Hot Blood (Bloodwords Book 1)

by Vic Marelle

  As she looked up, Kevin returned to the table and gently placed two documents onto the table in front of her. One was a very detailed description signed by four people; she recognised her father’s signature among them. The other, a much larger sheet, was a detailed plan.

  Oh shit!

  Twenty-Eight

  Putting the receiver down, Radcliffe pondered the information he had just been given. While it had only been a grain of an idea, not really a possibility, the thought had kept crossing his mind to the point where it just had to be followed up. And now a few unconnected events were becoming connected. Things that had been completely individual were looking as though they might be linked. And if they were, a whole bunch of possibilities would click into focus. Yet if they were not, if the idea was just supposition with no real connection, then he would be up the creek without a paddle. He was the officer running the enquiry so his subordinates would point to where they had received their instructions and any flak would be directed at him. Above, DCI Handley would be insulated from any failure. All roads led to DI Radcliffe.

  So he had made a call so that he could close the lid on what had been a flaky idea in the first place. Only it hadn’t done that. The pathologist had been quite supportive – impressed he had said – and had thought Radcliffe’s suggestion sufficiently sound to be a possible link. So that had prompted a second call, and now the third. At that point he was unlikely to shout Bingo! - and there were still some numbers missing, key pieces in the jigsaw, any of which could blow the complete theory apart. But after his phone calls he now had the bit between his teeth, and, after looking on helplessly while the investigation floundered like a lost driver aimlessly trying to find his way home, at last he felt that he was back in control. Or if not in control, at least he had a direction in which to travel.

  A direction, certainly, but not a final destination. That would need more work and more time. Perhaps more time than they actually had available.

  Which was exactly why he now had three officers in his office, all of whom were wondering why they had been summoned. Briefings usually took place down the corridor in the larger meeting room that could accommodate the whole team, while by and large, individual officers would discuss issues in the DI’s office. So, were they to be given a kick up the pants like errant schoolchildren? Were they going off in some new direction as a result of some earth shattering information that had suddenly come to light? Or were they wallowing around out of their depth with somebody looking for a scapegoat on which to pin blame?

  With two desks almost touching and little room for visitors, the office was cosy for two but cramming in four people was a bit of a squeeze. Being a warm day didn’t help. He could feel the tension as glances were exchanged but little said. How much they would have gleaned from overhearing one side of his final telephone conversation as they had filed in was debatable. Most likely, nothing. But then again, they were detectives and should be able to read between the lines.

  ‘It’s a bit cramped in here boss,’ remarked Debbie Lescott, ‘there’s not much room for anyone else so why don’t we use the incident room?’

  ‘This isn’t a full briefing,’ replied Radcliffe, ‘so we will be OK,’ carefully watching the faces of Fraser, Lescott and Green. Clearly they were puzzled. And equally clearly they were attentive – exactly the state he had intended to create.

  ‘I’ve got a question,’ he said, opening up the dialogue. ‘Why does everything come back to Simon Charlton?’

  Don Radcliffe cast his eyes around the room, hoping for some sort of response, even if sarcastic. But none came. Feet shuffled, heads dipped, eyes were averted – but nothing was said. ‘Come on then,’ he continued, ‘why does Charlton always seem to be one step ahead of us? He found the cloned plates, he found Wilson’s fake Ferrari, he warned us that the cars were being moved out of the college store – and now he’s bloody well told us the identity of the bloke we dragged from under the Bentley.’

  More shuffling. From behind his desk he looked at each of them in turn, Fraser, Lescott and Green, but none of them would meet his stare.

  ‘That’s pushing it a bit Don,’ commented Fraser eventually. ‘Debbie identified Peter Archer as the first body and we’ve all done our bit to progress things since.’

  ‘I’m not posting a score sheet Kyle, but without Mr Charlton’s contribution we would not have got as far as we have,’ adding, ‘and there would probably be one more dead body. Let’s not forget that.’

  Leaning back in his chair, Radcliffe visibly mellowed. Having worked with him for some length of time they could read his mood and without communicating with each other in any way they all knew that the criticism would not continue and that a change in delivery was coming. Even so, sly glances, grins even, were surreptitiously exchanged.

  ‘It’s no laughing matter,’ said Radcliffe, bringing them back to order. ‘I can’t tell you how much it rankles that a civilian has pulled one over on us. This is our job,’ adding for effect, ‘and we don’t seem to be doing it very well.’

  Radcliffe let his words hang in the air, allowing time for them to sink in, before continuing. ‘Oh for heaven’s sake, find some chairs and sit down,’ he said. ‘I’m not going to sit here with you lot staring down at me.’

  Getting back into his sombre mood, which in itself took them by surprise, he outlined his reservations and also those of DCI Handley. In little more than one week there had been three deaths and almost a fourth. In itself, that was not acceptable and they were being monitored by HQ in Liverpool, which didn’t help either. But with a big political conference coming to town they couldn’t sustain the level of manpower currently allocated for much longer. Something had to give. Either they solved the case or HQ would take it away. If that happened then they would all be running about like blue arsed flies to the commands of the Major Incident Team top brass from Liverpool and at the same time trying to create a policing plan for the conference.

  On top of all that there were other issues. From the questions asked by the North Meols Drum journalist Les Starr, (he referred to him as ‘that little ponce), it was clear that somewhere there was a leak and information was getting out. Whether it had been the same leak that had tipped off the car thieves was unknown, but without doubt there was at least one. The Home Office would soon be in town for their first on-site visit so an initial framework for policing the conference was now an urgent requirement. And finally, if HQ got involved with their deaths, questions would be asked as to how they came by some of their information and that could be catastrophic.

  He did not look at Lescott, nor did he mention any names, but all three knew exactly what was on the agenda. If he had said that Debbie’s job was on the line and that they needed to put the case to bed then his message wouldn’t have been any clearer. With their attention guaranteed, he then outlined the solution DCI Handley had devised.

  Instead of just reducing the number of ancillary officers that had been drafted in, which was due to happen anyway given how they were overstretched, as of that moment the team was actually being cut to just it’s core members. That was specifically to address the issue of leaks. If there were any more he would know exactly from where they had originated. And as they had probably already heard, DI Davies had already been tasked with getting the conference plan up and running.

  ‘Isn’t that a job for uniforms?’ asked Fraser.

  ‘Of course,’ replied Radcliffe, adding, ‘in an ideal world. But this isn’t an ideal world and I am afraid we will all get roped in at some point.’ Looking at the three of them he added, ‘sooner rather than later if we don’t get some results.’

  Wrapping up his outline of Handley’s instruction he made it clear that he held their capabilities in great store. The case was maturing and a direction was becoming apparent. The means was in their hands to get a result.

  ‘Easier said than done,’ observed Fraser. ‘But we have hit a blank wall. We’ve got three deaths with a matching cause but otherw
ise no real links, and unknown car thieves that have such a good information network that they not only flew the nest before we arrived, they took their cars with them as well. It doesn’t look like we’ve got much going for us does it?’

  Actually, I don’t agree,’ responded Radcliffe. ‘Things have really hotted up since last night. I didn’t call you lot in here just to tell you about the new working arrangements; this is our first briefing of the new team.

  The door swung open, bumping into DC Green’s chair.

  ‘Oh, sorry about that,’ said a surprised Frank Davies.’ Then, turning to Radcliffe he added, ‘Will you be long Don?’

  ‘Give us ten minutes will you Frank?’ responded Radcliffe, ‘we are nearly through.’

  Turning back to the three officers as the door closed, Radcliffe first addressed Fraser. ‘Kyle, how did your session with Randy Brian go?’

  ‘Pretty much as expected Don,’ replied the sergeant. ‘He protested his innocence all the time and just clammed up when we tried to get him to name the person selling the car that he passed on to the Wilson woman, but overall I think that he’s just an unfortunate piggy in the middle. I don’t think that he realised the car was a ringer. He just saw it as a way to get into the Wilson woman’s knickers.’

  Louise Green and Debbie Lescott exchanged knowing glances and raised eyebrows.

  ‘I get your point Kyle,’ responded Radcliffe. Then addressing Lescott continued, ‘what have you got on Rick Worth?’

  ‘Not much at the moment,’ she replied. ‘I’ve run some searches but so far Richard Worth isn’t coming up anywhere. He’s only young though so he could still be living with his parents. Actually, all I have is what Simon has passed on.’

  ‘Hmmm. Mr Clever Cloggs,’ responded Radcliffe with a wry smile. ‘No Debbie,’ he continued as she started to speak again, ‘nothing derogatory meant in that. Simon has done well.’

  ‘This bloke though,’ interrupted Fraser, ‘Richard Worth or whatever he is called. Knowing who he is still doesn’t help us does it? I mean, he’s not connected to the three deaths and it looks as though he’s just a small cog in the car thefts.’

  ‘I don’t follow your logic,’ responded Radcliffe.

  ‘He can’t have been all that important if they were prepared to leave him behind.’

  Now that’s where I disagree,’ responded Radcliffe. ‘I think just the opposite. I believe that our Mr Worth knows a good deal about what was happening and how it all worked. I think that he was deliberately crushed to stop him spilling the beans.’

  ‘How so?’

  ‘Think about it. You’ve been involved with a dodgy operation for a while but then decide you want out. You might have amassed enough money to live nicely without any more undercover stuff or you might just have got scared. Any one of a number of reasons to want out. If you know too much, the big wigs are not going to like that. So they take steps to keep you quiet. In this case, permanently, though with a bit of luck that hasn’t been successful.’

  ‘I think that’s taking a bit too far Don,’ observed Fraser. These are car thieves we are talking about, not murderers. There’s no connection between the three deaths and the cars. Period.’

  ‘I find your certainty impressive,’ said Radcliffe, ‘but it is my guess that you are totally wrong.’

  Having given them the opportunity to voice their opinions, the DI felt that the time to discuss his theory and then assign tasks had come.

  ‘How we found Mr Worth had me thinking,’ he said. Three faces were fixed on him, all concentrating on every syllable. ‘If the paramedics had not come along to scoop him up and work on him, if the thieves had carted him out to some remote spot and just left him, he would have been another dead body with no visible marks but exactly the same cause of death as the three we already have.’

  They we already making the connection but Radcliffe continued to join up the dots. ‘Peter Archer had some oil or grease on him. We could not fathom that one out at the time but I think that he died in exactly the same way as Mr Worth nearly did, under a car. The two Poles could also fit that scenario, one is a mechanic and I’m having checks done on the other to see if it all fits. My hunch is that Richard Worth has given us the missing link.’

  ‘It might fit Don,’ added Lescott. ‘Simon was told that Rick Worth used Peter Archer’s workshop regularly, but then when he went through the workshop diary he could not find any entries to back that up.’

  ‘But the cloned registration plates were found on the workshop wall,’ said Fraser.

  ‘Right,’ said Radcliffe. ‘A lot of it is rather vague but we still have links not only between the deaths and Worth, but also directly to the car thefts. What we don’t have is the whereabouts of the cars now or knowledge of who is still involved.’

  ‘Or why they should get rid of four of their men,’ responded Fraser. ‘That seems a bit extreme.’

  Radcliffe agreed with his sergeant. Some aspects were more than a little extreme and his theory did provide rather a lot of links very neatly. Perhaps too neatly. But his hunch was that it was not far from reality and needed following up. After stressing that nothing was to be discussed openly – he was still concerned about leaks and if his theory was right then another leak could kill the whole operation – he allotted tasks to each of them. Louise Green was to contact the Jaguar Land Rover plant at Halewood to get some background on Mr Worth. Debbie Lescott and Kyle Fraser were to re-visit the caravan park where they were to take a good look at the workshop and talk to Kevin Archer. Then they would compare notes when he himself had returned from Liverpool, where he had been summoned to report progress so far.

  ‘Perhaps Kevin is involved too,’ suggested Fraser. ‘If his dad was involved then Kevin might be too.’

  ‘You could be right, so tread carefully,’ advised Radcliffe. ‘Don’t let anything out of the bag at this stage. Debbie has already been there with Frank so Kevin will recognise her. Your visit today can just be a follow up as far as Kevin is concerned. You’ll have to think of a plausible excuse to look at the workshop though.

  ……….

  Sitting at a table at a window looking out onto the car park, Joan Johnson realised just how neglected Green Fields Caravan Park had become. Not having visited her brother’s business for a long time its shabby and unkempt appearance had been a shock. Perhaps that was a trick of the memory. Didn’t we always remember things as we wanted to see them rather than how they actually were? For sure, although all the buildings and the general layout were familiar, the picture she had held in her mind had been from a much earlier time when everything had been fresh and the paint barely dry. If she really tried she could remember a last visit when the paint was needing a new coat and some areas were already beginning to look tired, but that had been when Peter had rowed with her about him being cut out of their father’s will. In an attempt to remember the good times she usually blocked that visit out of her mind.

  The whole place seemed to have gone downhill at an alarming rate in the intervening two years. Changing its name from Site to Park had done nothing other than pay homage to fashion, while a complete refurbish would have been more appropriate. Looking out onto the car park she could see for herself the problems Peter had been facing, now passed on of course to his son Kevin. The car park was rutted and unkempt and the reception buildings had deteriorated to the point where they just looked like garden sheds, yet inevitably this would be the first impression visitors would get. It would not be a good impression, particularly if those visitors had previously visited a Haven or CentreParcs site. The picture snapped into sharper focus. It was no wonder that Peter had been fighting for some of her money and some of her land.

  Even so, she herself had a fight on her hands. She might well be sitting on a parcel of land but she didn’t have the money to develop it and, as looked increasingly possible, might even be in debt up to her ears. She would have to handle Kevin with firmness, even though he was her nephew.

  ‘There
you are Aunt Joan,’ he said, putting a steaming mug of coffee in front of her.

  His manner surprised her. Most things about him had surprised here of late. She still thought of him as a little boy, as her brother’s little boy, her little nephew. But the little boy had grown up. The session at her solicitor’s had demonstrated that. Previously happy just to stand in his father’s shadow, Kevin was now taking his responsibilities seriously and showing strength of character she had not realised was there. Perhaps she might have an even harder battle on her hands than when Peter had been alive.

  ‘Thank you Kevin,’ she replied. ‘But don’t you think that you could drop the aunt bit? You’re no longer in short pants are you?’

  ‘Sometimes,’ he replied with a grin, adding, ‘when it’s sunny. But if it’s OK with you,’ his eyebrows raising questioningly, waiting for approval.

  ‘Of course Kevin, we are all adults after all.’ Taking a sip of her coffee she looked at her nephew, wondering what was about to unfold. What she would have to contend with.

  ‘If we go right back to before granddad bought your place,’ he began, ‘the whole lot, his house, your barn, the buildings in the hollow, all the land and the land this caravan site is on, were all one farm. Then the owner split it up and sold some of it to granddad.’

  ‘Yes Kevin, I know all that. We don’t need to concern ourselves with things that far back.’