They all looked at each other before one mumbled, 'Birmingham.'
'This is what's going to happen. Three of you are going to be arrested and processed at the station. You'll be strip searched to check you've not got any more of this good stuff shoved up your arses. Then, when all that's done, you'll be off to custody and remand. But, one of you will get a one-way train ticket back home empty handed.' He turned to look at them. This last statement had produced looks of fear on all their faces. 'While your bosses are kicking the shit out of you for losing their gear and their money, pass on this message. Bradwick is off limits. They send any more of you clowns down here, this is what will happen. No money, no drugs.'
'You can't do that,' one of the boys said. He was young, possibly under age and looked Middle Eastern in appearance. 'We been arrested, we got rights.'
'Yes, we can,' Haines said flatly. 'We came here to arrest you but one legged it over the back fence.' He looked around at the other officers who nodded. 'We tried to give chase but,' he shrugged. 'three in the hand and all that. Now, when you get back home, and you explain all this to your bosses, once you feel a bit better, feel free to pass the message around your lowlife mates as well. This is what happens in this town.' Haines looked around at his officers. 'Right, I've whistled up a van, should be here now. DC Angel, take these two,' he indicated Laurel and Hardy, 'and our guests, and go wait for the van.' He pointed at one of the guys on the sofa. 'He can wait in my car; I'll give him a lift back home.'
DC Angel gave a final glance at the coffee table. The money was piled up haphazardly, different notes mixed in with each other, no way to tell how much was there. Likewise, the drugs were all mixed up. She wished she could take a few minutes to count the money, check the weight of drugs. This could have been her one chance to see what was entered into evidence and how it compared to what was seized.
Instead, she had to make do with escorting the prisoners out to where the van was waiting. Now they knew what would happen to their friend, they were quiet and compliant, afraid they might become the person being sent home empty handed.
Soon everyone was bundled up and off to their respective destinations. Laurel and Hardy took the three official suspects back to the cells. Haines and Mitchell were escorting the fourth person to the train station to send him home. Angel had elected to walk back to the station in the hope that it would loosen up her hip.
She thought over all that had happened. She hadn't seen any cash or drugs catalogued or entered into evidence, so DS Jones' suspicions remained possible but unproven. Angel had also seen a vulnerable woman freed from exploitation by some really unsavoury characters. But did Haines' plan for the town include finding a social worker and giving her some proper support.
As she walked the streets of Bradwick she was aware that it was a charmed town. Drug use and its associated violence had been low for years. The only question she had was whether it was worth the price.
Chapter Thirty-Two
Haines sat on a bench in the Winter Gardens. He was not used to relaxing and all around him people were walking with pushchairs and enjoying a lunch break. He could see a thin sliver of sea between the gates of the park and over the promenade. It was a proper hot August day and the promenade was crowded with holidaymakers eating chips or ice creams. The policeman in Haines was keeping an eye out for the pickpockets and other criminals naturally attracted to the tourist trade.
He was joined by Reg Patterson, still doing his perfect grandfather act. Despite the weather he was wearing a cardigan and Haines had to check that he wasn't wearing slippers.
'So, you're taking an interest in Gregory Watts, are you?' Patterson hardly ever said hello. Haines had asked him to look into Watts when he arranged the meeting. He nodded and Patterson kept talking. 'I've asked around, you need contacts on the estate. He's a bit after my time. I mean, I was sitting in offices with deep pile carpet and proper coffee not out working the streets. But you know what I'm like, I always know who to ask.'
'And what did you learn about the esteemed Mr Watts?'
'Well, I'd forget about him if I were you. He's the kind of public we need we need on our side. Not locking up anyway.'
'Word is that he has an unhealthy interest in schoolgirls.'
'That's as may be.' The tone of his voice was clearly saying that back in Patterson's day that was just part and parcel of being a man. 'Have there been any complaints about him?'
'Not yet, no.'
'So, none of these schoolgirls you're talking about have ever put in a formal complaint?'
Haines thought to himself that there hadn't even been an informal complaint or a whisper from the local intelligence officer, but he didn't say that. 'No,' was all he said.
'You know what I'm going to say, Rob. We are police. Our job is to keep the good people of Bradwick safe. That job does not extend as far as going into people's bedrooms and asking what they're getting up to, does it?' When Haines didn't make any comment, he continued. 'Listen, I'm not some soppy old man who doesn't understand the world. I wake up at six every morning just like I used to. After a jog, I read all the papers, cover to cover. I know about the whole Weinstein affair. It's all going too far. At this rate, if a man takes a woman to his bed, he'll need to see a birth certificate and get her to sign a bloody statement of consent!'
'You think we should go back to the seventies, sir?'
'Maybe not the seventies. But I do remember in the eighties it was a lot simpler. You knew who was guilty and who wasn't. You banged up the bad guys and the good ones were protected. Now, well, I don't envy you. It seems women can make up anything and get away with it.' There was a pause as Patterson considered this. 'So, these schoolgirls that Watts is supposedly after. What happens to them? Do they join the movement and raise their voices in protest at his actions?'
'Well, it's still early days yet. Nothing concrete has come to light.'
'You'd better be bloody careful then. Once the harpies get word that there's interest in Watts then accusations will come out of the woodwork.'
'Well he has an interest in teenage girls and someone out there keeps on murdering them so I thought it was worth a look.' Haines was desperate to steer the conversation away from his friend's outdated views.
'Nah, don't worry about him. I've heard that he might be on the list for the police and crime panel at some point in the future. He already does a lot of good work.' He paused for a second. 'Even when I retired, we were starting to feel the pinch with the budgets. There's no point tilting at windmills. I reckon you're doing the right thing going after these immigrants you know. It might cost money now, but it'll pay off in the long run.'
'Yeah, I know. It all starts with the drugs and the drugs start with the immigrants.'
'Am I repeating myself?' He laughed, a soft chuckle. 'Seriously though, it's good to hear that you're listening. You might want to check out these immigrants that you're rounding up. See if any of them have alibis for when those poor girls were attacked.'
'Yeah, I could do. To be honest, they're running us ragged. Not sure how much more budget we can throw at it?'
'Is this a favour for King?'
'Yeah. I know it needs to be done.'
'Start quizzing them about the murders then you can spread the budget around.'
'That's not a bad idea.'
Chapter Thirty-Three
Back at her desk, Angel needed something to do. Something quiet and calming after the adrenaline of the raid that morning. She decided to settle the question of Gregory Watts' guilt or innocence.
He might have refused to hand over the name of the clients who were his alibi, but there weren't that many houses being sold with a view of Wales across the estuary. She spent half an hour trawling through some of the new online only estate agents. She felt very odd, looking at these expensive houses, on cliffs overlooking the sea. She wondered who would be buying and selling them. She imagined polished retired couples who drove Mercedes and had that easy way with money that only the truly rich ha
ve.
She found what she was looking for. Recently listed, a well-proportioned six-bedroom house, standing on its own acre, with views across as far as Wales. The shots were professional and taken with the sunset in the background.
She thought about her own house in the suburbs. It was a solid, well-built thirties semi but nothing exciting. It was not spectacular like this one. "The wow factor" they called it on endless daytime TV property programs. She wondered if she would ever climb the property ladder to a house like this, with its eye-watering price tag. She'd assumed she would make her career in the police, vaguely seeing senior rank in the future. But would that be on her own or with a family and a husband who put up with the long hours?
Putting all melancholy thoughts of her future out of her mind, she set herself to the task of registering on the website and making contact with the owners. Soon she was through the maze of online forms and on the phone with them.
'Hi, I saw your house for sale online and wondered if I could ask a few questions.' Despite rejecting her parents' lifestyle, she still loved jobs like this where she could be theatrical and pretend to be someone else.
'Of course,' the voice on the end was very enthusiastic, eager to please. She thought he sounded younger than retired.
'Oh, no I don't want to buy, sorry.' After her wistful moment earlier, she didn't want to be misunderstood. 'No, I'm selling my own house and someone recommended Gregory Watts as a photographer.' She left the question hanging.
'And you wanted a recommendation? Very wise. Can't beat word of mouth, can you? What can I say, I couldn't fault him. Nothing was too much trouble, even came round in the evening, to get the perfect light. If you've seen it on the website, well, you'll know how well presented it is. Once he'd taken the photos, he stayed and helped us put together the words as well.'
'That's really good to hear. I'm in a bit of a hurry to sell. Was he quick?'
'Oh yes. He took his camera away to process the photos. But he sent them through the next morning and we had it listed by the afternoon.'
DC Angel made small talk and encouraging noises, while half her attention was on clicking through the website. When she'd said her goodbyes, she found what she was looking for – the date that the house was listed. Gregory Watts was taking photos and helping a couple sell their house at the same time that Stella Evans was being killed. He certainly didn't have time to take the photos and get back in time to ambush Stella.
She supposed that she could put the technical teams onto it and check the meta information behind the pictures which would show where they were taken and when, but her gut was telling her that his alibi was solid. He was in the clear for killing teenage girls. But that didn't mean that he wasn't guilty of something.
There was nothing for it but to face the music and tell DCI Haines that another lead had come to nothing.
'Boss, you know how you told me to go and have a look at Gregory Watts?' There was an awkward pause where DC Angel considered what to say next. In the end she decided to be direct. 'I wasn't sure if that was your polite way of getting me to go away or if you really meant it?'
'I don't do polite.' Now it was Haines' turn to pause. 'Especially not with people I'm starting to respect.'
'Thank you, sir.'
'It's the truth. You've got a bad feeling about this Watts character, so what did you find?'
'He's squeaky clean. In fact, he's too clean. I think he's grooming teenagers to provide babies.'
'Grooming them like in Telford and Bradford? Drugs and mobiles? Is he the head of a gang, passing them around?' Haines was still mulling over what he'd learnt from Patterson that morning. He wasn't discounting it, but he liked to hear both sides before making his decision.
'No, nothing like that. He won't go near drink or drugs. He doesn't touch anyone under sixteen. And he definitely doesn't seem the type to share.'
'So what exactly does he do then?' Haines was thinking that the balance was swinging towards his mentor.
'He gets girls pregnant, then when he's had a couple of babies out of them, he moves them out and moves a new one in.'
'Let me ask you something. If he had a thing about redheads, say. And he got a new girlfriend every three years and some of them got pregnant, would that set your alarm bells ringing?'
'Well, no, but...'
'Listen, I get it. Sometimes you get a gut feeling and it's important to run with that. But when you do follow your nose, it has to be backed up with something solid.' He paused again, considering how much to reveal. 'I listened to your concerns and did my own digging to see what I could find out about him. He's what you might call a pillar of the community. Donates to various causes, always there at the right charity events. He keeps the youth of Bradwick on the straight and narrow. If you really want to nail him, it has to be bullet proof. But my advice would be to leave well alone.'
DC Angel said, 'Fair enough.' But she wasn't prepared to let go just yet. She would certainly keep him on her radar and wait for him to slip up. 'I haven't had much luck with the number plates either,' she said.
Haines shook his head. 'Me neither. Trouble is most car stuff is now on the computer. You can stand in an auction with a phone out and check the mileage, the MoT history, any insurance problems, the whole lot within about five minutes. Against all of that, knocking up a fake number plate isn't going to swing things one way or the other.'
'So that old case I found?'
'Yeah, that was the end of an old tradition, I think. Now people car-jack high end cars and either break them up for parts of drive them straight to the docks to sell them overseas.' He looked almost sad that the old ways of car crime had been consigned to history. 'I'm sorry to say that it looks like Dark Car Man might be a dead end as well. We can hardly interview every person in Bradwick and the surrounding area who owns a dark coloured family car.'
DC Angel shook her head. But she was forming a plan that she didn't share with Haines. She knew it was a Ford, either a Fiesta or a Focus.
She went back to her desk and started drawing up a complex search on the DVLA database. She knew she could trim it down somewhat. The likelihood was that the car was dark blue, grey or black. She set the query running and tried to put it out of her mind for the rest of the day.
When she left work that evening, DC Angel was in a black mood. She'd taken enough painkillers that her hip was now a dull throb but in return she now felt faintly sick instead. She'd got back a list of literally hundreds of possible candidates for Dark Car Man. Even if she could find a way of telling which one was the killer, it could take months to find them.
When she got to her car, that she'd parked on the street that morning, she was surprised to see Watts leaning against it nonchalantly. She took a breath, ready to tell him to get the hell off her property when he levered himself upright.
'Ah, just the person.' As ever, his mood was bright, almost cheerful, but there was a chilliness to his eyes. 'I just wanted a quick word. I know you're asking around about me. Bothering my family. I won't have you upsetting my children.'
'And I won't have you telling me how or where the police can investigate!'
'Investigate?' He held his hands out for imaginary cuffs. 'If I've done something wrong, arrest me right now.' There was a stand-off where neither person moved. 'Thought so. Now leave me alone.'
In response DC Angel just glared at him and blipped her car open. He didn't move out of the way, however, meaning she had to move close to him to open her door.
'Shame I didn't meet you ten years ago,' he breathed into her ear, so softly that no one else would've heard.
'I would've been fifteen,' Angel snapped back at him.
'Twelve years ago then.' Before she could retort he was already walking away and out of earshot. She sat in her car, slid the key into the ignition and locked the doors.
She had been close enough to smell him, to feel his presence. He had whispered so close she'd felt the breath on her ear. Now she wanted nothing more than to g
o home and have a long hot shower. To scrub away the essence of Gregory Watts.
Chapter Thirty-Four
Rob Haines, Detective Chief Inspector in the Avon, Somerset and Wootenshire Police, stood on the pavement outside the Red Lion and squared his shoulders. He was on the cusp of being made up to superintendent. But now he was nervous.
He knew, that in the scheme of things he was going to put the cat among the pigeons. In the politics that governed the police departments of Bradwick, this pub was clearly Traffic territory. The car park alone would have told even the casual observer of this fact.
He took another deep breath and pushed his way into the bar. He tried and failed to ignore the way the volume of conversation dipped as he walked past.
Feigning casualness he leant on the bar. 'Pint please. Bitter.' He tapped a beer pump and waited. The barman seemed to take his time selecting a glass and drawing the pint.
'Rob! Strayed into the wrong pub, have we?' Inspector Peters, head of the Traffic Division came over to meet him. 'Why don't you join me at my table. Don't want to scare the troops.'
'Thank you, Inspector, I'd like that,' Haines replied.
'Yes, right you are, sir.' Peters had picked up the use of his rank to emphasise that Haines was senior to him and making sure that it was known.
'So, here we are then. You've come here for a drink. Off your patch.'
'That right there, you see, is the problem. My patch, your patch.' Haines stopped and waved his hand around to indicate the pub. They were being very definitely ignored. 'After all, aren't we all here for the same thing. Keep Bradwick safe. Serve and protect. All that.'
'Well, yes, there is that. But you know, it takes respect, doesn't it, on all sides.'
'I just think that maybe you needed reminding. That we're all trying to catch criminals. And if people down at the ranks of constable and sergeant, say, might have a falling out, well it shouldn't affect the day to day running of each department, should it?'
The Retirement Party Page 17
