by K. J. Frost
Once I’ve finished, I get up again, replacing my pen, and go over to Mrs Cole.
“These are the details for a colleague of mine,” I tell her, showing her the card. “His name is Chief Inspector Carson. I’ve known him for some time. He and I used to work together at Scotland Yard, before he was promoted and transferred to Brighton, and he’s a very good man. If you need any help, telephone him at the central Brighton police station and mention my name. He’ll do whatever he can for you.”
She nods her head and takes the card, putting it into her coat pocket.
“I can’t thank you enough,” she murmurs, looking embarrassed.
“You don’t have to” I get Thompson’s attention and nod towards Mrs Cole’s case, which he promptly picks up. “We should be going,” I tell her.
“Going?”
“Yes. We’ll take you to the station.”
“Oh. I can walk,” she says.
“In this weather? I wouldn’t hear of it.”
She smiles up at me. “Just so you know, Charlie wasn’t here on that Tuesday night either. He came home for his dinner, but then went straight out again. He did that every Tuesday. Told me he was going to the pub, but I’ve got no idea whether that’s where he really went…” Her voice fades and she looks away. “I’m sorry,” she murmurs.
“Don’t be,” I reply and I link her arm through mine, guiding her out through the front door.
It doesn’t take long to drop Mrs Cole at the station and for me to purchase her ticket to Brighton. She’s quite confident about the journey, informing me that she’s made it several times before and knows where to change trains and which platforms to use. She’s also profuse with her thanks, and I ask her to write to me at the London Road station, just to let me know she’s arrived safely and is settling in alright. We don’t wait to see her off though. Away from the confines of her house and her husband, she seems like a different person; more self-assured, less nervous. Whether she’ll ever come back to Molesey, or whether she’ll make a new life down in Brighton with her sister, away from the memories of her violent husband and her murdered daughter, I don’t know, but I like to think she has a chance now.
Far more so than me, she is bruised; but hopefully she too is not broken.
We pull up outside McAndrews and both get out of the car, but just as we’re about to enter, I pull Thompson back, in spite of the falling rain.
“Are you sure you can handle him by yourself?” I ask. “We can get a few of the lads from Walton Road to come and assist, if you want?”
He shakes his head. “I’ll be fine. I’m looking forward to this.”
“Don’t damage him any more than is strictly necessary,” I warn him.
“I’ll try not to,” he replies and holds the door open for me to pass through.
We enter into the reception and find Miss Rumbold sitting at her desk once more. She looks up as we enter. “Can I help?” she asks.
“I’m sorry to disturb you again,” I reply. “But I’m afraid we need to see Mr Cole.”
She sighs and glances at the clock. “It’s still half an hour until lunch. Can it wait?”
“No. I’m afraid it can’t.”
“I’ll have to go and ask Mr McAndrew,” she says wearily, getting to her feet and going through the door behind her desk.
This time, when she comes out, she’s accompanied by a man. He’s perhaps sixty, maybe a little older, and is tall and thin, with a long face and dark eyes.
“You’re the police?” he says sternly.
“Yes,” I reply.
He huffs. “Well, I’m not sure you realise this, but we’re doing important war work here. I can’t have you coming in every five minutes and disturbing my work force.”
I take a deep breath. “I’ve got no intention of disturbing your work force, Mr McAndrew. I just need to speak with Mr Cole.”
“Yes, I know. But what you don’t seem to understand is that he’s our foreman. He’s not supposed to leave the factory floor during production.”
I nod my head, reining in my temper. “Well, I’m afraid he’s going to have to. Either that, or I’ll arrest him in the middle of your factory floor, in front of all your workers. The choice is yours.”
His jaw drops open. “Arrest him?” he blusters. “What on earth for?”
“The attempted murder of a police officer,” I reply.
“Dear God,” he murmurs, reaching for the chair that’s conveniently behind him, and flopping into it. He looks up at me again. “I take it you have evidence of this… this accusation,” he says.
“You’re looking at it,” I reply and he pales, then turns to his secretary, who’s equally shocked. “Miss Rumbold?” he says and she steps forward. “Can you please go and ask Mr Cole to step in here?”
“Yes, Mr McAndrew,” she mutters.
“And please don’t let him know that it’s me who wants to see him,” I add. “Tell him Mr McAndrew has something to discuss with him.”
She nods her head and makes for the door. Thompson and I follow quickly behind her.
“You’re not going to wait?” McAndrew says, getting to his feet.
“No, I’d rather do this in your foyer, if it’s all the same to you. There’s less likelihood of any trouble.” The office has more furniture, more things that Cole could pick up and throw, and I’m in no condition to fight him off.
Thompson holds the door open and I pass through ahead of him, and we wait together for the double doors into the factory to be opened.
“Whatever you do,” I murmur to Thompson, “don’t let him get away. The last thing we need is a manhunt.”
“He’s not going anywhere,” Thompson replies.
At that moment, the doors open and Miss Rumbold comes out, followed by Cole, who’s barking instructions at someone and doesn’t notice us to begin with. Over his shoulder, I notice Kate Pendry standing at the conveyor, as she was the last time we were here. She looks up and our eyes meet, but before either of us can register anything, she looks down again, focusing on her work.
“No, Ken,” Cole says, raising his voice still louder. David Franklin then appears in the doorway and the two men have a heated conversation, Cole with his back to us. Franklin notices me, but doesn’t react and then moves away again, just as Cole turns around. He pales on seeing us, but then rallies.
“You again?” he says.
“Yes.”
“What now?”
“Mr Charles Cole,” I reply, using my very best official tones, “I am arresting you on suspicion of attempted murder. You do not…” My voice is snatched away as Cole runs at me, barging me back against the wall. The pain in my arm is breathtaking and I cry out, right at the same moment that I hear a female voice screaming, only then realising that Miss Rumbold is still in the foyer with us. Thompson reacts quickly and, as Cole tries to push past me towards the main doors, Thompson grabs him from behind and tackles him to the floor, pulling his right arm behind his back, Thompson’s knee resting in the crook of Cole’s left shoulder, holding him in place.
“Are you alright?” he asks me over the noise of Cole swearing and cursing.
“Yes, thanks.” I go over to Miss Rumbold, standing in front of her. She’s shaking and staring at the scene before her. “Can you do something for me?” I ask her, and she nods, despite her tremors. “Good. Can you go into your office and telephone the Walton Road police station. Tell them Inspector Stone is here and that I need two officers urgently to help with an arrest. Can you do that?” She nods her head again and bolts into her office.
Once I’m sure she’s out of the way, I go back over to Thompson. “Can we restrain him properly?” I ask.
“Of course,” he replies, smiling up at me.
He manoeuvres himself slightly, despite Cole’s continued struggles, and pulls out his handcuffs, slapping them around Cole’s wrists. “Just stop being an idiot,” he urges as Cole wrestles against him, regardless of the restraints.
“Fuck
you,” Cole shouts, turning his face to one side as Thompson stands.
“You’d have trouble from there,” Thompson replies, grinning down at him. “Want me to stand him up, sir?” he asks me.
“No, let him thrash around down there for a while. It’ll tire him out. Just keep an eye on him though.”
“Naturally.”
I move away, cradling my broken arm, which is aching like mad now. The doors to the factory floor are wide open, and a small group has gathered, watching the day’s entertainment. Among their number, standing close, but by no means together, are Kate Pendry and David Franklin. One looks shocked and wide-eyed. The other seems to be smiling, just slightly. But they both catch my eye and move away, disappearing among the other faces, just as I hear the familiar sound of a police siren, ringing in the distance.
Chapter Fourteen
I have to admit that I felt a cold shiver run down my spine when Inspector Stone came into the factory today, but then I realised he wasn’t there for me. He was there to arrest Mr Cole, and that came as a huge surprise, considering how Mr Cole’s always so strict and bossy. I can’t imagine he could have done anything wrong. Certainly nothing worthy of being arrested for, anyway. Nothing even close to what I’ve done, that’s for sure.
Whatever it was, he wasn’t very happy about it, and made a huge amount of fuss. I’ve never heard him swear before, but the language he came out with was enough to make a sailor blush. And it seems he attacked Inspector Stone as well… It’s just a shame he didn’t do him any permanent damage.
Still, I suppose on reflection, that would have spoilt my fun, wouldn’t it?
*****
Thompson and I leave Cole stewing in the cells for a while, which gives Harry time to take me to the hospital. It was his idea, not mine, but I suppose he’s right. Getting knocked sideways by a man the size of Charles Cole when you’ve just broken your arm isn’t the best idea.
Fortunately, it seems no further damage has been done and, after a couple of hours, we’re back at the station.
“I’m going to ask Wells to stay in the interview room with us,” Thompson announces as we leave my office to get started.
“Why Wells?”
Thompson smirks. “Because, in case you haven’t noticed, the boy is built like the proverbial outhouse. He’ll be handy to have around, if things get interesting.”
“Are you admitting you’re not up to it?” I suggest, grinning.
“I’m admitting nothing of the sort.”
“Oh, I see… you’re just getting too old for it now, are you?”
“I didn’t notice you complaining this morning.” He leans into my good arm.
“No,” I say, more seriously. “Thanks for that.”
“I’ll let you buy me a pint, when you get your drinking arm back.”
“This is my drinking arm,” I point out, holding up my right.
“I know, but you’re in a weakened state. I’d hate to take advantage.”
He opens the door onto the corridor and I nudge him out of the way. “As if you could,” I murmur and walk on ahead of him.
Cole is sitting behind the table as we enter the room, and Wells is standing by the wall. As Thompson shuts the door, he gives Wells a nod and the PC moves slightly to his right ensuring Cole’s exit is blocked, should he try and make a run for it.
His hands are still cuffed, but they’re in front of him now, not behind, and he’s tapping his fingers impatiently on the top of the table.
He glares up at me and purses his lips, clearly desperate to make some comment, but holding back to see what I’m going to say first.
Thompson puts the file he’s been carrying down onto the table and we both sit.
“Mr Cole,” I say, as Thompson starts making notes. “I’m going to ask you some questions about Thursday the twenty-third of November.”
“You’ve already asked me about that once,” he replies, rocking his head back and looking up at the ceiling.
“Well, I’m going to ask you again. Where were you on the evening of Thursday the twenty-third of November at between five-thirty and six pm?”
“Like I told you before, I was at home with the missus.”
“Except she wasn’t there, was she?” I reply. His head falls forward again and he stares at me, his eyes filled with contempt.
“Yes she was,” he says.
“No. She’d gone to visit her friend at Hurst Park.”
“That bitch. That fucking…”
“Mr Cole,” I interrupt. “Do you know where I live?”
“No,” he replies. “How would I know that?”
“You might have followed me home one evening?” I suggest.
“Well I haven’t, so there.”
I nod my head. “Very well. Can we move on to the early evening of Friday the twenty-fourth of November. Where were you then?”
“He asked me that the other day,” he says, nodding towards Thompson.
“And now I’m asking you.”
“And I’m giving you the same answer. I was at home.”
“Yes. You were. Later on that evening, you were at home. You were at home beating your wife senseless, weren’t you?”
His face reddens, but he takes a breath before speaking. “No,” he says eventually.
“So how did Mrs Cole end up with so many bruises?” I ask.
“She’s clumsy,” he replies.
I chuckle, just slightly. “She’s clumsy,” I repeat, nodding my head. “The thing is, she’s already told us that you didn’t get home until a quarter to six on Friday evening. But we know that you finish work at four, which means you had plenty of time to get from the factory in West Molesey, to this police station.”
“And why would I want to come all the way over here?” he asks, wide eyed.
“Because then you could tamper with the break leads on my car,” I say blankly.
“I don’t even know which car is yours.” A grin settles on his face.
“But you’ve seen me driving it, on at least two occasions, Mr Cole. And it is a very distinctive car… or it was.”
“You can’t prove it was me,” he says, leaning forward with a smug expression on his face.
“No, but I can prove that you weren’t where you claim to have been,” I reply.
His jaw tightens. “I’ll kill her.” He clenches his fists, hammering them on the table. “When I get my hands on her, I’ll fucking kill her.”
Thompson stands and Wells take a couple of steps closer, although I remain seated. “You’ll have to wait until you get out of prison first,” I reply, “unless they hang you, of course.”
Cole stops dead, glaring at me. He’s paled significantly and for a moment the light seems to have dimmed from his eyes. “Hang?” he repeats.
“Yes, Mr Cole. You see, your wife has explained to us that you weren’t at home on Tuesday the twenty-first of November either. That was the night PC Harper was shot and killed. We know you own a gun, and…” I decide to let him imagine the rest of my sentence. It’s much more effective.
“Whoa,” he says quickly. “Wait a minute. I never shot anyone.” He holds up his hands, in spite of the cuffs. “I’ll admit to throwing that brick, and to messing about with the brakes on your car, but I didn’t do anything else.”
“Apart from beat your wife senseless,” I point out.
“She had that coming,” he sneers.
“But you’ve already shown us that you have a violent temperament, Mr Cole. You’ve admitted to attempting to murder me, so why not go all the way and kill PC Harper?”
Cole swallows hard. “I didn’t,” he wails. “I mean… I couldn’t.”
“Couldn’t you?”
“No.”
“Where were you on Tuesday evening?” I ask him. “And don’t tell me you were with your wife.”
“I wasn’t,” he responds immediately. “I was with someone else.”
“Who?”
“Her… her name’s Eve Williams
on. She’s a widow… lives in Park Road.”
“What number?” I ask.
He pauses. “You’re going to go and see her?”
“Yes, of course I am. You don’t actually think I’m going to just take your word for it, do you?”
He sighs. “Number three,” he says, obviously resigned.
I nod my head and stand.
“Is that it?” He looks up at me.
“Yes. We’ll get your statement typed out, and then you’ll be charged.”
“What with?” he asks.
“Attempted murder,” I reply.
“Not murder?”
I shake my head. “I need to check your alibi, Mr Cole, but no, I don’t think you’re guilty of murder.”
He looks up at me, tilting his head to one side. “Did you ever?” he asks.
“No, not really.”
I’ve got my hand on the door handle when Cole calls me back. “If you’re going to see Eve,” he says, his voice softer than I’ve ever heard it, “can you tell her I’m sorry.”
I nod my head, feeling confused, and take my leave.
Outside the door, I turn to Thompson. “Make sure he’s charged, and do it by the book. I don’t want this one coming back to bite me, just because we forgot to dot an ‘i’, or cross a ‘t’.”
“I’ll see to it myself,” he replies. “It’s nice to know he’s behind bars, isn’t it?”
I sigh. “Yes, it is. I feel a lot safer now.”
“I just wish he had been guilty of Harper’s murder. It would have been a lot easier. As it is…”
“I know. We’ve still got that to deal with.” We start to walk back along the corridor. “I think we need to look more closely at David Franklin, perhaps establish whether he had the means as well as the motive,” I say, thinking out loud. “Can you get Sergeant Tooley to arrange a search warrant for Franklin’s flat?”
