“Three men. Probably white,” the constable said, “but they wore ski-masks and overalls.”
“Overalls?” Caslin asked.
“Yeah, like uniforms. I spoke with a couple of neighbours, the ones who called in the report of a domestic, and they said they saw the men leaving in a transit van.”
Caslin cursed himself under his breath. “A delivery van?”
“Yes, that’s right. It was dark brown or black. They weren’t sure which.”
“I saw it,” he explained to Hunter. “They were outside when I bloody left earlier.”
“There’s no way you could have known,” Hunter argued. “You can’t blame yourself.”
“That’s funny because I’m doing exactly that,” he said, running a hand through his hair pain evident in his expression. “Get onto Broadfoot, would you? I want an armed presence at the hospital just in case they want to try and finish the job.”
“I will. How is your father?” Hunter asked.
“I don’t know,” Caslin said, feeling the guilt magnify for not having already asked that very question.
“He was unconscious when we arrived,” the constable said. “The paramedics were on scene within five minutes. They took great care with him.”
“Thank you,” Caslin said, turning to Hunter. “I’m going to the hospital with the kids. I’ll find out and let you know. Can you stay here, canvas the neighbours and find out as much as you can about what anyone saw?”
“What do you want to do about Fuller? He orchestrated this.”
Caslin was silent for a moment, his anger worn visibly on his sleeve. “Nothing, yet.”
“But, sir. With the phone call and all…”
“Nothing,” Caslin snapped. “He’s not going anywhere and we all know he’s crossed a line. I’ll make sure he gets what’s due to him.”
“Yes, but why did he do it? He has so much to lose.”
“He also knows we’ll struggle to link this to him directly, it’s all circumstantial. We’ll take him… but when I choose to and not before.”
“Okay, sir. Your call,” Hunter said.
Whether she agreed was irrelevant to him. Fuller was sending him a direct message and there had to be more to it than merely protecting the interests of his children. Their telephone conversation played over and over in his mind. It seemed far more significant now than he had given it credit at the time. Fuller’s words were out of character somehow, his choice of phrase, his tone… something, but Caslin couldn’t quite comprehend the inference. Not yet, at least. Perhaps once his anger subsided. If his anger subsided.
***
“We will take your brother through and once we have him settled, we’ll come back for you,” the nurse said to Lizzie, smiling affectionately and instantly placing the little girl in a comfortable state of mind. Caslin squeezed her shoulder gently, his arm already around her as Sean was led out of the cubicle for a precautionary examination. The initial assessment in Accident and Emergency from both the triage nurse and the doctor indicated he’d probably suffered a small concussion but they were being thorough and following up with a scan. Caslin appreciated it. For her part, Lizzie had stumbled and fallen in the melee at his father’s house and was complaining of her arm being painful. She would be taken for an x-ray as soon as the department could make room to fit her in.
“Thank you,” Caslin said to the departing nurse.
“No problem,” she replied, offering both of them another wide smile, friendly and reassuring.
Caslin turned to his daughter. “It’s nothing to worry about, I promise.”
“When will Mummy be here?”
“I called her before I got to granddad’s house, so any-”
“I’m here,” Karen said, appearing through the closed curtain to the cubicle. Lizzie leapt up from her seat and her mother dropped to her haunches and embraced her tightly. Too tightly as it turned out with Lizzie wincing as her bruised arm was pressed. “I’m so sorry, darling,” Karen said, releasing her grip and pulling back so she could look into the little girl’s face. “Mummy’s here now,” she said, drawing the girl close to her chest again.
Karen was out of breath and sweating, clearly having rushed to get there as quickly as she could. Now her daughter couldn’t see, the compassion exhibited in her expression was abandoned as she turned her gaze towards her former husband.
“Sean’s been taken for a scan,” Caslin advised her. The visible anger subsided and was replaced by concern. “It’s purely precautionary.”
“And Lizzie?” she asked, stroking her daughter’s head which appeared fixed to her mother’s chest.
“She’ll be going for an x-ray soon. Again, just as a precaution.”
“What about… your father?” Karen said, hesitating and fearful of the answer. Caslin pursed his lips and stood up.
“I have to go and see. By the time we got here, he’d already passed through A and E. He needed surgery,” Caslin said. Looking to Lizzie, he indicated he didn’t want to say further at the risk of scaring the child. The truth was his father was admitted unconscious and rushed to theatre for emergency surgery. The extent of the injury was unknown to him and he was agitated at the thought of the severity of his condition. “I’ll let you know as soon as I do.”
Karen nodded, “Please do.”
Caslin knelt down and Lizzie turned her head to the side so she could see him. “Mummy’s going to stay with you while I go and see your granddad, okay?” She nodded and he reached across cupping her cheek with the palm of his hand. He smiled and she returned it. Standing up, he pulled the curtain aside and stepped out looking around for a sign in order to get his bearings. For the life of him, he couldn’t remember which direction he’d entered from. Thinking he’d approached from his left, he set off in that direction. Within a few steps he heard the sound of the curtain being drawn behind him and footfalls.
“Nate,” Karen called after him. Caslin stopped and turned as she trotted towards him. Looking past her, he could see the curtain was closed. There was no sign of Lizzie. “Just one thing,” she said catching up to him.
“Yes?” he asked as Karen slapped him across the face. The blow stung his cheek. It was the last thing he’d expected.
“You promised me you’d keep your job away from this family,” she accused him, waving an extended finger in front of his face.
“You’re blaming me for this?”
“After what happened to Sean… you promised me!” she hissed. A sudden, fresh pang of guilt stabbed at his chest upon hearing those words. They tore through him. After nearly losing Sean when he was caught up in a case along with the subsequent years of trying to repair the mental damage, Caslin swore he would never let his children come to harm again as a result of his job. Karen was right. He hadn’t seen this coming. The rational response would be to deny his culpability but the emotional one was damning.
“I… I’m…” he stammered as she turned her back on him and stalked back towards the cubicle. “Sorry,” he said to himself, watching as she disappeared from view and back to comfort their daughter. Taking a deep breath, he resumed his course. A handful of people were present either waiting to be seen or relocated to their respective wards. They saw the exchange and he read their shocked expressions as a further indictment of his failure.
Ten minutes later, Caslin had given up on wandering aimlessly and sought help from a passing member of the medical staff. An internal phone call followed and he was directed to a specialist diagnostic ward, a temporary placing where his father could be assessed as to his medical needs before being found a permanent place on the respective ward. Confident of his route through the maze that was York Hospital, he finally arrived.
The entrance was secured with access only granted via use of a programmed key card or by a member of staff unlocking it from within. The days of wandering onto any ward without permission were rapidly becoming a distant memory. He pressed the intercom set alongside the entrance door and glanced up a
t the security camera overhead. The speaker crackled and he leaned in as the voice greeted him.
“Detective Inspector Caslin,” he said into the microphone. “I believe you have my father on the ward.”
There was an audible click as the lock was released and Caslin entered. There were doors off the corridor to either side giving access to storage, offices and what he guessed were treatment rooms of some sort but the main hive of activity was further along. Here, he came across the nurse’s station where he identified himself once again. Looking along the corridor to his right, he saw the unmistakable figure of an armed policeman standing outside a room. He realised then that his father was inside and he could have saved himself a bit of time by contacting Fulford Road and seeing where the protection had been placed rather than wandering the corridors aimlessly.
“The doctors are with your father now,” the nurse said, pointing to the room.
“How is he?” Caslin asked, apprehension edging into his tone.
“I believe the surgery went well,” she told him, “but the doctors will be able to tell you more.”
He thanked her and headed for the room. Not recognising the protection officer, he took out his warrant card and brandished it as he approached. The officer nodded approval and Caslin rapped his knuckles lightly on the door and entered. His father was in a private room. There were two windows off it facing to the outside and a third internal one with a view to what appeared to be a staff room. Two doctors were standing at the foot of his father’s bed, deep in discussion. Both acknowledged his arrival and he identified himself. Taking in his father’s appearance, he was struck by how pale and gaunt he was, far more so than normal. A clear indication of the trauma he’d been through. His left arm was connected to a drip and the right-hand side of his face was red and swollen, the skin already darkening as the bruising developed. His head was heavily bandaged, wrapped around his crown and down across his left eyebrow. The eye itself was covered with a large gauze pad and taped in place. Oxygen was being fed to him via a tube to his nostrils.
“Your father has taken quite some damage, I am afraid to say,” the consultant explained. “The emergency surgery was to repair tissue damage around the eye.”
“Is he… will he be all right?”
“It will take some time but we are very confident about his prognosis,” the doctor stated with a smile. “Mainly, he has sustained bruising and trauma that is largely superficial. It will take time to heal but it looks far worse than it is. Obviously, your father’s age will determine how long it takes regarding recovery time but he is in no immediate danger. When he wakes up, we will know more about how the trauma has affected him.”
“And the eye?” Caslin asked.
“We will have to wait and see,” he replied, tilting his head slightly. “Once the swelling goes down, we will be able to run some tests. In the meantime, please be positive.”
Caslin looked at his father. Without the medical paraphernalia and the obvious wounds, he could be forgiven for thinking he was at peace, asleep and resting comfortably. “Has he woken?”
“He came around in the ambulance on his way to the hospital and remained so until we took him into theatre. Usually, with the possibility of a concussion we don’t do so, but in this case, he was given a general anaesthetic to allow for the procedure. His CAT scan didn’t give us any concerns around his head injury so we pressed ahead. I should imagine he will be asleep for the next hour or so. When he comes around, he will most likely be groggy and a little disorientated.”
“That sounds like good news, Doctor,” Caslin said, feeling the anxiety he felt dissipate slightly.
“It is good news, Mr Caslin. Your father has come through this ordeal remarkably well for a man of his years, at least physically.”
“Thank you,” Caslin said, conveying his gratitude.
“You’re welcome. Please excuse us,” the consultant said and the two men left Caslin alone with his father.
Approaching the side of the bed, he reached out and placed his hands onto the old man’s. Suddenly, his father - the fierce, embittered, aggressive man who held such sway over him - looked every bit as fragile as his seventy-plus years might dictate. The man who was always the strongest, most prominent character in his life reduced to this state was troubling to see. If he needed a reminder that everyone was mortal, then this certainly qualified. Caslin’s phone began to ring.
“Sir, it’s Terry Holt. How is the family?”
“They’ll be okay, thanks, Terry,” Caslin replied quietly, looking at his father and hoping the doctors were right. “What do you have for me?”
“I had a thought… after you left the office earlier,” Holt said, and Caslin could infer from his tone the DC was somewhat pensive.
“What is it, Terry?”
“I don’t think Fuller was trying to hurt you.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
“I revisited the telematics data we took from Bradley’s wrecked Mercedes and came at it from a different angle. Now, we didn’t know why he was making the stops that he did but figured there had to be a reason, right?” Holt said.
“As in when he took a drive out to the lighthouse at Flamborough Head?” Caslin clarified.
“Exactly. He’s resurfaced from his secret life in obscurity with a goal in mind. Therefore, it follows logically that every stop he made and every visit to a location had a purpose. I doubt he came back for the weather. At the time, I only plotted his course over the main roads he used and the places where he frequented the most,” Holt said, standing and crossing to one of the several noticeboards they were utilising to display case information. “So, I went back and added everywhere he travelled to documenting where the engine was turned off, presumably where he stopped, as well as for the length of time in each location. We had him making two stops in Selby on two separate occasions.”
“Selby,” Caslin repeated. Holt met his eye. Hunter flicked hers between the two of them grasping the significance.
“Your father?” Hunter asked. Caslin frowned and looked to Holt encouraging him to continue.
“We can’t be sure of why he was in Selby but the day after he arrived in the country and then again two days before he died, Bradley’s car was stationary in the town. Not only in the town but on the outskirts.”
Caslin sat back in his seat. “Presumably, you have more?”
“I do,” Holt said, returning to the table they were seated at and picking up a folder. From this, he withdrew the copy of a map and passed it across to them. Routes were marked out, highlighted in different colours representing separate days. Caslin scanned them. “We still don’t know what Jody Wyer’s interest was in this case. We know from his mobile phone records that he was paying attention to MacEwan and his operations. What we didn’t do was take a look at the telematics data from his car.”
“And you have?” Hunter asked.
Holt nodded enthusiastically, “I cross-referenced the information I got from Wyer’s BMW with that of Bradley and I got a hit.”
“They crossed paths?” Caslin asked, looking up from the map he held in both hands in front of him. Holt nodded. “Where?”
“Selby,” Holt stated. “The signal from both cars was relayed via the same cell tower on that first date. The day after Bradley arrived from Spain.”
“Are you saying they met?” Hunter asked, trying to put the pieces together. Holt turned the corners of his mouth downwards and opened his palms in a gesture of uncertainty.
“We’ve no idea, really. But what we can say with certainty is they were in the same location at the same time. Wyer could have been following Bradley or they could have been setting up a meeting. We’ve no way of knowing.”
“And why Selby?” Caslin asked before casting his mind back to the phone call at the hospital that’d brought him back to Fulford from his father’s bedside. “You said on the phone you didn’t think Fuller was targeting me?”
Holt pulled out his chair and sat down reac
hing into his folder. “I’ve got an answer for both,” he said, looking at Caslin, “but… I don’t think you’re going to like it.”
“That’s certainly my reality today, Terry. What do you have?”
Holt took a deep breath gathering his thoughts. Holding both hands out in front of him, he presented his palms up splaying his fingers wide and raising his eyebrows, “Just hear me out. I haven’t followed it all the way through yet but…”
“We’re listening, Terry.”
“All right. Cast your mind back to the 80s. The Customs Clearing House is hit at Manchester Airport. It’s a massive job, bold, high profile, caught everyone by surprise and is an embarrassment for both the police and the government. The authorities of the day tried to keep a lid on the details by not releasing what was taken, but in today’s money, we’re looking at one hundred and twenty to thirty-million pounds. You can imagine the resources that were thrown at the investigation. Greater Manchester immediately put fifty officers on the case but once the scale was fully established, they knew they needed more.”
“They would have sought help from surrounding forces particularly those with connections to anyone who potentially could be in the frame,” Caslin said, following Holt’s logic.
“That’s what I thought,” Holt said, raising a finger in the air and smiling. “So, I went back to the case files I brought out of the archive, those I have anyway as the remaining ones still haven’t materialised despite repeated assurances…”
“Terry… focus,” Caslin said, masking thinly veiled irritation. He knew Holt was going somewhere and he was eager to join him.
“I totted up the number of officers from the initial assignation right through to when the case was in full swing. Over three hundred officers in one form or another plus more on top when it came down to raiding addresses around the country. One name caught my eye,” Holt said, spinning a sheet of paper on the table before him and sliding it in Caslin’s direction. Both Caslin and Hunter looked at it. It was a list of names. Holt had highlighted one with a yellow marker pen.
Fear the Past Page 19
