Hot Blood (Bloodwords Book 1)

by Vic Marelle

  Once she had been the centre of his life. Then she had upped and gone and his life had broken apart. Putting it together again had been hard. Vinegar and brown paper might be all that Humpty Dumpty needed, but in the real world, rebuilding was not easy. This spot on the balcony, so relaxing no matter whatever the weather, had helped, as had a healthy succession of commissions, particularly from David Preston, but with no woman in his life, a gaping hole remained.

  Perhaps not a gaping hole exactly. There was someone. And she was special. But with past events at the back of his mind he was reluctant to take that final step. Reluctant – yet keen. Perhaps confused would be a better description.

  Watching the boats go by was therapeutic. Were he to be on one of the boats sailing along the canal he would be bored out of his mind in ten minutes flat – a boat limited to 4mph could never deliver the exhilaration of speed experienced in his Italian engined coupe – but watching them from the balcony was completely different. It was peaceful, calm, melancholy, relaxed; all of those things and more. And an opportunity to escape the pressures of modern life.

  Dragged suddenly out of his reverie by the harsh sound of the doorbell clanging away downstairs, Charlton checked his watch. He wasn’t expecting anyone. An unbroken afternoon with nothing to do but relax on the balcony watching the world go by was so unusual as to be priceless, so who dared break that spell? The doorbell rang again. Whoever it was was getting impatient. Reluctantly he left the balcony. As he reached the foot of the stairs, through the half glazed front door he could see the outline of a middle aged man, though not anybody he recognised.

  As he opened the door the man pulled out a warrant card, held it up and said,’ Mr Charlton? Simon Charlton?’ Simon nodded. ‘I am Detective Inspector Radcliffe.’ Then, as two others came up the path, ‘This is Detective Sergeant Fraser and I believe that you already know Detective Sergeant Lescott.’

  Taken aback, Charlton looked at each of them in turn, searching for clues. Why was there a police deputation on his path? Both policemen were expressionless. Debbie Lescott averted his gaze and looked down at the floor. What the hell was going on?

  Turning to the inspector, he said, ‘How can I help you, what is the problem?’

  ‘We’d just like a word if you don’t mind sir. It might be better inside.’

  ‘Yes, of course. Please come in,’ replied Charlton, stepping back to allow them to pass. ‘The living room is through to your left. Just go through and take a seat,’ raising his eyebrows questioningly as Debbie passed him, the last of the little trio. She gave no response.

  Radcliffe looked around the room. Not over large, it was clean and uncluttered with a picture window looking out over fields. Although he could see no water, the roof of a narrow boat with a small dog lying fast asleep went slowly past. Radcliffe surmised that they must be close to the canal, but at a lower level than the towpath. Décor in the room was typical of the modern minimalistic trend, with plain colourwashed walls and almost a complete lack of ornaments. A few large pictures broke up the expanse of wall, mainly automotive art – motor racing, rallying and car images – all in simple frames with no embellishment. Radcliffe got the feeling that this was not a family home, more a bachelor pad. Albeit a very tidy bachelor.

  ‘Mr Charlton,’ started the inspector. I understand that you gave Sergeant Lescott a list of car registrations and asked her to obtain the respective owners addresses for you. Is that correct?’

  Charlton looked at Debbie. Her expression gave no clues. Who was in hot water here? Debbie or himself? And why?

  ‘Yes, I did inspector,’ he replied. ‘Is that a problem?’

  ‘Well of course it is. And I suggest that you know damned well that it is sir. In your business you should be aware that using police time and facilities to obtain information that’s not available to the public just isn’t on. At best, it’s breaking the rules. But it could lose Sergeant Lescott here her job. Now Mr Charlton, does that sound like a problem to you?’

  ‘I assure you Inspector, I did not realise the importance. All I asked for was a little bit of information. I didn’t realise that it could be taken so seriously.’

  ‘And why did you do that then? What did you want the information for? And don’t tell me that that’s confidential. I don’t care who your client is – he could be the Prime Minister for all I care.’

  ‘I saw a collection of plates on a workshop wall and wondered why fairly current registrations should be there. It wasn’t an MOT garage or anything so they seemed out of place. I did an on-line check but that only gave me basic information which just made me more curious, so I just asked Debbie to get the addresses for me. I didn’t think it was such a big deal.’

  ‘Well it was. So what did you do when Sergeant Lescott gave you the addresses?’

  ‘I rang them up. Just checked that they were the owners and that they still had the vehicles.’

  ‘And were they?’

  ‘Yes. All of them. Actually, one of them ripped me off a right strip. He thought that I was the police.’

  ‘And why did he think that sir? Did you pretend that you were a policeman?’

  ‘Of course not.’

  ‘Well, you did use police resources to get your information didn’t you, so why not continue the trickery?’

  ‘Absolutely not. I gave the man my name and just said that I was checking whether he was the owner of the vehicle and confirming his address.’

  ‘Sounds like a con to me sir,’ said Radcliffe.

  ‘Well it wasn’t. But this guy – he lives down in Cornwall – he said that although his car had never been out of Cornwal he had received a speeding ticket from up north. I passed that information on to Debbie but what she did with it I don’t know.’

  Radcliffe continued to press for details. Who was his client, why were the registrations important, who else had he involved. The two sergeants were, for the most part, silent. Radcliffe alone drove the conversation, all the while probing and searching. Easing off and softening his words somewhat, then cutting in harshly to catch Charlton off balance. All the time he was gauging how much information had been traded; how much knowledge they had gained – and how much Lescott’s position had been compromised.

  Satisfied that they had progressed the issue to its logical conclusion, Radcliffe stood, ready to leave. The two sergeants followed suit, as did Charlton.

  ‘This is a delicate situation Mr Charlton. I must advise you never, and I repeat never, never ask a serving police officer to bend the rules for you again. Sergeant Lescott is currently in the mire and it’ll take all my best efforts to minimise that. Plus of course her own excellent initiative behind the scenes. There have been three murders and two brutal attacks and Sergeant Lescott’s enquiries are beginning to bear fruit. Let’s hope that helps her.’

  ‘Murder? What’s that got to do with this inspector?’

  ‘Don’t ask Mr Charlton. Just be aware that not only have you dropped Sergeant Lescott right in it so to speak, you’ve also opened up a bag of worms. Now, for everyone’s sake, don’t ask for any more favours.’

  ‘Inspector,’ responded Charlton. ‘I have already apologised. I really didn’t appreciate the importance. And, truly, I would never do anything to hurt Debbie.’

  Radcliffe gave him another warning, then led his sergeants out of the house.

  Stopping part way down the path, the inspector looked back. “Simon,’ he said, ‘Debbie thinks a lot of you. She has put her job on the line for you. Don’t treat that trust flippantly.’ Then he turned on his heel and walked away to join his colleagues.

  Charlton watched in silence as the three drove away. It was the first time that the senior officer had used Debbie’s first name. And the first time he had called Simon by his. The inference wasn’t lost.

  Nineteen

  Turning over, Alison looked across at Brian. Though always a dapper dresser, tucked up in bed he was reduced to the bare necessities – literally. Thinning on top, the remaini
ng hair definitely beginning to lose its colour, and more than a hint of middle-aged spread, if ever there was a peak in life, Brian was over it, though perhaps not yet on the slippery slope. What had she seen in him? At first she hadn’t taken much notice, although undoubtedly he had stood out from the rest of the staff. Other teachers looked and acted like teachers but Brian looked more like a sharp businessman. With the air of a corporate chairman emerging from a boardroom triumph, he was extremely confident. Where other teachers drove small economical cars, he always had a large expensive one – or a sporty expensive one. And he always dressed well.

  Weekends away with Brian were something to look forward to. The excitement of what was to come. The buzz associated with deceit. Keeping it all secret from the rest of the staff. And, of course, keeping it secret from Steve.

  For what? Had it really been worth it? Being perfectly honest, perhaps the greatest pleasure had been the anticipation each time they had arranged to get away; the anticipation of what was to come. What actually came certainly wasn’t worth the effort or subterfuge. Stripped of his designer garb, the slick image was gone, replaced by a decidedly middle aged – even dumpy – and decidedly lack lustre reality that wasn’t even half as attractive. And his performance wasn’t all that hot either. Was he better than Steve? Not really. Or in all honesty, not at all.

  Which left the car. Brian had found her a better car than any of the other teachers and for a lower price – though not as good as his of course. But so what? Brian had located it but Steve had bought it for her. So what was new? Steve bought her everything she wanted anyway. Like her house. And her clothes. Like everything.

  Beside her, Brian stirred, rubbed his eyes and turned to face her.

  ‘You awake Ali?’

  ‘Of course, I’ve been awake for ages.’

  ‘Have you? Really?’ Then, with the beginnings of a smirk, ‘I would have thought that with all the exertion last night you would have been tired out.’

  Ugh! Brian’s exertion was but a mere canter for Steve. Was this really worth the effort or risk?

  ‘Actually, I’ve been thinking,’ he continued. ‘I’ve been thinking of buying a caravan.’

  ‘A caravan! What the bloody hell for Brian?’

  ‘Well my love, we’re getting a little cramped aren’t we? I mean, we are always looking over our shoulders in case someone from school or your husband sees us. You said that he saw me last time we went to the Squirrel and you were on edge all the time we were in the Premier Inn at Southport, but it’s taken an hour and a half to drive up here – that’s three hours travelling all told out of the limited time we have together. It doesn’t make sense.’

  ‘So where does the caravan come in then?’

  ‘A mate of mine has a caravan site at Crosshill – actually he’s just died and his son has taken over – but they are expanding and putting in a pool and restaurant.’

  ‘If you think that I am even going to set foot in a caravan you are sadly mistaken. Who do you think I am, a bloody hooker for heavens sake? Shit Brian, I wouldn’t go to that B&B in Bath Street so what makes you think I’ll go to a bloody caravan’.

  ‘No love, just think about it, If I buy a caravan we could . . . .’

  ‘If you buy a caravan,’ she cut in, ‘you can go to it on your own. I wouldn’t be seen dead in a bloody caravan.’

  ‘Ali, please. They are not like they used to be. The modern ones are quite plush. All mod cons, central heating, full kitchen, all the works. But the main point is that we could be there in five minutes and with a restaurant and facilities on-site we could be self-contained. There would be no looking over our shoulders anymore.’

  ‘Go fuck yourself Brian.’ She stormed back, swinging her legs out of bed. ‘If that’s about the level you think I am you are very mistaken. I thought we had something special but it seems that all I am is a quick shag over the weekend. Well I’ve news for you boyo. You’re bloody lousy; you couldn’t satisfy me and never have. You’re not half the man Steve is. For God’s sake Brian, I’ve got to work on you for ages before you can do anything – and then it’s over in a blink. A dirty weekend with you is more like a rest than strenuous activity. No wonder I woke early.’

  Grabbing her clothes she dressed quicker than she had ever done, and, against Brian’s constant protests, grabbed her coat and handbag. Storming out of the room she strode down the corridor and out of the hotel, driving off in a huff.

  ……….

  ‘What you are suggesting does seem to be feasible. If somebody has the guts to brazen it out if they are stopped, using cloned registration plates would be an ingenious way of moving cars without putting attracting attention. Nobody looks at old bangers on trailers or trucks but everyone notices top brands like Ferraris and Mercs, especially if they are new or nearly so. You don’t expect to see new high value cars broken down and on the back of a wrecker so they attract attention. Just driving them makes sense, especially if they can be made to pass muster when a nosey copper in a patrol car uses automatic number recognition equipment. Yes, ingenious.’

  ‘It works because it’s simple Don,’ responded Sergeant Kyle Fraser, ‘and it explains why specific car models have been stolen. We were trying to put them into lots of five or six of specific types of vehicles when all the time it was neither the type nor the quantity that mattered. What was happening – is happening – was cars being stolen to match specific cloned plates.’

  ‘We don’t know that yet Kyle,’ responded Radcliffe, ‘but it does look feasible.’ Then, turning to Lescott, who had been quiet throughout the trio’s visit to Simon Charlton and still looked uncomfortable, he added, ‘Your guy’s house is in a good spot Debbie.’

  ‘It’s quiet. The most noise is created by the boats chugging up the canal and this pub’s only five minutes walk up the towpath so it is convenient. Good grub too.’ Then, as an afterthought, ‘But he’s not my guy. He’s just a friend.’

  ‘If you say so Debbie,’ chortled Radcliffe, a sly smile sparkling his eyes. ‘But I wasn’t referring to the convenience of quiet romantic solitude,’ putting up his hands to stop her protest before it could be uttered. ‘What I meant was that from his window there’s a good view all around. It is virtually unobstructed. And when we were approaching and drove over the bridge I could see a balcony. It looked as though it would be off the room directly above the living room we were in. Presumably that’s his bedroom. No doubt that’s a good vantage point.’

  ‘The view from the balcony is superb,’ replied Lescott. ‘But it’s not his bedroom, it’s his office.’

  ‘Well, I wouldn’t know about that would I Debbie?’ asked Radcliffe. From his expression she knew that a response wasn’t needed.

  ‘OK,’ continued Radcliffe. ‘We have a briefing tomorrow and some delicate issues to consider. I think that we can contain your indiscretion Debbie, but only if we keep things under our collective hats so to speak.’ Turning to Fraser he added, ‘Kyle, who knows about the cloned plates? I mean, exactly?’

  ‘Outside of us three there’s just Lou. Debbie didn’t want to involve Frank so chatted it through with Lou who came to me. That’s all.’

  ‘Right then. As well as the cloned registrations, Debbie’s bloke gave us several more numbers and as you so rightly pointed out, some of the links are quite interesting. Anything could bring this crashing down like a pack of cards and we could be barking up the wrong tree anyway, so I think we need to keep this within the team. And make no mistake Debbie, if your boss gets wind of how you came by the information or what some of the links are, you could be for the chop and there could be other repercussions.’

  Looking at the two sergeants he drummed his fingers on the worn pub table. ‘We’ll knock this into shape over another drink. Your round I think Kyle. But basically we’ll stick to the facts. A member of the public has given us a lead and we are following it up. There’s no need to elaborate. No mention of Charlton or putting numbers through Swansea yet or Debbie’s career is
dead. And since we’ve got the car inquiry anyway, there’s no need to enlighten Frank either.’ As Fraser made his way to the bar, Radcliffe returned his attention to Lescott. ‘I’ll ring fence you Debbie and one way or another we will get these buggers,’ he said, ‘but don’t let me down. I know that you work with Frank but I can’t help you if you let even one word of this slip out.’

  ‘I’m grateful for that,’ replied Lescott, ‘but it might not be that easy. Don’t forget that Simon found the cloned plates in Peter Archer’s workshop and that Mike Johnson accused Archer of the first attack. If Archer was part of the car thefts ring and Johnson knew about it, perhaps Archer did work him over. You know, to shut him up and keep him quiet.’

  ‘I know all about that Debbie. I did at least work that out for myself. But Kyle is working with me on the Johnson attacks so Frank doesn’t need to be involved.’

  ‘I know, but Frank and I are primary on the Archer murder. If I have a lead then I should tell him shouldn’t I?’

  ‘Trust me Debbie, you need to look after yourself. If anyone queries your actions, the facts are that you took your info to Lou because she’s doing the cars, from where it went to Kyle and me. Let it stop there. Keep out now. If Frank sees the plates and follows up then it’ll be his move. If he doesn’t, we are on it anyway. Trust me love.’ Then, as Fraser arrived and put down another ice cold glass, ‘Thanks Kyle. We’ve been discussing strategy. Debbie, I want you to have a word with Lou, woman to woman. Lay it on hard and make it stick. No discussions and make sure she keeps it under wraps. I’ll set the strategy from here on after tomorrow’s briefings. Eight sharp for a full team briefing. Take your lead from how I set it all out. Then following that, Frank, Handy Andy and I have the press call.’

  ……….

  ‘All right everybody.’ The chunnering quietened and heads turned towards the three senior officers at the top end of the room, where Chief Inspector Handley stood, flanked by Inspector Frank Davies and Inspector Don Radcliffe, both seated.