Why did I take that particular person’s life? The glass slips from my hand, too. I blink at the pieces. Why am I crying?
17
DI Barton
DS Strange nipped along with the traffic to the address. There was no need for gung-ho driving because as the city expanded in the seventies the planners built a network of dual carriageways, called the parkways, around and through the city. Peterborough boasted the fastest rush-hour traffic in the country, twice the speed of London. Established trees and bushes on the verges gave the impression of being in the country even though you could be minutes from the town centre.
Barton wasn’t focusing on any of that. He couldn’t help spending the journey contemplating his boss’s easy rapport with the Chief. Did that come with experience or were you born with it? One thing he was sure of, he needed this case solved asap.
Barton resisted the computer age initially, but his tablet PC proved useful. He did still use paper where possible though, as it seemed to help his thought processes. He scanned all the notes and printouts on the way and checked the address. Mrs Evelyn Sax, thirty-one, waited for them. She was the wife of Terry Sax, twenty-eight, who had gone out last night at 22:00 and not returned. DC Ginger Rodgers had done a good job and pulled up some interesting information from the PNC before the HOLMES room was set up with allocated staff. HOLMES 2 (Home Office Large Major Enquiry System) was the IT system used by the police for the investigation of major incidents. He read aloud pertinent parts for Strange’s benefit.
‘Terry Sax, multiple previous convictions, initially minor: shoplifting, criminal damage, then progressively worse: a Taking Without Owner’s Consent when he was nineteen, and then two prison sentences, one at twenty-one for possession with intent to supply, six months served in HMP Peterborough, and then two years served starting the following year for the same offence. Again, in Peterborough, and later they transferred him to Highpoint. Nothing new for four years.’
‘Maybe he saw the light.’
‘More like he didn’t enjoy the dark. They tend to get the message in the end.’
‘Where’s HMP Highpoint?’
‘HMP Knifepoint, as the cons affectionately call it, is in Suffolk. Two years there would have blunted his enthusiasm for more custodial time.’
Terry Sax’s rap sheet was common for a petty criminal. It read like a misspent youth that advanced to more serious offences and probably a drug addiction financed by crime. Drug addicts often progressed to dealing as it was the easiest way to fund their habits.
In the early afternoon brightness, it was hard to fathom the grim acts in the snow that morning. Barton’s dad always said not to buy anything in sunshine as everything looked different when it rained. Sure enough, even though he’d nicked people from many of the properties nearby and knew otherwise, the area seemed a pleasant place to live as they drove through it.
There was no need for satnav. Barton read out the house numbers as they arrived. Patches of decent housing huddled amongst neglected spots, and the Saxes’ was one of the nicest. The home in question had a large porch, immaculate front lawn and a better car than Barton owned.
‘Strange,’ Barton drawled.
He glanced at DS Strange and couldn’t prevent a smile sneaking onto his face. She frowned and got out of the car. At the door, she knocked and turned to him.
‘Remind me to chat about that when we leave.’
Barton didn’t have time to comment. His eyes widened further when a lean woman who reminded him of his doctor, with trendy glasses and scraped-back hair, came to the door. She introduced herself as Evelyn Sax. Barton asked if they could come in. She examined their warrant cards and guided them into a spotless lounge. The functional furniture and flat-screen TV had seen better days, but it didn’t resemble the disorderly home of a committed drug addict.
Barton went to sit in one seat and then chose another; a common ploy of his to enable him to check out the photographs. Some old pictures with people in seventies’ flares and wild hairstyles hung on the walls, but the majority were of the lady in front of him in a variety of holiday spots with the dead man they discovered this morning.
She perched on the sofa, looking small and lost.
‘Is it him? I just heard on the news there was a body found near here. I rushed down there but no one would tell me anything.’
‘Evelyn, can you describe your husband for me, please?’ Strange got her notebook out.
‘Terry’s tall and thin. He has a goatee and a shaved head. He needs glasses but rarely wears them.’ Her eyes searched theirs for clues. ‘Last night, he was wearing a black hoody, jeans, and black slip-on shoes.’
‘I’m afraid that matches the description of the man found,’ said Barton. There was no easy way to deliver information like that so Barton always gave it to them straight.
She seemed to shrink into the sofa and placed her head in her hands. Her shoulders shuddered for a while. Barton expected that to be the end of the usefulness of the conversation but, instead, she wiped her eyes and took a deep breath. The gaze she returned didn’t waver.
‘I assume he overdosed?’
‘Actually, no. We suspect foul play.’
‘Someone killed him? No way. He didn’t have any enemies. Do you mean suicide?’
Barton noticed the woman directing her answers to Strange. He reached over and took Strange’s notepad and let his partner take over. ‘No, we don’t think he committed suicide. Would you like a glass of water? A cup of tea?’
‘No, I’m fine.’ Evelyn’s shaking shoulders said otherwise as she tried to maintain control. ‘I won’t be when you’ve gone, but part of me has always expected a knock at the door.’
‘Can you explain a bit more, please?’ asked Strange.
Evelyn took a moment to compose herself. ‘We met because we were both addicts. You tend to know the others like you in the same town. It was over ten years ago when we first became friends. I’m sure you’ve heard similar tales. We became co-dependent and endured a shitty existence. I came from a normal upbringing, but an ex-boyfriend became hooked, and he gradually got me on it as well.
‘I left that relationship and slept rough for a few days. Terry and I had each other’s backs, but you know how these stories end. Terry’s habit was brutal, and the only way to fund it was by dealing. He wouldn’t let me get involved in that side of things, even though I suppose I benefitted from his crimes.
‘Anyway, he got nicked and did two spells in prison. He received support at Highpoint and came out focused on changing. He helped me get clean at the same time. We found jobs, we bought this house, and we dreamed of starting a family.’
She paused as tears slid down her face. With another long exhale, she continued.
‘Terry hurt his back and lost his job two years ago. You can guess how addicts cope with bad news and pain. He relapsed for a week, just disappeared, and then sorted himself out again. He does gardening work when his back lets him. Every now and again, he goes off for a few hours or even several days and uses again.’
‘Was that where he went last night?’
‘Yes, he said he was popping out, and he’d be back when he felt better. It was his code for using.’
‘Why did you ring to say he was missing if he often went walkabout?’
‘He said he’d be back by breakfast so I could open my presents with him. It’s my birthday today.’
Strange scrunched her eyes as she thought about the questions that needed asking. Evelyn understood the process.
‘You may think me hard by being like this, but I’ve seen friends die before. I know the real grief comes later. Ask whatever you want.’
‘Why did you stay with him?’
‘Loyalty, I guess. He helped me to get off the junk. I know how it takes a hold over some people. It’s evil stuff. But the main reason was that I enjoyed his company. He made me laugh and put me first. Is it definitely him?’
Strange got up and sat next to Evelyn on the sofa.
‘He fits the description, even down to his clothing. I’m sorry. We can arrange someone to pick you up to take you to identify the body. It doesn’t have to be today.’
‘I’d like to get it out of the way. But I still don’t get it. Who would want to kill Terry?’
‘Do you have someone to be with? Perhaps you could stay with some friends.’
‘I’ll be okay.’
‘What about his family and friends? Who else needs to know?’
‘He hasn’t got any friends. He only had a mum, and she died when he was young. That’s probably why he got in this mess.’
‘He must have some acquaintances. People he texted, that sort of thing?’
‘No, he hated mobile phones. Said the only person he wanted to talk to was me. That’s not because he wasn’t likeable. Men are just shit at keeping in touch, aren’t they? He did occasionally have a guy call around for him. Thickset bloke. Terry called him Brick, which I assume isn’t his real name.’
Barton considered the unfairness of life. It sounded like a depressing existence. He smiled slowly with respect at the woman’s composure. The first few hours of any investigation were the most important so he decided to go for broke.
‘The most likely explanation is a drug debt. Where does he buy his drugs?’
Evelyn barked a hollow laugh and shook her head. ‘Good try. I’m not getting involved in any of that. I gave him twenty pounds to score. If he wanted more, I’d have given him it. We don’t have secrets. When you’ve been us, you can’t. You know who sells the drugs around here, Detective Barton, but keep me out of it.’
‘He didn’t have any enemies at all?’
‘No, none. Not any more. He was a good man.’
18
DI Barton
The two officers shook Mrs Sax’s hand when they left. There were no words. Barton noticed her expression sink to the floor after the door closed. Halfway down the path, Barton put his phone to his ear and connected to Naeem and updated her. When he was out of hearing range from the house, he summarised his thoughts.
‘Poor Evelyn Sax probably doesn’t know the half of it. Terry Sax most likely found himself in debt with his supplier. Things got out of hand, and they took him out.’
‘Do you know how many dealers are likely to operate in that area?’ asked Naeem.
‘Only two people control the drug trade around here – the Chapman sisters.’
‘I feared as much.’
They spoke for a few minutes more before hanging up. Strange started the car as Barton climbed in. He took a deep breath.
‘Come on, let’s grab a sandwich. McDonald’s?’
‘Do you own shares in the yellow arches? Or have they presented you with your own seat? I’m bored with Maccy D’s. I fancy Subway. They do a great tuna salad.’
Barton rolled his yes. However, the rule was that whoever drove got to choose.
‘Excellent work back there. You handled that well.’
‘Thanks, Guv. That must be the weirdest death message I’ve had to deliver.’
‘I know. Maybe Mortis will tell us that it was suicide by fox.’
They both chuckled. Gallows humour was sometimes the only thing that kept you from sinking into ineffective gloom.
‘That’s got to be the shittiest part of the job. Giving someone news like that,’ she said.
‘Yeah, although remember being in uniform? No one tells you that you’re going to spend most of your time dealing with people who are off their faces. I still have nightmares about them crapping themselves in my patrol car. I swear the stench would linger for weeks.’ Barton grimaced at the memories.
‘Nasty shit, indeed. So, what did the boss say?’
‘The canvassing team will go out tonight and see if anyone’s seen anything. No further intel has come in, which is a little odd. Usually a few nutters ring and confess.’
‘Clever time to commit a crime.’
‘Yeah. That has me worried. We rarely see professional hits around here. Our murders are impulsive, not planned.’
‘Any ideas for this afternoon?’
‘You get the pleasure of meeting the Chapman sisters.’
‘Excellent. They have quite the reputation. It’s a shame we can’t just send in the SAS and be done with it.’
‘As lawless scum go, they aren’t too bad.’
‘Really?’
‘They rule with an iron fist. Everyone knows it and stays in line. That means we actually have less trouble. Turf wars are the biggest cause of serious violence.’
Strange nodded. ‘I suppose that’s the truth the world over. New guys turn up with a cheaper product to steal the clients, who are more than happy to take a bargain. The original guys don’t like it, and next thing the ambulances are picking up people with machete and gunshot wounds. If the latest merchandise is too strong, it ends with overdoses. Get rid of the Chapmans and someone would quickly take their place.’
‘That’s right. It can be better the devil you know. Especially with these two. I’ll extract some info from them today. They might not even be aware they’ve given me any. Best bit is, I have a good idea exactly where they’ll be.’
‘What’s their story?’
Barton blew out his cheeks. ‘It’s kind of sad. The Chapmans are a product of modern society. I nicked them both a ridiculous amount of times when they were minors. To be fair to them, if nurture wins over nature, they had little chance. Their mother hailed from the Caribbean. She’d been a committed user before her inevitable early death. I was still in uniform when I discovered the body of that once beautiful girl in a bedsit in the town centre; fat, raddled, glassy-eyed, alone, and dead for three days.
‘Their father, who originally came from Ireland, was actually a decent guy. He made me laugh and did a great impression of Father Ted. But he was really dangerous for women. He charmed the ladies with his easy patter and good looks, while running a team of builders out of a unit at the Herlington shops. He was blessed, as some men are, with a slim, defined body with minimal effort. Numerous spells using the prison gym kept him in tip-top shape.
‘The problem being that when he had more than a few drinks, he liked a little cocaine. Like every addict, all promises were null and void after a hit. An evening’s entertainment could turn into two or three day violent benders. Zander and I often got called because few could handle him. Everyone suffered under his fists, including the girls, who lived with him after their mother’s downfall. His life ended in his flat through overdosing just after the older girl, Celine, hit eighteen. It seemed to have been the first time he had ever injected the drug.’
‘Shame.’
‘Yep, not many grieved for him. Hard drugs change people. The kids lived under his mad rule for a long time. Afterwards, Celine discovered a surprising aptitude for business. She’d been doing her dad’s books and rotas over the years whenever he was inside or went missing. After his excesses, he would lie on the sofa and tell her what to do while nursing his evil comedowns. Chapman Building Services still thrives today.’
‘The sisters still run the business?’
‘Incredibly, yes. After he died, Celine got custody of her younger sister, Britney. Their mother must have loved her music, and the five year age gap is reflected in their names. It makes it easy to remember as Britney Spears is younger than Celine Dion.’
‘Nice tip!’ said Strange.
‘After their dad’s demise, the sisters’ petty crime stopped. The authorities trapped the dealer and his friends, the ones who supplied Daddy Chapman, in a police sting with information from an anonymous source shortly after. The drug squad cracked the conspiracy above, and they all went down. If Celine was involved, she was lucky as her name didn’t come up in the investigation.
‘The streets stayed quiet for a while, but then the number of overdoses and violent attacks picked up. A sure sign that a new dealer wanted the market. It took a long while for us to suspect the young Chapman sisters might be responsible. We’re posit
ive the girls run the show now and we’re trying to build a case. Getting strong evidence that holds up in court is proving tricky though. We haven’t found anything concrete to pin on them for years.’
Strange tutted. ‘Sounds familiar. Wealthy drug dealers have money to hire alibis and pay grasses.’
‘Spot on. We’ve been fed more disinformation than fact sometimes. The best barristers are on speed dial even for the minions. Celine runs the respectable business as a cover but, more importantly, they use the characters they grew up with as mules and street dealers. That way, the Chapmans are never near the product. They employ local kids on push-bikes and skateboards, and their workers’ allegiance is not to the police.’
‘What sort of people are the sisters?’
‘Celine’s a mixed bag. Her upbringing has made her calm, organised, uncaring and ruthless. She knows how to handle the most violent of men. I always suspected she killed her dad. Despite that, she inherited his charm and humour, and instils loyalty with her generosity.’
‘She doesn’t sound like someone to be underestimated.’
‘Nope, not at all. Britney, on the other hand, reminds me of The Joker from the Batman films. She gets her kicks from hurting other people. The only law in the land that matters to Britney is her sister’s. She manages the street kids, many of whom attended her school, and they all look up to her.’
‘So, she runs it with fear?’
Barton tapped his chin with his index finger. ‘In a way, but the kids love her and the drama. It’s as though they think they’re in their own dramatic TV show. Too many rap videos and shoot ’em up video games, I reckon. Violence and death mean nothing if you’re surrounded by it on a daily basis.’
‘Guns?’
‘No. That’s the one positive. Although beatings are unreported and people vanish. It’s hard to keep track as users and street dealers are transient and flit from town to town. They upset people along the way and are rarely missed. Who knows if they’ve left the city or been buried? One thing we do know is nobody snitches on the Chapmans.’
The Snow Killer Page 8
