Fear the Past

by J M Dalgliesh

  “Someone’s here,” Caslin said, grasping the padlock securing the makeshift gate in place. He shook it. The padlock was solid and held firm.

  “It’s almost as if they were expecting us,” Hunter said.

  “There’s a shock,” Caslin replied with a wry grin. Looking to the portacabin he could see the lights were on inside. He beckoned one of the team over. The officer approached with a set of bolt croppers in hand. “They just don’t want to make it easy, that’s all. Heads up everyone,” Caslin said, addressing all of those present. “They’ll do everything they can to get in our way. Don’t let them distract you and watch your backs… and each other’s.”

  The officer struggled for a few moments before a reassuring snap was heard and the padlock dropped away, clattering to the ground. The sound of metal on metal followed as the chain was dragged clear. Two officers lifted one end of the fence and levered it away and to the left allowing them access to the compound. The moment Caslin took a step inside the perimeter he heard a whistle, shrill and high-pitched but he didn’t know where it originated from. Something seen in the corner of his eye made him turn, looking towards the rear of the site. From behind the scaffolding, roughly sixty feet away, he saw a blur of movement as several figures flashed past open sections of the building.

  “What have we got here?” he heard Hunter say from behind. Everyone stopped as three dogs came into view. Caslin wasn’t a fan of dogs, particularly Dobermans approaching at great speed. Instinctively, he took a step back. Looking to his left he didn’t need to give the instruction as both officers who’d cleared their route were rapidly setting the barrier back into place. They managed to do so just in time as the animals arrived. They were clearly well trained as they came to a stop a few yards from them. Their ears were pricked and two of them stood their ground, eyeing the visitors intently. The third edged closer, walking the length of the fence as if assessing them. There was no growling, snarling or even a bark. They were there to deter people from entering the compound. Caslin admired their efficiency.

  In the background, the door to the portacabin open and a figure emerged. It was Carl Fuller. He didn’t approach them, merely folded his arms across his chest and leaned his shoulder against the building. Caslin held a fold of paper in his hands. Realising Carl had zero intention of coming over, he unfurled it. Holding it aloft against the fence, he called out.

  “We are here to execute a search warrant!”

  Carl shrugged, “I’m not stopping you.”

  “You’ve got twenty seconds to call your dogs off…” Caslin called, pointing at the animals. One of which was now standing before him with its head cocked.

  “Or what?” Carl countered.

  “Or I’ll bloody shoot them,” Caslin shouted. He didn’t have an armed officer present and, in reality, he would never carry out such a drastic action but nonetheless, he made his point. Carl Fuller watched him for a few moments longer before stepping away from the wall. He poked his head back inside the portacabin, conversing with someone. Caslin saw him nod in response to something that was said and he turned. Putting two fingers in his mouth, he whistled and two of the three dogs visibly appeared to relax and turn away, trotting off in Carl’s direction. The one staring at Caslin held its gaze for the briefest of moments before it, too, turned away and ran to join the others.

  “I don’t think it likes you,” Hunter said dryly. Caslin smiled.

  “It must be the reincarnation of my mother-in-law.”

  “Is she dead?” Hunter asked.

  “We can but dream,” Caslin replied as the fence was removed for the second time and they made to pass through. The guard dogs didn’t react to their presence although every officer cast a wary eye in their direction. Hunter took care of issuing instructions to the search team while Caslin made his way towards Carl Fuller.

  Walking up the short ramp to the entrance of the portacabin, he offered over the search warrant. Carl Fuller glanced at it but had no intention of taking it from him.

  “Nah,” he said dismissing the gesture. “I don’t do paperwork.”

  “No, of course not,” Caslin replied with a smile. “You’d need to be able to read,” he added, slapping it forcefully against the younger man’s chest. Carl accepted it under protest, glaring at him as he did so. Caslin brushed past him and made his way into the office. Inside, he found Ashton Fuller seated behind a desk, two associates clustered around him. He sat back in his chair, drawing a deep breath and exaggerating his exhalation as he took in Caslin’s measure.

  “Inspector Caslin,” he said, smiling. “Back so soon?”

  “You can’t have heard me knocking,” Caslin replied. “You two,” he pointed to the men either side of Ashton, “move.” The two men looked to Ashton who didn’t respond. They held their position. Hunter came alongside Caslin, two uniformed constables accompanying her.

  “You heard the man, shift yersel,” she stated firmly in her best native Yorkshire accent, indicating the search team wanted access to the filing cabinets behind them. Begrudgingly, the two men stepped aside. Hunter encouraged her officers forward before looking to Caslin. “Everything’s underway.”

  “Good,” Caslin replied with a nod of the head but his eyes never left Ashton.

  “This might go better if you tell me what you’re looking for?” Ashton said, sitting forward, resting his elbows on the desk before him and making a tent with his fingers. “What’s all this about?”

  “Terry?” Caslin asked, looking to Hunter.

  “Has access to their apartments as we speak,” she confirmed. Both of the Fullers lived in the city centre in adjoining apartments, prestigious addresses that saw them rub shoulders with the wealthiest residents the city of York could provide.

  “I do hope you will be paying for any damage,” Ashton said in an icy tone. It was the first time since their arrival that he’d exhibited anything but a smug attitude.

  “Standard issue boots do tend to traipse in a lot of dirt,” Caslin said. “I hope you don’t have pastel carpets.”

  “What is it that you want?” Ashton reiterated, the novelty of the situation departing him as his office was systematically ransacked by the assembled officers.

  “Clinton Dade is dead.”

  “What’s that got to do with us?”

  “You’re not out to settle the account?” Caslin asked. Carl appeared to his left, fixing him with a stare and passing the copy of the search warrant over to his brother.

  “Maybe he got depressed,” Carl suggested. “Couldn’t take it anymore.”

  “And blew his own face off with a shotgun?” Hunter asked.

  “It’s been done,” Carl countered.

  “I’d suggest it’s hard to do the last three… after the first, though,” Hunter said.

  “Maybe he picked up the wrong boy?” Carl said, grinning.

  “Where were you last night?” Caslin asked, cutting in and breaking the hostile exchange between the two. Carl glanced in his direction.

  “I was at home, watching the telly.”

  “And you?” Caslin asked, looking to his brother. Ashton smiled, his eyes revealing what Caslin took as a glimmer of amusement.

  “Watching telly,” he said, flicking his eyes towards his brother. “With him.”

  “Anything good?” Hunter asked.

  “Don’t remember,” Ashton replied. “Do you, Carl?”

  “No, I think I fell asleep.”

  Caslin expected nothing more imaginative from the pair of them. They conveyed a level of confidence in their position which he found unnerving. Neither were strangers to police procedure and despite being mildly irritated by their presence, they weren’t thrown by the search. That was a bad sign.

  “Sir,” a voice came from behind. Caslin turned to see a constable standing at the entrance trying to get his attention. He glanced back to Ashton, the smile faded but the air of confidence remained. Crossing the office, he acknowledged the officer.

  “What do you
have?” he asked.

  “There’s something you need to see,” he replied, gesturing for him to step outside. Caslin beckoned Hunter over and she made to follow but Carl was in her way. She locked eyes with him, her expression one of stern authority. He didn’t move.

  “Carl,” Ashton said from behind Hunter. The corners of Carl’s mouth turned up in a slight smile and he rotated his body sideways, granting her just enough space to slip by. She did so, never removing her eyes from his. She reached Caslin as he was leaving the portacabin. Together they went outside, Hunter noting Ashton standing up and falling into step alongside his brother as both of them followed.

  The constable led them down the side of the portacabin and across the building site towards the rear. In this corner of the compound they found the daily site materials were stored, ranging from concrete blocks to shrink-wrapped pallets of unopened cement sacks. Piled against the outer perimeter fence were bulk bags of sand, each easily approaching a tonne in weight, awaiting the bricklaying crew. A uniformed constable stood to the left of one of the bags, holding a rod that reached from the ground to just above his waist. He had been using it to probe the contents of the bags.

  “We found something,” he said in response, pointing to the first bag. Caslin looked down and saw a package jutting out from the top of the sand. Whatever was buried it was wrapped in heavy-gauge polythene and well taped up, presumably to avoid the ingress of sand to the contents. Donning a pair of latex gloves, Caslin uncovered more of the sand from around the object, sweeping it away from the edges with his hands. The package was still wedged and, in the end, he used brute strength to draw it clear from the bag.

  “Well, well, well,” he said, holding it before him in both hands. He turned and angled it so that Hunter could see. She smiled. The package was a little under two-foot-long and despite the multiple layers of the polythene encompassing it, the opacity was such that the shape of a sawn-off shotgun was clearly visible.

  “That’s a fit up!” Carl barked from behind Hunter. “You’ve stashed that there,” he accused them aggressively. Two officers moved to stand behind him just in case he made a break for it.

  “We’ve got better things to be doing with our time,” Caslin countered, handing the gun to the constable alongside him who had made the discovery.

  “You bastard,” Carl said, almost spitting the words at him. Caslin looked at Ashton, who in stark contrast to his brother, remained calm and emotionless.

  “Anything from you?” Caslin asked. Ashton bit his lower lip and sucked air through his teeth. His nose twitched involuntarily but he held his anger or frustration, Caslin couldn’t tell which, in check.

  “You’ll never make this stick,” he said quietly, tilting his head to one side and narrowing his eyes.

  “Oh, I don’t know, perhaps not,” Caslin countered. “But it’s going to be a lot of fun trying. DS Hunter, if you please,” he said, turning to her.

  “With pleasure, sir,” she replied, beckoning the nearest officers forward. They took out their handcuffs as she began to read the Fuller brothers their rights.

  “This is such bullshit,” Carl stated, shaking his head and resisting the attentions of the officers who were trying to draw his arms behind his back. A brief glance in his direction from Ashton saw those efforts cease and both were taken into custody without incident.

  “We’ll be out before sundown,” Ashton said to Caslin.

  “We’ll see. Separate cars for transit, please,” Caslin said as they were led away. The last thing he wanted was for the two of them to concoct a story en route to the station. Turning to the officer holding the gun, Caslin eyed it. “Have that documented, photographed and then send it over to ballistics. I want to get it confirmed as the murder weapon as soon as possible.”

  “Will do, sir,” the constable said.

  Caslin turned away and headed back towards the office. Despite the find, the remaining members of the search team were still diligently going through the contents of the office. With a bit of luck, Caslin hoped they might find other incriminating evidence. He wanted to make the best use of this search as he could for if Ashton was right and they couldn’t build a case that would hold up, the chances of being granted further warrants would be less likely. Magistrates didn’t like to look foolish any more than anyone else did. Hunter met him halfway.

  “That’s a stroke of luck,” she said. Caslin knew her well enough to read past the obvious.

  “Meaning?”

  “That the Fullers would be stupid enough to leave the murder weapon where we could find it,” she said.

  “Bollocks,” Caslin replied with a grin. “You know as well as I do, they aren’t that daft.”

  “Agreed.”

  “Someone’s playing us,” Caslin stated, staring into the distance and watching as Ashton and Carl were placed into the rear seats of waiting cars.

  “If you think so, why did we arrest them?”

  “The streets will be a little safer with them out of the way for a day or two,” Caslin said. “For them as well as us.”

  “Someone has an interesting strategy,” Hunter said, thinking aloud.

  “Aye,” Caslin agreed. “I’d put money on it they don’t think we’ll be able to pin this on the Fullers. I expect that gun is wiped clean of fingerprints and missing its serial number.”

  “So, what’s the point?”

  “At the very least it will piss them off… the Fullers, I mean,” Caslin explained, “and will certainly disrupt their operations for a bit.”

  “There has to be more to it than that,” Hunter countered.

  “Without a doubt,” Caslin said. “The thing is we’re always one step behind. We need to get ahead of them somehow.”

  “If we knew who they were, it would help.”

  “We’re coming at this all wrong,” Caslin said. He didn’t necessarily disagree with her but they had to change their approach. He was tired of another orchestrating their actions.

  “I’m open to suggestions,” Hunter said.

  “We’ve been going through the old case histories and trying to link everyone together and there’s only one candidate for that.”

  “The raid on the clearing house, back in 86.”

  “Exactly,” Caslin agreed. “But we’re no closer to knowing how this is related to the present and I don’t think we’re going to find the answer in the archives.”

  “Okay,” Hunter said, following his thread. “So, what do we do?”

  “Start with today and work backwards, rather than carry on with what we have been doing,” Caslin explained. “There’s too much information to go through from thirty years ago and Holt hasn’t even been able to get hold of all the files yet. Out of the current names in the picture who do we have tying them together?”

  Hunter thought on it before answering, “You’ve got me. Who?”

  “Answer that… and I reckon we’ll be getting somewhere,” Caslin said, watching Hunter’s irritation with him manifest itself. “I want to put some pressure on our sources and see what comes out. Rumours will be flying around and maybe one of them will be close to what’s actual going on here.”

  “Shall we head back to Fulford Road?”

  “You go,” Caslin said. “I need to run an errand first. I’ll see you back at the station later.”

  Chapter Twenty

  Arriving at the house around midday, Caslin pulled the car to the side of the road. Switching off the engine, he looked towards his father’s property. Lights were visible inside and the curtains weren’t drawn. Glancing at his watch, he thought that was a good sign. His father was up and about before lunchtime. No matter how often he visited his relationship with his father in his mind, he still struggled with their dynamic. Somehow, they just couldn’t seem to get along for more than an hour… on a good day.

  Taking a deep breath, he picked up his keys and cracked open the door. A gust of cold air hit him and he fastened his coat as soon as he was able. After constant bad
gering, his father now agreed to lock the rear gate and force people to the front of the house. Too often, Caslin had been able to just walk in unannounced - a situation that left his father vulnerable as he’d found out to his cost a couple of years ago, ending up with the old man fighting for his life in hospital. Although Selby was a town of some size and population where his father lived was in the established part and some way from the urban sprawl of modern development. His house was one built for the agricultural workers in the middle of the last century, one of several set apart from most of the neighbouring properties.

  Approaching the door, Caslin pressed the buzzer, hearing it ring inside. There was a flicker of movement inside, a shadow passing in the hall beyond the door and Caslin waited. The noise of an engine carried to him and Caslin looked to his left, back down the road and saw an unmarked transit van pull up to the kerb on the opposite side of the street. The driver got out and walked out of sight, behind the vehicle. Caslin silently lamented the number of independent couriers he saw knocking around these days. The gig economy was roaring in Yorkshire. The sound of a chain being released from the other side of the door snapped his attention back to his father and the door opened. Caslin was surprised to find his son, Sean, standing before him in the entrance hall.

  “Hey, dad,” he said with a smile.

  “Sean…” Caslin replied, unable to mask the surprise. “What are you…?”

  “Daddy!” his question remained unfinished as another voice came from within the house. His daughter, Lizzie, came running from the living room to greet him. He knelt as she threw herself into his arms knocking him off balance. He managed not to topple over and hugged her fiercely.

  “What are you two doing…”

  “Karen asked if I could babysit-”