DIRTY

by Robert White

  McCauley could see Bailey was responding to Clive Williams and that his own presence only served to complicate matters. As he stood, Billy froze, expecting another slap.

  The Chief sneered as he paced across the room.

  “I’ve better things to do than look at you two choirboys.” He held out a huge hand toward Clive and he made a show of passing his boss a sheaf of completed witness statements.

  Clive nodded. Of course, no independent witness existed, but neither Holmes nor Bailey had any way of knowing that.

  Once the Chief had left the room, Billy visibly relaxed. Clive in turn moved closer to the young man as if he were about to share a secret with an old friend. He drew two cigarettes from the packet, lit them both and handed one to Billy. Clive checked the eyes again. He had seen that look before. He’d worked with John McCauley for many years and seen hundreds of beaten men, maybe thousands, of grubby faces just like Billy’s.

  “Do you think there may have been some mistakes made here Billy?”

  Bailey drew hard on his fag and bit at mere stumps of fingernail. “There ‘ave, I haven’t done ‘owt.”

  “I’ve met you before haven’t I?”

  Billy flicked ash onto the carpet, ignoring the ashtray. He gave a loud sniff before speaking. “You came t’ our house once when me dad got lifted”

  Clive was reeling in the fish, only yes answers from now on. Ask the right questions. Get the right answers.

  “I’ve always been fair haven’t I Billy?”

  “Yeah. S’pose.”

  “Billy, I’m just doing my job.”

  “I know boss.”

  “Clive, my name is Clive.”

  “Clive, yeah.”

  “You have to give me something Billy. Give me an alibi, something I can take to my boss that is in your favour, something to help get you out of here.”

  Billy wiped his nose with his hand and looked to Holmes for advice. The solicitor was busy inspecting his hair in the two way glass. He was obviously aware of the proceedings as he shrugged his shoulders and said blankly. “You know my advice William and its simple, no comment.” He continued to tease his locks, seemingly uninterested in anything Billy may say.

  Billy eyed both men before resting on Clive.

  “I was in watching the tele until late. We’ve got one of them videos. Then I went for a walk ‘round the Callon, to see if anyone was hanging out. I was walking back home when I got lifted.”

  Clive rested his hands on his each side of his file.

  “Did anyone see you while you were out Billy?”

  “Don’t think so.”

  Clive abruptly snapped the file shut and rose. “That’s all for now Billy I’ll see you later.”

  The break in the interview shocked Billy. It was intended to. It sent him back to his cell alone. A place where Billy could only sit and think. In Billy’s case, it was the last thing he needed.

  As for Clive Williams, he had proved his first point. William Henry Bailey had no alibi.

  Billy was caught off balance. “How long will you be boss?”

  Clive smiled. That poor little dog smile he had. “Don’t worry Billy. You have a think about what I said. People make mistakes Billy. Sometimes it takes a big man to admit them.”

  Billy looked at Clive and for a moment seemed much younger than his nineteen years. “I swear on my life boss, I’ve done nothing.”

  Clive’s hand was on the door. “Never swear on a life Billy. Life is too precious. See you soon.”

  The three male members of the interview team were gathered in McCauley’s office, all were drinking coffee and smoking.

  The Chief started, “Well, Clive, our boy seems to like you.”

  Rod Casey gave McCauley a nod that said he was on a wind up. “There was always this rumor about Bailey’s old man,” he said, rooting for sugar. “Billy’s Gran reckoned he was fiddling with them boys from an early age like, and reckoned it sent em both queer.”

  He pointed a plastic spoon in the direction of the Inspector.

  “This little bastard is going to cry on your shoulder Clive. I reckon the poof fancies you like.” Casey’s massive shoulders shuddered as he released a comical guttural laugh that would have ensured the piss was taken out of it around the station had it not emanated from one so feared.

  Clive made no comment either. He took no joy from seeing anyone suffer, even the likes of Bailey. He’d seen enough violence to last him a lifetime.

  McCauley continued, “I think Rod has a bit of a point there Clive. We need to put the pressure on now, rather than later. I say let Rod have ten minutes with him and then, Clive you enter and save the day.”

  It was the oldest trick in the book, but when Casey and Williams played it, it worked a treat. Both men nodded in agreement.

  The door opened and all heads turned to see Anne Wallace enter. “How’s it going chaps?”

  “Just fine Anne,” the Chief offered a seat but Anne remained standing. Casey noticed something flash between the two of them, more than a look, more than just business.

  I have some good news,” Anne began. “The ring found in Bailey’s bedroom has been positively identified as being stolen from 15b, Severn House, two days prior to the murder. The MO is identical, bodily pressure on the back door. A tidy search and the same marigold glove prints everywhere.”

  Rod Casey examined every inch of Anne Wallace, and didn’t like what he saw.

  McCauley though, was a different matter. He beamed from ear to ear and could see the headlines in The Evening Post, ‘Murder solved within 24hrs.’

  “This is excellent stuff Anne.”

  He turned to Casey.

  “OK Rod, I still think we go as planned. Use the ring. Drop it right in the bastard’s hand. Go in hard, and Clive, you be ready to save the poor lads skin.”

  Anne cocked her head to one side. “Anything for me now boss?”

  The Chief positively leered at the detective Sergeant. “Yes Anne. You can drive me to the Bull for last orders.”

  Anne smiled as best she could.

  “Come on then lads,” said McCauley, rubbing his hands. ”Get this thing boxed off before the clubs close and the night team can have a piss up.”

  Rod Casey strolled between the Boss’s office and the interview room with a sure knowledge of his abilities. He was more of a copper than any man in the building, and that included some with rank.

  Was Rod Casey bitter?

  Fuckin’ right he was.

  Once at the interview desk, he sat in the dark, removed his jacket, and rolled up the sleeves of his shirt. This was his bread and butter.

  He made a formidable figure and had an almost square head that appeared not to need a neck for support. It was a solid structure of meat and bone, seemingly strapped to a monstrous frame by an invisible force. His face bore the scars of many street brawls. Casey’s nose, his most famous feature, was almost flat from so much punishment. But the greatest damage to his countenance had been caused in a fight at the Jalgos Club on Avenham Estate in 1977. An equally frightening Jamaican guy had bitten away most of it’s cartilage in one terrible scrap.

  The story went that Casey never pressed charges and the guy was let off with public order offences rather than a serious assault. He was out in six months.

  On the day the guy was released from jail, he was found in an alley, behind Clouds Nightclub with both kneecaps smashed beyond repair. The hammer used was deliberately left at the scene. It had a brown cardboard label fastened to the shaft by a piece of string. It had the man’s name typed on it.

  On the day Winston Johnston lay critically ill in the Royal Preston Hospital, despite circumstantial evidence to the contrary, Rod Casey was said to be on holiday in Scotland. Three Police officers, including John McCauley testified to the fact.

  The stolen engagement ring found in Bailey’s bedroom sat in the middle of the table, the remarkably similar cardboard crime tag was still attached by string. Casey toyed with it. This tim
e it displayed a simple property number rather than a name.

  Bailey entered with Holmes at his side. Casey saw both men look toward the ring. Billy went pale.

  “Sit.” Casey’s seemingly impregnable presence dominated the room.

  Bailey sat warily. He knew Rod Casey. He’d suffered at his hands before, as had his family. Billy knew the oldest trick in the book too. But he was powerless. It had already begun to work.

  There was a tremor in Billy’s voice. “Where’s the other bloke? Where’s Clive?”

  “If you are referring to Detective Inspector Williams,” scoffed Casey, “he’s unavailable.”

  “Then I’m saying nothing,” Billy countered.

  Casey leaned across the desk, his face inches from the youth. “That’s because you’re scared. You’re a frightened little shit, except when you are around little old ladies.” Casey held Billy’s chin between his massive thumb and forefinger. “Then, you’re a brave boy aren’t you Billy?”

  Billy pushed the hand away. “You’re full of shit Casey.”

  Rod was warming to the task. “I’ll tell you what you are Bailey. You’re scum. Just like your thieving father, your whore of a mother, your slag sisters and that unlucky half wit brother of yours currently taking it up the arse in Walton jail.”

  Billy exploded. He leapt over the desk to get at Casey. Holmes, who had sat quietly through the ‘bad cop’ routine stood back and watched the show. His time would come, it just wasn’t now.

  Casey grabbed Bailey’s ear in his left hand. With his right, he grabbed a handful of hair. Using all his weight he slammed Billy’s head into the table and held it there. Billy was a strapping lad but no match for the bull strength of Casey.

  The ring, still sitting in its original position, was now just inches from Billy’s nose.

  “You see that,” Casey spat, “this is the last fuckin’ nail in your coffin.”

  Exactly on cue the interview room door burst open and Clive Williams entered. Clive grabbed Casey’s hands and prized them from Billy’s head. It may have been well planned, but it still took all of Clive’s strength to get Rod to let go.

  “Get off this boy Constable!” Clive followed the age-old script.

  “He’s a fuckin’ madman!” Billy howled holding his ear.

  Clive bellowed in almost pantomime tone, “Get out of here now Casey! Go and calm down. I’ll speak to you later.”

  Casey walked toward the door, but then turned to face Billy again. He was a truly sinister looking man. A broad smile appeared on his face. “See you later Billy boy.”

  Clive Williams sat down and shook his head. “I’m sorry Billy.” The detective picked up the telephone on the desk and dialed the desk. “Get us some tea in here please.”

  Clive sat in silence for a few moments until the waiting tea, already made for the purpose, was dispensed. Billy shook as he sipped the hot liquid. Clive knew it was time. A young man in serious trouble needed all the help he could get. He took out a disgusting handkerchief, shook it out and polished his ancient reading glasses. Holmes grimaced at the sight.

  “Billy, we need to talk, man to man. We have indisputable proof that you were in the house of Elsie May Townsend, in the early hours of this morning. Now I want to help you, you know I do. But you’re facing the most serious charges Billy. This is a terrible mess you are in lad. Your answers to my questions now, may determine where you spend the rest of your life son.”

  Clive paused just long enough to pick up the engagement ring from the desk. He rolled it between his fingers and stared straight into the face of the youth. “You’re not a bad lad Billy. You didn’t mean it did you? You didn’t mean to kill her. Elsie May? Did you Billy?”

  Billy started to shake even more. Tears welled in his eyes. He felt sick. He’d done it this time, really fucked up. “It,” Billy stammered, “it isn’t her ring.”

  Clive’s heart missed a beat. He couldn’t believe that the old routine still worked so easily after all these years. The moment when a suspect breaks and starts to cough his crime still gave the seasoned detective a thrill. His voice remained as soft as silk. No one but the closest colleague would have detected his inner excitement. “I know that Billy. I know.”

  Billy gestured to the ring with his chin. “That’s from another job.”

  Clive reached forward and rested his hand on the youth’s arm. It was probably the first show of affection Billy had known in quite some time. “Tell it all Billy and then I’ll help you.”

  Holmes was redundant. He could no longer stop his client. He had to admit the show had been a slick one. Still, he could feel the plea bargain of his life coming on. All he had to do was think of the Legal Aid payments coming rolling in for this one.

  “It was an accident boss.” Billy’s voice was almost a whisper. “She woke up and all I wanted t’do was to get out. Fuck off and do one like.”

  Billy wiped his eyes. “The other jobs had been easy like, in and out good pickings ‘n everythin’. This one, well, she wouldn’t get out‘t way. There were this alarm thing….”

  Clive had him. Like a cat with a mouse, he had played with his quarry until the time was right.

  “She were gonna pull it. Bring the Coppers. I just pushed her. She fell. I didn’t mean…”

  Billy broke down. His muscular frame heaved. Tears poured from his eyes. Clive gently took the youth by the shoulders, like a father giving advice to his son. “We need to get this sorted officially Billy and I think we should do it now.”

  Clive took a blank statement form from his file. At the top he wrote:

  My name is William Henry Bailey. I want someone to write down what I say. I have been told that I need not say anything unless I wish to do so and that what I say may be given in evidence.

  Billy signed the introduction and then slowly, between sobs and Clive’s cigarettes, dictated his fate.

  Rod Casey looked at Clive through the two-way mirror. He was seething. His massive fists clenched. Constable eh? Gonna take all the credit again Clive? I’ll give you Fuckin’ Constable.

  four

  Jimmy Wilson owned the ‘Top Hat.’ It was a poxy little nightclub, frequented by coppers and villains alike. Jammed between a car sales pitch and a lawnmower shop, the club was definitely on the wrong side of town. Inside, the establishment relied on its subdued red lighting to mask the decaying décor and broken floorboards. In daylight you would look around and ask what Jimmy Wilson was doing with his profits because it did very well.

  It was a favourite haunt of local CID officers. Some of who occasionally sought the favours of the various prostitutes who drank there. Always busy, any night of the week; full of big drinkers and big brawlers.

  Jimmy looked at the time and wanted to close, but McCauley and his cronies were having a celebration about something or other and Jimmy wasn’t going to spoil it by shouting last orders. You never knew when you might need a man like John McCauley.

  Besides, the bird in the short skirt that was with them was the best view he’d come across in a good while. He’d not seen her before and couldn’t work out if she was a copper or not. She had a posh accent too, London, but not Cockney. She sounded like that Angela Rippon off the tele. Jimmy had told the DJ to keep playing until the team was ready to leave and ‘Stuck in the Middle with you’ played at room shaking levels.

  Rod Casey was well oiled and Jimmy was wary of him. A team of likely lads from Moor Nook estate were still in and just as pissed. There was a bit of friction in the air and some finger pointing had begun.

  Casey didn’t give a fuck if the whole club wanted a ruck. He took a swig of his pint. “…And then Clive walks in and calls me…wait for it…fuckin’ Constable!”

  McCauley and Williams were laughing out loud. The Chief slapped Rod on the shoulder.

  “Don’t take it personal Rod, its all part of the job. We had a good result there.”

  Anne Wallace on the other hand was as sober as a judge. To Anne, there was little point
in celebrating. She didn’t want to be in a slum like the Top Hat and she certainly was not in the mood to be in close proximity to John McCauley, some mistakes were best left buried.

  She looked at her watch. It was 4.30 a.m. In the back of her mind was the little matter of the marigold gloves. They bothered her, as did the handsome young officer who found them. She returned from her thoughts as McCauley leaned against her and brushed his arm against her breasts for the third or fourth time in as many minutes. He breathed stale cigars and brandy in her direction.

  He’d begun to slur. “You see darlin’. I was fuckin’ right. We don’t make deals with these little bastards.”

  He pointed at Clive and Rod who were now singing at the top of their voices, any rivalry seemingly forgotten.

  “You’re on a proper team now.”

  Anne removed McCauley’s hand from her knee. She was too tired to point out that Bailey’s confession would only result in a manslaughter charge in the end. When the barristers had finished with it, the whole mess would be carved up like a Sunday joint.

  “It’s time I was off boss.”

  The Chief was now close to the point of incapable. He shuffled across his seat and moved even closer to Anne.

  “Hey! Anne darlin’, how about it then eh? You an’ me get a cab to my place an’ carry on the party, like old times?”

  “Not tonight big boy,” Anne was doing her best to keep it light. “I’ve got a file to finish before Court sits in the morning. I’ll ring you on Monday on my way in.”

  She stood, waved to Rod and Clive who had stopped their impressions of Stealers Wheel and were now in deep conversation. Rod didn’t appear happy at all. Anne turned and left the bar.

  McCauley watched every step. He could barely speak. “Stuck up fuckin’ bitch.”

  The Chief strode to the bar the best he could and grabbed Jimmy by the arm. He shouted above the music.

  “Get us a double round in Jim, put it on the slate, and get rid of those fuckers from Moor Nook, they’re makin’ my beer sour.”

  Anne stepped out into the cold morning air and took large gulps of it. The smell of the club, so many sweating bodies and non-existent cleaning, were ingrained in here nostrils. She found the CID car, nicknamed ‘the Danny’ and sat in it waiting for the windows to clear. It was a near new dark blue Mk11 Escort that the whole of Preston already knew belonged to the cops. She was familiar with the type of car as her brother had the sporty ‘Mexico’ version back home. She shivered against the chill and thought she’d noticed the atmosphere between the team grow uneasy since Bailey’s confession. It was the least of her worries. The touch of John McCauley was a much bigger problem. She drove slowly back to the nick, ruing the day.