by L M Krier
William Warren appeared so engrossed in his task and the music – always the same tune, over and again on a loop – that he showed no reaction when the priest came into the chapel. Until he spoke to him. Only then did he pause and look up with a bland smile.
‘Oh, hello, padre, I was so absorbed I didn’t hear you come in.’
‘Hello, William. I must say the chapel has certainly never been cleaner since you were put in charge of it. It’s good to see someone take such pride in their work. How are you? How are things in general?’
‘Never better, padre, thank you for asking. And I could say the same about you. Meaning no disrespect at all to the former chaplain, god rest his soul, but things are so much better here now. Everyone says so. Especially those I see in my role as a Listener.
‘You have such compassion, padre. Always a kind and a guiding hand when it’s needed. And the services you’ve so kindly done for me … well, without them, I would have much less hope for my future than I have now.’
Chapter Eleven
Ted phoned Professor Bizzie Nelson before morning briefing the next day. He knew she was always an early bird and would have been at work for some time already.
‘Ah, Edwin, good morning. I was about to phone you. I thought you might be in by now.’
She made it sound as if the morning was almost over. She’d told Ted once that she managed on little sleep. He’d wondered if her work patterns might slow down now her domestic circumstances were changing. Apparently not.
‘Have you got enough body parts for a full post-mortem yet? I’m still waiting on DNA for a positive ID, but a cause of death would really help. We’re treating it as suspected murder at the moment. If it’s a lesser crime, I could scale the enquiry down a bit which would help with numbers for the arson cases we’ve got on at the same time.’
‘I’m flattered by your faith in me, Edwin, but even I normally need a head and some internal organs to give you a definite cause of death. However, my young students are excited to the point of wetting themselves about this case. So I have promised them at least the basics of a post-mortem on it, which they can attend. I’m proposing to do it on Monday morning, although not my usual dawn start. The little chickadees, who are assigned to my care for the day on Mondays, don’t arrive until nine. They all know by now not to dare to turn up even one second after the appointed hour if they want to be included in the fun and games. So if you want to send someone along, I can do it then.’
‘I might come myself for this one.’
‘Excellent! In which case, being frugal, I shall hand deliver your invitation to the handfasting, to save on a stamp. We’re celebrating it at Beltane, which obligingly falls on a Friday. In the evening, so no doubt the merrymaking will go on well into the weekend. Feel free to come at whatever time you can and to stay as long as you are able. But I will quite understand if your work calls you away.’
As he rang off, Ted scribbled himself another note, to find out when Beltane was and what it represented. As he stood up, he put a hand into the small of his back to knead at a few muscles which were still protesting from the night before.
He’d managed to get to his karate club. He hadn’t been for a while and it showed. His sensei knew him well. Had known him for years, since he’d first joined the adult section of the club. He could read him like a book. He knew the signs when Ted was under pressure at work and needed a particularly vigorous workout. He’d paired Trev off with his friend Mark and put himself with Ted.
He was graded higher than Ted, was taller than him, with a longer reach. More importantly, he kept his karate training up to date on a daily basis. The outcome was always a foregone conclusion, but it was just what Ted had needed to help him unwind.
Ted went out into the main office, where the team members were filing in and taking their seats. Martha was one of the first to appear, clearly anxious to make up for the day before. Ted looked to Jo to begin while he perched on a desk in the background.
‘Rob and Jezza, anything to report from the scene yesterday?’
‘Nothing of any great use,’ Rob told him. ‘The man who made the find seems perfectly on the level. He’s from out of the area, just passing through on his way to visit friends in the Lakes for a long weekend’s walking and camping.’
‘The dog looked like a shifty character though, trying to destroy evidence like that,’ Jezza put in, half an eye on Ted to see if he was going to react. He let it go.
‘The man gave us a full statement, then he went on his way,’ Rob went on. ‘We have his contact details. He reported finding the body part in the first place. I know that doesn’t automatically rule him out, but I think it makes him a less likely suspect. That spot is a common dumping site for all sorts of stuff. You’d be surprised what else we saw there.’
‘Virgil, what did you find out about council contractors for parks and open spaces?’ Jo asked him.
‘There are more than I thought there would be in the area and the council seems to have used most of them at some time or another. They put a lot of work out to tender these days as apparently it’s more cost-effective then employing a lot of full-time staff. Bidding is competitive and these small firms are pretty ruthless in under-cutting one another to get the business.
‘I’m looking at all sorts. Tree surgeons, landscape gardeners, gardening services. Anyone who might have reason to use a chainsaw and loppers. I’ve got a full list and I’m going through cross-checking which ones have definitely been contracted, plus any who bid and weren’t accepted. I thought that was worth doing, in case there’s some sort of a grudge thing going on here. Although I can’t initially see how that fits with someone working in the biscuit factory.’
‘Good thought, Virgil, well worth checking,’ Ted put in. ‘We mustn’t take it as a given that our victim is Mr Byrne. If the DNA disproves that theory, then we’ll need to be looking at other angles. And you might just have hit on one.’
‘You mean like the Glasgow Ice Cream Wars in the 80s?’ Jezza asked. ‘They used ice cream vans as a cover for drug supply and organised crime, didn’t they? Could this really be linked to something like that, do you think? It might explain the torture element, if it’s gang warfare.’
Her encyclopaedic knowledge of the strangest things was down to the insatiable curiosity of her younger brother, Tommy, and his obsession with making his own version of Trivial Pursuit.
‘Duelling chainsaws?’ Virgil suggested. ‘That sounds grim. I hope it doesn’t mean there are more bits of other bodies still to come.’
There was an insistent buzzing from Maurice’s jacket pocket. He put in a furtive hand, withdrew his mobile phone, glanced at the screen, then shot to his feet.
‘Sorry, boss, it’s Megan.’
He was already picking up the call as Ted told him to answer it.
‘Yes, love. Are you all … Are you sure?’
He sat down, heavily.
‘Sorry, of course you are.’ He got to his feet again, looking anxious, grabbing his things. ‘Hang on, bonny lass, I’m on my way.’
He looked towards Ted. ‘Boss, sorry, I have to go. My sons are about to put in an appearance. And they’re a bit early.’
There was a cheer from the regular team members. Virgil cracked a comment which brought laughter.
‘They can’t be your sons if they’re early, Maurice. You’ve never been on time for anything, let alone early.’
Maurice wasn’t listening. He was heading for the door, fast.
‘Drive carefully, Maurice,’ Ted called after him. ‘And let us know, as soon as you can.’
He turned back to the others. ‘Right, everyone, settle down. What was Maurice working on, Jo, and have we got his notes to date?’
‘Skiving, is what he was working on, knowing Maurice,’ Jezza put in, which raised a laugh.
Steve was bristling with divided loyalties. He’d always fancied Jezza, even now he spent most of his time with Océane. But Maurice had taken him in when he n
eeded it and been more of a family to him than anyone ever had.
‘I’ve been working with Maurice and I have the notes. We were doing the petrol stations around the arson sites, trying to find recent purchases of cans of fuel. Also the pubs round about the garage fire, as the recent one happened at a time when people would be coming out of pubs.’
Virgil laughed. ‘Like Maurice needs an excuse to visit pubs in work time.’
Ted saw Steve go red and prepare to bite back. He slid off the desk to his feet, ignoring the odd twinge he felt in doing so and moved to stand with Jo. He didn’t need to say anything for the team members to visibly settle back into serious work mode after the excitement of Maurice’s departure. When they were quiet, he addressed Steve.
‘Any leads, Steve? Anything at all that might be useful?’
‘We found a young lad who’d been going into the pub late on, hoping to meet up with his mates and get a last drink before stop-tap. He said as he was coming round the corner he bumped into a tall man carrying what he said looked like a sports holdall.’
‘Is there a punchline or is that it, lad?’ Eric Morgan asked him. ‘Only “a tall man carrying a sports holdall” isn’t a lot to go on.’
‘It’s more than we had yesterday morning, Sergeant Morgan,’ Ted reminded him. ‘It’s a starting point, at least.’
‘Boss, should one of us start looking into what sort of sports clubs there are nearby? Try to find where the man might have been coming from?’ Martha suggested.
‘Might not be a sports club at all,’ Eric Morgan put in. He was back in his familiar pose. Arms folded across his chest, feet pulled back under his chair. ‘Suppose he’d been playing darts at his local and had a change of clothes with him for that.’
Martha McGuire was not about to be intimidated by the likes of Eric Morgan. She was his equal in rank, though with fewer years of service. She made up for those with valuable experience as a CID officer.
‘Good point, sarge, so whoever does it can include pubs. As well as things like amateur dramatics or anything else we can think of which might involve people dressing up. Which of itself gives some interesting ideas. Steve’s given us a good start with a likely time-frame. I’d say there’s a good chance someone else could have seen this man and he’s someone we should at least find and eliminate from our enquiries, if nothing else.’
She stopped suddenly, looking from Ted to Jo and back again, unsure if she’d crossed a line. Jo was quick to reassure her.
‘You’re right, Martha. We need to find this man, whoever he is. That task’s yours today, if you want it. I can put someone else on CCTV.’
‘I spoke to the Professor this morning. We’ve not yet had the DNA results from Mr Byrne’s possessions confirmed, so still no ID on our body parts,’ Ted told them. ‘She’s going to do a PM on what parts we have on Monday morning. I’ll be attending.’
‘Sir,’ Amelie began, so hesitantly Ted half expected her to put her hand up. ‘I’ve never been to a post-mortem. Would I be able to attend?’
‘It doesn’t really need two of us there,’ Ted told her, then seeing her disappointed expression, he went on, ‘I’ll talk to Jo about who’s doing what and let you know.’
The briefing finished, Ted went back to his office. He wanted to speak to the Security Governor of the prison where William Warren was serving his sentence for arson.
‘DCI Ted Darling, from Stockport. You helped me out once before on a paedophile case and I’m hoping you can do the same again with a couple of recent arsons.’
‘Hello, Ted. Happy to help again, if I can. What can I do for you?’
‘You have a prisoner there, a William Warren, serving life for a fatal arson. I wondered if I could come and talk to you about him, and about a possible idea I have which might just help me for my own cases. And to interview him, at some point.’
‘There are more than a thousand men in here, Ted. It would take some doing to know every one of them by name off the top of my head. But you’re in luck with our Mr Warren. Usually the ones who stand out the most are the troublemakers. Warren is exactly the opposite. He’s the perfect prisoner. Blends into the background. He’s always the one everyone forgets about when they’re talking about who’s on which wing or doing which activity.’
‘Yet you clearly know him and all about him.’
‘Probably not all about him. We’ve always suspected he has hidden depths, but we certainly can’t fault him on his behaviour since he’s been with us. It really has been exemplary. The reason I know him is that he is one of our Listeners. That’s like a Samaritans scheme for prisoners having a bad time. Someone to talk to, for help when they’re feeling adrift. Especially the ones on a 2052, which is suicide watch.
‘Warren wasn’t a particularly religious man when he arrived but he rather got god in a big way since he’s been here. A couple of years or so ago it all started. He does cleaning duties and he’s now the chapel Red Band, which means he’s in there often, keeping it spotless, by all accounts. He makes his confession regularly to the prison chaplain, too.
‘Obviously if there’s anything at all I can do to help you, I certainly will. What kind of thing is it you’re after? Then I could perhaps start putting the wheels in motion ahead of us fixing a meeting.’
‘The two arsons on our patch show the same very distinctive pattern of starting method as the one for which Warren was convicted. Including something which wasn’t made public at the time. That means there’s a possibility that someone who’s spoken to Mr Warren and knows about those features is behind our arsons. So I’m going to need a list of anyone he might have spoken to.’
‘Now that risks being quite a Herculean task, Ted, I’m afraid. As well as the many prisoners he’s helped through the Listeners scheme, because he’s such a model prisoner, we often put new arrivals in with him until they settle down. But we’ll do our very best for you. Now, shall we look at diaries and see what we can do? Although I’m afraid I’ll have to leave you with one of our police liaison officers for most of it. It’s more their remit than mine and I’m usually snowed under.’
‘Just promise you’ll behave,’ Ted told Trev, using his stern policeman voice, when he got up to answer the doorbell. ‘Jim is already bricking himself at the prospect of having to dance with a gay bloke. So don’t go camping it up and being outrageous or he’ll run away.’
‘Scout’s honour,’ Trev told him, lifting three fingers to his forehead in salute.
‘You were never in the Scouts.’
‘No, but I was in the Pony Club. And what fun those camps were. All those young boys, under canvas together, with all those raging hormones.’
‘I’ll deal with you later, once Jim’s gone home,’ Ted threw over his shoulder as he went to the front door, leaving Trev laughing his delight.
‘Hello, Jim, come in.’
Big Jim stepped hesitantly over the threshold, looking uncomfortable and already out of his depth.
‘I’m not sure about this, Ted. I don’t know what possessed me even to think it was a good idea ...’
‘Jim, trust me. It will be fine. You’re doing something special for the woman you love and she’ll be stunned by it. You’re giving her the wedding she’ll never forget. Just hold that thought.’
‘Hi, Jim, come in. Ted tells me you need some help. Take a seat and we’ll talk about what we can do to help you.’
Jim nodded a wary greeting to Trev, then sat down on the sofa. The cats had all been banished to the kitchen. After Jim’s last attempt at dancing, Ted had decided he didn’t want to risk his boss tripping over a curious feline and breaking his other leg.
Trev sat in the armchair, not too close to Jim. He knew his mischievous sense of humour made the man uncomfortable and he’d promised to try to behave.
‘Tell me your expectations. What is it you want to achieve?’
‘I want to learn a really easy dance, something slow, so I can take Bella round the floor a time or two on our wedding
day. Without falling over or making a complete prat of myself.’
‘And Ted tells me Bella likes country music and line-dancing, which is usually a bit lively. But I think we need something slow and smoochy, perhaps, for ease. Something really romantic. Tell me what it is you want to say to Bella with this dance.’
Jim shifted his position. ‘I’m not good at talking about feelings and stuff.’
‘We need to pick the right track, though. What is it about Bella whenever you look at her that makes you want to marry her?’
‘Because I trust her,’ Jim said simply. ‘I look at Bella and I know she won’t hurt me. Not like the ex-wife did.’
‘Oh, that’s gorgeous. That’s perfect. And I know the very song.’
He opened his mouth to sing but Ted cut in rapidly. Jim was uncomfortable enough, without having to suffer listening to Trev murdering a tune.
‘Find the song on your mobile then I can play it for you while you work out the moves and practise with Jim.’
‘It has to be When You Say Nothing At All. It’s country, it’s slow, and it says all the things you want to say to Bella.’ His fingers were flying nimbly over the keypad. ‘The Alison Krauss version, obviously, not the Ronan Keating one.’
He stood up and handed the phone to Ted as the music began to play, then he began a slow, seductive sway around the room, holding an imaginary partner. Simple steps, moving to and fro, with the occasional turn.
‘Something like this, Jim. Do you think you could manage that?’
Jim looked doubtful. ‘I could try. It looks easier than bloody line dancing. But does that song make it sound like I think she talks too much? She does like to chatter on, so I don’t want her to think I’m having a dig at her.’
‘Try not to over-think it. Trust me. She’ll love it.’
Patiently, Trev led him through the steps a few times, being careful not to get too up close and personal. Jim was clearly never going to make it to Strictly Come Dancing, but he was trying hard.
‘Right, that’s excellent, Jim, you’ve got the basics of it really well. You’ll need to find time for a few more practice sessions, especially just before the big day. But now you need to try a few times with you leading your partner. I’m too tall to be Bella. You’ll have to dance with Ted.’
