by Tim Ellis
‘What do you want?’
Chambers slid a piece of paper out from beneath his vest. ‘I have a Court Order here. You’re holding a protected child witness in an ongoing investigation who was abducted in the early hours of this morning, and we’d like her back.’
He took the Court Order from Chambers, examined it briefly, screwed it up and tossed it over his shoulder. ‘That isn’t going to happen.’
The men raised their weapons.
His lip curled up. ‘Are you going to add murder to your list of crimes?’
Just then, he heard something behind him.
‘Need any help?’ Nutcracker asked, as he held his phone up and took a couple of photographs of the men. ‘Say cheese.’
Nutcracker Jack, Crazy Keith and Psycho Spike had come out of the house to lend a hand.
The other police officers behind DCI Chambers began moving forward.
Chambers said to the bikers, ‘You three are under arrest for child abduction, actual bodily harm and trespassing.’
Nutcracker Jack laughed. ‘You should be on the stage. We’d come and see you for a laugh, wouldn’t we guys?’
The other two nodded, but they didn’t laugh.
Just then, a deafening noise rumbled along the road towards them. There must have been at least twenty members of the Dark Warriors Motorcycle Club on an assortment of motorbikes. They came to a stop encircling the Range Rover and the five police officers.
‘A few of the gang came for a visit,’ Nutcracker said.
Chambers and the other officers lowered their weapons and began moving back towards the vehicle. ‘This isn’t over, Dark.’
‘You’re right, Chambers. You might want to take a look on the internet. I can imagine that you and your friends will soon be taking things easy in Strangeways.’
The men climbed into the Range Rover and snaked out of the cul de sac through the bikes to the main road.
Dark went to every one of the bikers and shook their hands. ‘Thanks for coming,’ he said.
‘You guys look like shit,’ Nutcracker said, looking like shit himself.
They all laughed.
Mrs Glover and Morbid appeared with trays full of a variety of cups and mugs filled with steaming hot drinks and packets of digestive biscuits.
Dark bent down, picked up the Court Order, smoothed it out and passed it to Nutcracker. ‘Can you take a photograph of that, send it with the other pictures to Hendrik and tell him what happened here?’
‘Sure thing.’
After Nutcracker had photographed the Court Order, he took it back, folded it up, slipped it into a plastic evidence bag and put it into his pocket. How had Chambers tricked a Magistrate into signing an illegal Court Order? Either, Chambers had provided false information, or the Magistrate was another rotten apple in the barrel.
He made his way back to the house.
DCI Campbell-Pegg had organised the study so that she could conduct the forensic interview according to accepted police protocol. The recording equipment, which she’d brought with her in the boot of her car, had been set up in the corner of the room.
‘I’ve made my choice,’ she said to him.
‘And a wise one it is, if you don’t mind me saying so, Ma’am.’
‘I hope I’m not going to live to regret my decision, Dark?’
‘You won’t. I have a funny feeling that the Chief Constable and a number of other senior officers will be forced to resign before tomorrow is over.’
Doctor Fowler was sitting talking with Alicia.
He bent down on one knee. ‘Everything all right here?’
Fowler nodded. ‘Alicia’s a very strong girl and she’ll turn out fine. She knows we have a long way to go before she can move on with her life, but she also knows that we have to make that journey.’
Alicia leant forward and put her arms around his neck. ‘Thank you, Mister Dark.’
He smiled. ‘I didn’t do anything, Alicia. It was all down to those three ugly men on motorcycles.’
Alicia laughed. ‘Nutcracker said I can be a Dark Warrior.’
‘I’m sure your parents will be overjoyed at the prospect.’ He held her hands and stared at her. She was still a child, but it seemed that she had enough resources behind the pain in her eyes to move beyond the ordeal that the monsters had put her through. ‘Tell the police officer everything, Alicia. Don’t think it was ever your fault – it wasn’t. Don’t be ashamed, and don’t hold anything back. Nobody will hurt you again.’ He gave her one of his cards. ‘There’s my number. If you ever need me, or you just want to talk, you can call me anytime. I have two daughters around your age as well.’
She nodded.
He walked into the living room. Now, he had finished with the Alicia Glover case. Until, of course, it went to court, but that wouldn’t be for a while. Certain people, hiding in the shadows, would try to stop that from ever happening, but Dixie’s story would go a long way towards balancing the books, and Alicia’s testimony would put the men responsible behind bars for a long time.
Mister Glover shook his hand. ‘Thank you for bringing my little girl back home, Inspector.’
‘I’m glad we were able to find her.’
Morbid hugged him. ‘We’d all given up hope of ever seeing Alicia alive again.’
‘It’s hardly surprising. I’m just sorry that you were betrayed by the people who had taken an oath to protect and serve, but work is already underway to ensure that all those involved get their just desserts. Unfortunately, Alicia will need to be a part of that, but she seems strong, and DCI Campbell-Pegg and Doctor Fowler will be with her all the way.’
‘And she’s got us,’ Mrs Glover said, squeezing his hand.
He nodded. ‘Of course. And if there’s ever anything else I can do for you, Morbid . . . Maud knows how to contact me.’
After saying his goodbyes, he made his way out of the house and began walking down the path towards his Rav-4, but before he reached it, his phone vibrated.
‘Dark?’
‘It’s Constable Janet Underhill from Central Dispatch, Sir.’
‘Yes, Constable.’
‘A body has been found at Brabyns Park in Marple Bridge, Sir.’ He had an idea that the body belonged to Joseph Corbyn, which was exactly why nobody could find him.
‘Are Forensics, the Pathologist and the Crime Scene Manager on their way?’
‘Yes, Sir.’
‘Okay. Let them know I’ll be there in about half an hour.’
‘Yes, Sir.’
His plan wasn’t a plan anymore – it had become a footnote to the day. However, Marple wasn’t too far away from Wilmslow, and maybe once he’d finished at the crime scene, he could shuffle his plan and travel on to 14 Hawthorn Drive, thereby salvaging something from the wreckage.
There was no need to contact Doctor Bird at Portman Therapy, she was expecting him when he got there.
He started the engine and headed towards the M56. The satnav advised him it would take thirty-five minutes to reach Marple Bridge.
Chapter Twenty-One
‘Where’s the body, Burrows?’ he said, as he ducked through the tent flap. ‘And why is there a litter bin, a notice board and a gravel container in here?’
He’d turned left at the bottom of Brabyns Brow, just before the bridge over the River Goyt into Marple Bridge, followed the road until he found the car park, a section of which had been taped off with crime scene tape. There were still cars arriving, parking up and spilling out children and dogs. The press and television cameras were already there and far too close to the crime scene for comfort. A van selling hot dogs and onions, jacket potatoes with a selection of fillings, cheeseburgers with fries and hot drinks had set up not far away. Sergeant Polly Rosen – the Crime Scene Manager – was late again. He’d have to have words with her boss. He didn’t like dropping people in it, but a compromised crime scene was no good to anybody.
There were two uniformed officers standing by the tape with their thum
bs pushed in their utility belts like bouncers outside a nightclub, but otherwise doing nothing in particular.
‘Names?’ he asked, while showing his Warrant Card.
‘I’m Wood, and he’s Millard, Sir.’
‘I want everything and everyone moved out of the car park and back to the entrance. That’s where you need to put the tape. Also, one of you should move up the path . . .’ He pointed to his right. ‘And string tape across there as well. This is a crime scene, not a public event.’
‘I’m sorry?’ Wood said.
‘I didn’t realise they were letting people who were audibly-challenged into the force now?’
‘It’s just that . . . Well, everybody’s here, and they’ve made themselves comfortable.’
‘You heard me, Constable.’
‘Yes, Sir.’
‘The body is in the litter bin, Sir,’ Burrows said. ‘We had to manoeuvre the tent and position it this way, so that the bin for the dog waste wasn’t in the tent as well.’
‘I thought there was a bit of a whiff in here, but I didn’t want to say anything in case it was you.’
‘You’re all heart, Sir.’
He squatted down to peer inside the opening of the black aluminium litter bin. Sure enough, there was a corpse staring back at him. ‘That’s a first.’
‘Scary, isn’t it, Sir?’
‘I can imagine it would be for a child walking past, but you need to get a grip of yourself, Burrows. Who found it?’
‘A dog walker, Sir. He has two French Bulldog puppies called Hercules and Gigi – they’re really sweet.’
‘That’s very interesting, but what’s the man’s name?’
‘Oh yes! He’s called Walter Moriarty.’ She passed him a piece of paper. ‘That’s his address.’
‘You let him go.’
‘I’m not a police officer, Sir. I asked him to stay, but he said he had better things to do with his time than stand around here waiting for you to arrive. He didn’t know anything anyway. He saw the body, but thought it might be a mannequin because there were film crews here last week, so he took a closer look . . .’
‘Did he touch the body?’
‘He poked the face, so I took a DNA sample from him for elimination purposes. He said he’d be at home if you wanted to talk to him. So I wrote down his address.’
‘Where’s Professor Finn?’
‘Not here, Sir.’
‘I can see that. Any idea where he is?’
The tent flap opened.
‘Fear not Dark, the cavalry is here.’
‘I was beginning to think that Burrows and I were the only ones working today.’
The Professor put his bag down and looked around for the body. ‘Is this an early April Fool’s prank?’
‘The body’s in the bin, Professor,’ Burrows said, pointing at the litter bin as if he might have had trouble spotting it.
The Professor bent down and peered in through the opening. ‘Well, I never. Have you tried removing the outer covering of the bin?’ he directed at Burrows.
‘It’s locked in position. I’ve sent someone to obtain a special key to unlock it.’ She pointed to the locking mechanism. ‘It’s a square male. We need a square female to unlock it.’
‘Don’t we all?’ the Professor said. ‘Unfortunately, Mrs Finn is a round female.’
Dark’s face wrinkled up. ‘I’m assuming the man didn’t climb into the bin backwards through the opening and die in there. And if that’s the case, the killer must have had a key to open the bin, because it can only be locked from the outside. Who carries a litter bin key around with them? It’s not as if they’re that common, is it? Does this park have a park-keeper, Burrows?’
‘His name is Donald Hicks, but he only works Monday to Friday. He also has a number of voluntary helpers, but they don’t work at weekends either.’
‘I want the names of all the so-called helpers as soon as you can get it.’
‘Yes, Sir.’
He examined the litter bin openings – front and back – and the round hole at the base of the bin, which housed the locking pin. The scratches could have occurred at any time and didn’t help him to draw any conclusions about how the man had ended up inside the bin. ‘Stand in front of the bin, Burrows.’
‘Me, Sir?’
‘Your name is still Burrows, isn’t it?’
She shuffled in front of the bin.
Dark and the professor squatted, so that the opening and Burrows’ hips were at eye-level.
‘What do you think, Professor?’
‘About Burrows?’
He grunted. ‘About whether an adult body could climb, or be stuffed, into the bin through that opening.’
‘Ah! The hips?’
‘And the shoulders.’
They compared the size of Burrows’ hips against the opening, moving her left and right to try and get a better idea of whether her hips would fit through the opening.
Dark scratched his head through the hood of the paper suit. ‘Are female hips different to men’s hips, Professor? I mean, because they’re able to have babies, are they wider, more flexible and bendy?’
‘Ah! Now that’s an interesting question, Dark. Recent research has found that those who engage in regular one-night stands have wider hips than those who don’t.’
‘That’s interesting.’
The professor nodded. ‘It is, isn’t it?’
He looked up. ‘Well, Burrows?’
‘Well what, Sir?’
‘Do you have regular one-night stands?’
‘I don’t think that’s any of your business, Sir.’
‘We’re trying to conduct valid and reliable scientific research here, Burrows. As a scientist yourself, I thought you’d be able to put any personal hang-ups aside to assist us.’
‘No.’
‘No, you don’t have regular one-night stands, or no you won’t help us?’
‘I don’t have regular one-night stands.’
‘That surprises me. Does it you, Professor?’
‘Slightly, but there’s a bigger issue here’
‘Oh?’
‘The term “regular” isn’t very scientific. For example, how many one-night stands per week are considered to be “regular”? And at what point does “regular” become “irregular”? If we’re going to do this properly, we’ll have to define the terms accurately.’
Dark rubbed the stubble on his chin. ‘That’s true. So, how many one-night stands do you have a week, Burrows?’
Burrows moved from in front of the litter bin. ‘I’m not comfortable with this line of questioning, Sir.’
The two men laughed.
‘We’re having you on, Burrows,’ Dark said.
‘I guessed as much.’
A middle-aged man stuck his head through the tent flap and held out a T-shaped key.
‘Thank you, Alec,’ Burrows said, taking the key from him. She bent at the knees, put the key into the round hole at the base of the bin and turned it.
They all heard a click.
Between them, one on either side of the bin, Dark and Burrows lifted off the metal casing to reveal a corpse with long matted hair, filthy skin and an unkempt beard stuffed into the black plastic bag inside the inner metal bin.
‘I’m guessing this is Joseph Corbyn,’ Dark said. ‘The homeless man we’ve been searching for, and who was a possible witness to Toby Flagg’s murder.’
The professor said, ‘I think we can safely say he didn’t wriggle in there of his own volition.’
‘He’d have had to have been a contortionist.’
‘It’s possible, but unlikely.’ The professor glanced at Burrows. ‘I think we need a couple of your people to get him out of there.’
Burrows nodded and ducked out through the tent flap.
‘Come on, Dark,’ the professor said. ‘They’ll need to take photographs and start recording the crime scene. Let’s go outside and get some fresh air.’
They exited t
he tent to give forensic officers the space to work in.
‘What’s going on, Dark?’ the professor said.
‘You know as much as me, Professor. If not more.’
‘Mrs Finn was glued to the television for your update. Normally, she knows who the killer is before you do, but she said she never saw that one coming about it being connected to crimes from fifteen years ago.’
‘It’s loosely connected tell her, but only insofar as it brought Toby Flagg back to Marple. It wasn’t the reason he was murdered. I merely said that as a way of luring out the perpetrators of the crimes that Lake and I have stumbled over while investigating Toby Flagg’s murder. The truth is, I have no idea who killed him.’
‘Talking of DC Lake, where is she?’
‘Day off.’
‘You’re going soft in your old age, Dark.’
‘It’s true. I’m my own worst enemy.’
‘Oh! And I should thank you for helping Morbid.’
‘The least I could do.’
A bald-headed man in a duffel coat approached. ‘DI Dark?’
‘Yes.’
‘Sergeant Ed Norman, Sir. I’m your Crime Scene Manager.’
‘About time. Where’s Rosen?’
‘Day off, Sir.’
‘Don’t people work for a living anymore? Why are you late?’
‘I wasn’t on duty, Sir. The Sergeant who was on duty – Sergeant Abercrombie – had a stroke as he was leaving his house.’
‘Is he all right?’
‘He’s still alive, Sir – just. They had to call an ambulance, and by the time they contacted me . . .’
‘I understand, Sergeant. Okay. Well, this place is like a public park. Seal it off, so that forensics have a chance to search for untainted evidence.’
‘Yes, Sir,’ Norman said, and hurried off.
Burrows stuck her head out through the flap. ‘Ready when you are.’
They shuffled back into the tent.
The corpse was lying on its back on the plastic sheeting, frozen in the same position as it had been inside the litter bin, with its knees drawn up to its chest and the fingers of both hands interlocked. It reminded Dark of a gargoyle on the battlements of a Gothic house.
‘We can’t extend his legs,’ Burrows said.
