Josiah Dark Thrillers Box Set

by Tim Ellis

  Hendrik said, ‘There was an article in the Birmingham Mercury, which stated that he’d died three days previously on Saturday, May 12, 2004, which was also the same night he was photographed with Ellie in that bar. He’d had his throat slit, but the article didn’t say he’d been mutilated, I had to find that out from the forensic report. The pathologist also suggested that Derwent was awake when the killer cut off his dick.’

  He grimaced and took a swallow of beer. ‘I can’t even imagine how that might feel.’

  ‘Hendrik also obtained the police report,’ Dixie said. ‘It made reference to another investigation from nine months earlier.’

  ‘Oh?’

  Just then, Hendrik’s phone began playing the Imperial March from Star Wars, so he answered it.

  ‘Yes? . . . Christ!’ He put his hand over the phone. ‘No sooner had they arrived, than they had to intervene, Mister Dark.’

  Flowers hadn’t even received the information yet. He didn’t know the address, but he had known it was in Blackpool. Dark held out his hand for the phone.

  Hendrik put it on loudspeaker instead. ‘Nutcracker?’

  ‘Yeah, Hatchet?’

  Hendrik’s brow furrowed. ‘You’re on loudspeaker. Mister Dark is here and wants to speak to you?’

  ‘Okay.’

  ‘Have you got the girl . . . Nutcracker?’ He felt self-conscious calling someone Nutcracker, but probably not as self-conscious as Nutcracker himself.

  ‘Yeah. We had to crack a few nuts in the process, but we’ve got her.’

  ‘And what about the people who had her?’

  ‘There were five of them. Three at the address, and two who turned up in a black van. All five of them are now tied up like hogs in the back of the van. We also took some mugshots as well. In case they try to slip away.’

  ‘And you’re all safe?’

  He heard laughter and voices.

  ‘Yeah. What do you want us to do with the girl?’

  ‘How is she?’

  ‘Apart from being scared shitless, she seems fine to us. If what Hatchet says about the girl being missing for three years is true though, then I guess she’s not fine at all.’

  ‘Thanks, Nutcracker,’ he said. ‘And thank Crazy and Psycho for me as well.’

  ‘Hey! It was a pleasure to get back into the game.’

  ‘I need to make a call on another phone, and then I’ll let you know what the plan is.’

  ‘We’ll hang slack then.’

  He called Morbid.

  It took a while for her to answer, but it was after midnight and not everybody stayed up working into the small hours. ‘Hello?’

  ‘Morbid?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘It’s Dark.’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘I have Alicia. What’s your address?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Some people have rescued Alicia from a house in Blackpool and they need a place to take her.’

  ‘Oh God! Really?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘My parent’s house. Number 3 Finchdale Drive in Altrincham. I’ll drive over there and let them know they’re on the way.’

  ‘The three people who’ll arrive with Alicia are bikers, so don’t be alarmed.’

  ‘Okay.’

  ‘And I’ll ask them to stay with you, just in case.’

  ‘In case of what?’

  ‘In case the people who had Alicia try to snatch her back. She can send them to prison for a long time. Also, I’m going to arrange for a specially-trained female police officer to come over and act as liaison. And you know how it goes Morbid, make sure your parents understand that this is only the beginning. If we’re going to put these bastards behind bars, then we have a lot of work to do.’

  ‘I understand, Inspector.’

  ‘Good.’

  ‘And . . . Thank you.’

  ‘We’re not there yet, Morbid. I’ll speak to you soon.’

  He ended the call and then switched his attention back to Nutcracker on Hendrik’s phone. ‘Nutcracker?’

  ‘Yeah?’

  ‘Number 3 Finchdale Drive in Altrincham.’

  ‘Gotcha.’

  ‘And can you stay there with them until the morning – just in case?’

  ‘Sure thing.’

  ‘I’ll send a squad car over as well, but I don’t trust coppers as far as I can throw them.’

  Nutcracker let out a laugh. ‘Likewise.’

  Using his own phone, he called the Duty Sergeant at Bootle Street.

  ‘Sergeant Goff.’

  ‘It’s DI Dark, Sergeant.’

  ‘You’re working late, Sir.’

  ‘Yes, I am. I need a senior officer who’s been trained in investigative interviewing of child sex abuse victims.’

  ‘Now?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘I’ll speak to the Duty Inspector, Sir.’

  He was put on hold for a handful of seconds.

  ‘This is Sally Bright, Dark.’

  ‘I haven’t seen you since Noah built the ark.’

  ‘That’s because when I’m working, you’re usually tucked up in your bed sleeping like a baby. What’s this about a child sex abuse victim?’

  ‘It’s a long story, Sally. I have a child who’s been rescued from a location in Blackpool. She’s being taken to her parent’s house in Altrincham, but I need a specially-trained senior officer in child abuse there to make sure things are done right. It’s not my case. In fact, it’s not anyone’s case.’

  ‘Detective Chief Inspector Dawn Campbell-Pegg is the person you need. Do you want her number?’

  ‘Please.’

  Sally gave him the number.

  He wrote it down in his notebook.

  ‘While I’m calling her, can you get me the number of the Director responsible for Child Sexual Exploitation and Abuse at CEOP Command? And don’t, under any circumstances, contact the duty officer – Chief Inspector Tom Flowers. Also, send a squad car over to 3 Finchdale Drive in Altrincham as witness protection, and tell them to leave the three bikers alone.’

  ‘That’s a bit cryptic.’

  ‘They’re the ones who rescued the girl, and they’ll be standing guard just in case.’

  ‘Understood.’

  He ended the call and keyed in DCI Campbell-Pegg’s number.

  ‘This had better be good?’

  ‘It’s DI Dark from the basement at Bootle Street.’

  ‘I’ve heard rumours of your existence. Why are you waking me up in the middle of the night, Dark?’

  ‘I have a nine year-old girl called Alicia Glover who was abducted in Blackpool three years ago. Three bikers have just rescued her from a paedophile’s house there, and they’re taking her to her parents’ address at 3 Finchdale Drive in Altrincham.’

  ‘She’s been held for three years?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Jesus! I’m a bit confused though.’

  ‘Only a bit?’

  ‘Why aren’t Blackpool’s Abingdon Street Police Station detectives dealing with it?’

  ‘The paedophile ring includes five coppers.’

  ‘Tell me you’re joking, Dark?’

  ‘I don’t do jokes, Ma’am.’

  ‘Jesus!’

  ‘You’ve said that.’

  ‘And you want me to do what?’

  ‘I’m a murder detective. I already have a handful of murders I’m dealing with at the moment. You’re a child abuse detective. I’d like you to take over the Alicia Glover case.’

  ‘Me?’

  ‘Unless you feel you’re not up to it, Ma’am?’

  ‘You’re bordering on the insubordinate, Dark.’

  ‘Well?’

  ‘What about Abingdon Street detectives?’

  ‘They’re obviously compromised.’

  ‘Yes . . . CEOP Command?’

  ‘Compromised.’

  ‘Don’t be ridiculous.’

  His voice had an edge to it. ‘I’ll tell you what’s ridiculous, Ma�
��am. I call the Duty Officer – Chief Inspector Tom Flowers – at CEOP Command, and within half an hour of my call the paedophiles are trying to spirit the child to another location in the back of a van. Thankfully, I took precautions. I had people there ready to intervene if the bastards tried to move the girl before armed police arrived, and that’s exactly what happened. If I hadn’t . . .’ He left her to draw her own conclusions.

  ‘I’ll take the case, but how are you involved?’

  ‘I’m not really. Her sister is a mortuary assistant at Wythenshawe Hospital. I was attending a post-mortem there and she asked me if I’d look into it.’

  ‘You’re taking private cases now?’

  ‘I’m a sucker for tears.’

  ‘So, you already have information on the case?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Send me copies of what you have.’

  He wrote down her email address and passed it to Hendrik. ‘It’ll all be with you in about five minutes. Also, I probably don’t need to say this . . .’

  ‘Well, don’t then.’

  ‘Certain high-ranking people will try to sweep this under the rug the dog sleeps on. I can tell you that I won’t allow that to happen, Ma’am. If they get to you, I’ll make it public. If anything happens to me, other people will make it public. The truth will out, as they say – one way or another.’

  ‘Don’t worry, Dark. Nobody is going to get to me.’

  ‘I hope not, Ma’am. And I’d be grateful if you didn’t make any mistakes in collecting the evidence from Alicia Glover, because then I’d have to think that they had got to you.’

  ‘You’re paranoid, Dark.’

  ‘I’m realistic, Ma’am.’

  He ended the call and phoned Sally Bright back.

  ‘I’ve sent the squad car, Dark.’

  ‘Thanks.’

  She gave him the number for Peter Worth – the Director responsible for Child Sexual Exploitation and Abuse at CEOP Command, and he wrote it down.

  ‘Thanks, Sally.’

  ‘Don’t let the bed bugs bite.’

  ‘I wish they were given the opportunity.’

  He called the number she’d given him, and was about to give up when it was answered by a woman.

  ‘Hello?’

  ‘Is Mister Worth there, please?’

  ‘Just a minute.’

  He could hear somebody being woken up.

  ‘Peter Worth.’

  ‘My name’s DI Josiah Dark from the Serious Crime Division in Manchester. I’m a murder detective, but that’s not why I’m calling you, Sir.’

  ‘Why are you calling me, Inspector?’

  ‘I’d like to know what type of organisation you’re running there? I also want to know if there’s anybody in your organisation who I can trust.’

  ‘You’re treading on very dangerous ground, Inspector.’

  ‘Then I’m in good company, Sir.’ He told Worth about Alicia Glover; about calling the duty officer, Chief Inspector Tom Flowers; about the paedophiles trying to move Alicia within half an hour of his call; about the intervention by Nutcracker and his mates; about the five people secured in the back of the van outside the address in Blackpool; and about DCI Campbell-Pegg taking over Alicia Glover’s case.’

  ‘I’m beginning to think this is one of those early morning test scenarios, Inspector.’

  ‘It’s not, Sir. I shouldn’t have to tell you your job, but Flowers needs to be arrested before he can warn anybody else. I’m sure that if you check his phone records, he’ll have made that call from a second phone. Also, the five men in the back of the van need to be taken into custody, and then there’s the need for a forensic team to be sent to the address in Blackpool . . . Do I need to go on, Sir?’

  ‘No, Inspector. You don’t need to tell me my job.’

  ‘What I will tell you is the same thing I told DCI Campbell-Pegg – no sweeping it under the rug, Sir. If anyone tries to do that, the proverbial will hit the fan.’

  ‘I have work to do, Inspector.’

  ‘You certainly do.’

  The line went dead.

  Hendrik handed him another beer. ‘Nutcracker called. The three of them are taking things easy in the conservatory with hotdogs and a couple of beers until the morning.’

  ‘That’s good to hear.’

  ‘He said the squad car’s outside as well.’

  He took a swig of his beer. He guessed there’d be consequences for talking to senior officers in the way he had, but he didn’t care – he was angry. The police were meant to protect and serve, and yet here he was knee-deep in filth and corruption. Well, it wasn’t good enough anymore – if it had ever been good enough. Police officers needed to be held accountable. For a paedophile ring to be able to flourish in the Abingdon Street Police Station in Blackpool, senior officers had to be involved. A quiet retirement on full pension was unacceptable. These people had to be subject to a public flogging and the full weight of the law.

  ‘If something happens to me,’ he said. ‘Put everything on the internet. Don’t let any of the bastards get away with it.’

  ‘You can trust us, Mister Dark.’

  ‘So, you were telling me that the police report on Colin Derwent’s murder made reference to another investigation?’

  Dixie nodded. ‘He was accused of rape by a woman called Heather Tobin. The police arrested and charged him on the advice of the Crown Prosecution Service, but when he went to court he was found not guilty due to a lack of evidence.’

  ‘Which would explain the mutilation?’

  ‘That’s the general consensus.’

  He screwed up his face. ‘Surely, if that’s the case, then the main suspect would be Heather Tobin, wouldn’t it?’

  ‘That’s exactly what I said to Hendrik, but then we discovered that she was in hospital having her appendix removed at the time.’

  ‘Then it must have been someone connected to her – a brother, boyfriend, father . . . Someone like that?’

  ‘You’d be the expert, of course, but from what we’ve seen of the investigation in the police report, they did a pretty good job and seemed to have checked out every one of her male and female connections – nothing.’

  ‘She could have paid someone to kill Derwent?’

  ‘They investigated that idea as well – nothing. In the end, no one was charged with Derwent’s murder . . . Did I mention the DNA?’

  ‘No, you didn’t mention any DNA.’

  ‘The Prozac must be affecting my memory. The pathologist found a sample of DNA in his genital area, but there was no match on the database in 2004.’

  ‘What about the regular case reviews?’

  ‘They found a match in 2009.’

  ‘There you are then,’ Dark said. ‘Case closed.’

  ‘Unfortunately, it belonged to a man who was in police custody at the time Derwent was murdered.’

  ‘How is that possible?’

  ‘It’s not. Somebody switched the sample while it was in the evidence store at Jewellery Quarter Police Station in Birmingham.’

  ‘And they found out who switched it?’

  ‘No. Apparently, they think it was swapped during a power outage, which activated a fire evacuation and disabled the CCTV cameras. Of course, they thought it was a simple power cut, and it wasn’t until the annual review six months later that they discovered the DNA sample had been switched.’

  ‘Sometimes, police incompetence beggars belief.’

  Dixie grunted. ‘We’re thinking that you should be grateful for occasional bouts of police incompetence.’

  He pulled a face. ‘You’ve got it in your head that the DNA belonged to Ellie, haven’t you?’

  ‘Have you heard of Occam’s razor?’

  ‘The simplest hypothesis is preferred?’

  ‘And Ellie being the murderer is the simplest hypothesis.’

  ‘That’s ridiculous. Why would she murder Derwent? What was her motive? She wouldn’t cut a man’s penis off and stuff it into his mout
h. No, I don’t believe it.’

  Dixie tapped the three photographs. ‘You wouldn’t have believed that she lied to you about working for the catering company, and instead went to hotel bars dressed like a prostitute to pick up men until Hendrik found the photographs.’

  ‘That’s different.’

  ‘I don’t see how.’

  ‘There must be another explanation.’

  ‘Who do you think switched the DNA?’

  ‘You said the CCTV cameras weren’t working, so any name you put forward is mere speculation.’

  ‘Anthony Baker.’

  ‘You can’t know that.’

  ‘Fire regulations stipulate that an accurate record is to be kept of all people in the building at any one time. Chief Superintendent Anthony Baker – which was his rank at the time – signed into the station half an hour before the power outage, and then signed out half an hour afterwards.’

  ‘What was he doing there?’

  ‘The signing in record stated that he had a meeting with a Chief Inspector Rose Allsopp on the third floor.’

  ‘Well, if he was meeting her . . .’

  ‘He wasn’t. She wasn’t even in the building at the time.’

  ‘Where was she?’

  ‘No idea.’

  ‘And it’s your considered opinion that if he wasn’t meeting her, then he was disabling the power and switching the DNA sample in the evidence store?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Why would he do that?’

  Dixie paced up and down in front of the wall. ‘That’s the burning question, isn’t it? Ellie must have known Baker long before she went away to live with him. Why would he risk his whole career to switch a DNA sample in a police station evidence store that linked your wife to a murder in 2004?’

  He had no logical answers anymore, and he’d run out of excuses to defend Ellie. Is that what his wife was – a vicious murderer? But why? How ironic would that be? And, in a sense, comical! A murder detective who was the last to know that his wife was a murderer. He could hear the laughter reverberating inside his head. They’d say he couldn’t detect his way out of a wet paper bag. Why would Ellie lie to him, travel to Birmingham to meet a man she didn’t know in a hotel bar, and then murder him? None of it made any sense. And then, why would Baker risk everything five years later for another man’s wife, to switch a DNA sample?

  ‘I agree, the circumstantial evidence is damning, but I’m still not convinced that it is the way it appears to be. There are still too many unanswered questions.’