ‘there were times during that two-week period, sometimes for hours at a time, when none of the victims used their phones.’

  ‘OK, that is weird,’ Nightingale admitted.

  ‘And that’s not all,’ Bradshaw said. ‘When one of them eventually used their phone, the other two invariably did as well, within minutes of each other. Amanda Simpson would usually check her social media pages and send some texts, Rebecca Pridmore would send emails or make phone calls and Howard Teasdale would play online games or look at pornography.’

  ‘OK, that’s too much of a coincidence to ignore,’ Nightingale said. ‘Can we locate where they were by their phones?’

  ‘Too long ago, Detective Superintendent Nightingale. That’s why we don’t have information on what was in the texts or emails. There’s no depth to these reports. It’s to do with data protection and how long companies can hold on to our information.’

  ‘OK,’ Nightingale said. ‘This is a job for the main investigation team. I’ll flood Carlisle with cops and photographs of the victims. Someone will remember something.’

  Poe wasn’t so sure. It was three years ago and Carlisle was a transient city. He thought they needed to go bigger.

  ‘What about Crimewatch?’ he said. The popular BBC programme that reconstructed major unsolved crimes in order to jog the public’s memory had helped catch some of the country’s most notorious villains over the years. Poe had seen the policy for submitting crimes to the programme on Nightingale’s bookcase.

  ‘Crimewatch doesn’t run any more, Poe,’ Bradshaw said. ‘It became redundant at the same time linear television did. Other than major sporting events, we rarely view live television; the trend is to record and watch later.’

  ‘Tilly’s right,’ Flynn said. ‘By the time viewers were getting round to watching it no one was on the phone lines any more.’

  ‘The jury was out on how effective it was in the shire counties anyway,’ Nightingale added. ‘It tended to work best in metropolitan areas with high-density populations. Lots of potential witnesses.’

  Poe froze.

  ‘I need to make a phone call,’ he said.

  ‘Why?’

  ‘I think the Curator’s real …’

  Chapter 53

  ‘I think the three victims were on jury service,’ Poe said. ‘That’s why they were in Carlisle at the same time.’

  Nightingale stared at him. ‘Explain,’ she said.

  ‘DI Flynn is getting our director to put pressure on Her Majesty’s Court and Tribunals Service to release the names of jurors but I’ll talk you through it.’

  He held up a finger.

  ‘One: crown court’s in Carlisle and jury service lasts for two weeks.’

  He held up a second finger. ‘Two: Tilly’s checked with the MoD and they don’t require employees to take leave for jury service, which explains why Rebecca had nothing on her leave card. Howard was self-employed and Amanda did have to take leave.’

  ‘And when court’s in session you have to have your mobile switched off,’ Nightingale said.

  ‘You do, ma’am,’ Poe said. ‘It also explains the irregular times their phones were switched back on. In a crown court trial the jury are often dismissed while a point of law is being discussed. If it’s going to be a while, the usher will allow mobiles to be used while they’re in the jury room.’

  ‘And because you have to hand them in while you’re deliberating,’ Nightingale added, ‘it explains the longer period they were all off at the end.’

  Poe hadn’t considered that. He nodded as another piece of the puzzle fell into place. ‘And finally, although you can’t serve on a jury with a criminal conviction, the trial period predated Howard Teasdale’s sex offence.’

  ‘All trials are public record,’ Nightingale said. ‘I assume you’ve formed a theory on which one they were on?’

  ‘There were a few during that two-week period but one in particular stands out. I think you’ll remember it, ma’am.’

  ‘Why’s that?’ she asked. ‘Who was on trial, Sergeant Poe?’

  ‘It was Edward Atkinson.’

  Nightingale gasped.

  ‘Oh my God. The man …’

  ‘The man in the mask,’ Poe confirmed.

  And then the room went quiet.

  Chapter 54

  ‘The Curator exists then,’ Flynn said.

  ‘Seems that way,’ Poe said. ‘Too many similarities for it to be a coincidence.’

  ‘And who the hell is Edward Atkinson? Why’s he called the man in the mask?’

  After Director of Intelligence Edward van Zyl had confirmed that Howard Teasdale, Rebecca Pridmore
and Amanda Simpson had been on the jury for the Edward Atkinson trial, it had been organised chaos. People had phone calls to make. The rest of the jury had to be identified, located and made safe.

  They’d assembled in a corner of the incident room. Nightingale had only just returned. She looked exhausted. Coughlan put a steaming mug of coffee in front of her. She sipped at it gratefully.

  ‘Ma’am, do you want to tell DI Flynn who Atkinson is?’ Poe asked.

  ‘You do it,’ she replied, her mobile pressed against her ear. ‘I’m trying to get your lot to tell me what his new name is.’

  ‘You weren’t informed at the time?’ Poe asked, surprised.

  She shook her head. ‘You know what happened. Can you blame him? If it had been me, I know I wouldn’t have wanted … hello, this is Detective Superintendent Nightingale from Cumbria Constabulary; I’d like to speak to your operations manager, please … yes, I’ll hold.’ She turned to Flynn and said, ‘I’d better take this in my office.’

  After she’d left, Flynn asked again, ‘Who the hell is Edward Atkinson?’

  ‘I was working for SCAS when it happened but for a while Edward Atkinson was the most hated man in Cumbria,’ Poe said. ‘He worked for a waste management and recycling business. One of those companies who securely dispose of the hazardous materials some industries create.’

  As he spoke, Bradshaw was typing furiously. ‘J. Baldwin Limited? Based in Workington?’

  ‘That’s the one,’ Poe confirmed. ‘Companies paid them to collect their hazardous waste. Atkinson’s job was to uplift their acids, alkalis and phenols and transport the waste back to their depot outside Distington. Sometimes it was safely disposed of, sometimes it was reconditioned and sold.’

  ‘Something went wrong, I take it?’

  ‘Human nature,’ Poe said. ‘Atkinson had had a late collection and by the time he returned to the depot it was shut. When that happened, he was supposed to call the duty manager who would come out and unlock the disposal unit. They would then get rid of whatever he’d collected together.’

  ‘What happened?’

  ‘Atkinson was going on holiday the next day and he hadn’t wanted to wait. So, instead of calling the duty manager and safely disposing of the five drums of contaminated acid he’d collected, he falsified the logbook to say he’d returned to the depot at 4 p.m. He then emptied everything onto some nearby waste ground. By the time he got back from holiday, two children had lost their sight and another had chemical burns on more than twenty per cent of their body.’

  ‘Oh my goodness,’ Bradshaw said. ‘That’s awful.’

  ‘Pretty much how everyone in Cumbria saw it. The Environment Agency charged him with unauthorised disposal of waste and, as it was a category one, deliberate offence, he was potentially looking at three years. The CPS charged him with a section twenty GBH.’

  ‘Grievous Bodily Harm?’ Flynn said. ‘How did they get away with that?’

  ‘There were culpability issues. The CPS argued that no reasonable person would illegally dispose of dangerous chemicals in a place where children were known to play.’

  ‘Still, it was a brave charging decision.’

  ‘It was in part driven to appease the local community and in part to appease the police. One of the children who lost their sight was the son of a police officer.’

  ‘You said “the man in the mask”. What was that about?’

  ‘That’s when the case took an even darker turn,’ Poe said. ‘Atkinson pleaded not guilty and it went to a full trial. He claimed that he did ring the duty manager. That the CEO’s son came and unlocked the gates for him. Took the material from him and told him that he’d dispose of it himself and that he should get away and start his holiday.’

  ‘Did the defence provide any evidence?’

  ‘None. The logbook was a key part of the prosecution’s trial strategy. It had been tampered with to look like Atkinson had returned from his rounds earlier than he did, before the disposal unit needed a duty manager to unlock it.’

  ‘So why …?’

  ‘Why did he go not guilty? The defence’s theory was that the CEO’s son didn’t know how the disposal unit worked. They suggested that, rather than humiliate himself in front of the staff by seeking help, he just dumped it and hoped no one would notice.’

  ‘And the jury were buying it?’

  ‘Nope. Not even a little bit.’

  ‘So?’

  ‘About three days before the scheduled end of the trial, something awful happened. Atkinson had been getting death threats. He’d reported them to the police and they’d said they’d have someone intermittently drive by his house.’

  ‘Seems light,’ Flynn said.

  Poe nodded. ‘Very light. Anyway, on the morning in question, someone with a sense of irony threw concentrated acid at his face. Right outside the court.’

  ‘Ouch.’

  ‘The perp handed himself in and got sent down for GBH with intent. He got out a year ago. Nightingale’s got him in the cells already.’

  ‘Possible suspect?’

  ‘Not if I remember him correctly,’ Poe said. ‘Bit of a fuckwit. Impressionable. Mainly did it for the kudos.’

  ‘What happened to Atkinson?’

  ‘In hospital for months. Had nearly forty operations. Skin grafts, experimental surgery, everything. Nothing really worked, though, and he had to wear this burn mask twenty-four hours a day to keep his scar tissue moist.’

  ‘And the trial?’

  ‘The first was declared a mistrial because of his injuries. It was almost a year before they were ready to go again. Different jury this time, obviously. Our jury. Same overwhelming evidence but the jury couldn’t agree on a verdict and it was hung. The prevailing theory was that some of them were swayed by what had happened to him. Apparently he was a pitiful sight in the dock. The CPS elected not to pursue a third trial and Atkinson walked free.’

  ‘What a clusterfuck,’ Flynn said.

  ‘Gets worse,’ Poe said. ‘Within a year of the hung jury two things happened: Atkinson tried to hang himself and a whistleblower came forward.’

  ‘Tried to hang himself?’

  ‘Messed it right up. Ended up with an incomplete spinal cord injury. He’s now in a wheelchair for the rest of his life. Has feeling below the waist but no movement.’

  ‘And the whistleblower?’

  ‘He was more of a co-conspirator really, but he said that, at the behest of the CEO himself, he’d amended the logbook so it looked like Atkinson had tried to cover his tracks. He also said that J. Baldwin Limited had been illegally dumping hazardous material on the waste ground for months while they waited for one of their disposal units to be repaired.’

  ‘So he wasn’t guilty?’

  Poe shook his head.

  ‘Poor sod,’ Flynn said.

  ‘Not poor,’ Poe said. ‘He sued J. Baldwin and won a seven-figure sum. He then went after the police for not taking his protection seriously—’

  ‘Had they?’ Flynn cut in.

  ‘I honestly don’t know. I do know that they settled with him. A big pay out.’

  ‘They were worried about the optics? Thought that it’d look like they’d deliberately ignored Atkinson’s concerns because a Cumbrian cop’s kid had been blinded?’

  ‘Probably.’

  ‘So where is he now?’

  ‘That’s just the problem,’ Poe replied. ‘And it’s why Superintendent Nightingale’s on the phone to our lot as we speak – Atkinson’s a protected person …’

  Chapter 55

  The UK Protected Persons Service, previously called Witness Protection, was formed in 2013. Regionally delivered by the police but coordinated by the National Crime Agency, Poe had never had active involvement with them other than attending mandatory briefings. All he knew was that people would be removed from the area of threat and relocated to a different part of the country – sometimes even abroad – where their lives were rebuilt with new identities.

&nbs
p; UKPPS operated in great secrecy and on a closed computer system. It could only be accessed by sitting in front of a UKPPS terminal with a complex set of passwords and identifiers.

  Even Bradshaw couldn’t beat a system like that.

  Poe seriously doubted that Nightingale would have much luck getting Atkinson’s new name. And, as the best tool at UKPPS’s disposal was putting distance between the protected person and the problem area, Poe also doubted that Atkinson, whatever his name was now, would be living anywhere near Cumbria anyway.

  Nightingale’s face was sourer than a Scottish banana.

  ‘No joy?’ Flynn said.

  She shook her head. ‘Not a credible threat. Wouldn’t even confirm he was on the scheme.’

  ‘But we already know he is.’

  She shrugged.

  An admin assistant popped her head round the door. She waved a folded bit of paper and Nightingale beckoned her in. She read it.

  ‘Think this’ll change their mind?’ she asked, handing it to Flynn. ‘We’ve tracked down one of the jury members and he says that Howard, Rebecca and Amanda were the three dissenting voices who went for not guilty.’

  ‘I think it’ll make them dig in further,’ Poe said. ‘From their perspective, the fewer people who know, the safer he is. Any ideas on how the Curator identified members of the jury?’

  ‘We have,’ Nightingale said. ‘Apparently, one of the jury gave a paid interview to the press a year or so ago. We think this might have been the killer’s way in. We’ve arrested the juror but he’s refusing to speak. His neighbours say that he recently bought a new car, though. It looks like he might have been paid to reveal the identities of the jurors who went for not guilty.’

  ‘Reckless bastard,’ Poe said. ‘What about Atkinson’s barrister and solicitor? And the judge?’

  ‘All safe,’ Nightingale confirmed. ‘Everyone else remotely involved in the hung jury has covert protection in case someone makes a move against them. If we’re lucky we’ll catch him in the act.’