The George Elms Trilogy Box Set

by Charlie Gallagher

  ‘He did that. With help. I don’t know what scares me more . . . Roberts, the devil we know or . . .’

  ‘Or the one we don’t,’ George said. ‘I think he was planning his escape from prison before he even got sent there.’

  ‘You might be right. That’s not going to soften the blow tomorrow, is it? When I stand in front of my team and tell them he’s outwitted us all.’

  ‘Not you, though. Not them. The only people he didn’t outwit were your investigation team. You need to lead on that.’

  Emma sighed, longer and harder than George had heard before. ‘Maybe you’re right. I’ll give it a go.’

  ‘I’ll be there. With you, I mean. I’m happy to step in and take the flack as the bumbling, foreign force who messed up their job.’

  She chuckled a little, ‘I think you’ll play that role well.’

  ‘I’ve made a career out of it!’

  The laughter increased. The silence that followed felt somehow less awkward. Both seemed content to be lost in their thoughts.

  Emma spoke first. ‘What else is there, George? What more can we do?’

  He pulled out the note book in which he had listed outstanding actions as he saw them. ‘The van that was hired. We were doing some CCTV bits around that?’

  ‘Oh! Did I not update you? I had a missed call then an email. I didn’t call them back. The CCTV was reviewed. It’s not very clear. I asked for some stills to be taken off it and put out on all the briefings. We haven’t gone public with it yet. Hang on . . .’ Emma played with her computer. It took a few seconds to activate. ‘Here.’ George walked round to get a better view of her screen. The camera looked like it was fixed high up, behind a counter. It pointed down at a steep angle. It captured a white male with a slim build. He didn’t look that old, maybe early twenties, but George was guessing at that from an overall impression. He wore a light hooded top. The hood was up. It had a blurred motif on the front. Something on the left breast. The image was poor quality overall. Certainly he couldn’t make out any facial features. It looked like he was in black tracksuit bottoms and white trainers.

  ‘Is there a video clip?’ Experience told him that stills were not the way to see someone. You need them to be moving. The way they move, the way they hold themselves, that’s what can be recognised.

  ‘I did ask for that. This should be it.’ Emma scrolled through her emails. She clicked on another attachment. The screen went black for a second then the video started. Their man hovered by the door. To George he looked like he was building himself up to something. A few people moved in before him. Finally he stepped in. He kept his head bent and he didn’t look up at any point. George was in no doubt that he knew where the camera was. His walk, the stiffness to his movements, telltale signs of someone who was tense, rigid almost.

  ‘It’s no clearer,’ Emma said.

  ‘It isn’t. But from that I would say that he has been there before to recce the place. There will be a clearer image of him. From earlier but who knows when.’

  ‘I’ll get someone back down there from my team to go through it.’

  George started pacing. ‘I wouldn’t bother. It’s not going to be enough to ID him unless he’s already well known to us. And the time it would take to go back through every minute of CCTV they have stored . . . That’s assuming he has been there in the period still stored on their system. I think we’ll have better uses for your team, Emma.’

  ‘Okay. Tomorrow morning, when I tell them what is going on, we will get one of two reactions. They will either collapse in front of me or they will all instantly want to know what they can do. I think I know my team. I think they’re all going to want to be out doing something to get us closer to getting this animal back behind bars.’

  ‘I’m sure you’re right.’

  ‘We are going to need to give them something to do though, George. That will be key to this. If they’re sitting round thinking about it too much we will have problems.’

  ‘Understood.’ George was back to flicking through his book.

  ‘The doctor. His interview is key. I’ve asked Whittaker to update me when it’s done. There might be some leads we can follow up on. Maybe more financial stuff, too — they’ll look at his accounts for sure? We still don’t know enough around those. You and I will speak to the vicar about the same thing. I’ve had success in the past with following money. I’m sure you’ve had the same.’

  ‘I’ve hit a fair few brick walls, too. Roberts is used to having money — probably used to hiding it too. Those sorts of people usually are.’

  ‘I’m sure you’re right, but we have to try. Is there a family accountant? Anyone they used? Might be a good place to start.’

  ‘I don’t know. I’m not sure if that was picked up as part of the initial investigation either. It was never about money.’

  ‘I think it is now. It took a lot of money to get him out of that prison. Maybe some of your team could have a look at that. They might be able to get a superintendent up here to authorise more intrusive checks. Someone who isn’t quite concerned about an IPCC enquiry.’

  ‘That makes sense.’ Emma was shaking her head, however.

  ‘Do you not agree?’

  ‘No, I do. It’s not that. I’ve gotten used to criminals doing all sorts of terrible things for their own financial gain. I can understand that. Crime for money makes sense to me. I think that’s one of the reasons why this hit us so hard — this was about Roberts enjoying killing young women. And in the most hideous way he could imagine. We have to stop him, George.’

  ‘I know. We will. We just need some luck. Fortune favours the good. That’s a thing, right?’

  ‘It’s brave. Fortune favours the brave.’

  ‘That can’t be true. Tomorrow morning you’ll be addressing a room full of incredibly brave people. People that stood up to the Bull. And yet we certainly haven’t had any luck.’ George felt his phone vibrate in his pocket. The screen read Ryker. ‘Maybe this is our fortune right now — hey, Ryker!’

  ‘George, can you speak?’ She sounded urgent.

  ‘Of course. Wassup?’

  ‘I’ve been monitoring inbound emergency calls. I had a word with the FCR. I asked that they let me know of anything even remotely related to vans or girls. I’ve been getting tagged in everything from vans parked over drives to girls seen throwing stones at a supermarket in—’

  ‘Ryker!’

  ‘Sorry. I’m babbling. There’s a call log. Here in Langthorne. It might be nothing. I’ve sent it to your email.’

  ‘It won’t be nothing. It’s obviously got you interested. Can you forward it on to Emma? We can look at it on her screen.’

  ‘Yeah, doing it now.’

  ‘What’s the summary?’

  ‘A young girl working at a petrol station down here in Langthorne. She finished her shift at around 20:00 hours last night. Her car was parked ten metres from the exit door. She said goodbye to a male colleague and left to go home. She has since been reported missing. Her car is still on the forecourt.’

  ‘Young girl?’ He made eyes at Emma. He could see she had opened up the log on her screen. She scrolled through it.

  ‘Yeah. Seventeen. Not long passed her test. It was her first time driving to work, George. We’ve been given a picture from the parents. I’ve scanned one. It should be with you.’

  ‘Last night? Before Roberts got out?’

  ‘Yes. While he was still tucked up in bed. But we know his mate was in the area.’

  The picture opened up on Emma’s screen. A young girl’s image appeared, she wore a beaming smile. Her long blonde hair fell either side of her pretty face. She had high cheekbones and piercing blue eyes that were filled with joy as she held up a brown and white puppy dog. She looked so carefree and happy. So innocent. George knew she was perfect. He struggled to speak.

  ‘Thanks, Ryker. We’ll have a look through the log and we’ll come back to you.’

  ‘Okay. We’ve got CCTV enquiries g
oing. The staff car park isn’t covered, we know that much already. But any vehicle going in or out will have been captured. They have ANPR. I’m doing what I can around that. It’s out of office hours now though, so it might take a little longer.’

  ‘Understood.’ George could feel his energy draining away. There were a thousand things that needed doing. He knew that, but he had just driven two hundred miles away from that garage. This enquiry had just gotten a whole lot bigger. ‘Who’s at the scene?’

  ‘I’ve spoken to Whittaker. I’ve told him that I think it could be linked. There wasn’t much going on there until then. Now we have everyone there.’

  ‘Okay, good work. We will need everyone who works there tied down. There needs to be some proper questioning going on. They will have seen our man. He will have been in there.’

  ‘Leave it with me, George. I know what needs to be done.’

  He finished the call and his tired eyes met with Emma’s. ‘We have no idea where he’s gone. We have no idea who he’s with. We don’t know the van anymore.’ George was mumbling, thinking out loud.

  ‘A couple of things I do know.’ Emma still had the image of seventeen-year-old Sadie Edwards on the screen. Her name was written in bold under the picture.

  ‘What’s that?’

  ‘We need some rest, George.’

  ‘Rest! How can we rest?’

  ‘We need rest, George. We’re no good to anyone exhausted. We need to think again when we’re fresh. Let’s start again tomorrow. Early.’

  George couldn’t disagree. He wanted to speak to the vicar. He wanted to go through his accounts, to question him on every detail. But he would need to be sharp to do that. ‘You said a couple of things.’

  Emma sighed. ‘I did. The other thing I know is that Roberts now has his second girl.’

  Chapter 30

  George’s legs burnt with fatigue as he climbed the steps up to the holiday cottage. As he paused for breath at the door, he heard the patter of clawed feet, followed quickly by yapping and then a growl. Sharkey had arrived baring his teeth.

  ‘You came back then?’ The Essex twang was recognisable straight off, as were the leopard skin leggings. ‘Thought you’d had enough, seeing as how I didn’t see you again.’

  George summoned up a tired smile in greeting. ‘Hey! Nice to see you again. I think Sharkey would rather I never came back.’

  ‘You can ignore him. I told you that last time. He’s all show.’

  ‘And teeth.’ George gestured at where Sharkey was still showing a full set.

  ‘That’s all he is. A set of teeth. How did the hiking go?’

  George was aware that she was looking him up and down. He stood in a shirt and trousers, a tie hanging limp a few inches short of where his top button was undone, and formal black shoes. He didn’t look much like a hiker.

  ‘Good. There are some incredible trails around here.’

  ‘There are. Is that where you’ve been today?’

  ‘No, I got called into work today. It can happen. I was hoping to come up here for a complete break. Things never quite work out how you want them to, you know what I mean?’

  ‘I do. What is it that you do for work?’

  ‘I’m in insurance. An actuary. I set the pricing for your policies. That doesn’t mean you can hate me for it though. I set the base price. I have nothing to do with the profit they lump on top!’ George’s standard answer complete with snorted chuckle was delivered seamlessly. He had lost count of the amount of times he had given that line at social functions, to boyhood mates or just whenever he didn’t want a conversation about being a police officer. It was about perfect: just interesting enough to be a real job, but boring enough for no follow-up questions.

  ‘Ah, I see. That’s important enough for them to call you up on your holidays is it?’ She chuckled, seemingly satisfied.

  ‘Not to me it isn’t. Well, I’ve got an early start in the morning. Who knows, I might actually be able to get a hike in!’

  ‘Good luck with that. I hear it’s going to be another warm one tomorrow. We don’t get too many of them round here — you make the most of it.’

  ‘I’ll try.’ George was already walking towards the house. He heard the woman encourage the dog not to attack him. He was grateful for that.

  The key was where he’d left it. The milk was still there, too. In fact, nothing had moved. Why should it have done? It was still his to use for another couple of days. He made a cup of tea, cursing that he hadn’t stopped off for something a little stronger. He considered the pub. It was only a short walk but he dismissed the idea. He wanted an early night.

  He had brought some reading material home; specifically, Dennis Coleman’s daybook. All the formal statements and supporting material was there, everything that was submitted to the Crown Prosecution Services summarising all the evidence. George didn’t want the polished summary in the format required for court. He wanted the doodlings and thoughts of a good detective. George had a theory about that. DS Coleman was a mess. He had fallen apart. To George, that smacked of a good detective, the sort who couldn’t accept that he hadn’t been able to help those girls. For so much to have been taken out of him he must have obsessed over this case. Bad detectives don’t obsess, they just accept their failings and move on. George understood what it meant to obsess. He also knew that the thoughts and feelings of an obsessed detective were worth far more than a polished CPS case summary. The book was A4 sized. And two thirds full. The writing was scratchy. Op Example was written on the front and took up all of the cover. The first few pages were written out in the VOWS format: every part of what Dennis knew at that point categorised as either Victim, Offenders, Witnesses or Scenes, a classic discipline. George skipped past this section. He wanted the material from later on: when Dennis felt he was chasing his arse; when he was out of plausible ideas; when only the theories were left.

  While he leaned on the kitchen bench with the notebook, George became gradually aware that the old house had a chilly edge — like houses often did when they’d been sitting empty. He considered the log fire and the sofa but changed his mind. A hot shower and his bed seemed like a better idea. He would take his reading material with him. Hopefully a combination of reading and the sounds of the river would lead to another good night’s sleep. If he was to make any headway, there was another long day to awaken to.

  Chapter 31

  George pulled into a visitor’s spot at the front of Hereford Police Station just before 7 a.m. Once again Symonds Yat had come through as the perfect place for a good sleep. He did indeed feel refreshed. Sleep had come despite him spending his last waking moments with the notes of a sergeant desperately chasing a serial killer. He was flicking through them again now but was no longer taking it in. He was killing time; without Emma, he couldn’t even get into the building.

  A car pulled in and he thought he had spotted her. Sure enough, she appeared on foot less than a minute later.

  ‘Morning, Emma.’

  ‘Morning. Did you sleep well?’

  ‘I did, actually. I seem to sleep a lot better up here than I do at home.’

  ‘A reason to stay?’

  ‘Who knows?’

  Emma walked quickly past George, away from the entrance they had used previously. ‘Did you see someone on the steps?’ she called out.

  ‘Someone where?’ George hadn’t seen anyone around at all. He wasn’t even sure which steps she meant. She walked around a wall and turned back on herself. George followed. When he rounded the wall he could see some stone steps in front. They led up to the doors to the front counter, which was closed this early in the day. A man in a black woollen hat and gloves sat on them. It wasn’t a cold morning, but it had been a chilly night. George reckoned he had been there a while. The figure stood up as they approached. George jogged to catch up with Emma.

  ‘That’s odd? Don’t you guys have a bat phone?’ George referred to a facility at most police stations. A phone positioned at the fr
ont for people that turn up to make a report out of hours.

  ‘We do. It’s on the wall. I think I know who it is.’

  ‘Anyone you need to worry about?’

  ‘It’s Chloe Pope’s dad. He used to be here a lot. In the early days. I haven’t seen him for a while. He can be a little . . . spikey. You just have to go easy on him, okay?’

  ‘I’ve no intention of being hard on a grieving father,’ George said.

  ‘Mr Pope!’ Emma called out.

  The man rubbed his hands together and dug his chin into the front of his jacket as if he was cold and he wanted them to know it. ‘Colin. I thought we agreed on that,’ he said.

  ‘We did, you’re right. It’s been a little while, Colin. How are you doing?’

  ‘Is this George Elms, by any chance?’

  ‘I am indeed.’ George held his hand out to shake. Colin eyed it for a second. Eventually he took up the offer.

  ‘You don’t understand the problems you caused when you came up like that.’ He stared at George. His jaw rippled a little. He looked agitated.

  ‘Problems? If I caused any problems I’m really sorry. I didn’t come up to see you to cause any problems—’

  ‘What did you come up for then?’

  ‘George here is—’

  ‘Is it true?’ Pope was getting more and more wound up.

  ‘Is what true, Colin?’ Emma asked softly.

  ‘You’re moving him? To somewhere cushy? So he can be more comfortable? Is that fucking true?’

  ‘Now, Colin—’

  ‘Yes or no?’

  ‘There’s a little more to it than that—’

  ‘Yes, then! How could you do that? That piece of shit should be in a fiery pit. Not—’

  ‘Who told you that?’ George took his turn to cut in. He felt himself starting to flare up too.