by Jack Slater
‘Best bring it through.’
Pete stepped forward, barely aware of his feet moving. It felt like an iceberg had replaced his innards from chest to groin. He couldn’t feel his fingers, his face and scalp tingled, the hairs standing up on the back of his neck. The parcel in his hands felt like it was about to explode but he couldn’t let go of it.
He stepped into the kitchen. Colin had moved across to the worktop opposite and taken a knife from the block. He nodded for Pete to sit down at the small table and waited until he had before handing him the knife. ‘Got any more gloves?’
Pete blinked and reached into his jacket pocket for another pair. He pulled them on and drew the box towards him again. Carefully, he cut the wrapping open and slid the box free of it. Looked up at Colin with his stomach in knots and his throat clogged as if he might be sick.
‘Here, let me,’ the senior man said, pulling on a pair of gloves of his own and reaching for the box.
Pete almost waved him off. Almost. But Colin sat down opposite him and began to slide the lid up and off. Pete stared, fascinated. It came free, revealing the same scrunched-up toilet paper as last time. His gaze lifted to Colin’s face. Watched as he lifted out the paper wadding and set it aside. The shift in his expression and pause in his movements were slight, but he couldn’t hide his reaction entirely.
Pete’s eyes were drawn downward, despite himself.
He didn’t want to see what was in there. Didn’t want to even think about what it could be. But something inside him operated automatically, instinctively.
Colin tilted the box slightly towards himself, but Pete had already glimpsed the pink of flesh and the browning red of blood.
‘What…?’ He heaved. Swallowed twice. ‘What is it?’ he whispered.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Colin looked from Pete down to the box and up again, meeting his gaze.
‘It’s…’ He grimaced. ‘It looks life half an ear. A smallish one.’
‘Bastard. Fucking evil bastard.’ The nausea left Pete as the rage took over. ‘He’d better hope Mark catches him before I do.’
‘Focus, Pete,’ Colin said. ‘We need to stop this bugger. Anything you can think of might help. What do we know about these two? They’re from Devises, but where do they live now? Apart from in prison, of course. Have they got any family down this way? We know they’ve got associates, but who, other than Malcolm Burton? And how do we find out?’
‘Ask Burton,’ Pete growled. ‘And he’s mine, not Mark’s.’
‘Right. Next stop, New North Road. And I’m coming with you.’
Pete gave him a look that said, don’t even think about trying to stop me.
‘As observer, not interviewer,’ Colin qualified.
Pete grunted and started for the door while Colin gathered up the box and followed.
‘We need to get this to forensics as soon as possible,’ he said. ‘Make sure it is what, and who’s, we think it is. Meantime, Mark can check their prison records, see if there’s anything useful there.’
Pete grunted as he unlocked the car. ‘It will be what he said. Southam’s not the sort for bullshit. Not in that sense.’
‘I’ll deal with that. You just drive. And not like Lewis bloody Hamilton.’
They climbed in. Pete gunned the engine and backed out of the drive as Colin took out his mobile phone and scrolled through the contacts list. They were passing the Co-op before he lifted it to his ear.
Pete tried to focus on his driving, but it was not easy as Colin began to speak.
‘Hello. Yes, this is DI Underhill, Heavitree Road station, Exeter. I need a package collected and analysed ASAP.’ He paused, listening. ‘Right, I’m not there just now, but I can get it brought back to the station. OK, will do. Thanks.’
He ended the call and made another.
‘Andy. Yes, this is Colin Underhill. Can you get a squad car round to the prison ASAP? I’m on the way there and I need someone to meet me, collect a piece of evidence and take it back to the station for forensics to pick up. Send someone now, they might beat us there.’
Pete ignored the comment, concentrating on the road ahead. They were about half way between his house and Heavitree Road nick: would pass it in a couple of minutes.
Colin was putting his phone away when it rang in his hand. He grunted and lifted it to his ear. ‘Underhill. Yes, that’s right.’ He listened. ‘I see. OK, I’ll let my people know. Thanks for the call.’
This time, his phone got into his jacket pocket before he spoke again.
‘The court house,’ he told Pete. ‘The trial’s due to re-start next Wednesday. New judge, new jury, from scratch.’
‘Which is exactly what the Southam brothers were aiming for.’
‘There wasn’t really an option, was there? The existing jury couldn’t be expected to give Burton a fair trial after what happened.’
Pete didn’t respond.
They heard sirens from somewhere in the near distance. Couldn’t tell from which direction, despite the new multi-tone sirens supposedly being easier to pinpoint. Pete kept going, unable to see any flashing lights in front or behind.
Reaching the prison with its imposing dark walls a few minutes later, they saw a patrol car already in the small car park. When the occupants saw Colin rising out of the silver Ford, their doors opened and the two uniformed officers stepped forward.
‘Guv? You’ve got something for us?’
Colin handed over the box. ‘That needs to go in an evidence bag and be taken back to the station. Forensics will be there soon to collect it and take it to the lab for analysis.’
‘What is it, guv?’
Colin looked sternly at the man and spoke in a hushed but firm tone. ‘An ear. And that’s exactly how it was sent.’
The man who was about to take the box from Colin recoiled slightly. ‘An ear,’ he said after a second. ‘Seriously?’
‘Seriously. And you see DS Gayle over there, chomping at the bit to get in? We think it’s his son’s.’
‘Shit. Right, guv. Leave it with us.’ The man reached for the box as his partner took out a plastic evidence bag and shook it out.
‘Do you want to label it, guv, or should we?’
‘You can. Just write on it that I gave it you.’
‘Guv.’
Colin left them to it and followed Pete towards the intimidatingly large dark blue gates and the man-sized door cut into the left one.
*
‘What are you doing here? My trial’s not over yet, you’re…’
‘Not here about the trial,’ Pete cut in over the smallish blond man with his shrewish features and thinning hair. ‘We’re here about the blokes who stopped it.’
‘For which I thank them profusely.’
‘You won’t when you’re charged as an accessory. Unless you help us.’
Burton’s eyes narrowed. ‘What are you talking about? I had no part in that. And if I did, I wouldn’t have expected them to go that far.’
‘So, what do you know about what they did?’ Pete demanded.
‘Just what was on the news last night. That they killed the judge and the man who was with TJ - Tommy.’
‘That’s all, is it?’
‘What do you want me to say? That I was in on it from the start? That would be handy for you, wouldn’t it? But it’s not true. It was as much of a shock to me as anyone else, I swear.’
Pete was well aware of how manipulative and credible a man like Burton could be, but his whole demeanour was utterly convincing. Reluctantly, he had to admit, he believed the man. ‘Well, they didn’t do it for you. Trust me. And what you shouldn’t know if you weren’t involved, because it wasn’t reported in the press, is they abducted my son and cut off his ear as a threat to me. So, I need to find out where they’d go round here. Who they’d know. What local contacts they might have, other than you.’
‘And Tommy,’ Burton said.
Pete’s lips pressed together. ‘Don’t push it.’
‘What else have I got left in life, sergeant?’
‘That’s detective sergeant to you,’ Colin cut in. ‘And what you’ve got left is your life, as miserable as that may be, looking forward.’
‘Miserable and short, unless we like what you’ve got to tell us,’ Pete said. ‘General population can be a bitch for someone like you.’
‘You can’t… I won’t be put in gen pop. They can’t. It would infringe my human rights. Be a death sentence.’
Pete shrugged. ‘Mistakes can be made. Paperwork mix-ups. Prisoners transferred incorrectly.’
‘That’s… That’s…’
‘An unfortunate truth,’ Colin said.
Pete glanced at him and Colin held up his hands in apology.
‘So, what have you got for us?’ he asked Burton.
Burton stared at him for several seconds without responding. ‘There’s one bloke I know they know. He’s not that local. Tiverton, I think. But we don’t exactly exchange names and addresses. Best for all concerned. We just use Internet handles, even when we meet in person. Steve Southam only used his real name because he thought it would intimidate people, being a murder suspect and a martial arts expert.’
‘So, how do you know this one’s from Tiverton?’
‘I don’t for sure. It’s just his handle. TiviTim.’
Pete tipped his head. It was suggestive but, even if true, it didn’t mean he still lived there. In fact, it could suggest he didn’t. That he’d moved. To Taunton, for example.’
‘You mentioned meeting. Where would that happen, and did you ever meet TiviTim?’
Burton shrugged. ‘It could happen in a variety of places. It depended on the circumstances. Usually somewhere neutral. A service area, a café, a park. Or occasionally a group would meet.’ He paused, eyes narrowing suspiciously. ‘I’m incriminating myself here.’
‘The cameras are off,’ Pete said. ‘No-one’s listening. This won’t go towards your case. It’s a separate enquiry completely. Focussed on the Southam brothers, not you.’
‘So, can I make some sort of deal, here? A reduced sentence for co-operation?’
‘As DS Gayle said, don’t push it,’ Colin interjected. ‘We’ll see what you can give us first.’
Burton paused, assessing his options, maybe deciding how to put what he was going to say next. Then he sighed. ‘Some knew about the barn. Not where it was, but… I’d meet them and bring them to it in the back of the van so they couldn’t tell where we were going.’
‘And was TiviTim one of them?’
‘Yes.’
‘And the Southam brothers?’
Burton nodded. ‘Although, after the first time, they went there under their own steam. I… They… ‘
‘Got the location out of you by force?’ Pete suggested, weighing up the man’s reactions.
He gave a single shameful nod. It was the first time, Pete noted, that he’d ever shown any shame over what he’d done. The child-abuse, rape and other perversions hadn’t elicited any such response. It just showed what a sick individual he was. Pete said none of this, though. He was here to gain information from the man, which meant keeping him, at least to some extent, on-side.
‘I can understand that,’ he said. ‘So TiviTim’s the only one you know who’s relatively local. What about the others who turned up? How do you know they weren’t?’
‘I know a couple came down on the train. Others drove, so they could have come from anywhere, I suppose, but accents tell you a bit, don’t they? Two or three were well-spoken. Hard to tell. But others were distinctive. One sounded Bristolian. Another from Cornwall. Two from the Midlands. Not Birmingham, but somewhere in that direction. There was one from Dorset and one from Hampshire – Southampton, Portsmouth, somewhere round there. And a couple of northerners. I imagine they must have moved somewhere closer, rather that coming all that way for a single event, though.’ He shrugged. ‘That’s about all I can tell you.’
‘I’ll need a list of all the handles for those who attended.’ Pete held back from adding, your little soirees, as he took out his note book and pen to pass them across the table.
Burton looked dubious.
‘It’s my note book. No-one has access to it without my permission and this is relevant to another case, not yours. I’m not even going to add your name to it.’
Burton drew a breath, took up the pen and pulled the note book towards himself to begin writing. When he was done he put the pen on top of the note book and pushed them back towards Pete.
Pete glanced down at the open page and looked up at Burton as he closed the little book and returned it and the pen to his pocket. ‘And you don’t know of any other links the brothers have in this area? Anybody or any places they’re familiar with?’
Burton swallowed. ‘Now I think of it, there’s one place. They wouldn’t come into the city, of course. Not to stay, at least. I know of one occasion, though, when they stayed over in the area. There was a place on the far side of the river, down past Powderham. They insisted I bring TJ and one of the girls down there one night. Got some kind of thrill out of setting something up under the owners’ noses. An old boat shed, looked like it had been abandoned for years – leaky roof, holes in the walls, everything. The floor of the storage croft even had gaps in it. You could see the water through them. I don’t know how they found it. It’s not exactly on the tourist map, or any other I can think of. But I remember them saying they were staying close by. I presumed a hotel or B&B. They never struck me as the sort to rough it.’
‘And do you remember how to get to this place?’
Burton nodded. ‘It’s on the Kenn, a little way north of the mill at Kenton. You take the turn-off for the mill and there’s a track that goes off on the other side of the bridge, headed upstream. It’s up there. So, I imagine they must have stayed somewhere in Kenton or South Town.’
And yet Southam had been roaming the lanes to the north of the city last night and ended up somewhere in the direction of Taunton. Was that him trying to distract them from the truth or was Burton doing the same? He seemed genuine, but then one of the main characteristics of men like him was their plausibility.
He watched the man carefully as he asked his next question. ‘So, you don’t know of any links they have to the area round Rewe and Brookleigh?’
Burton pulled his lower lip back. ‘No.’
‘Or anywhere between there and Taunton?’
Burton shook his head. ‘As I’ve said, only TiviTim, although I don’t know that they had any connection with him other than the barn.’
‘All right. I need one more thing from you then. The exact way you contacted this TiviTim.’ Pete took out his note book and pen once more and passed them across.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
‘Dave’s awake,’ Jane announced as soon as Pete walked in.
‘How is he?’
‘Not out of the woods, but he’s getting there, apparently.’
‘Eyeing up the nurses, I bet,’ Jill said.
‘One of the perks of being ill,’ Dick said, giving her a wink.
‘Perv.’
‘Ben, I need you to go onto the dark web,’ Pete said, tilting his seat back.
‘How come?’
Pete glanced over his shoulder at the three junior officers who were now at their desks on Mark Bridgman’s work station. ‘It’s related to Malcolm Burton. Additional information from the man himself. I’ve got the guvnor’s sanction.’
‘So, what am I looking for, boss?’ Ben asked.
‘A subscription forum called Little Ones Play. And within it, a user whose handle is TiviTim. I need his IP address and, from that, his real one along with anything else you can dig up.’
‘If it’s a subscription site, won’t it have his bank details?’ Jane asked.
‘It depends,’ Ben told her. ‘Some do, some don’t, according to how professionally they’re set up. Plus, we’re talking about the dark web. Not the most trusting or trustworthy
users on there.’
‘Could be handy, though,’ Pete observed.
‘So, where is the guvnor?’ Jill asked. ‘He went out with you. I haven’t seen him come back.’
‘Observant as ever,’ Pete said. ‘He’s still out and about. On his way to Kenton mill with a bunch of armed officers, as it happens.’
‘I hope they’ve got telescopic sights if they’re after the Powderham deer from there,’ Dick said, eyes wide.
‘That’d be illegal, wouldn’t it?’ asked Ben.
‘They’re not,’ Pete said before they could go off on another circuitous ramble. ‘They’re after something much closer to home and much more dangerous. Specifically, Steve Southam. He’ll have informed Mark on the way there, I expect,’ he added for the benefit of any ear-wiggers on the neighbouring work station.
‘I’ve got the site,’ Ben announced. He grimaced. ‘Not something your average member of the public would want to be looking at, that’s for sure. Now, then…’
‘Talking of average members of the public, where are we on Jonas Hanson?’ Pete asked.
‘We’ve got links to three more cases, but nothing concrete still,’ Jane reported.
‘Here we are. TiviTim,’ Ben said. ‘Let’s see if I can find anything on him.’
‘We need to get a move on, then, if we want to keep Hanson in custody.’
‘Silly sod,’ Ben said. ‘He’s only gone and put a link to a Twitter account on here!’
‘What a mistake-a to make-a,’ Dick quoted. ‘Let’s have a look.’
In a few clicks, Dick had a photo of the man in question and Ben had his actual name and address. ‘Found him. He’s not a Tim. Kenneth, actually. And he’s out of our patch. A place called Ashbrittle in Somerset.’
‘Never heard of it,’ said Jill.
‘Me neither, so I looked it up. It’s a tiny little place a few miles west of Taunton.’
‘He wouldn’t take much finding, then,’ Dick said. ‘Even for the Somerset lot.’
‘Hey,’ Pete cautioned. ‘They swept up that drug packaging place we told them about.’
