by Conrad Jones
‘Surely you had an inkling about who they worked for?’ Braddick asked. ‘You know what I mean, which outfits used him?’
‘That was one of the conundrums,’ Alec said. ‘No one ever talked about it. We never got close to finding out who whacked the Albanians in the van, or why. My money was on the Karpovs giving the order, but no one would talk. Fitch and Collins vanished and left us with a complete vacuum.’
‘Did you think it could have been someone on the force?’ Sadie asked.
‘No,’ Alec said, shaking his head. The question disturbed him. ‘Not necessarily on the force, but it had to be someone who had access to the information we had, someone connected to law enforcement somehow.’
‘What made you think that?’ Braddick asked.
‘Collins and Fitch,’ Alec explained. ‘Only someone connected to the initial investigation could have known what Collins said in his interview. He blamed Harvey Fitch for the bodies in the back of the van, which made Fitch the link to whoever had killed them. Fitch may have been the only man alive to know who had wrapped those men in wire. Someone leaked the fact that Collins had blabbed.’
‘What is the significance of that?’ Sadie asked.
‘Fitch was loosely connected to an outfit run by a guy called Eddie Farrell, who was backed by the Karpovs. The Russians were heavy-hitters back then. Anyone in their right mind would have made a “no comment” interview, but Collins didn’t know who Fitch worked for. I felt a bit sorry for Collins if I’m honest. When he said he didn’t know there were three stiffs in the back of the van, I believed him. He was a patsy.’ Alec shrugged. ‘There was a theory around the Matrix officers, that Collins had pissed off Eddie Farrell, and Fitch was going to use him to drive the van and dump the bodies, then kill him, but as I said, no one was talking. We couldn’t get the intel to back it up.’ He grinned. ‘I guess we’ll never know, but, the fact is, no one on the outside knew that Collins had fingered Fitch, so, why take him out?’ Alec looked from one detective to the other. ‘Eddie Farrell rated Fitch as a loyal employee, and they’re few and far between in that world. He wouldn’t have whacked him on a whim.’ Alec shrugged and rubbed his chin. ‘The speed that Fitch disappeared indicates to me that he was eliminated that night, as soon as Collins had blabbed his name; he was taken out of the game right then. That information could only have come from MIT, or someone connected to the original arrest.’
‘Like who?’ Sadie asked.
‘That list is as long as your arm,’ Alec said. ‘Could be anyone from the original team of detectives, uniformed officers in the custody suite, the forensic team … I could sit here all night and speculate, but it won’t help you.’ He paused. ‘I can tell you one thing for certain: we had a leak back then and I never could put my finger on who it was. The press were always getting hold of information that only MIT could know. I tried leaking duff information a few times, to try and flush them out, but they were too clever. I never found out who it was.’
‘Did you suspect anyone?’ Braddick asked.
‘I suspected everyone and no one.’ Alec shrugged again. There was a thoughtful expression on his face. He was holding something back.
‘It sounds like there’s a bit of the story missing,’ Sadie said.
‘You’re a very perceptive lady,’ Alec said, smiling. He rubbed his hands together. ‘Okay. It’s been a long time, maybe I should share my thoughts with you.’ He considered his next words, reluctant to commit. ‘Frankie Boyd,’ he said, finally.
‘Frankie Boyd? Who is that?’ Braddick said, sitting forward.
‘Just a man who made my skin crawl,’ Alec said. ‘There was something very wrong about him.’ He frowned as he recalled the images.
‘Was he MIT?’
‘No. He was a forensic photographer for a Warrington-based company.’
‘Intaforensics?’
‘That’s them.’
‘We still use them,’ Sadie added.
‘Every time the man walked into the same room as me, all my alarm bells started ringing.’
‘Why?’
‘Instinct maybe. He just wasn’t normal, whatever normal is,’ Alec said, grinning. ‘He would be at a scene for hours longer than he needed to be, hanging around, asking stupid questions. I’ve never seen a forensic photographer who liked being around dead people as much as that guy did. He would take thousands of photographs, literally thousands.’ Alec paused, recalling his memories of Frankie Boyd. ‘I remember asking him if he got paid by the image. You should have seen the look in his eyes. He looked through me, like I wasn’t there. We’ve all seen eyes like that, haven’t we?’
‘Yes. Usually across the desk in an interview room,’ Sadie said.
‘Exactly. There was something missing from that man, and I began to suspect that he could have been the leak. He didn’t fit in. Nobody liked the guy, but he would hover around crime scenes like a bad smell, photographing anything and everything. If there was ever a man that didn’t fit in a team, it was Frankie Boyd. I started to keep tabs on him but…’
‘But what?’ Braddick asked.
‘He was fired by the company,’ Alec said, shrugging. ‘Someone had seen images of crime scenes being sold on Photostock. There were hundreds of them, and although they couldn’t nail it down to Boyd, they knew it was him that had uploaded them. On the back of that they found a blog, which featured images from a crime scene investigator. It was anonymous, but some of the scenes were identifiable and they tracked them.’
‘Frankie Boyd?’ Braddick asked.
‘Yes. They fired him for breach of contract,’ Alec explained. ‘I kept tabs on him, and a few weeks later he upped and took off to South East Asia, Thailand, if I remember rightly. The blog was closed down and I never heard of Frankie Boyd again.’
‘And you think he could have been an enforcer?’ Sadie asked, confused.
‘It might not sound like much, but after he was fired, the leaks stopped.’ Alec said. ‘I was speaking to a couple of undercover Matrix officers one day and his name came up. One of them asked me if Boyd was working for us on the streets.’
‘That’s odd,’ Braddick said, his eyes narrowing.
‘Very odd,’ Alec agreed. ‘That’s what I meant about alarm bells. One of the Matrix officers had seen Boyd on numerous occasions, hanging around places he shouldn’t have been. He was always close to trouble.’
‘Trouble?’
‘You know – pubs where gear is sold openly, street corners where deals are made, red-light areas, car parks where nobody parks their cars. He was spotted around, taking pictures.’ Alec could see that Sadie was confused. ‘Think about it, Sadie. An expert photographer with a knowledge of forensics. He could have taken pictures of every crook in the city without them knowing – their colleagues, their wives, their kids, their grandparents, their lovers; think about it. I’m not saying that’s what he did, but he could have had a hold on every criminal in this city. A photograph says, “I know where your kids go to school”. It says, “If I can get close enough to take this picture, I can take everything you hold dear from you in an instant”. A picture is powerful evidence too. Take a photograph of someone breaking the law, and you have a grip over them.’
‘Hence the wall of silence surrounding the case?’ Braddick asked.
‘Maybe,’ Alec said. ‘All my instincts told me it was him.’
‘It makes perfect sense,’ Sadie agreed.
‘When he left the country, things in the city settled down again. Things went back to normal. The jungle drums started beating again, if you know what I mean.’ Alec sipped his coffee. ‘And we never encountered anyone cocooned in wire mesh again,’ he said with a grin.
‘Until now,’ Sadie added.
‘Until now.’ Alec smiled. ‘It might be worthwhile checking out where Frankie Boyd is. If he is still alive.’
‘I can see why you never told the Smiths your theory,’ Braddick said.
‘It’s pure conjecture,’ Alec said. ‘There
is absolutely no substance behind my theory. I always told my detectives not to come near me with “maybe” or “could be” or “might be”. I couldn’t tell the Smiths about my hunch. Not with what I had.’
‘How did you know he had gone to Thailand?’ Braddick asked.
‘A little birdie told me,’ Alec said, tapping his nose with his index finger. He smiled thinly. ‘He bought a one-way ticket from Manchester airport.’
‘Did you flag his passport, in case he came back?’ Sadie asked.
‘He hadn’t broken any laws, Sadie,’ Alec said, shaking his head. ‘Plus, he was related to the ACC at the time.’
‘Clive Boyd?’ Braddick asked.
‘Yes, he was his nephew. I’ve known Clive and his wife, Margaret, for twenty years. I couldn’t be seen to take any liberties, besides, I had no evidence of any wrongdoing, not a sausage. It was all just gut feeling.’
‘We’ll look into his whereabouts,’ Braddick said. ‘Thanks for talking to us, Alec. It’s been very helpful.’
‘No problem at all,’ Alec said, sitting forward. ‘I could have a word with Margaret Boyd, if you like? She was close to Boyd’s mother. Off the record, of course.’
‘That would be a great help,’ Braddick said, standing. ‘It might save us some time, thanks.’
‘It’ll be a pleasure,’ Alec said. ‘Keep the old grey matter ticking over.’ Alec walked them to the door, saw them out through the gates, and watched them drive away. They were nice people, good detectives. He could spot one a mile away. His mind went back to his memories of Frankie Boyd and his expression hardened. He thought about the years gone by. Thailand: a chief constable he knew had gone over there as a consultant a few years back; the Thais were making a concerted effort to eradicate corruption from their force. He smiled as he decided to give his old friend a call.
10
The lunchtime bell sounded and Jake grabbed his coat from the back of his chair. He was worried about Jaki. The twins had been escorted to the headmaster’s office that morning, and the head had chatted to them about what had happened, reassuring them that all the teachers would be briefed, and how they were to report anyone abusing them about their father immediately. He said he wouldn’t tolerate any bullying, no matter how petty. At no point did he offer any sympathy for their father’s plight, or reassure them it was all a mistake. It seemed that his guilt had already been accepted and his arrest was a great inconvenience.
Double maths had dragged on longer than it usually did. He didn’t like mathematics, and the teacher, Mr Beech, was dull; he never smiled and he had a low tolerance level for pupils who struggled to understand things first time around. Jake wasn’t one of them, fortunately, but the atmosphere could be tetchy in class, especially if Mr Beech had a hangover. He always stunk of stale alcohol and cigarettes. Boozy Beech, the kids called him. They had a name for most of the teachers, and Jake was just waiting for the first one about his dad to fly around. The rumours about him being arrested in the headmaster’s office were rife. He had seen people pointing and staring, laughing and sniggering behind his back. No one had called his dad a paedo yet, but he knew it was only a matter of time.
He stood up; his chair made a nasty scraping noise on the tiles. Something wet hit the back of his head. He knew it was a soggy – a chewed up piece of paper fired through a peashooter. It stung for a second before he wiped it off and turned around. No one owned up. Everyone was packing up their things, chattering and putting their coats on, except for Tom. Tom Mathews was sitting on the back row where he always sat, feet on the desk, rocking backwards on his chair. Jake made eye contact with him and instantly knew it was him who had fired the soggy at his head. Tom was a big lad, fat but a big lad nonetheless. He wasn’t liked and most kids tolerated him so they didn’t become a target of his bullying. He was a nasty piece of work. His black hair was cropped close to his head, making his cheeks look humongous, and he had home-made tattoos on his podgy fingers – the four suits of a pack of cards on his left hand and a series of crosses and dots on his right. None of them seemed to have any meaning and they were blurred and ugly. He stared at Jake, a sneer on his lips.
‘What the fuck are you looking at?’ Tom said. Jake didn’t reply; he bit his lip. ‘You got a problem, Vigne?’ Tom said, a smug grin on his face. Some of the other pupils stopped talking, sensing the tension in the room.
‘I haven’t got a problem.’
‘Apart from your dad being a nonce, that is. No surprise to you though, I bet?’
Jake put on his coat and walked towards the door. Another soggy hit his ear; this time it stuck in his hair. He pulled it free and tossed it onto the floor. The wet paper stank of spit. Some of the other kids laughed. Mr Beech looked up from his marking, disturbed by the racket. Jake kept walking and didn’t look back. Tom was chewing another piece of paper, ready to fire it through an empty biro.
‘That’s enough of that, Mathews,’ Mr Beech called out over the clamour. ‘You’re fifteen, not five, stupid boy.’
‘Fuck you, Boozy,’ Tom muttered. A chorus of laughter broke out.
‘I beg your pardon?’ Mr Beech said, removing his glasses. Everyone knew when the glasses came off, Mr Beech was on one.
‘I said, sorry, sir,’ Tom muttered.
‘Get out, stupid boy!’ Mr Beech snapped. Tom put up his hand to ask a question. Mr Beech rolled his eyes before acknowledging him. ‘What is it, Mathews?’
‘Is it true Mr Vigne has been arrested for being a paedo, sir?’ Tom shouted with his hand still up in the air. The classroom went silent. Jake was nearly at the door but stopped in his tracks. His face reddened as he glared at Tom. Mr Beech was speechless. He looked at Jake, embarrassed for him. ‘Is it true, sir, is Mr Vigne a paedo?’ Tom asked again.
‘You will be quiet, Mathews,’ Mr Beech said, angrily.
‘I think we have a right to know if there’s a child molester working in the school, sir. I don’t know about anyone else, but I don’t want to be interfered with by a dirty nonce, sir. It could affect me for the rest of my life, sir.’
‘Be quiet!’
‘Can’t be too careful, sir,’ Tom persisted, his hand still raised. ‘There are paedos everywhere nowadays. We won’t be able to go for a dump in peace, without a paedo teacher looking under the door, sir.’
‘Shut up, Mathews.’
‘Mr Vigne might have cameras in there, sir, looking at our widgies.’
‘Go to the headmaster’s office, Mathews,’ Mr Beech shouted. ‘I’m sick of your insolence. The rest of you, get a move on. What are you all standing around for?’ He waved his arms towards the door. ‘Get to your next class, all of you.’
‘It’s dinnertime, dickhead,’ Tom said from the back of the class. Laughter erupted again, louder this time.
‘Who said that?’ Mr Beech stuttered. He always stuttered when he was angry. ‘Was that you again, Mathews?’
Jake was grateful for the diversion. He didn’t hang around to become the target of Tom’s attention again. He opened the door and stepped into the corridor. It was filling up as the classrooms emptied. He was immediately aware of the atmosphere, peculiar glances, and the whispering behind his back. People who normally ignored him were staring, pointing and giggling. Even some of his friends were behaving oddly, their smiles not as warm. They couldn’t hold eye contact with him. He knew Jaki would be feeling a hundred times more vulnerable than he was. She was so vain sometimes, always worried about what other people thought of her. This would be her worst nightmare. He walked down the corridor, quickly, heading for the schoolyard where he knew she would be with her friends. There was a crowd of kids near the noticeboards, laughing and jeering. As he approached, his stomach lurched. At the top of the PE board, someone had stuck a photograph of Jimmy Savile over his dad’s profile picture. It had begun.
Things were going from bad to worse. He had to find Jaki before she saw what they had done. He looked outside but couldn’t see her. April Morris was there, in the spot whe
re they usually gathered, holding court to a semicircle of girls. She was waving her arms about, animated and excited. They were tittering and looking around nervously. He knew they were gossiping about Jaki.
As he reached the crush for the doors, he spotted Jaki walking across the yard. She had her head down, looking at the floor. Her face was red and she’d been crying. It was obvious she had seen the Savile photo. He pushed his way out into the yard and made to intercept her before she reached her group of friends, but she was too quick. The group of girls turned to greet her. Some smiled, awkwardly, others looked at her with distaste, April Morris wore a smarmy grin. She seemed to be loving the news. Jake neared them.
‘OMG, are you okay, Jaki?’ one of the girls asked. She hugged her and Jaki started crying, sobbing on her shoulder. At least her friends were still her friends, Jake thought, relieved. His relief didn’t last long.
‘OMG, Jaki. Have you seen the photo of Jimmy Savile on the PE noticeboard?’ April said, shaking her head.
‘Yes,’ Jaki mumbled. Her embarrassment was clear for all to see.
‘I do not know how you came to school today. How did you leave your house? I am so embarrassed for you. I would simply die,’ April said.
‘If I found out my dad was a paedo,’ another girl said, her hand covering her mouth, feigning shock, ‘I would never come to school again. I would hide in my room for a year at least.’ Jaki looked at her, unsure if it was an insult or not. ‘You should not be out in public, Jaki. The shame would kill me.’
‘My dad is not a paedo,’ Jaki said, sobbing. ‘It’s all a misunderstanding.’
‘The police don’t arrest people for a “misunderstanding”,’ a ginger girl called Toni, said. ‘My dad is a traffic officer, so I know how it works. They don’t arrest people without solid evidence any more, because the CPS kick the cases out before they get to court.’ Everyone looked very impressed with her knowledge. ‘They must have evidence against him,’ she said, confidently, folding her arms across her chest. ‘And it will be solid evidence,’ she added.
