Condemned

by R. C. Bridgestock

  ‘Why on earth has this addiction reared its ugly head now?’

  Ricky-Lee shook his bowed head. ‘Once a gambler, always a gambler, I suspect. You see, two years ago I couldn’t stop myself driving to race meetings. My girlfriend, Beth, and I were buying a new house at the time and we needed as much money as we could get for the deposit. I became obsessed. I’d study the horse’s form, weight, stamina, how well the jockey knew the horse, how good the trainer was, if he liked the racecourse, soft or hard ground, etcetera. I bought racing papers, books, and with the small amount of spare cash I had, I had a few mediocre wins. We put a deposit on a house. It was to be our forever home. A four-bedroomed house, at a price that was beyond our wildest dreams just a few months before. Beth was over the moon.’

  At the mention of his fiancée’s name, Ricky-Lee began sobbing as if his heart would break, with tears that blurred his vision, and no amount of furious blinking would stop them from escaping to run down his cheeks. He swiftly wiped them away with the back of his hand, but it was futile, as they kept falling.

  Charley lent over and offered him a tissue, which he accepted gratefully. ‘Your fiancée Beth, she knew you were gambling to get the money?’

  Ricky-Lee shook his bowed head. ‘No, I never had to lie, because she never asked. She knew I couldn’t, and wouldn’t, talk about my work, and so she never questioned a new interest or hobby, and I explained it away as research, which was mostly true. You can’t go into a life-and-death undercover situation unprepared, can you?’ Ricky-Lee sniffed, and held back his head to help stop the flow of tears. ‘We were so, so happy. Then it all started to go wrong. I began to lose. I persuaded myself that it was just a little bad luck. I used credit cards to get more money, and then one day, on impulse, I stripped our savings. Would you believe I bet on the colours that a certain jockey was wearing?’ Twiddling his thumbs, Ricky-Lee’s words were no more than a whisper. ‘When Beth found out, I’d lost everything. We had lost everything.’ Ricky-Lee drew in a deep breath and looked her straight in the eye. ‘Beth moved on. There was no going back for her. I couldn’t bear living in the same place as her – hearing what she was getting up to was killing me… So, I asked for a transfer, anywhere, and there was a vacancy for a detective at Peel Street Police Station. It was supposed to be a new start for me.’

  ‘Tough, but you haven’t given up though, have you?’

  ‘I had, boss, but there was no one to tempt me here. Gambling ruined my life once. I was determined that I wasn’t going to let it happen again. Then when Ben and Terry started visiting the station from HQ, they brought the racing papers into the office, and I enjoyed their banter. I haven’t made many friends up North – let’s face it, the hours we work who would want a relationship with someone in CID? I found that talking about race meetings was something I could talk to them about, that I could join in with. It was obvious looking back, that I would be tempted, for how could I know so much about the sport and not have a flutter with them; it would have looked odd. We had a couple of wins, and then I got daily messages asking me what I fancied, in this race or that… but I’ve not only let myself down, now I have let you down, and I feel terrible.’

  ‘Tell me, how are you funding your gambling?’

  ‘The first few wins gave us the stake money to carry on for a while without it costing any of us anything. When it started to get out of hand, I called a halt to it. I’ve told them. I have. That’s God’s honest truth, that’s why I’m avoiding them now.’

  Charley looked serious. ‘I have a problem with you. I want my staff focused on the murder enquiries. Not on what’s going to win the bloody four o’clock at Haydock! I don’t want any of my officers being distracted from the job in hand. Do I make myself clear?’

  Ricky-Lee nodded emphatically. ‘Crystal clear, boss. I’m sorry. I promise I never did let it interfere with any of my enquiries on this job, honestly I didn’t.’

  ‘Well, whatever you say, the Racing Post ended up on your desk and you studied it. I saw the evidence for myself, so tell me why I should believe you now? I’ve got to decide if I can trust you to do the job which you’re paid to do, or do you need to be taken off this enquiry?’

  ‘Please don’t; the thought of that really scares me.’ Ricky-Lee begged. ‘I don’t know what I’d do. The job, my colleagues, it’s all I’ve got. I had a relapse, but never again, I promise. You can trust me. You know you can.’

  Charley stared at the detective, shaking her head. ‘Don’t judge a book by its cover, but the first time I saw you I got the impression you were self-centred, what with your tanning and your designer clothes, but it’s only now that I know you are. As your supervisor, I can’t just take a cloth and wipe this sorry mess away. I am leading a team of people and am dusting, sweeping and mopping up their shit on a daily basis. Look at Wilkie; he’s got a disabled wife who relies on him for everything. Do you hear him wailing on, woe is me? This is life.’

  She thought that Ricky-Lee had the decency to look ashamed.

  ‘Look at you, feeling all sorry for yourself, with not a single thought for your colleagues whom you are in danger of pulling down with you by your lack of attention to the job.’

  Charley paused, and sighed. ‘Okay,’ she said. She took a moment and her expression softened as did her voice. ‘This is what we’ll do. I’ll refer you for professional support. You’ll accept. Deal?’

  ‘Deal,’ said Ricky-Lee. His sigh was one of relief and gratitude.

  ‘If you need help, my door is always open. I’ve already fired warning shots across Ben and Terry’s bows. After today it’s in the past, but if you feel you’re slipping again, then you speak to me, do you hear; my door is always open. You’re safe for now. Don’t let me down again, otherwise you know the consequences.’

  ‘Thank you, boss, thank you. It means everything to me to get a second chance, everything.’

  ‘Good, now get back to work, and that’s all I want you to be doing in work’s time, okay?’

  Ricky-Lee got up to leave.

  ‘And don’t let me have to have this conversation with you again,’ she said.

  The detective turned with his hand on the door handle. ‘You won’t regret it boss, I promise.’

  ‘Make sure I don’t. Now get out of my office before I change my mind.’

  Chapter 26

  ‘Oh no, detective,’ said Raglan’s assistant, as she jumped up from behind her desk. ‘You’ve literally just missed him.’ Through the large front window young Miss Finch scanned the high street, as if she might still be able to locate and stop Mr Raglan in his tracks. ‘Mr Thomas called in to take him somewhere.’

  ‘Will he be long?’ asked Mike.

  Miss Finch paused, as if something had just occurred to her, and turned towards Mike with her mouth half open. She frowned, looking a little puzzled. ‘Actually, he didn’t say where he was going.’ She raised her finger as if to remember. ‘Just not to contact him, “Unless it is something very important”,’ she repeated, parrot-fashion. Colour rose in her cheeks, and she looked questioningly from one detective to the other. ‘Is it urgent? Should I call him?’ she said hurriedly. She took two quick steps to her desk, and picked up the phone.

  Reaching out, Mike indicated for her to stop. ‘No, that’s okay. It’s our fault. We should have rung ahead and made an appointment.’

  Wilkie sat down on one of the ladder-back chairs in front of her desk. ‘Perhaps you could help us instead?’

  Mike wrinkled his nose. ‘It would save us time, if you could?’

  Miss Finch looked unsure.

  Wilkie winked at the dark-haired girl. ‘I think we all know that nothing much goes on around here that you don’t know about. In fact, I daresay you run this place.’

  Miss Finch giggled. ‘Oh, I don’t know about that. I will try and help you with your enquiries though, if I can,’ she said, coyly.

  Mike followed her lead and took a seat. ‘As you are aware, for obvious reasons we have an intere
st in Crownest, but the previous tenants, the Dixons, are also of interest to us.’

  The secretary nodded. ‘Yes, so I understand.’

  ‘We understand that a young Asian man came here asking about them. Do you remember him?’

  Miss Finch’s eyes flew open. ‘Yes, I most certainly do, for a number of reasons. Firstly, he parked on the double yellow lines outside the shop in a royal blue cabriolet sports car, which just has to be one of my favourite cars in the whole wide world,’ she said excitedly. ‘I knew he wasn’t from around here, otherwise he would have known the traffic wardens are dead keen.’ She leaned closer and lowered her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. ‘Secondly, his gear was super cool. He had a suit made from black velvet, jacket belted-in with a thick, studded silver belt. When he spoke to me, his voice soft, and it was hard not to stare at the chunky gold rings on his fingers. He asked me if he could speak to Mr Raglan.’

  Miss Finch turned towards Mr Raglan’s office door. ‘Surprisingly, the boss told me to tell him he was too busy to see him.’ She scowled. ‘That’s so unusual; Mr Raglan never turns anyone away. He likes the company. However, the man wouldn’t take no for an answer, marched towards the boss’s office, and although I protested, barged in and shut the door in my face.’

  ‘What did you do then?’ asked Mike.

  ‘Put it this way… when I heard him shouting, I was frightened enough to get your card out of my bag, DS Blake.’ She squinted her eyes and pinched her fingers close together. ‘I was this close to making the call.’

  ‘What was the man shouting about, do you know?’

  ‘Like you, he wanted to know where the Dixons had gone, and Mr Raglan kept telling him he didn’t know. The man obviously didn’t believe him. Although the boss swore he didn’t.’

  ‘Then what happened?’

  ‘Mr Raglan’s office door flew open and I saw the man pointing a finger directly at him, in a threatening way.’

  ‘Did he say anything else?’ said Mike.

  ‘He told Mr Raglan that if he found out he was lying he would be back. But most upsettingly, I saw his face when he said, “You don’t know who you’re dealing with”. That man was angry, really angry. He stormed through this office and slammed the door behind him, so hard that he cracked that window. The glazier’s supposed to be coming by to fix it. Mr Raglan is having the whole shop front triple-glazed. I’ve seen the quote, it’s costing him a fortune.’

  ‘Has the man been back since?’ said Wilkie.

  ‘No, not to my knowledge. Not whilst I’ve been here, and I’m here every day from nine to five, except Sundays.’

  ‘Do you think that Mr Raglan does know where the Dixons have gone?’ said Mike.

  Miss Finch shook her head. ‘No, well at least, I don’t think so. I never met them, but Mr Raglan told me when ‘the squatters’, that’s how he referred to them, had cleared off, and he’s been a lot easier to work with since.’

  ‘What do you mean by that?’ said Mike.

  ‘He’s happier, calmer, less jumpy, y’know. He had seemed on edge before.’

  ‘It looks like the Dixons have literally vanished into thin air. No one appears to know where they are,’ said Mike.

  Miss Finch looked downcast. ‘I’m sorry, I wish I could do more to help.’

  ‘Do you think you would be able to recognise the flashy gentleman visitor if you saw him again?’

  ‘Oh yes, most definitely I would.’

  The pair stood. ‘Just one last thing.’

  Miss Finch looked up, questioningly.

  ‘Mr Raglan told me the last time I was here that he was going to try and get back from the bank the cheques written by the Dixons which had bounced. You don’t happen to know if he’s managed to do that, do you?’

  Again Miss Finch looked puzzled. ‘Cheques? How old school! We don’t use cheques these days. I can’t remember the last time I saw a cheque, we do everything by BACS transfer.’

  ‘Thanks for your time, Miss Finch,’ said Mike. ‘Don’t bother telling Mr Raglan about our visit, we’ll catch him another time. You’ve have been very helpful.’

  Miss Finch giggled, ‘I have?’

  ‘You have,’ said Mike. ‘However, it may be that we need a written statement from you, is that a problem?’

  ‘Not at all! Like I said I’m here every day nine to five…’

  ‘Except Sundays,’ said Mike with a smile.

  * * *

  The Incident Room was a hive of activity when the pair returned; it was almost time for debrief, and since it was near to teatime, hunger had set in and a sugar rush was required. There was a scramble for Tattie’s homemade cookies which she’d placed upon a plate to put in the centre of the table, and her reluctance to hand them over was a cause of banter amongst the team, who were succeeding in winding the office manager up. Seeing Charley Mann’s office door closed, Mike set about inputting the new information he had gleaned from his conversation with Miss Finch into the database.

  ‘Why would Raglan lie to us about the cheques, and not inform us of the visit from Faisal?’ said Charley, when Mike updated her before the debrief. ‘I want you to liaise with West Midlands Police and see what their intelligence can tell us about the bad boy. And get a current address for him, will you? We might just have to pay him a visit.’

  Mike diligently noted the action.

  ‘Then, when we get that information, I think we ought to invite Mr Raglan into the station, and see what he has to say when we tell him we know he has lied to us, as well as being sparing with information he does hold. He needs eliminating like the rest of them, but the more I hear about him, the more he is of interest to me.’

  Wilkie’s day was made because he managed to secure a cookie and a cup of tea. He chuckled. ‘You don’t like Raglan, do you boss?’

  ‘A pet hate – lying – especially when there is no need. All we want is the truth for God’s sake, which is the whole point of any investigation.’

  Wilkie dunked the last of his biscuit and popped it in his mouth, ‘Ah, well, no doubt you’ll scare the shit out of him, boss.’

  ‘That’s my intention, although the old man must be tougher than we think.’

  ‘How’d you mean?’ said Wilkie.

  ‘Well, Faisal didn’t worry him enough to report his visit to us, did he? Although he might look a wimp, wimps in my experience can suddenly grow in stature. The big question for me is, was he involved in the murder of the unknown man we found behind the fireplace? One thing for sure is there is no way he would be strong enough to move the stone wall and fire basket himself. He would need an accomplice. Who could that be?’ Charley turned to Annie, ‘I want the financial investigation team looking at his finances, and get them to look at James Thomas’s too, while you’re at it.’

  ‘Proving who didn’t do it is just as important as proving who did,’ said Ricky-Lee.

  ‘Exactly. It’s about time we made contact with Mr and Mrs Hayfield in Milford-On-Sea, and see what they can tell us about Crownest, and how the house came into their hands. I’m interested to know how Raglan came to market the property, and I’d like to see if their story fits in with what Mr Raglan would have us believe.’

  ‘They’re an elderly couple, by all accounts. It’ll be a day trip for a couple of the team,’ said Mike.

  ‘Part of the reason why I haven’t subjected them to a visit, until now. Milford is a six-hundred-mile round trip, and I’m not a hundred per cent that what they can tell us would be worth the time, nor the expense. However, needs must. We have to find out for ourselves what they have to say, we can’t believe anything Raglan tells us any more, and whoever does go, remind them to remain professional. I don’t want to see a selfie of anyone on a beach eating ice-cream, if they value their job.’

  Wilkie chuckled. ‘It’s the middle of winter!’

  ‘Nuff said,’ replied Annie.

  * * *

  Charley unwrapped her evening meal at her desk, and stabbed a few chips with the sim
ple wooden takeaway fork. Faisal’s antecedent history and previous convictions made interesting reading.

  A tap came at her door, it was Ricky-Lee. ‘You’ll get indigestion,’ he said.

  Charley relaxed back in her chair, and smiled. With the others gone for the night, and the lights dimmed, the office was quiet and calm, and it gave her a feeling of peace. ‘Yeah, and I’ll stink of fish fried in beef dripping. Ne’er mind,’ she said, taking a deep breath. ‘I’ll content myself with a quick scrub with a flannel and then go out and stand in the wind for a while later.’ All of a sudden, Charley felt a feeling of nostalgia come over her. ‘My granny used to say that,’ she said, quietly.

  ‘She sounds a bit of a character, your granny,’ said Ricky-Lee, mirroring her smile. ‘I’ll be off now, boss. I’ll see you tomorrow.’