Fear the Past

by J M Dalgliesh

  Caslin shrugged, “If she’s on an hourly rate it will be a nice earner although she’ll give the custody suite a group headache. Who’s the sergeant today?”

  “Steve Owen.”

  “Tell him I’ll buy him a pint.”

  Looking beyond his office, Caslin saw Terry Holt enter. He took off his coat and threw it in the general direction of the coat rack but missed by some margin. He failed to notice as he made a beeline for them scooping up a folder from his desk as he passed - a determined expression on his face. Appearing alongside Hunter, he was almost breathless as he spoke.

  “Sir, I’ve just met with an informant and I think you’ll be interested to hear what he had to say.” Caslin beckoned him in and Holt pulled up a chair, sitting down and catching his breath.

  “About the Fullers?” Caslin asked. Holt shook his head. Evidently, he’d run through the station to get back and was feeling the effects of the exertion.

  “Neville Bridger,” Holt said. “The word is that someone grassed Neville up for his role in the Manchester raid. Did anyone else find it odd that in the months following the raid multiple members of the gang were picked up, often in quick bursts, but then there was nothing until Neville Bridger was collared well over a decade later?”

  “Associations come to light and you only need a couple at a time for them to lead to others,” Hunter argued. Holt agreed.

  “Yes, but the case was cold… not even being investigated at the time of Bridger’s arrest,” Holt said, opening the folder in his hands and leafing through the contents. He couldn’t find what he was looking for and gave up, placing the documents down on Caslin’s desk. “Officially, the case was never closed but there were no active officers assigned to the investigation but then, all of a sudden, Neville gets fingered for it and goes down for a stretch soon after.”

  “I don’t remember anything in the file relating to an informant in his arrest,” Caslin said, spinning Holt’s file one-hundred-and-eighty degrees and scanning the contents himself.

  “You won’t have, sir,” Holt said. “I checked. But that’s not the only thing that bothers me. I can’t see where they got the information from about his involvement. If you look at the evidence, the Crown Prosecution Service had – locations, dates, times, bank accounts – it was all there.”

  “I didn’t see any of that,” Hunter said.

  “You wouldn’t have,” Holt said. “Bridger pleaded guilty at the time so there was no trial. I imagine the evidence was so well stacked against him he realised his best option was to do so and go for the reduced sentence in return.”

  “So, who gave us Bridger?” Caslin asked.

  “The honest answer to that is we have no idea,” Holt said. “However, my informant reckons it came from Fuller.”

  “Pete grassed on his brother-in-law?” Hunter said, sounding incredulous.

  “And his childhood friend,” Caslin added pointedly.

  “Not buying it,” Hunter clarified, shaking her head.

  “My guy says that when Pete was sent down, it was Neville who laid claim to his business interests. Which is logical bearing in mind their history and family ties,” Holt said. “However, his wife, Emilia, died in 1991 and then things began to change. Whether Neville liked having the power or his temporary position as head of the organisation didn’t garner the respect needed to maintain control, I don’t know but he started to make changes. Many of Pete’s most trusted allies dropped from view. A couple of them were subject to enquiries by our colleagues but nothing ever came of the investigations.”

  “Neville was disposing of his competition…” Caslin said aloud.

  “That was the talk of the day,” Holt confirmed.

  “Why wouldn’t Fuller just take care of it himself?” Hunter asked. “From what I know of him, he doesn’t look the sort to roll over on his associates and let’s face it, he’s more than capable.”

  “It might not be true,” Caslin countered. “But people talk and the rumour mill can get a lie halfway around the world before the truth has got its pants on.”

  “Bridger was killed inside, wasn’t he?” Hunter asked.

  Holt nodded. “May have been connected, might not,” he said. “It could just as easily be the settling of a score on the inside as much as being a hit orchestrated by Fuller.”

  “I’m with Sarah on this,” Caslin said, indicating Hunter. “I don’t think it’s Fuller’s style but if that became common knowledge, or even the spoken rumour, that might explain why the Bridger boys lined up with the opposition.”

  “Exactly,” Holt said emphatically. “Whether Fuller had Neville killed or not is irrelevant. Both Mark and Ollie held Fuller responsible for their father’s death. As a result, there’s no love lost between the cousins either. Mark had a major falling out with Carl Fuller a couple of years back. He shows up amongst Dade’s business interests shortly after.”

  “What about the other one…?” Caslin momentarily forgot the name.

  “Ollie,” Hunter reminded him.

  “Yes, Ollie. What about his relationship with the Fullers? What do we know about it?”

  Holt shook his head, “There’s no intel to suggest he piled in with his brother on the Fullers. As you said, he was arrested recently when apparently still working for them. By all accounts, Ollie is the calmer one of the two and far more calculating.”

  “Like Ashton Fuller is to his brother, Carl,” Hunter said.

  “I would say so,” Holt confirmed. “Looking at his history, Ollie was still popping up in relation to the Fuller long after Carl and Mark came to blows, which I found interesting. Perhaps, he didn’t hear the old rumours or buy into them.”

  “Or there was something else going on?” Caslin argued.

  “Such as?” Hunter asked. Caslin’s brow furrowed in response but he didn’t elaborate further. His mobile phone began to vibrate on the desk in front of him. Glancing at the screen the call originated from a number he didn’t recognise. Picking it up, he answered.

  “Caslin,” he said flatly.

  “I see you’ve not refrained from only bothering me,” the voice said at the other end of the line. Caslin was thrown for a brief moment. He recognised the controlled aggression of the bearer and shouldn’t have been surprised. The fortified walls and strict regime meant nothing if you were the right person with the requisite resources. Caslin glanced to both Hunter and Terry Holt, indicating for them to make themselves scarce. Neither of them questioned the request although both noted the change in his demeanour. Hunter closed the door behind them, glancing back in his direction through the glass. Caslin looked away and sank back in his chair.

  “Well, this is unexpected,” he said, flashes of what might be motivating the caller passing through his mind.

  “You appear to be taking a great deal of interest in my affairs as well as those of my family,” Pete Fuller said, keeping his voice low and commanding.

  “There is much to see,” Caslin countered.

  “Why are you holding my boys?” Caslin thought about his response for a few seconds catching Hunter’s eye as she looked on from a distance.

  “They are suspects in a murder inquiry.”

  “That’s bullshit…” Fuller replied, “and you know it.”

  “What I do know,” Caslin said, drawing a deep breath, “is that a lot of people in and around your circle are very active all of a sudden. Some of whom haven’t been seen in years and as soon as they surfaced, people started dying.”

  “Very tragic,” Fuller replied.

  “And somehow it all seems to be revolving around you.”

  “Is that a fact?”

  “Now, why might that be, Pete?” Caslin asked. He then fell silent allowing a pause in the conversation and waited patiently. The sound of Fuller’s breathing carried down the line. There was more to be said. Caslin knew it. “This situation is escalating rapidly, Pete. If we don’t get a handle on it more people are going to be killed. You know this.”

&nbs
p; “You sound sure of yourself,” Fuller said, after a few moments.

  “I can’t help but think Neville Bridger has something to do with it.”

  “You’ve been doing your homework, Mr Caslin.”

  “Staying up late, that’s true.”

  “Neville’s been a long time dead.”

  “And yet, his shadow casts itself some way into the future, does it not?”

  “Neville Bridger didn’t bomb my business,” Fuller said.

  “Nor did he shoot Clinton Dade in the face,” Caslin added. “But someone did both.”

  “And someone is trying to put my boys in the frame.”

  “So, it would appear,” Caslin concurred.

  “You know this and you’re still keeping them in a cell?”

  “Where they belong,” Caslin countered. “Either for this or for everything else they have done.”

  “Now, you listen to me, Inspector,” Fuller said, his voice lowering and taking on a new level of malevolence, Caslin hadn’t heard previously. “If you pin this on my two, you’ll be fitting them up for something they haven’t done. You mark my words if you take down my family for this then the gloves are off.”

  “That sounds like a threat.”

  “It is,” Fuller stated. “You’ve come after my family and that brings yours into play.”

  Caslin heard the words and didn’t need time for them to sink in. The intent was obvious. “Be careful with your threats, Pete. You’re in the home stretch now. Six months from now you’ll be moved to a D-Cat,” Caslin said, referring to when a prisoner is approaching parole and not considered a flight risk, they are often moved to an open prison ahead of release. “Are you willing to jeopardise that and risk seeing out the rest of your sentence inside?”

  “I’d take it twice over for the sake of my children,” Fuller said. Caslin assessed his tone and didn’t doubt his commitment. “You’re standing in a glass house, Caslin. Let he who is without sin cast the first stone.”

  Caslin knew Fuller hadn’t found God from within the prison walls and felt somewhat baffled by the reference. “Now what are you talking about?”

  “Instead of wasting time trying to hang my boys out to dry maybe you should be focusing on the real players in this game.”

  “And they are?” Caslin asked, noting Terry Holt attempting to catch his eye from his seat. The DC had a phone pressed to his ear and an open-mouthed expression on his face. He waved in Caslin’s direction drawing Hunter to him in doing so. He said something to her and she immediately looked to Caslin. Something was wrong.

  “You seem distracted, Inspector Caslin,” Fuller said.

  “I’m still here,” he replied. “Waiting for you to give me a steer… like you did my colleagues a few years ago regarding Neville.”

  Fuller chuckled. “I’ve heard that one too. I didn’t give him up no matter what you’ve heard to the contrary.”

  “Then tell me who’s throwing Ashton and Carl to the wolves?”

  “You’re asking the wrong man the wrong questions,” Fuller said. Caslin watched as Terry Holt slowly replaced the receiver of his phone down on the desk. He glanced again at Hunter who stepped aside giving him enough room to stand. Holt looked to Caslin with an expression that could only be described as one of nervous apprehension written across his face. Both of them came towards his office. Hunter cracked open the door and Holt shifted his weight nervously between his feet alongside her. Caslin frowned. “Soon enough, you’ll find the right man,” Fuller continued, “and only then will you get the answers you’re after.”

  The phone line went silent and Caslin glanced at the screen to see if the call had disconnected. It hadn’t. He was more than a little perplexed at the cryptic direction the call was taking. He turned his attention to the two officers before him putting his hand across the microphone. “What’s up?” he mouthed, flicking his eyes between them. “One of you?” he whispered.

  Holt cast a fleeting glance sideways to Hunter who bit her lower lip and looked away. It was Holt who spoke, “Uniform responded to what they thought was a domestic a little over half an hour ago. They arrived at the property to find an elderly male unconscious and blue-lighted him to hospital.”

  “And?”

  “They also found two children at the scene.” Caslin’s blood ran cold. “They’re okay,” Holt stressed. “Your kids were unharmed but the male is in a bad way. We think… we think it’s your father, sir. They’ve really done a job on him.”

  Caslin felt his body go light. A strange sensation coursed through him and he could feel his heartbeat increasing as it thudded inside his chest. Lowering the mobile, he looked at the screen whilst attempting to process the information. It was a few moments before he realised, he was holding his breath and almost had to tell himself to stop. Returning the handset to his ear, once again, he focused on Fuller and him alone disregarding the presence of his team.

  “If you’ve hurt my family…” he said in a menacing tone borne out of the white-hot anger building inside him, “I will dedicate my life to destroying everything… and everyone you hold dear.”

  “You should be careful with your threats, Mr Caslin,” Fuller countered, not missing a beat. “Sometimes the answers you seek are far closer to home than you can ever imagine.”

  “My family are innocent in all of this.”

  “Innocence was lost long ago, Inspector Caslin. Everyone must pay for their sins and sometimes it is our children who bear the brunt.”

  “I will come for you,” Caslin said in a whisper.

  “I don’t doubt it,” Fuller replied, and the phone line went dead.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  The thirteen-mile journey from Fulford Road to Caslin’s father’s house in Selby usually took half an hour but in a liveried police car, with the lights and sirens in action, they shaved a third off of that. The car screeched to a halt at the kerb side and Caslin was out of the passenger seat before it stopped moving. A handful of neighbours were huddled on the footpath offering a mixture of concern and ghoulish voyeurism. Caslin ignored them and was directed towards an ambulance parked a short distance away by a uniformed constable standing at the entrance to the house. The rear doors were open and rounding the corner of the vehicle to the back, he found both his children being attended to by a paramedic.

  Lizzie stood up and launched herself into his arms. His daughter clung to him as if to let go would risk falling to her death such was the tightness of her grip.

  “I’ve got you,” he said reassuringly. Looking through the tangled curls of her hair, Caslin saw his son, Sean, sitting on a gurney with a red blanket around his shoulders. He was huddled beneath it, his face pale even in the darkened rear of the ambulance. He smiled in response to Caslin’s unasked question to his well-being. It was weak and Caslin could see signs of bruising to the side of his cheek. Anger flared but he suppressed it. “Are you okay?” he asked.

  “I’m all right, Dad,” Sean replied.

  “Your son’s taken a blow to the side of the face,” the paramedic said, glancing to Caslin but maintaining his focus on Sean. “I’m sure it’s nothing serious but we want to take him in just as a precaution.”

  “I understand,” Caslin replied, nodding appreciatively. Footsteps behind him marked the arrival of DS Hunter. She had followed on in her car. Coming alongside, she placed an affectionate hand on Lizzie’s arm to show her support and smiled at Sean.

  “Have you been inside?” she asked. Caslin shook his head gently.

  “You have a few minutes, if you like?” the paramedic said. “We’re not ready to leave yet.”

  Caslin used his free hand to push the bundle of blonde curls away from Lizzie’s face, she leaned back and he made eye contact.

  “Stay here with your brother. You’re quite safe now. I’ll be back in a minute and we’ll go to the hospital together. Okay?”

  “Okay,” Lizzie replied. “How is granddad?”

  Caslin looked to the paramedic who flick
ed his eyebrows up and returned his gaze to Sean. “I’m sure he’ll be fine,” he replied, smiling. “He’s tough like your old dad.” Placing her carefully back down, she resumed her place alongside her brother who extended his blanket and put an arm around her. “I’ll be back,” Caslin said to his son who nodded.

  The two of them made their way up the path to the front door where they were greeted by the constable who stepped aside to allow them to pass. Caslin entered first. The usual anticipation that he experienced when entering a crime scene was tinged by anxiety on this occasion. Seldom did work crossover into his personal life but when it did, the gut-wrenching feeling and the associated guilt hit Caslin hard.

  “Three men,” the voice of the constable on the door came from behind them as they entered the living room. The scene was chaotic. The coffee table, with its glass top, was smashed and whatever once rested upon it lay in pieces across the floor. His father’s sideboard and drinks cabinet had suffered a similar fate and the room stank of alcohol from all the broken bottles of wine and spirits. “They forced entry at the front door,” the officer continued as Caslin surveyed the room, “pushing back here where… I’m sorry, sir… where they attacked your father.”

  “Did they say anything?” Caslin asked, ignoring the sentiment not because he was unfeeling or didn’t care but because he needed to keep his emotions in check.

  “No, sir. They didn’t speak,” the officer explained. “Your children were incredibly brave, sir.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Your eldest tried to intervene which is when he was struck, over there,” the constable said, pointing to the entrance to the kitchen.

  “Did they go for my kids?” Caslin asked, his voice cracking and briefly betraying his emotional state. If the officer noticed, he didn’t show it.

  “No, sir. It would appear they were targeting your father alone. You’ll probably know better than us but it doesn’t appear as if anything was taken.”

  Caslin scanned the room afresh passing over the bloodstains on the carpet and walls, looking for a sign of anything missing. Of course, there were none. Caslin knew why they were there and it wasn’t with robbery in mind. “No. Looks clean,” he said, eyeing Hunter. “Any descriptions to go on?”