by Helen Phifer
She remembered seeing Barker last night and grabbed her phone. Pressing Ben’s name, she waited for him to answer.
‘Yeah.’ His voice was gravelly and she realised it wasn’t even five. He was going to kill her.
‘Sorry, I forgot it was so early.’
‘It’s okay, I’m getting used to your antisocial hours. Do you ever sleep?’
‘Not much, I’ll speak to you at work. Sorry again.’
‘Hang on, I’m awake now. What did you want?’
‘I got a Chinese last night.’
‘Good for you, I’m happy for you. Was it that good you couldn’t wait to share this splendid news?’
‘That’s not why I rang. I saw Greg Barker walking down the high street while I was waiting for it.’
There was some rustling and she realised he was throwing off his duvet and getting up. ‘And?’
‘Well he was walking really fast, wearing a black hat pulled down low, a scarf around his face and his hands in his pockets. He looked really suspicious.’
‘Did you see where he went?’
She wondered if she should admit what she’d done, especially after his lecture the other day and realised she had to tell him.
‘I followed him.’
‘Jesus, Morgan. What did I tell you, he’s dangerous and already on the warpath.’
‘Sorry, and I know, but he didn’t see me. I followed him to the Honey Pot. He went to a cul-de-sac off Macadam Street, where there’s some garages and lock-ups. He went inside one.’
‘Did you see which one?’
‘I tried to take some photos and then I left. I didn’t want him to see me. What if he’s got stuff stashed in there?’
She could tell he was up and walking around.
‘Can you pick me up in fifteen minutes?’
‘Of course.’
‘Good, you can take me there and show me. Then I’ll get a search warrant. Well done, Morgan, but you shouldn’t have put yourself at risk like that.’
‘I know, but are you glad I did?’
‘Yes, but I’m more grateful that you’re okay and you didn’t get hurt.’
Neither of them spoke for a moment.
‘See you soon.’ Her voice was barely a whisper.
Ben was already standing at the front gate waiting for her. There was a chill in the air this morning and he was wrapped up in a thick, padded jacket. Wearing gloves and a hat, not the usual shirts and suits she was used to seeing him in. He looked normal, but maybe that was the wrong word. Casual was better; he looked relaxed. It made him seem younger and not as conservative.
He opened the car door and grinned at her.
‘I could get used to this door-to-door, chauffeur-driven service.’
‘Yeah, well better not because you’ll have your own car back soon.’
‘Ha-ha, your green eyes pop when you’re being mean. Has anyone ever told you that? They stand out against your fiery red hair?’
‘Is that a compliment?’
He shrugged. ‘Never was very good at them; might have been. Anyway enough small talk, breakfast is on me after this. I owe you big time, Morgan.’
She stole a glance at him and saw he was being sincere.
‘I want to catch the killer as much as you do; maybe more, because he threw my life into a whole new world of hurt and sadness on my first sodding day. I want to see him locked up and the key thrown away for what he did to that family and the O’Briens.’
‘Me too.’
She drove to the area where the lock-ups were situated, passing them by, then parking a few streets away.
‘We’d better walk in case he’s still there.’
‘Good idea.’
They got out and she led the way. When they were almost at the entrance to the cul-de-sac, they heard footsteps behind them. Ben reached out. Grabbing hold of her hand, he pulled her close. She didn’t pull away, realising he was making it look as if they were a couple. A minute later and the person behind them overtook. Not even glancing their way, as they hurried on over the crest of the hill.
Ben let go and whispered, ‘Sorry.’
She smiled. She wasn’t giving him a hard time over that because she’d liked the feel of his hand in hers.
They paused at the opening, Ben bending down pretending to tie his shoelace. Morgan looked at the lock-ups; the doors were all painted the same red colour. All of them had peeling chunks of paint missing and a lot of graffiti. Except for one at the end; it had a new metal shutter. Not the knackered, rotting wooden doors the rest of them had.
She whispered, ‘It’s that one, it has to be.’
Ben stood up, told her to smile and snapped a photo of her with his phone. Then slowly turned, taking several bursts of the garages and the area. Grabbing her hand again they carried on walking, going the long way around to get back to her car. He didn’t let go this time and she kept hold until they were back at the car.
‘What do you think?’
‘Why does he have a lock-up here with a secure metal shutter when he has a big fancy house and garage at home? Something is going on. We need to get a search warrant. Good job, Morgan, now drive to wherever you fancy breakfast from, I’m buying.’
She looked at the clock on her dashboard. ‘It’s really early, nowhere is open.’
‘What time is it?’
She pointed at the clock.
‘Bloody hell, I can’t remember the last time I was dressed and out of the house this early. What are you doing to me? Want to come back to mine, I have bacon and eggs?’
‘If you have bacon then yes, please.’
They drove back to Ben’s. The house was much nicer in the day. She followed him in through the front door and looked around. It was lovely; everything was painted white. If anything, it was a bit sparse, lacking in the bits that would make this kind of house seem homely. Then again, who was she to talk? All she owned was an oversized chair, coffee table and a bookcase stuffed full of books. She followed him down to the kitchen, where the boarded-up window made her cheeks turn red.
‘I’m so sorry, I’ll replace that when I get paid.’
He turned from the fridge, from where he had taken the packet of bacon. ‘No, you won’t. If I hadn’t been such an arse and opened the door you wouldn’t have felt the need to break it. It’s fine, when I get a day off I’ll sort it out.’
He busied himself grilling bacon and frying eggs. Toasting thick wedges of tiger bread, he served her the best-looking breakfast buttie she’d ever seen. She squeezed ketchup on it and took a bite, egg running down her chin. Ben laughed and passed her some kitchen roll.
‘I guess you’re hungry.’
She nodded. ‘Starving. I love food, especially when it’s this good.’
He smiled, a faint blush rising up his cheeks. Making a pot of coffee, he placed it on the table and sat opposite her.
‘This is nice, I’ve forgotten how good it is to have company. Makes this house seem a bit more alive.’
‘Have you ever thought about moving into something smaller? It’s a big house for one person.’
‘Yes, quite a few times. I was thinking about your flat, it’s nice. Something like that would be great for me, but—’
‘But?’
He poured the coffee and took a sip from his mug.
‘But, I love this house. We loved it; as soon as we set eyes on it we knew we wanted to live here. Wanted to raise our children here.’
‘That’s so sad, I’m sorry.’
‘Life doesn’t always work out how you want it to. It’s no one’s fault, it’s just the way it is. Cindy couldn’t conceive. We tried, God knows we tried. Then I moved to CID and began to work longer hours, deal with the terrible things we deal with. I realised that maybe it wasn’t a bad thing we didn’t have kids. I wasn’t always around; Cindy didn’t feel that way though. It drove her mad. I guess it broke her heart and I didn’t notice until it was too late.’
Tears filled Morgan’s eyes for Ben an
d Cindy, and for her own life. The similarities between Cindy and her mum were overwhelming. At least her mum had managed to have her, poor Cindy. His hand reached across the table, taking hold of hers.
‘Don’t cry, it’s my mess of a life. I didn’t want to upset you. I’ve never really spoken much about it except to Declan.’
She dabbed the corners of her eyes with a piece of the kitchen roll. ‘I’m sorry, it’s just that Cindy sounds very much like my mum; they were both good women with troubles that took away their passion for living.’ She squeezed his hand back. ‘Life goes on though, doesn’t it? It has to; look at the difference you make.’
Letting go, she took a gulp from her mug. She was in uncharted territory. All of this was new to her, and she didn’t know what she was doing.
One thing she did know was that she liked Ben Matthews even more the longer she spent in his company.
Fifty-Three
Ben knew he had to get a search warrant for that lock-up no matter what, so as soon as they arrived at the station he went to find the DCI. Knocking on his door, he walked straight in without waiting to be called.
‘Morning, sir.’
‘Ben, what delightful situations have you got lined up for me today?’
He smiled and Ben felt a small sense of relief wash over him; he wasn’t too mad at him. That was a good start.
‘It’s about Gregory Barker.’
The smile disappeared from his face.
‘That man’s name gives me heartburn; I wish we didn’t have to keep bringing him up.’
‘Sorry, but new information has come to light. He was seen acting suspiciously last night and followed by one of my officers to a lock-up on the Honey Pot.’
‘What would he want with one of those? Have you seen where he lives?’
‘No, I haven’t. But I think we need to search it. He’s hiding something, it’s obvious, and maybe this is where he’s keeping it.’
‘What if it isn’t? He might have a porn stash there for all we know given his liking for sex in public places; God knows what else he gets up to in his spare time.’
‘Sir, staff at the newspaper said that Jamie Stone had a file of the newspaper cuttings relating to the O’Brien murders. They are nowhere to be found and we think his killer has taken them. There must have been something in them that might incriminate him. If nothing else Barker breached his police bail: he was warned not to leave his house after 20.00 hours.’
The DCI drummed his fingers on the top of his desk, then opened the drawer and pulled out a bottle of Gaviscon. Unscrewing the cap, he drank it straight from the bottle and grimaced.
‘Leave it with me, get the search team assembled. I’ll get the warrant; I never liked the self-serving prick anyway.’
Ben grinned. ‘Thank you.’
‘How’s the rookie getting on? Do you think we’ve pushed her further than we should?’
‘Morgan is brilliant; she’s an asset to the team. It was a wise decision. We wouldn’t be where we are now if it weren’t for her instincts and dedication. I want to put her on the detective course ASAP and make her a permanent part of the team.’
‘Wow, that’s some strong praise from you, Ben. Good, I’m glad.’
Ben left him making the phone calls to get the warrant they needed. He would have Barker back in custody within hours, hopefully. This time he wouldn’t be leaving so soon.
Three hours later they were good to go; an arrest team was assembled to go to Barker’s home address comprising Ben, Amy and two armed Taskforce officers. Morgan was to lead the search team to the lock-up and oversee the search. The briefing room was alive with electricity; adrenalin and nerves were running high. There was a lot at stake here: they needed Barker in cuffs, but first of all they needed the lock-up searched for any evidence. Anything found would give them the grounds to arrest him again. They would be waiting for the go-ahead from Morgan. Before they split off into their two respective teams, the DCI called Ben to one side.
‘You’re sure the rookie can handle this much responsibility on her own?’
‘Morgan, she has a name. And yes, I think she is more than capable, and she’s not on her own; Al and the rest of the team will be with her.’
‘I suppose so.’
Morgan was watching. He could tell she was worried and he smiled at her, giving her a thumbs up. She smiled back and he felt better.
They were going to park up along the quiet country lane where Barker’s house was. The two Taser-trained officers were going to go up to the house and do a bit of a recce. Once they had the all-clear they’d go in. Ben was looking forward to seeing his face when he realised he was up shit creek.
Amy whispered to him, ‘What if there’s nothing in the lock-up? You have thought about that, haven’t you? For all we know he’s leading us on a wild goose chase to piss us off for yesterday.’
‘He didn’t know Morgan was in the takeaway, though, did he? And we had no car following him. It doesn’t matter. He’s up to something. If there’s nothing inside then I’ll take the flak for it.’
‘I hope you’re right, boss. I like working for you. It would really spoil my life if you got suspended.’
He laughed. ‘And mine. I’m just beginning to enjoy working with you.’
She elbowed him in the side. ‘Arsehole.’
Morgan followed the search team out to their waiting van and he found himself wishing he was going with her, but it was safer for her to go to the lock-up. He was sure of it; he wanted her as far away from Barker as possible, especially after the way he behaved yesterday. The man was becoming unhinged.
The Honey Pot estate was eerily calm. Morgan sat in the front of the van directing the driver where to go. He stopped at the entrance to the lock-ups and blocked the narrow entrance road so no one could drive in or out. There was no sign of Barker; there was no sign of anyone. She pointed to the door and within a couple of minutes two officers dressed from head to toe in black had used a pair of bolt cutters to cut the thick, padlocked chain off the front of it. The door still didn’t move. Another two took over, using the big red battering ram to break the lock. Four huge whacks and the shiny new door was bent beyond repair.
It lifted three quarters of the way up and jammed. The two officers scrambled underneath it into the darkness. They shone their lights around. Inside was a car under a protective cover, and there were various boxes stacked up. They went outside and gave Morgan a thumbs up. Dressed in protective clothing, she and Al ducked under the door. A pull string dangled down and Al tugged it, filling the space with bright, white light.
Morgan walked to the car, lifting the cover and saw a small black sports car.
Al whistled. ‘Nice car, that’s an MG Classic from the seventies. Doesn’t look like it’s been used since then either. It’s immaculate; the paintwork is pristine. It must be worth a bit, that. I wonder why he’s keeping it here and not at home. I’m amazed it hasn’t been stolen.’
Morgan phoned Ben, who answered on the first ring. ‘There’s an MG sports car in here, from the seventies.’ She peered inside the windows at it. ‘Al’s doing a PNC now.’
They all paused as the control room operator gave the results.
‘Registered keeper since new is Gregory Barker of Paradise, Rydal Falls.’
‘Control, when was it registered new?’
‘January 1975; it’s been SORN off-road since August ’75.’
Morgan asked Ben, ‘Did you hear that? The O’Briens were murdered in August, and on the reports a black MG sports car was seen leaving the scene but never traced. This has to be it.’
‘Don’t touch the car. I want a full forensic lift. Everything else is fair game.’
‘Roger.’
She ended the call and began the job of searching every box, drawer, nook and cranny to find anything that might help put Barker away for life.
Fifty-Four
Amy and Ben were leaning against the side of the white Ford Focus. Ben was fiddling with
his body armour.
‘I forgot how uncomfortable these are, I can’t bloody breathe.’
She smiled. ‘Here, loosen the Velcro side tabs.’ Walking over, she began ripping the side tabs off then pressing them down, letting them out enough so he could breathe.
‘Thanks, that’s better. I thought I was suffocating.’
The acrid smell of smoke filtered through the air to where they were standing. ‘Where’s that coming from?’
One of the Taser officers came running towards them. ‘He’s lit a fire in one of those fancy pits.’
‘Shit, he might be burning evidence. Go, go, go.’
The two officers dressed in black took off, Amy and Ben following behind. He hadn’t realised how unfit he was until he began to lag behind at an embarrassing pace. He had a stitch and clutched his side, bending over, taking deep breaths. Amy was way ahead and behind the two officers. He heard shouting. Dragging himself forwards, he rounded the side of the house in time to see Barker standing next to a roaring fire. There was a smell of burning rubber; he was clutching a cardboard folder in one hand. Ben could see what he was going to do before he did it. Amy was running for the hosepipe which was attached to an outside tap. He couldn’t let him burn that folder; it might have vital evidence inside.
