“Wear what?”
“They were both wearing a burqa,” he explained patiently. “You know, the long garment that some Muslim women wear — covers everything but the eyes.”
“Are you sure, mate? You could be mistaken. If they were all covered up, how can you be sure it was them?”
“My daughter recognised the trainers that one of them was wearing.” He shook his head, he was losing patience. “Look, are you going to act on this, or what? I think something’s going on, and I think you should do something about getting people off this coach and having that pair’s luggage examined.”
“If you’re wrong, I’ll look a right fool.” The driver shuffled uncomfortably in his seat.
Things weren’t moving fast enough. Surely the coach firm must have set procedures in place for an incident like this? He couldn’t wait any longer. Taking hold of the microphone the driver used for announcements, he addressed the passengers himself. A few, those who were sitting near the front had already heard everything he’d said and were whispering amongst themselves.
“We’ve lost a couple of passengers,” he began. “They got off like the rest of us but they haven’t returned. Instead they’ve disappeared towards the car park wearing disguises. I, for one, am concerned that their luggage is still here, in the hold. At the very least I want it removed and handed over to someone who can have it examined.”
“Bollocks! Let’s just get going,” a man shouted from the rear of the coach. “We’re wasting valuable drinking time holed up in this shit-hole.”
The concerned man swore under his breath. They were morons, the bloody lot of them.
“Come on, we’re leaving,” he told his daughter. “You can give me my luggage; we’re definitely not going any further,” he told the disgruntled driver.
“But I want to go to the show, Daddy.” She tugged at his arm. “I want to stay at the hotel, I’ve told my friends and everything, and I want to go to the shops.”
Tears were welling up in her eyes. He felt really bad about having to disappoint her but something wasn’t right here. “We’ll do something else, love,” he promised her.
He lifted her off the coach steps and set her down on the footpath. The driver was on his mobile again. With any luck he’d be getting some proper advice about what to do.
He was shouting, rubbing his head. Once he’d clicked the mobile off he turned to look at the man who was waiting for him to open the hold. The driver looked flustered and his face was red and sweaty. He wiped it with a hanky. He definitely looked worried now.
“You’ll all have to get off,” he announced to the other passengers.
There was a torrent of moaning and a great deal of abuse. The man who’d sworn earlier was shaking his fist through the window.
The driver jumped down the steps and indicated for them to stand back. “You can’t have your luggage yet,” he told them. “They’re going to evacuate the building, and then we’ll see,” he added quietly.
Once everyone was off the coach, he ushered them back to a covered area in front of the car park. People were already leaving the cafe building and making for their cars. Something had obviously happened, but no one had a clue what that was.
“We can go into that building over there to wait,” the driver told everyone. “This young man will lead the way and get you all some coffee or something,” he said, indicating one of the security staff. “The police are on their way and they’ll sort it out.”
There was more chatter and complaining from the passengers. “So you’re taking me seriously, then?” the man asked the driver, surprised at the sudden change of mind.
“I’ve got no choice, mate. It’s official. There’s a bomb scare here in this service station. Apparently one of Webb’s coaches has some sort of device on it and we’re the only one here.”
Chapter 16
Greco gathered the team together first thing. “Doctor Barrington has determined that Rose Donnelly died forty-eight hours ago, so on Tuesday.” He looked at them. “I’m going to interview Grady Gibbs. I know what the prints suggest but I still want a detailed run-down of his movements this week, and Tuesday in particular.”
“That’s easy enough,” Quickenden told them. “For most of Tuesday we had him here, overnight too. For the rest of the day he was at the Spinners.”
For the moment Greco ignored him. “Rose had been drugged, morphine most likely. We know Gibbs has access to that.” He sighed. “What we don’t know is where she was kept. He has a flat and that is being searched as we speak. We need to know if he had anywhere else, a lockup, a workshop, anything.”
Greco watched Quickenden shake his head. “What is it, Sergeant?”
“Geegee’s never gone in for anything like that, sir. The idea of him having a workshop is ludicrous. He’s never done any work as far as I know and he wouldn’t pay the rent. A lockup? Unlikely; he doesn’t deal in anything that would need that much space.”
“Nonetheless, if he is our man then he killed Brenda too. So how did he get them to the canal bank and why there? It’s fairly well used and whoever our killer is must have known that the bodies would be found quickly.”
“I know what this looks like, sir, but this is way off beam for Geegee. Granted Oldston would be better off without him but he’s never killed before. If he did, if some fight or other got out of hand, it would be because he’d whacked them too hard. He certainly wouldn’t go gouging eyes out.”
“His prints were on the peeler. How do you account for that?”
“I have no idea but I still don’t think he’s our man,” said Quickenden.
“Sir,” Craig interrupted, “one of the CSI team from Gibbs’s flat.” He handed Greco the phone.
Greco listened for a few moments then turned to the team. “Rose Donnelly’s phone has been found in Gibbs’s flat,” he told them. “Does anybody have any ideas how to account for that?”
“The evidence is mounting up.” Grace nudged Speedy.
“Sergeant, you can interview him with me,” Greco decided. “Craig, give Professor Batho a ring and ask if he has anything on the oil yet. Grace, anything on social media?” The oil was another thing Gibbs had going for him, along with the fact he’d been in custody on Tuesday. The two combined might be enough to rule him out.
“No, sir, Rose didn’t have a Facebook account, but there might be something on her phone when it’s looked at.”
“The two of you look at Rose’s movements from the last sighting of her. Talk to neighbours, look at any CCTV you can find, work out what she did and who she spoke to. You might want to look up that woman we met the other day at her flat.”
“Mavis Bailey?”
Greco caught her eye. She had a look on her face, one he now recognised — the I knew it was important look. And she might be right. Grace had been curious about the Bailey woman and her story from the start.
“Yes, her; her story might have some relevance or it might not, but we need to build a better picture of Rose’s life.”
* * *
“Tell me about Rose Donnelly,” Greco began.
He looked at Gibbs; he was lounging back in the chair, his legs splayed as if he didn’t have a care in the world. And given the evidence they had to contradict the fingerprints, he probably hadn’t.
“Don’t know her, no idea who you mean, guv.”
“She lived on the same estate as you.”
“So — a lot of folk live on the estate, I don’t know them all.”
“Tell me about the Spinners pub. Did Rose go in there?”
“Like I said, I never met no Rose. Why don’t you go and ask her if you want to know so bad?”
“I wish I could, Mr Gibbs.”
“Why not, is she your dead ’un?”
Greco didn’t reply. “Do you walk along the canal?”
“Don’t walk if I can help it,” he grinned. “Not good for me. I’ve got a bad back, you see.”
“How’ve you spent your time this week
, Mr Gibbs?”
“In bed, in the Spinners — that’s right, isn’t it, copper?” He looked at Quickenden who nodded. “And I spent most of Tuesday here, even slept here if you remember.”
Greco was well aware of that. Natasha Barrington said Rose had died on Tuesday. He rubbed his forehead. They needed Gibbs to help them. “Get him a coffee,” he told Quickenden, and left the room.
He sat at his desk and accessed the interim report about Rose which Natasha Barrington had put on the system. There was no doubt, she’d died on Tuesday. The cause of death was catastrophic blood loss following the severing of the arteries in her neck. Prior to that her abdomen had been opened and her intestines removed, inch by inch. There was also a great deal of morphine in her system, which, given what she’d been put through was probably a blessing. Was Grady Gibbs capable of this, he wondered? His record had him down as a petty criminal and drug dealer. The murders of these two women were way out of his league. He called the Duggan.
“Professor Batho, I have a problem with the Rose Donnelley case.”
“In what way, Inspector?”
“The print on the peeler.”
“It belongs to Grady Gibbs, there is no mistake.”
“I don’t doubt it does, Professor, but the problem I have is that I don’t think he is our man. Other evidence we have conflicts with that theory.”
“On its own the print simply tells you that Gibbs had the peeler in his possession at some time, that he touched it. Whether or not he was the one to remove those women’s eyes with it, is for you to determine. There is also the phone, remember, found in his flat. That has his prints on it too.”
“Are there any others apart from his?”
“Not on the surface but I’ll take the thing apart and check. I’ll rush it through and let you know.”
Greco went back to the interview room. “Take Gibbs back to the cells for now,” he told the uniformed officer. “We’ll resume later.”
“You can’t keep me here, copper. I know my rights. What have you got? If it’s a big fat nothing then you have to let me out.”
“All in good time, Mr Gibbs,” Greco told him patiently. “There will be more questions later. In the meantime I need to keep you here.”
“I’ll get out, you’ll see,” he challenged, casting a look Quickenden’s way. “I know things, things about him,” he nodded at the sergeant. “So if you keep me here I’ll talk. What d’you say now, copper?”
“Take him away,” Greco told the uniformed constable.
Once they were alone, he told Quickenden to sit down.
“Here, sir? In the interview room?”
“Yes, here, where no one else will hear what’s said. What’s he got on you, Sergeant?” Straight to the point. Greco was in no mood to listen to any more nonsense from Jed Quickenden.
“Nothing, sir. He’s bluffing.”
“I’ll ask again. What is it he’s holding over you? That alibi the other day was dodgy and now this. I think he’s blackmailing you.”
Greco watched Quickenden wrestle with the decision to confess or not.
“Despite what we’ve got, the case against Gibbs is floundering. He was here, in custody, at the time Rose was probably killed. A good lawyer will get him off. But we’d be foolish to risk taking this further if he has something on you that he can pull out of the bag whenever things get sticky for him. It could jeopardise any case we make.”
Quickenden’s face was a picture of doubt.
“I got into a card game and lost, big style,” he admitted at last.
“You lost to Gibbs and you can’t pay, that’s it isn’t it?” This was worse than Greco had imagined. What sort of a fool did something like that?
Quickenden nodded. “Craig says he was playing with marked cards. Of course Gibbs denied it. He reeled me in, let me win a little, but now I owe him, and he’s using the debt to get his own way.”
“His alibi?”
“Wasn’t genuine, but he did find that stuff on the canal bank. He didn’t take it from Brenda Hirst’s body, I’m sure of that.”
Greco shook his head. Quickenden could be sure of no such thing. “You’re a first-class idiot, Sergeant. If I go to the DCI with this you will lose your job.”
“It was a mistake. I didn’t have a choice. I know that Geegee is no killer. If I’d thought any different, I would never have gone along with it.”
That was something at least, but how to proceed? Greco knew he should take this higher straight away, but he was reluctant to take that step, and he didn’t understand why. It wasn’t like him.
“What are you going to do, sir?”
“Nothing for now. But you and Mr Gibbs do not come into contact again while he’s here — got that?”
Quickenden nodded.
“And this is the very last time I have your back, Sergeant. Do you understand?”
Quickenden mumbled yes, his face white with relief.
* * *
“Inspector, we have found further prints on Rose Donnelly’s phone that belong neither to Gibbs nor the dead woman.”
Greco sighed with relief. He’d suspected that might be the case, and it could only help his sergeant if the case against Gibbs dissolved into nothing.
“It was worth another look then,” Greco noted.
“The phone was an older one, the type where the back can be removed. The prints were on the battery.”
“Thanks, Professor, but do we know who they belong to?”
“Nothing on record, but interestingly a laptop computer was removed from Gibbs’s flat. It’s gone to IT forensics. It’s got some complex software on it that’s giving them a bit of a headache, but prints on the casing matched the unidentified ones we found on the battery.”
That was great work. It would appear that they were now looking for an unknown accomplice of Gibbs. Whoever that was must have visited his flat.
“Who does Gibbs associate with?” he asked Quickenden.
“Anyone in the Spinners who’ll give him the time of day,” was the reply.
“Who is likely to have visited his flat, spent time there?”
“No one from choice; the place is a dump. Stinks to high heaven, and he has a very unfriendly dog.”
“Well, someone has been there recently. They’ve left their prints on a laptop, Rose’s phone and no doubt on other items too. We need to know who that someone is, Sergeant, so I suggest you rack that brain of yours for possibilities.”
Chapter 17
“I hate this place,” Craig Merrick said as they pulled onto Link Road. “It’s never been any different, not even when it was first built. Council filled it full of no-hopers my gran said, and given the trouble it’s been to us ever since, she was right.”
“I used to live here myself when I was a child,” Grace told him with a smile that said, work that one out. “So not everyone on the estate is bad. I turned out alright.” She nudged him. “Rose lived in Alderley House, which is here.” She pulled up outside. “Mavis Bailey said she lived that way,” she added, pointing.
“So what now? We need an address.”
“We drive around the corner to the row of shops and then we ask.”
“I wouldn’t hold my breath. They don’t like the police around here.”
“Come on, Craig, don’t be so pessimistic. We need to speak to the woman. She pushed two grand through Rose’s letterbox the other day and I want to know why.”
“You’ve become a proper keen little cop these last couple of days. Trying to impress the boss, aren’t you?”
“What if I am. I have no intention of staying a Detective Constable for ever, Craig. I want promotion and that means doing the job right and getting noticed. You should think about it. Stop using Speedy as a role model and get real.”
“Speedy’s alright.”
“Speedy’s a bloody fool and he’ll lose the lot if he doesn’t wake up.”
The woman in the newsagents directed them to a house on the outskirts of
the estate. It was surprisingly pleasant-looking. The garden was tended and the house was freshly painted. Mavis Bailey was washing the windows as they pulled up.
“Mrs Bailey,” Grace said with a smile. “We met briefly at Rose Donnelly’s place. I wonder if we could have a chat.”
Mavis eyed the two of them suspiciously. “You’re police.”
They flashed their badges.
“We’re from Oldston CID and we’re investigating Rose’s death,” explained Grace.
The woman shook her head. “She was always bound to meet a bad end and it’s no more than she deserves. I’ve heard the rumours. Found on the canalside wasn’t she? Her insides hanging out.”
The two detectives said nothing.
“They were evil, the pair of them. They deserve everything they get for what they did to that kid. We found him, you know, me and my husband. He’s dead now, my Paul, God rest his soul.”
“Who did you find, Mrs Bailey? What kid are you talking about?”
“Rose Donnelly and that Gibbs bloke had a kid, about sixteen, seventeen years ago now. They were rotten to him. He was in a shocking state, neglected, abused. The day we found him he must have got out, escaped. He never said, but we reckon that’s what must have happened because me and Paul found him wandering along Link Road. He was in shock, terrified, we told the police and he was taken away.”
“What happened to the boy after that, do you know?” Grace asked.
“Never saw him again, from that day to this.” She shrugged. “They’ll have put him into care. He might have been fostered, or even adopted. I hope so, poor little mite.”
“And the money? Why would she give you so much?”
“Her idea of a reward, I expect. Not that I wanted anything. It was because we’d found him, the boy — her boy. She’d come into money recently, inherited or won it, I don’t know, and I don’t care. I want nothing to do with it. Way back then, I’d no idea the boy was hers. That came out years later when she got drunk one night and asked me about him. She wanted to know what I’d done with him, so I told her. I told her about taking him to the police station that day. I did think about going back to the police, telling them who he really was and about her. But what good would it have done? Years had gone by and the boy would have had a new life by then. He’d not thank me for sending that load of rubbish his way again.”
Complete Detective Stephen Greco Box Set Page 15
