by Jay Nadal
Anything else?” Scott asked.
Sian raised her pen, “Stone’s contact list just threw up frequent calls to Vicky and Dave Fraser, and the others were club related contacts.”
“I tugged a few collars…the dealers and users we know, and as Mike found out too, if you wanted some gear the Phoenix and Urban are the places to go. Interestingly, a few dealers had been on the receiving end of a visit from Tomlins if they were slow on payments,” added Abby.
“We’ve got two things going on here. We’ve got a triple murder case and we’ve got a case from three years ago tied into it. Whoever was there three years ago has been present in some way at all three murders in the past ten days.”
“Raj, I want you to go through the files again and see if we’ve missed anything and see how we got on yesterday with the artist impression. We need that to go out in a press appeal today, square it with Ma’am when you get it and then get it on to the press officer.” Scott looked around at the team. “Any other business?”
His request was met with collective shake of heads.
“Let’s get to work then.” Scott gathered his notes and files into a bundle before stopping Abby from leaving the room.
“You and I are going to talk to Stephen’s dad; I found his last known address in Shoreham so let’s pay a visit.”
***
“Does the job ever get too much for you, Guv?” Abby questioned as she looked out to sea, the vast expanse allowing her mind to wander.
As he drove along the sea front to Shoreham, Scott didn’t need to look at Abby.
It was a question that had crossed his mind on many an occasion. Certainly the last few years had been a challenge; and the job always tested him as an officer. The more senior he rose, the more accountability he inherited, and the greater the pressure he experienced. The personal trials he’d faced had no doubt made him question life in general.
That wasn’t something he felt comfortable discussing, even though he considered her a friend. He liked Abby, she was open, honest and a real grafter. What you saw is what you got with her. He had no doubt that she carried similar traits and beliefs to him and would go far in her career.
Scott tried to answer in the best way he could without sounding negative or judgemental. ”It can. I guess two days are never the same, so it can be difficult to balance the highs with the lows.”
Abby blew out a long, slow sigh in frustration.
“Why, what’s up?” Scott asked.
“Nothing, Guv.” She paused and Scott felt there was more to come. “I guess I find it hard to keep motivated some days. I’m rushing around like a blue arse fly, we hardly do a nine to five, and sometimes I wish we did.”
Scott kept quiet and gave her the space to vent her thoughts.
“I hardly get any time to myself. I get home, there’s the house to clean, the kids to sort out, homework, ironing, and the list goes on. By the time that’s done all I’m good for is collapsing in bed.”
“You must get out sometimes, surely.”
Abby ran her hand through her hair, and laughed half-heartedly, “Social life...?.What’s that?”
As her senior officer he also had a duty to monitor the welfare of his staff, and Scott endeavoured to support members in any way he could. They were his team, he felt personally responsible for them. If they did well, he was the first in line to praise them. When they fell, he was there, he was their safety net.
“You thought about reducing your hours then, or job sharing?” he suggested.
She looked out to sea, “If I did that, Guv, I wouldn’t be able to afford my mortgage or pay for the kids’ clubs.”
“Well, I know we’re pushed on this case, but once we’re done, take a few days off, you’re owed some anyway from last month when we worked on that serial burglary case, you put in more hours than anyone else.”
Abby nodded but didn’t respond.
This was something he’d need to take up with her once the case was over. Abby was a great asset and Scott would do his hardest to support her. Good experienced officers were hard to come by. He wasn’t willing to lose her.
***
Park Avenue was a mixture of houses and bungalows. The property they were interested in was a small unkempt bungalow that lacked the pride that other properties in the street seemed to relish showing off. It was a well-kept quiet street, with small front gardens surrounded by shrubs or dwarf walls. Scott reckoned that most of the residents were retirees. They often preferred bungalows when downsizing was the next step.
The door was answered by a gaunt, thin-framed man. He had brown hair that was fast being replaced with grey, his jeans looked a size too big and his shirt was hanging loose.
“Mr Adams? Mr Jim Adams?” Scott enquired.
The man nodded.
“I’m Detective Inspector Baker and this is Detective Sergeant Trent from Brighton CID, may we come in and ask you a few questions?”
Jim Adams glanced at the warrant cards in front of him before turning away. He nodded over his shoulder to tell them to come in. Scott and Abby followed him into the lounge. It was surprising clean and tidy, but not modern by any stretch of the imagination. The officers sat on the worn burgundy leather sofa, whilst Adams sat opposite them in a matching armchair.
“What can I do for you?” he asked.
Scott noticed the yellow staining on the remaining teeth he had. He estimated that he’d lost at least a quarter of them, more than likely as a result of excessive drinking and substance abuse.
Abby was poised with her notebook and pen. “We wanted to talk to you about your son, Stephen.”
Adams hunched up and held his hands together in-between his legs, as he shot a glance between Scott and Abby that suggested both confusion and feeling uncomfortable. “That’s a name I’ve not heard for many years,” Adams pursed his lips and nodded.
Abby swapped a look with Scott before he continued. “Not heard, Mr Adams? When’s the last time you saw Stephen?”
“I’ve never seen him, Detective Inspector. She ran away before she had the kid. God knows what he’s up to, where he is, or even what he looks like,” Adams said circling his left hand.
This wasn’t turning out the way Scott had thought. He was expecting to come here to ask questions about his son. Now he was about to give this father the news that his son was killed three years ago.
Scott cleared his throat. “Mr Adams, I’m sorry to inform you that your son was killed three years ago in Brighton.”
Adams lifted his head in surprise. A look of unknowing in his eyes. “In Brighton? He was down here?”
Scott wasn’t sure what to make of his reaction. Upon hearing of the death of a child, most parents experienced some degree of grief, sadness and loss. He’d seen many crumble in front of his eyes. Adams seemed to be unfazed and more surprised than anything else.
“What happened to him?”
“He was attacked outside a nightclub and died from head injuries he sustained, I’m afraid.”
Adams nodded and remained silent.
Scott was beginning to realise that Adams wasn’t going to be able to shed much light on Stephens’s case or his background.
“What happened to his mother?”
Adams rubbed the stubble on his cheek, “Not long after getting knocked up, she walked out on me and moved back to Reading where her parents lived. She told me she couldn’t do this anymore. It was too much to cope with. She upped and left. Bags and all.”
He stopped and looked down at the carpet. A short pause silenced the room. ”That was that….I never heard from her until after she’d had the boy.”
“Why did she leave?” Abby pressed the point.
Adams looking a bit sheepish before continuing, “Well you see, we were just having fun back then. We’d been seeing each other for a year or so, maybe longer. It was an accident really. We were off our faces most of the time. She liked the puff and Charlie, and I liked the red stripe. Too much of both as you can tell,
” he pointed at his remaining teeth.
“I even said we could get rid of it, but by then she was freaking out, angry, snorting line after line.”
“Did you try and make her stay?” Abby asked.
“Nah, didn’t see the point. I wasn’t looking to be a dad, she didn’t want to hang around…” his voice trailed off as he shrugged slowly.
“What was her name?” asked Scott
“Jackie…Jackie Taylor.”
“Date of birth?”
“That’s easy; it was 1st August. Can’t remember the year, but I think she was about nineteen when I met her.”
Scott concluded the visit knowing he’d gleaned as much as he could. “Mr Adams, you’ve been very helpful. Thank you for your time.”
***
As they walked back to the car, Abby paused by the passenger door and leaned across the roof. “Wonder why he never tried to track her down. He’s in there now, and in the space of five minutes, he finds out he has a son, and then his son is dead…and yet he remained pretty nonchalant?”
“I guess if he didn’t want a child and considering he felt it a mistake,” said Scott, “Then why would you?”
Chapter 22
Scott had just enough time to head back to the station and approve the E-fit that had been created from the eye witness report. It was due to go out that evening to the Argus, Brighton & Hove Independent and BBC Sussex. Even though it would be two days until the E-fit and press appeal came out in print, Scott was hoping to leverage the power of their online presence to gain exposure immediately whilst the crime was still fresh.
The image offered an encouraging detailed description thanks to the witness. Scott was confident the appeal would generate the vital leads he needed.
***
Scott walked in to the Chilli Pickle, a popular and trendy Indian restaurant a few minutes before 7.30 p.m. He’d been munching through some poppadums when he looked up to see Cara approaching.
“You having difficulty closing your mouth,” she teased.
“Erm, yes...sorry. I mean no.” Scott was struggling to find the right words, and thought it easier to stand and greet her. He kissed her on the cheek, “You look fab.” Scott cursed himself. You fucking idiot, is that the best you could come up with…fab of all words?
Cara was dressed in tight dark blue jeans, a white crocheted top and navy heels, her coat slung over her arm. The whole outfit accentuated her toned figure. Scott had to do his hardest to avoid glancing at her substantial breasts which looked magnificent in the top she wore.
“So do you, Detective.”
Scott glanced at his suit that was now somewhat crumpled having sat in the car. “Personally I would have come in jeans too, but I came straight from work, so didn’t have time to change. I feel a bit overdressed to be honest,” he said, pulling at the lapels on his jacket.
“Don’t be daft, you look smart and stylish, I like the way you dress. Formal and yet fashionable. I remember going out with a guy a long time ago who always wore trainers with trousers. He looked such a prat,” she winced as she described him. “He actually thought he looked really good.”
Scott crunched up his nose as he joined Cara in vilifying the poor sod.
“If you think that’s bad, you should meet my DCI. She’s the most uncoordinated person I’ve ever met. She always wears these big oversized cardigans that hang down to her knees. Bless her; she’s short anyway. They look like printed parachutes on her.”
Cara rocked back in her chair as she tried to muffle a roar of laughter.
They ordered drinks and shared a few small plates of Persian biryani, masala dosa and a tandoori chicken platter. The food was greeted warmly with approving groans of pleasure as they tucked in to the shared dishes.
Scott loved how easy the conversation flowed between them. He felt he could just be himself and relax without fear of judgement. He wasn’t sure if that was down to chemistry or due to Cara being so sociable. It was probably a bit of both he guessed.
Scott was sure the atmosphere helped too, with its bright cultural colours and decorative fixtures. The excited hum from other diners and the smell of traditional asian spices that filled the air, all added to the ambiance.
The conversation soon moved on to the case. Cara asked a lot of questions and seemed to be genuinely interested in its progress. In fact Scott thought she’d spoken so much, that he hadn’t asked her much in return.
Scott had told her about the developments and the E-fit construction along with his expectation that it would surely yield some results. He took a quick swig of beer, and was about to carry on when Cara interrupted him.
“You know the twenty pound notes thingy?” She said whilst moving food around her plate. ”I’ve got a theory, but promise you won’t laugh?”
“Oh really, I’m intrigued, Detective Hall,” Scott jested with a raised eyebrow.
“Promise? Or the chutney sauce goes over you,” she threatened in a playful tone, waving a small metal dish in front of him.
“Ok, ok, deal,” he conceded holding his hands in surrender.
“Well as you know, I’ve be interested in all things morbid, and I’ve got an idea.”
Scott watched, captivated by her animated style as she waved her hands around expressively.
“I’ve always been interested in the Mafia, or the Cosa Nostra as they like to refer to themselves across the pond. I was thinking about your case this morning, and this whole money-in-the-mouth thing. Then I remember reading that the Mafia used to punish their own in a certain way based on the crime they had committed. So if it had been a sex crime or adultery, they’d cut off his cock.”
Scott’s shocked expression led Cara to laugh apologetically.
“Now here’s an interesting thing. People who had stolen, or embezzled, or had become too fixated on money, would have money stuffed in their mouths after being killed.” Cara paused for a moment to push that point home before continuing. “The money in the mouth was to reflect greed,” each word reinforced further as she pointed in Scott’s direction. “Greed,” she said nodding her head again.
There was a lengthy pause as Scott thought about Cara’s theory. Cara could see Scott processing it as he stared at the table deep in thought. She leant over the table and with a cycling motion of her hand tried to get a reaction of some sorts from Scott.
“Well?” She paused with raised eyebrows, “Credible or stupid?”
“Hmm,” was the only response Cara could muster from Scott as his eyes drifted off in no particular direction, to continue crunching through her theory.
“Is that it?” she asked, startled by his lack of enthusiasm for her theory. Deep down she hoped he would have at least agreed, or thanked her for giving him a bit more food for thought. She sighed, feeling a little deflated after initially being so excited to tell him.
Scott’s attention drifted back to the table as he stared at Cara for what seemed an eternity, but in reality was just a second or two.
“Why are you looking at me like that?” Have I got food on my face?” she said curiously, a napkin poised in her hand.
“Do you know Cara, you may have hit on something there?” with an approving nod. “We could have a motive, it’s certainly plausible.”
The smile returned to Cara’s face. “See, not just a pretty face.”
He had to agree, brains and beauty wrapped up in a delightful package, is what sprung to mind.
Scott and Cara ended their night sharing a Kulfi and Gulab Jamun for dessert, the cold of the ice cream and the sweetness of the Jamun refreshing their palates. Cara found the Jamun way too sweet for her liking leaving Scott to mop up both desserts.
***
The cold air bit into them the moment they stepped out. Their clothes offering little in protection, as Cara stamped her feet to keep warm.
“We should have stayed in there,” said Scott as he rubbed his hands together.
“I had a lovely evening, Scott. You’re really easy to g
et on with, the next one’s on me, ok?”
“Deal…it was good fun,” he smiled.
“Why are you grinning like a Cheshire cat?” she laughed.
“Don’t know, just had a cracking night, I guess. I’m heading back to Regency Square, where are you parked?”
“I got a cab here, so I’ll call for one now.”
Scott didn’t want the evening to end; the thought of going back to an empty house didn’t exactly fill him with excitement. He knew he had to do some work, but it could wait till later. Sensing Cara wasn’t wishing the evening to end either, both hesitant to say what they were no doubt both thinking, Scott broke the silence.
“Well do you fancy walking back to the car park with me, and I’ll drop you home? I know it’s a bit chilly but if we walk fast…” he left the suggestion hanging.
“In these bloody heels, are you for real?” she laughed lifting her foot off the ground to show him her four-inch heels.
“Fair point, well then a slow walk to the car park, and if your feet hurt, I’ll give you a piggy back,” he said. Teasing her with a quick wink.
“Hey listen, you try and carry me and you’ll be in A&E with a slipped disc by the end of tonight,” a full belly laugh exploded from deep within her.
Scott stuck out his elbow to suggest she feed her arm through. Cara willingly accepted and they headed off into town to cut through onto West Street and towards the seafront.
They remained silent for the majority of their walk, just enjoying the vibrancy of the town and the sounds emanating from the various pubs, restaurants and bars.
Cara’s heels tapped quickly over the pavement, creating a hypnotic beat as they walked along the promenade past the Grand Hotel, its illuminated, imposing white frontage adding to the majestic and opulent feel of the hotel.
“Have you ever wondered why you do your job?” she asked.
