by Tim Ellis
‘Is that what you’re doing now?’
Vickers laughed. ‘I’d break every bone in my body if I tried anything like that at my age.’
‘I know what you mean. So, what can I do for you?’
‘I’ve just seen your press briefing on the television news.’
‘And you’re calling to say that I’m wasted in Manchester and I should get myself over to Hollywood for the next blockbuster?’
‘No comment.’
‘I’m shocked.’
‘I was wondering what the fifteen year-old crimes you mentioned were, and who the local company is you say you’re investigating?’
‘You know I can’t tell you that, Ma’am?’
‘As an Assistant Chief Constable, and the original detective on the case, I think I can be trusted.’
‘It’s not about trust, but I have a question for you.’
‘Oh?’
‘When you were investigating the Flagg case, do you recall a company called Whitchurch Architectural Partnership?’
There was an uneasy silence.
‘It was a long time ago, Inspector. Without looking at the file . . .’ She didn’t bother finishing the sentence.
‘I understand. Well, the company used to bid for private and public design-build contracts, and if these contracts were awarded to Whitchurch, then Albert Flagg went through them with a jaundiced eye to make sure they were legally protected.’
‘Still nothing – Sorry.’
‘That’s okay. Mrs Flagg used to work at Whitchurch as a Junior Accountant as well.’
‘I didn’t really look into Albert Flagg’s wife – she wasn’t a witness or a suspect.’
‘Thanks for your help anyway, Ma’am.’
‘You’re welcome, Inspector.’
The call was disconnected.
Isherwood’s eyes narrowed. ‘You said she’d call.’
‘I did, didn’t I? What do you think?’
‘I think you’re right – she’s as dirty as the day is long, but you still have no evidence to prove that.’
‘We’ll find it.’
‘Also, aren’t you giving Jeffrey Higham the opportunity to destroy any evidence about his crimes?’
‘He’s had fifteen years to do that. My guess, is that the one piece of evidence he hasn’t been able to destroy is at 14 Hawthorn Drive in Wilmslow, because he has no idea where it is.’
Isherwood stood up. ‘I’m going home now, but I’d be interested in learning what you find at that address.’
‘Are you sure, Ma’am? I wouldn’t want to be the cause of any marital disharmony in the Isherwood household.’
‘Stop being an arsehole, Dark. Call me when you know something.’
‘Your wish is my command, Ma’am. Have a lovely day.’
Once she’d left, he took DS Joydeep Murali’s report, concerning the list of Albert Flagg’s contract oversight for Whitchurch between 1991 and 2002, from the fax machine and read the Sergeant’s conclusion:
Dear DI Dark,
This is Joydeep here. I am looking at the list you have been kind enough to be sending me and there is most definitely something not quite right with the award of public design-build contracts to Whitchurch Architectural Partnership. In my comparison with other companies who have bid for the same contracts, Whitchurch were awarded them ninety-three percent of the time, which is being a disproportionate percentage. In my humble opinion, this company warrants further investigation.
Yours most sincerely,
Joydeep Murali
The DS you most fortunately contacted from the Fraud Squad.
Chapter Twenty
So far, things were going according to the plan he’d formulated in his head, and he liked nothing better than when things were going to plan.
He checked his watch – ten-thirty. He made his way out to the SUV. It would probably have been quicker to walk in a straight line through Chinatown, but it was far too cold for walking. So, he took the A57 (M) ring road to reach Montague’s Safe Deposit Store on Ducie Street in twelve minutes.
‘Yes?’ a male voice asked when he pressed the buzzer on the intercom.
‘It’s DI Dark from the SCD.’
The door opened.
Wilfred Pearson – the Manager – welcomed him, and escorted him to the security off. He watched Miranda Flagg arrive in the building and make her way down to the safe deposit room, and after ten minutes she left again.
‘Was she always on her own?’
‘Yes, Sir.’
‘Did she ever say anything out of the ordinary?’
‘No, Sir.’
‘And you have no idea what she kept in the box?’
‘Absolutely not, Sir.’
‘Thanks for your time, Mister Pearson.’
‘Always happy to assist the police, Inspector.
He made his way back outside and climbed into the Rav-4. He hadn’t learned anything new. In the end, it was simply a loose end that needed tying up. He thought he had enough time to make a couple of phone calls before driving to Portman Therapy on Windmill Street for his twelve o’clock with Doctor Bird.
He phoned Hendrik first.
‘Morning, Mister dark.’
‘Hello, Hendrik. Are you and Dixie okay?’
‘We’re good.’
‘What’s the plan for today?’
‘Just at the moment, I’m following Edward Singer’s money. It’s been transferred out of the bank in Monaco and is now being routed through a number of other banks in various countries including Somalia, Eritrea, Uzbekistan, Cameroon, Mozambique, Guatemala . . . I think we have some way to go before it reaches its destination, but when it does – I’ll be waiting.’
‘If you’re busy, pass me on to Dixie.’
‘She’s in the shower.’
‘No, I don’t want to go in there with her. Can you tell her we need a signed confession from Neil Bowman at the Blackpool Echo, which includes names and dates.’
‘I’ll tell her.’
‘Good. Well, I’ll see you later.’
‘Okay, Mister Dark.’
Next, he called Lake.
‘Mmmm!’
‘I hope that’s the sound of you packing stork scissors in boxes?’
‘Definitely. How are things with you?’
‘I’ve just given a press briefing.’
‘I must have missed it.’
‘That’s what happens when you sleep in until midday.’
‘I’ve been packing boxes.’
‘Of course you have. Remember, I want you in here by nine in the morning.’
‘My short-term memory works just fine.’
‘Good. I’ll leave a list of tasks for you to complete.’
‘You’re so thoughtful.’
‘Make sure you have the boxes ready, and don’t be late.’ He ended the call.
He called Morbid.
‘Hello.’
‘It’s Dark.’
‘Oh, hello.’
‘Is everything all right?’
He could hear her crying. ‘I don’t know.’
‘What do you mean, you don’t know?’
‘The police officer you sent . . .’
‘DCI Dawn Campbell-Pegg?’
‘Yes. Well, she won’t allow us to be in the room with Alicia while she’s being interviewed.’
‘Is there a social worker there?’
‘No.’
‘One of your parents?’
‘No.’
‘Is she using video-recording equipment?’
‘No.’
‘Okay, I’ll come back to you.’ He ended the call and rang Campbell-Pegg. It went to voicemail. He wasn’t any kind of an expert in the forensic interviewing techniques of sexually abused children, but he knew the difference between credible and tainted evidence in a court of law.
He called Morbid back.
‘Yes?’
‘Are the bikers still there?’
‘My mum’s giving them a c
ooked breakfast in the conservatory.’
‘Take the phone in and let me talk to Nutcracker Jack.’
‘Just a minute.’
He waited.
‘Yeah?’
‘I need another favour, Nutcracker.’
‘Ask away?’
‘The female police officer who took over the case is interviewing Alicia.’
‘Uh huh!’
He could hear the sound of chomping.
‘I don’t think it’s being done right. In fact, I know it isn’t. Can you get Alicia out of the room and stay with her until I arrive?’
‘A bit of explanation would be helpful.’
‘The police in Blackpool were involved in the paedophile ring. I think the people in power are trying to cover it up. The police officer who’s in there appears to be sabotaging the interview.’
‘Understood.’
‘I should be there within the hour.’
The line went dead.
Bastards, he thought. A fury that he hadn’t felt for a long time welled up inside him. His plan for the day had gone to hell in a handbasket.
He phoned Portman Therapy.
‘Portman Therapy.’
‘Is that you, Milly?’
‘Who’s that?’
‘DI Dark with the phobia.’
‘I remember. You’re booked in to see Doctor Bird at twelve o’clock?’
‘That’s right, I am. Is it possible to speak to her now?’
‘You’re having a turn, are you? One moment.’
There was a short silence and then he heard a click.
‘Justine Bird?’
‘It’s Inspector Josiah Dark from the Serious Crime Division in Manchester. I was scheduled to come and see you at twelve o’clock to discuss a phobia.’
‘I have you pencilled in on my appointments schedule.’
‘I don’t know what time I’ll get to you now. Unfortunately, I have a sexually abused nine year-old girl who needs my help.’
‘First, I’m here all day, so just come when you can. Second, tell me about the girl – I may be able to offer you some assistance.’
There didn’t seem to be any reason not to tell her. He wouldn’t be providing Alicia’s name or address, she’d just be an anonymous child, so he provided her with the bare bones of Alicia’s ordeal.
‘And the police officer has been specially-training in forensic interviewing techniques?’
‘That’s my understanding.’
‘For some reason, she appears to be compromising the evidence.’
‘That’s my opinion as well.’
‘I’m concerned that the child is at risk of secondary victimisation. Children are frequently considered as “second-class” witnesses, because their credibility and mnemonic abilities are questioned, which worsens the condition of the child and creates barriers to the truth. From what you’ve told me, anyone connected to the police can be considered unreliable and could very well be deliberately distorting the evidence to suit another agenda. The child needs someone on her side – an advocate to gain her trust and protect her interests. The approach of so-called professionals can often influence, mislead, undermine, lead or hurt the children. And as a consequence, the credibility of their evidence is challenged in court. I know someone who may be able to help. Give me a minute and I’ll come back to you.’
‘Okay. Thanks.’
The line went dead.
He thought he’d been able to trust DCI Campbell-Pegg, but that trust was obviously misplaced. Well, she’d been warned about what would happen.
The phone on his desk jangled.
‘Dark.’
‘This is Chief Constable Mervyn Rathbone, Inspector.’
He turned his mobile phone onto record and placed it next to the handset.
‘You’ve called to congratulate me on a job well done, Sir?’
‘Not exactly.’
‘Then it’s unlikely that you and I have anything further to discuss.’
‘I want you to forget about publicly naming and shaming the Blackpool police officers who were involved in the paedophile ring, Dark. Consider it enough that you’ve freed Alicia Glover from their clutches, and that she’ll now get the help she needs.’
‘I can’t do that, Sir.’
‘Then you’ll be forced to. There are certain people in positions of power who have a vested interest in keeping the lid on this can of worms.’
‘The worms are already out of the can, Sir.’
He ended the call, and then played the recording back to make sure he had everything. Who were the people in positions of power? And how would they force him to keep quiet? He could imagine that obstacles would be created in the justice system at every step of the way to prevent the truth from coming out. Well, what if the truth had already come out? He sent a text to Dixie:
You have a scoop here, Dixie! Write an article, under your own name, about the abduction, cover up and rescue of Alicia Glover. Publish everything we have on the internet – names, the photographs Nutcracker took of the five men, Neil Bowman’s confession and so on. If you can get paid for the article and have it syndicated, so much the better. You also might find the attached recording interesting. Chief Constable Mervyn Rathbone is the person threatening me. And yes, you can use my name. If there are any issues, contact me. Dark.
The phone on his desk rang again.
‘Dark.’
‘It’s Justine Bird.’
‘Yes?’
‘I spoke to a Counselling Psychologist called Doctor Puddin Fowler . . .’
‘Puddin!’
‘It’s a proper girls’ name, but she’s rather sensitive about it.’
‘I can understand that.’
‘Anyway, she specialises in child advocacy and helps abused children provide credible witness testimony. She will also act as an expert witness should that be necessary.’
‘She sounds like just the person I need.’
‘Would you like me to ask her to meet you at the address? She said that once she knows the facts of the case and has talked to the child, she’ll decide whether to take the case, or not.’
‘That sounds great. The address is 3 Finchdale Drive in Altrincham. I should be there in about half an hour.’
‘I’ll let her know.’
‘Thanks for your help, Doctor.’
‘I’ll see you later, Inspector.’
He ended the call, and was just about to leave when his mobile vibrated. He turned it to record and then answered it.
‘Dark.’
‘It’s DCI Campbell-Pegg.’
‘Yes?’
‘You have no right . . .’
‘Have you been ordered to compromise the evidence?’
‘Stop being paranoid, Dark.’
‘Alicia should have an adult in the room with her.’
‘That’s not always necessary.’
‘It is. You should be recording the interview.’
‘I’m simply conducting preliminary questioning.’
‘And I’m not a complete idiot, Ma’am. I’ve already had the Chief Constable on the phone asking me to ignore any police involvement in the Blackpool paedophile ring.’
‘He’s spoken to you as well, has he?’
‘What did he say to you?’
‘I need my job, Dark.’
‘So, after telling me that they wouldn’t get to you – you let them get to you?’
‘He said that I’d be sacrificed for the greater good unless I sabotaged the child’s testimony, which would then persuade the CPS not to proceed to prosecution.’
‘I told you what would happen if you did that. The details of the case will be all over the internet within hours. You need to choose which side you’re on, Ma’am. It seems that the Chief Constable has chosen his side, and he’ll pay the price for that. You have the time it takes me to get there to decide. If you choose wrong, then I’ll release the recording of this conversation to the masses.’
He end
ed the call and made his way out.
***
As he arrived at the Glovers’ address, Doctor Puddin Fowler switched off the engine of her white Volkswagen Tiguan and came to meet him.
‘Inspector Dark?’
‘Yes.’ He shook the extended gloved hand. ‘Thanks very much for agreeing to do this.’
‘I’m still sitting on the fence at the moment.’ She was slim, in her late thirties with brown pigtails protruding from beneath a black fur Cossack hat.
‘I understand. I don’t know if Doctor Bird warned you, but we have the added problem that police officers were part of the paedophile ring in Blackpool. Senior officers are now trying to cover the whole sordid business up, but I’m not going to let them do that.’
‘No, that would be a betrayal of everything the girl has been through.’
‘Exactly.’
Finchdale Drive was a sought-after cul-de-sac in Altrincham, which boasted detached houses priced upwards of three-quarters of a million pounds. Number three was a detached four-bedroom property with landscaped gardens, a double garage and three – mostly chrome – Harley Davidson choppers parked on the block paving drive.
Dark used the brass door knocker, that was shaped like a lion’s head, to announce their arrival.
Mrs Glover opened the door.
He introduced himself and Doctor Fowler, and then stood to one side to let the psychologist go in first. Just as he was about to enter, a black Range Rover screeched to a halt on the road. Five men wearing bullet-proof vests with “POLICE” printed on them and carrying Glock 19s jumped out of the vehicle.’
‘Shut the door,’ he said to Mrs Glover.
He walked back down the path and stood in the opening at the front gate like a concrete bollard, which was a pointless exercise because the wrought-iron gates to the drive had been left open, and the men could simply have walked past him through there.
‘Can I help you?’ he said.
One of the men with curly hair and a bent nose held out a Warrant Card. ‘DCI Paul Chambers from Blackpool CID. Stand aside.’
He flashed his own Warrant Card. ‘DI Dark. You obviously took a wrong turn on the M61. You’re in Greater Manchester now, not Blackpool.’
‘We have the authority to be here from your Chief Constable.’
