Buried - DC Jack Warr Series 01 (2020)

by LaPlante, Lynda

  ‘He looks happy.’

  As Jack poured tea for them both, his mobile buzzed. A text message from Ridley:

  In confidence – ID is Mike Withey. Informing family now. No private connection to Norma, as she was a lesbian.

  Jack tried to hide his grin. He knew for a fact that Ridley would have agonised over whether to type the word ‘lesbian’ or ‘gay’. He might even have googled the most PC phrasing.

  Jack handed Julia her tea and then excused himself to go to the bathroom.

  He perched on the wash basin, reread the content of Ridley’s text, and suddenly felt like he was definitely wasting his time with these bloody Grange women. He should be back at the nick, with his team, looking for a bunch of dodgy coppers with connections to hired hands with enough balls to do a train robbery and kill one of their own.

  When Jack re-entered the conservatory, a young girl was sitting on Julia’s lap, crying her heart out. Julia indicated that he should keep on with his questions while she rocked the distraught girl back to calmness.

  ‘Do you run this place alone?’ he enquired.

  ‘I have two people helping me. I’d trust them with my life. I did have three, until the father of one of the children turned up on my doorstep demanding his son back. I knew who’d given out our address.’ Then Julia spoke to the girl. ‘Go on. Stick by Suzie for now, please. I’ll come and talk to Darren in a minute.’

  The girl jumped off Julia’s knee and headed for Suzie, who Jack hadn’t noticed was waiting in the doorway. Suzie was big for such a young-looking girl and didn’t seem ‘all there’. She seemed vulnerable and timid. When the girls had left the room, Julia continued.

  ‘Darren’s a worry. He’s feral. I don’t mean that maliciously, it’s just the best word to describe him. He lashes out so quickly.’

  ‘Self-preservation.’ Jack suddenly recalled another memory long buried. ‘A much bigger lad was after my lunch money at school ‒ this was after I was placed with my foster parents ‒ and as he got within reach I hit him before he could hit me. I remember that I didn’t want to fight him, so I had to create a lie to tell myself . . . the lie being that I wasn’t afraid.’

  ‘I have a feeling you still protect yourself in the same way,’ Julia teased. ‘You stand when I’m seated, in order to command the room. You have your hands in your pockets to show how at ease you are, you don’t break eye contact showing you’re no pushover, you chat to draw me in. I studied psychology as part of my doctorate, and I have to say that you are very hard to read for a copper. You’re either genuine or you’re one big façade, DC Warr.’

  Jack blew air from his nostrils as he smiled. He liked Julia very much – she sounded posh and she looked very feminine, but he didn’t doubt that she was as tough as old boots.

  When he asked if the isolation affected her, she said, ‘Isolation keeps us safe. I’m guardian to these children ‒ that’s a privilege that I don’t take lightly. The truth, although they think the opposite, is that they saved my life. I owe these children everything.’

  *

  Four hours later, in West London, Jack rang Angela’s doorbell. She opened the door without asking who was there, and from her surprised expression it was immediately clear to him that she’d been expecting someone else.

  ‘DC Warr,’ he said, holding up his warrant card.

  She led him into the lounge, where she’d been re-covering a set of dining room chairs, shaking her head.

  ‘I don’t see the point in that bottom door if people hold it open for strangers – no offence. I thought you were Irene from 36 ‒ she wanted to take a picture of her chairs to show her mum. Sorry, that’s not remotely interesting. What can I do for you?’

  Jack explained that he wanted to ask Angela about the train robbery, even though he wasn’t expecting much, having read her original statement.

  ‘I wasn’t there,’ she explained. ‘I’d taken Kathleen’s kids away for the night. We got back early and The Grange was swarming with police. That’s the first I knew of it. Tea?’

  ‘No, thank you. I’m all tea’d out.’

  ‘Ask anything you like – but I’m going to keep going on these chairs. I’ve got a deadline!’

  Jack asked question after question, most of which were answered with ‘I don’t know, I wasn’t there’. It struck him as interesting that none of the women from The Grange were remotely flustered by him showing up at their homes. Surely train robbers, even 24 years on, would be a little surprised and jumpy? He got no sense of tension from any of the women, and there was precious little evidence of unexplained wealth.

  Angela’s flat was probably two- or three-bedroomed – the wall of photos showed numerous children, but they couldn’t have all fitted in there. A toy box in the corner of the lounge contained some boys’ stuff and some girls’ stuff, so Jack guessed that at least two kids lived here. He also guessed the rest must be extended family. As he looked around the walls he noticed, high on a shelf, far out of the reach of sticky young fingers, were two lone toys – a small, worn teddy bear and a bright yellow teething ring. Special memories being kept safe, he supposed.

  The family feel of this place was oddly similar to Julia’s home, even though in other ways they were vastly different. The children in these photos had probably never known abuse, violence or anger.

  Angela freely told Jack all about herself. She ran an upholstering business, earning money from family, friends and neighbours – she was bringing back the make-do-and-mend ethos in a ‘throwaway’ society. Her husband, Rob, was doing the same with cars and bikes. Angela felt the need to digress for long enough to confirm that their businesses were legitimate and that they paid all their taxes. Unfortunately, seconds later, Irene from 36 came up to take photos of her newly covered dining chairs and took the opportunity to pay Angela in cash.

  ‘Take it now, Ange, for God’s sake, or it’ll go straight back out on the 3.40 at Chepstow.’

  Jack smiled as Angela squirmed, trying to work out what kind of a copper he was. He laughed.

  ‘I’m not here for anything other than a little background on the train robbery.’

  And to prove he wasn’t going to turn her in to HMRC, he accepted the cup of tea offered when he first arrived because, as every good cop knows, sharing tea breaks down barriers.

  Jack and Angela talked for a further thirty minutes about the other women at The Grange, about the failed children’s home, about the death of Dolly Rawlins – and this final topic of conversation had a clear impact on Angela’s mood.

  ‘From the very second Dolly saw me, she knew I needed her. She was this old woman – old to me back then – who could suss a person out as soon as look at them. I remember I said to her once about me and her being friends or something like that, and she said, “You don’t know me, darlin’. There’s lots to me no one ever knows. That’s how I survive.” But I did know her. And she certainly knew me. I miss her.’

  ‘Do you visit her grave?’

  ‘She’s a good listener,’ Angela said with a smile. ‘I take fresh flowers every Wednesday. I let her down, you see. I want her to know that I’m making up for it now.’

  Jack enquired exactly how Angela had let Dolly down, but she didn’t give much detail away; instead she spoke about how it made her feel.

  ‘It was personal. I made a mistake . . . with a bloke. I lost a baby. And when everyone else turned their backs on me, Dolly looked me straight in the eye and told me what a stupid little bitch I’d been. She was right. And, just after she set me straight, she hugged me tighter than I’d ever been hugged in my life. That’s what I mean when I say she could suss a person out as soon as look at them – she knew what I needed.’

  ‘She sounds like an amazing woman.’

  Angela wasn’t fooled by Jack’s kind words. If he’d already visited Ester, he’d know that Dolly was hated just as much as she was loved. It all depended whether or not she was on your side. As the evening drew in, Jack thanked Angela for the tea,
scribbled down his mobile number in case she remembered anything else, and left her to her work. Once he’d gone, Angela went to her window and waited. Eventually, he appeared in the car park below and headed towards Kensal Green Underground.

  Angela stepped up onto the arm of the sofa and took down the teddy bear and teething ring. She cried easily as she recalled the moment, twenty-four years ago, that she’d told Dolly she was pregnant. She was young and petrified and just to say the words out loud relieved so much pressure. Dolly took her to Mothercare, where she bought and paid for all of the essentials. Angela had subsequently lost the baby and, in a fit of unimaginable distress, she’d destroyed everything Dolly had bought. Except a small teddy bear and a bright yellow teething ring.

  But tonight, Angela didn’t cry for the loss of her baby . . . she cried for the loss of Dolly.

  CHAPTER 16

  After Anik’s previous encounter with Susan Withey ‒ when he mostly impressed Ridley with his approach and his questioning – he was perhaps a little too confident going into this notification of death.

  Susan was in the middle of getting ready to go out, and so she didn’t play by the book at all. When Anik asked her to sit, she didn’t. When he asked her to listen, she continued multitasking. It was only when he started following her round the downstairs rooms that Ridley took over.

  ‘Susan.’ Ridley’s voice was an enviable mix of gentle and authoritative. He stood in Susan’s way, put a hand on her back and steered her into the lounge, talking as he moved. ‘I need to be certain that I have your full attention, please.’ He sat down on the sofa, subliminally suggesting she do exactly the same. ‘We’ve now made a DNA identification on the body found at Rose Cottage.’

  And that was all Susan needed to hear, really – although Ridley went on to say the actual words, so there was no doubt in his mind that she’d fully understood.

  ‘I’m sorry to confirm that it is your husband. It is Mike.’ Susan’s head dipped a little, but her facial expression didn’t change that much. She didn’t cry. She didn’t speak. ‘We’re investigating and I’ll personally keep you informed about what we discover. Where are you getting ready to go to, Susan?’

  Susan, quiet and in shock, said that she was meeting a friend at the gym.

  ‘Would you like me to ask that friend to come here instead?’

  Susan nodded, found her friend’s name in ‘contacts’ and handed her mobile to Ridley. He, in turn, handed it to Anik.

  ‘Say that Susan’s had some bad news and would like her to come round, please. Then put the kettle on.’

  Ridley reassured Susan that they’d stay with her until her friend arrived, to deal with any questions either of them might have. As Anik stepped into the kitchen to make the call, he could hear Susan ask if she could see Mike.

  ‘There’s no comfort to be found in seeing him,’ he replied gently. ‘You leave Mike to me. I’ll look after him . . . so that you can look after yourself and your children.’

  Anik heard Susan start to cry, followed by the rustle of Ridley’s jacket as he put his arm around her. When Anik returned to the lounge with a mug of sweet tea, Susan was sitting alone on the sofa and Ridley was standing in front of the fake hearth. The shoulder of his pale green jacket now showed a small dark patch, which Anik assumed was from Susan’s tears. Horrible though it was, he yearned for the day that a murder victim’s next of kin trusted every word that he said and rested their head on his shoulder for comfort.

  *

  It was almost seven o’clock when the team was back together in the squad room. Jack, having completed his interviews of the women from The Grange, confirmed that, in his opinion, they were nothing more than witnesses to Dolly’s murder and knew nothing at all about the train robbery until after the fact. With this line of enquiry closed, Ridley focused his team on Mike Withey, Barry Cooper and, possibly, Norma Walker. These people were connected to Rose Cottage and the money and, possibly, the robbery.

  ‘Sir,’ Jack interjected. ‘As well as the train robbery, Mike is also connected to an earlier crime in which, again, none of the stolen property has been recovered. The diamond heist back in ’84.’

  Ridley looked at the extensive evidence boards that had been building over the past weeks. All of the historic research Jack had insisted on including in them might just come to fruition now. The Witheys’ name came up again and again, and Mike wouldn’t be the first copper to get pissed off with earning ten times less than the average low-life he nicked. What if he’d changed sides? Ridley didn’t want his officers to get overexcited, so he kept things calm.

  ‘We start from today and we work backwards, connecting the dots as far back as we need to in order to get the full picture. But,’ he emphasised, ‘this is, first and foremost, a murder investigation. If we connect the train robbery and the diamond heist as well, that’s a bonus.’ Then he changed the subject. ‘Jack, you’re with me tomorrow morning. We’ll go and tell Audrey about her son.’

  Anik buried his head in his work, trying not to look fazed by Ridley’s decision to take Jack and not him on the second notification of death. Laura, as his sarge, felt she had to say something.

  ‘Notifications are tough, Anik. Because not only are you the one who will knock them down with the news that you bring, you’re also the one who will pick them back up again. That takes control.’

  *

  Jack repeatedly kicked on the front door until Maggie finally turned on the hallway light.

  ‘Darling, there’s someone at the door!’ she shouted up the stairs.

  This was closely followed by Jack laughing from the front doorstep. Maggie opened the door, to reveal Jack laden down by a mini fridge. He staggered in and set the fridge heavily down on the bottom stair. Maggie wasn’t amused.

  ‘When some fuckwit kicks on my front door in the middle of the bloody night, I’m bound to pretend that my massive cage-fighting husband is upstairs, aren’t I!’

  Jack hugged Maggie and rocked her in his arms. He was so tired, he could have fallen asleep right there.

  ‘Why have you bought a fridge?’

  ‘For the spare room. So I can work late without waking you up by going into the kitchen.’

  With that, he picked up the fridge and took it upstairs. Maggie couldn’t believe what she was hearing.

  ‘I’ll nick you a commode from work as well, shall I? Then you can lock yourself away for days searching for the elusive Jimmy bloody Nunn!’

  Jack bounced down the stairs, grabbed her by the hand, and dragged her back up. In the spare bedroom, they both faced his ever-growing evidence wall. Jack stood behind her with his arms wrapped tightly round her waist.

  ‘You were right, Mags. I did need a better reason to exhume Rawlins’ first grave and now I’ve got it. This Rose Cottage case goes back way further than we thought . . . this far.’ He swept his hand through the air in front of Maggie’s face, indicating every piece of evidence collected. ‘Right back to 1984. Back to the diamond robbery. Back to Harry Rawlins. Ridley’s sold on the idea now, so all I need to do is persuade him that something relevant is hidden in that grave.’

  Jack couldn’t see Maggie’s face, but it was a combination of worry and confusion. What the hell is he talking about?

  ‘The diamonds, Mags! They’ve never been found and they’ve got to be somewhere.’

  ‘Jack . . .’ Maggie started.

  ‘I know what you’re going to say. But this is as relevant to the Rose Cottage case as it is to mine.’

  ‘You haven’t got a case!’ Maggie flicked her hands dismissively towards his evidence wall. ‘This . . . This is not a police investigation. This is a personal . . . God knows what!’ She turned in Jack’s arms to face him. ‘You’re not supposed to be doing this and, more to the point, you don’t need to be doing it. You have a dad. Why do you need another one? Especially this one, Jack ‒ he sounds awful.’

  As Maggie talked, Jack looked deep into her eyes. His eyebrows were up
, his eyes were wide and inviting and she could see that this was the version of her partner she’d been waiting for. He was excited. Animated. Happy. Jack was alive again.

  ‘I’m not trying to replace anything I have now, but my past, Mags, has holes in it that you could drive a bus through. There are missing pieces and I need to find them. Jimmy’s not an appealing man, you’re right, but my God, he lived. I just want to meet him. I need to know where this restlessness comes from. I can’t focus on “now” until I do.’

  Maggie realised that she had to support Jack through this – whatever this was – and she hated that thought. But, as she smiled back at him, she also realised that this was how she’d get her husband back. The man she looked at now was the strong, driven man she’d fallen in love with back in Totnes. Their passions rose and, before she knew it, Jack was kissing her, perching her on the edge of the spare bed and pulling down her silk pyjama shorts. As she unbuckled his trousers, he kissed her neck until she tightened her legs round his waist to bring him to her. She felt now as she had felt the first time they made love; she had been desperate to experience the new man in her life and, as such, it was over in minutes, but what an explosive few minutes they were. She had that same frantic feeling now. Maggie once again felt desperate to experience this ‘new man’ in her life, but this time was better, because this time was also filled with love. Jack knew her, knew how to touch her, knew how to move her. Maggie arched her back, allowing Jack to be however he wanted to be. She loved him, she trusted him, and she wanted him.

  *

  Audrey Withey was one of those people who’d always lived life just the wrong side of the law, but never really saw it like that. She’d never declared an income, she’d not think twice about buying smuggled European fags and anything off the back of a lorry was fair game. Her home was nice enough for a three-bedroomed flat, but nothing matched – clearly Audrey scooped up anything that was getting chucked out by anyone else. One man’s trash . . .