Fear the Past

by J M Dalgliesh

  “Have us visit!” Sean said, casting a frown over his shoulder at his grandfather who held his hands up in supplication.

  “Sorry, sorry,” he said. “Their mother asked if they could visit for the weekend.”

  “Did she now?” Caslin said, exhaling through his nose.

  “Apparently, her other arrangements fell through,” his father said, inclining his head forward and fixing a stern gaze on his son.

  “Hmm…” Caslin replied, releasing Lizzie who took off back into the living room.

  “Daddy, come and see what we’re watching,” she said excitedly.

  “Okay,” he called after her, standing and stepping inside. Sean backed away to make room and Caslin went to close the door behind him. The van was still outside and Caslin thought the driver was taking his time with the delivery. “It had better not be something made on Elm Street,” he said pointedly to his father as he walked past him placing an affectionate hand on his shoulder as he did so. The older man chuckled.

  “I’ve never been in to anything like that,” his father said, following on. “Real life is horrific enough.”

  “True,” Caslin agreed. “You were married to mum.”

  “Cheeky sod,” his father countered, giving him a gentle tap to the back of the head as they entered the living room. Caslin was drawn to the television, pleased to see it was an animated film of some description but not one he recognised.

  “There’s a singing shark,” Lizzie said excitedly, glancing in his direction briefly before focusing on the screen once again.

  “It’s awful,” Sean chipped in without looking up from his position draped across an armchair and staring at his tablet. He looked like he’d been slumped there for hours but, in reality, it was a little over two minutes. Caslin wondered if whatever held his attention was as equally stimulating as a musical shark or possibly more disturbing.

  “Coffee?” his father asked.

  “Please,” Caslin replied. The characters on the television screen burst into song and he hurried after the departing form of his father and joined him in the kitchen. “They seem settled.”

  “Yes, they are good kids,” his father said, taking two cups down from a shelf above the coffee machine and setting them on the work surface. “It’s great to have them here, I have to say,” he added, taking on a faraway look and suddenly appearing lost in thought.

  “What is it, Dad?” Caslin asked. His father glanced over to him shaking his head.

  “No, no, it’s nothing,” he stuttered as he spoke. Caslin didn’t believe him but he let it go. “So, why wouldn’t you have them this weekend?”

  Caslin frowned, “Karen told you about that?”

  “Yes, she did,” his father replied, placing the filter head into the coffee grinder and running it for ten seconds, filling it and returning to the coffee machine. “She’s not best pleased with you, your ex, I must say.”

  “Must you?” Caslin said playfully. His father smiled.

  “Of all the times to drop your responsibilities this probably wasn’t the best.”

  “Drop?” Caslin said. “I’m hardly dropping them.”

  “Work?” his father asked with an enquiring look. Caslin nodded. “I think she’s past accepting that excuse.”

  “It was barely acceptable when we were married.”

  “Is it true?”

  “What do you mean by that?” Caslin said, offended.

  “Is it work or are you trying to mess things up between Karen and her new man?”

  “Do you think I’m that petty?” Caslin asked. His father turned away from him. “And he’s hardly new, is he?”

  “Black?”

  “What?” Caslin asked.

  “Your coffee. Do you want it black?”

  “Yes, thank you,” Caslin replied. His father turned and passed him a cup. Caslin accepted it noting his father’s stern gaze. “I really am very busy.”

  “What are you working on in this task force of yours?”

  “It’s not a task force as such,” Caslin explained, not wishing to go into too much detail.

  “It’s major crimes, though, isn’t it?”

  “It should be,” Caslin said, “but I’ve stripped Fulford Road of some of the best resources in CID and so we’re still helping them out until they can re-balance the team.”

  “So, what is it that’s keeping you away from your kids?”

  “Nothing much,” Caslin said. He hated discussing his work with his father. There was always a better method that things used to be done by, often now illegal, that his father would feel needed to be explained to him in great detail.

  “Nothing much is keeping you from spending time with your kids? Karen was right then?”

  Caslin sighed before sipping at his coffee, “It’s complicated.”

  “Try me,” his father said. “I like complicated.”

  “To start with, I’ve got someone fermenting a turf war between rival gangs that may or may not be instigating tit-for-tat murders,” Caslin said, frowning. “Right now, we have a group of names who are all quite capable of bringing this on but nothing to explain why they would choose to do so.”

  “You’re right. That does sound complicated,” his father replied, smiling.

  “Add to that a decorated policeman consorting with known criminals from beyond the grave and I have a pretty big headache right now,” Caslin said. “Any ideas?” His father turned back to the machine and went to set the filter head in place to make his own cup but struggled to do so, leading to him cursing under his breath. “Having trouble?” Caslin asked.

  “Bloody machine,” his father said as he finally drove the head into place. He silently went about making his drink. Caslin was happy the third degree appeared to be over without him receiving the customary lecture that usually accompanied such a conversation. His father crossed to the fridge and returned with the milk, not bothering to heat it first, he added some to his freshly made coffee. “From beyond the grave, you say?”

  Caslin had gotten ahead of himself, “Yeah. We all thought he was dead. Turns out we were wrong.”

  “I see,” his father said, staring into his coffee cup and stirring a spoon in a very deliberate way. “What’s that all about then?”

  “If I knew, I’d be spending the weekend with my children,” Caslin countered.

  “What’s he got to say for himself?”

  “Who?”

  “This policeman you’re talking about. What did you say his name was?”

  “I didn’t say,” Caslin said, drinking his coffee. “Bradley. A former DCI in Greater Manchester.”

  “Right,” his father said, putting his cup down and crossing is arms. “And what’s he got to say?”

  “Not a lot… certainly without a Ouija board, anyway,” Caslin said, shaking his head. “He’s dead.”

  “Dead?” his father said, watching him intently. Caslin was slightly unnerved.

  “Yeah, he died in a car crash the other day.”

  “I see,” his father said, expressionless. Caslin was surprised at how serious the tone of the conversation was becoming.

  “Relax, Dad,” he said with a smile. “It’s nothing for you to get into. I’ll sort it out. Like I said, it’s complicated.”

  “Of course, you will,” his father said, breaking into a smile. “You always do. It’s just a pity it comes at the cost of seeing your kids.”

  “That’s a bit harsh.”

  “Is it?” his father countered. “You always manage to find something…”

  “I don’t manage to find anything.”

  “Come off it, Nathaniel. You’ve always been willing to pass your parental responsibilities off onto someone else. Usually it was your wife but now it’s coming my way.”

  “You’re a little out of order,” Caslin said, feeling a flash of anger at the personal attack.

  “I’m out of order?” his father questioned him. “Take a look at those kids in there. How long has it been since they
spent more than a couple of hours with you?”

  “You, of all people, should know what this job’s like!”

  “I knew when to call time and come home. Maybe you should take a look at yourself.”

  “I can’t believe I’m hearing this,” Caslin muttered.

  “That’s just it, Nathaniel. No one tells you like it is anymore. You just listen to yourself and do as you please.”

  Caslin finished his coffee and put the cup down on the kitchen table shaking his head, “Coming from you, that’s a bit rich.”

  “What do you mean by that?” his father hissed.

  “You set the example that I followed-”

  “Are you two arguing?” a voice came from behind. Caslin turned to see both Sean and Lizzie standing at the threshold to the kitchen. Sean stood behind his sister with both hands placed reassuringly on her shoulders. He was biting his lower lip while Lizzie sought an answer to her question.

  “No, we’re not,” Caslin explained. “Just a mild disagreement… which I’m not entirely sure how it came about.”

  “You and mum used to have those,” Lizzie replied, taking the events in her stride as usual.

  “And still do…” Sean added.

  “Thank you for helping, Sean,” Caslin said tilting his head and making no attempt to hide the sarcasm. “Everything’s all right, nothing for either of you to worry about. Right, Dad?” he said, looking to his father.

  “Of course,” he replied under his breath, looking out of the window and into the garden beyond.

  “You see,” Caslin said, forcing a smile. It fooled no one.

  “Oh right,” Sean said, nudging his little sister in the back. “It’s all good.”

  “If you say so,” Lizzie replied. Stepping forward, she threw her arms around her father’s legs and hugged him momentarily. He looked down and tussled her hair. Then she was gone skipping back into the living room and bumping her brother, who rolled his eyes, as she passed by him. He turned and followed. Caslin chuckled.

  “Sometimes I think they’re more grown up than I give them credit for,” he said.

  “They certainly are. More than their father, at least.”

  Caslin faked a smile, “And on that note I think I’ll head off.”

  “If you like,” his father grumbled, turning his back on him.

  “I’ll give you a call over the weekend, see how you’re getting on?” Caslin said, lightening his tone and trying to appease whatever anger his father was currently fostering towards him. The only response was an almost inaudible grunt.

  Caslin chose not to pursue it further and left the kitchen. He went into the living room and scooped Lizzie up in his arms. Turning her upside down, he tickled her stomach. The action was accompanied by shrieks of delight as her long blonde curls dangled down across her face. Dumping her carefully onto the sofa, he leant down and kissed her forehead. She gave him another fierce hug.

  “You two have fun this weekend,” he said, “and try not to give your granddad too hard a time.”

  “We won’t,” Lizzie said with a devious smile that indicated quite the opposite. Caslin crossed to Sean and was begrudgingly given a farewell hug. Soon, Caslin felt he’d be lucky to be offered a handshake as his eldest was reaching an age where any physical contact with his father would be deemed suicidal for his social credibility. Glancing over his shoulder there was no apparent movement from within the kitchen. His father was clattering around out of sight taking out his frustrations on his utensils. Somehow, they were butting heads again and not for the first time, Caslin was at a loss to explain why.

  Closing the front door behind him, he stepped onto the path and headed for his car. His phone began to ring and he took it out noting it was Hunter as he answered the call. Continuing on down the path, he glanced back over his shoulder at his father’s house feeling disheartened at how the visit turned out but pleased to have seen his children.

  “Sarah, what do you have?” he asked.

  “Hang on, sir. I’ll put you on speaker. Terry’s here as well,” she said. Caslin waited patiently. The sound of her slightly disembodied voice came to him indicating she had opened the call to the room. “Can you hear us?” she asked.

  “I can. Go ahead,” Caslin replied, reaching his car. Opening the door, he saw the delivery van was still parked across the street but he gave it no more attention as he clambered into his seat. Placing the phone on the dash, he hit the engine start button and dabbed the accelerator. The car fired into life and his call was transferred to the internal speakers via the car’s Bluetooth connection.

  “We’ve been digging around in Pete Fuller’s background, sir,” Hunter said. “It’s more than interesting.”

  “Go on,” Caslin replied.

  “Apparently, Fuller and Neville Bridger go back a long way,” Hunter said.

  “How so?” Caslin asked.

  “They were as thick as thieves growing up well before they came onto our radar,” Holt continued, reading through his notes. “They came through the system together growing up in the same care home. They were both considered problem children and, unlike Fuller’s sister, neither lasted very long at foster homes. Once kids hit a certain age the odds of getting a permanent place drop rapidly. They must have been the only constant in each other’s lives.”

  “What’s the significance of the sister?” Caslin asked. Holt wouldn’t have mentioned her without reason.

  “Their parents were estranged with no father listed on file. The mother was an alcoholic, suffered from schizophrenia and was prone to violent outbursts hence why social services were involved. Bridger’s background was pretty similar. Pete Fuller’s sister, Emilia, was rehoused with a foster family and stayed with them until adulthood but their relationship remained strong despite growing up apart.”

  “Still waiting on the significance,” Caslin said. Hunter picked up the story.

  “Well, this is where it gets intriguing. Neville Bridger was married to Emilia Fuller. Which makes Ollie and Mark…”

  “Pete Fuller’s nephews,” Caslin finished for her.

  “Strange bedfellows for the two of them to be keeping under the circumstances,” Holt said. “Particularly as we have Ollie still linked to the Fullers’ organisation recently.”

  “Isn’t it just,” Caslin said under his breath. “If we know this, I reckon it’s fair to say Dade and MacEwan know who they are as well.”

  “I’d be surprised if they didn’t,” Hunter said.

  “I’d like to explore Fuller’s family angle a little more,” Caslin said, thinking aloud. “If Fuller and Neville Bridger were so tight how come the latter’s children are working for the opposition. Which one was it?”

  “Mark is a part of Dade’s crew,” Hunter confirmed.

  “And Ollie is alongside MacEwan?” Caslin asked rhetorically. “For Mark to be welcomed into Clinton Dade’s inner circle something must have gone on. Find out what it is.”

  “There’s always another possibility,” Holt added.

  “What’s that?” Caslin asked.

  “Mark got as close as he could to enable him to make the hit,” Holt suggested, “on Fuller’s behalf. He’s been inside a long time and I checked on the dates, he’s due out in what… eighteen months to two years? Maybe he’s been planning it for ages and wanted it done before his release knowing he’d be the prime suspect.”

  “That’s a thought,” Caslin said. “But where does the bombing of Fuller’s business come in to that theory? Remember, that came first. Keep it in mind, Terry, but find out if something went down between Fuller and Neville Bridger or his sons. Where are we with our own resources?”

  “People have gone to ground, sir,” Hunter said. “It’s almost like everyone is expecting this to get worse and no one wants to get caught in the crossfire.”

  “Someone has to know something,” Caslin stated. “Shake down every informant we have on the books. Don’t worry about being polite. Do whatever you have to. This is too b
ig for this level of silence. We’re missing something… and it’s really starting to piss me off.”

  “Will do,” they both replied in unison and Caslin ended the call.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  “Ashton and Carl’s brief is kicking off downstairs,” Hunter said, ducking her head into Caslin’s office. “Threatening to sue us for wrongful arrest, harassment and anything else she can come up with.” Caslin glanced up from reading the folder before him with an expression that almost indicated he hadn’t heard a word she’d said.

  “We found the likely murder weapon in a homicide on their property,” he countered with a frown which quickly transferred to a smile. “What does she expect?”

  “The custody sergeant wants to know what we plan to do with them.”

  “In what way?”

  “Are we going to interview them further?”

  Caslin shook his head, “No point. They’ve not given us anything and I don’t see that changing. Usually, I’d look to play one off against the other but that approach won’t work with these two.”

  “They’re pretty arrogant too,” Hunter said.

  “Much as I hate to disagree with you… because they are arrogant… but I’d argue their attitude is more to do with confidence,” Caslin said. “They know we won’t be able to make a case without a witness, or forensics, to tie them to the weapon. Where are we with that?”

  “As you said, the shotgun was wiped clean. No serial number and although we can tie the shotgun cartridges to Dade’s hit, there are no ballistics matches with any prior cases,” Hunter explained.

  “So, there’s no previous case that can link them to ownership even circumstantially.”

  “That’s right. All we have is their enmity towards Dade and the fact the gun was found on their building site. It’s barely enough to hold them for the initial detention period let alone get an extension.”

  “You’re right,” Caslin said, sucking air through his teeth.

  “Do we bail them?”

  “No. Let’s keep them here for the full twenty-four hours,” Caslin said. “Let them sweat for a little while.”

  “Their brief will go mental,” Hunter argued.