by J. E. Mayhew
“And are you, Will? We have a homicidal maniac running around Wirral, what looks to be a far-right rally assembling in one of our most picturesque villages and no arrests. We need a resolution as quickly as possible.”
Blake watched Martin disappear after Hannah Williams and sighed. But something had been said in that conference that made him think and it was worth exploring.
*****
It would have been next to impossible for Lex Price to object to bringing his son to Birkenhead Station for a second interview after he’d made such a fuss about the police not taking Bobby’s statement seriously enough, but Kath felt nervous all the same. “Price knows he’s been cornered,” she said to DC Kinnear as they stood waiting in the foyer and watched Lex sign in with Bobby. “That can only wind him up more after our conversation this morning about his daughter.”
Kinnear nodded. “On top of that Lex Price’s got an obvious agenda, now. It’ll be hard to get Bobby to tell the truth with his father breathing down his neck.”
“We’ll have to tread carefully. The last thing we need is Lex standing on a platform on Saturday claiming we tried to make his son change his story. That would play right into his hands.”
“So, what are we going to do?”
“Details, Andrew, details. That’s where the devil is. That’s where we’ll trip him up. I hope. Otherwise, we’re stuffed.” She walked across the foyer and shook Lex’s hand, noticing the clamminess of his palm and the tight grip. “Mr Price, Bobby. Thanks for coming in again. I thought it important to give you another chance to give us your evidence.”
“Don’t be trying to get him to change his story, now, DI Cryer. I know what you lot can be like.”
“Trust me, Mr Price,” Kath said, “nobody here’s trying to get Bobby to say anything but the truth. Would you come this way?”
Kath and Kinnear led them down a corridor and into an interview room. Once they’d settled, Kath reached over to a recorder. “You aren’t under caution or anything, Bobby, we’re talking to you as a witness, but it would help us if we had it on tape. Do you mind?”
Bobby looked at his father who shrugged. “Nah, it’s okay,” Bobby said at last. “Go ahead.”
“Okay, Bobby. Think back to the night Paul Travis died and then tell me in your own words what you remember.”
Bobby glanced over at his dad. “Go on son,” Lex said. “In your own words.”
“I was hanging around the Hillsborough Memorial Garden when I heard voices from the war memorial. So I sneaked up and hid behind the bushes…”
“Could you show me where you were hiding, on this map, Bobby?” Kinnear said, sliding a paper street map across the table.
“So, you were hiding behind a hedge on the edge of the pavement, just by the war memorial, here, yeah?” Kinnear said.
“Yeah.”
Kath leaned forward. “What kind of hedge, Bobby?”
“Eh?”
“What kind of hedge was it?”
“Oh, come on, Inspector, he’s not a fucking gardener,” Lex snapped.
Kath flashed Lex a cold smile. “Please Mr Price, if you think I’ve confused your son or need to clarify something or I’m not following proper procedure, then do shout out. Otherwise, interruptions aren’t very helpful.”
Kinnear continued. “What kind of leaves did it have? Small? Large? Was it a thick bush, or just twigs?”
Bobby glanced over at his father who nodded. “A thick bush with small leaves.”
“And you crouched behind this, right?”
“Yeah.”
“Okay. What did you see?”
“Two guys dressed in black. They had hoodies on and scarves over their faces so I couldn’t really see them. I could hear them, though and they were shouting that ‘Ally Akbat’ thing they shout, you know.”
“I see,” Kath said, grimacing. “Do you mean ‘Allahu Akbar’ Bobby? What were they doing while they shouted this?”
“They were hitting him with baseball bats…”
“How many baseball bats? Did they have one each?”
“Yeah. That Travis guy was on the steps. I mean he must have been dead already, but they kept on hitting him and shouting…”
“Then what happened?”
“I kept hidden and they ran off but they left the bats behind…”
“Both bats were on the ground?” Kath said, scribbling a note. She noticed Lex’s leg bouncing up and down, he was getting agitated. He could see she was going to tie Bobby in knots any minute.
“Yeah.”
“Which way did they go, Bobby?” Kinnear said, pulling Bobby’s focus from Kath.
“Up the road past the garden centre. I think they might have been going to the station.”
“It’s possible, I suppose,” Kinnear said with a smile. “What did you do then?”
“When they’d gone, I sneaked out and went to have a look.”
“And what did you see?”
Bobby paled. “Loads of blood,” he whispered. “Loads. It was horrible. Anyway, I picked up the baseball bat and ran.”
“Why did you pick up the bat? Bobby?”
“I dunno,” Bobby said. “It was just kind of… cool, you know? Like it had been used for a murder.” He lowered his head. “That sounds a bit sick, doesn’t it? Sorry.”
“See?” Lex said, his voice a threatening rumble. “He’s telling the truth.”
“Oh I believe some of it, Mr Price,” Kath said. “Have you got the tablet, Andrew?”
Kinnear produced an iPad with Google maps already loaded up. “So you say you were here Bobby, yeah?” Kinnear pointed at the spot on the map.
“He’s already said that,” Lex muttered.
“Yeah,” Bobby said.
“The trouble is, Bobby, look,” Kinnear said, holding up the streetview of the memorial area. “There’re no bushes on the side of the road. In fact, the wall that hems in the gardens there is so low, you’d have had a real job hiding behind it at all.”
“Maybe he was mistaken,” Lex said.
“Bobby was very clear about the type of hedge, Mr Price and I’ll say it again, if you think I’m overstepping the mark, just say but otherwise, could you let Bobby answer? So, where were you hiding, Bobby?”
Bobby looked down. “I dunno, do I?”
“Okay, mate. Don’t worry,” Kinnear said in a soothing voice. “We’re just trying to get a full picture of what actually happened that night.”
“So, the other problem I have is that from where you say you were hiding, Bobby, you wouldn’t have been able to see a thing.”
“What?” Bobby looked like a rabbit caught in the headlights of an oncoming juggernaut.
“Paul Travis was found dead on the opposite side of the memorial to your alleged hiding place. If you’d been there, you wouldn’t have seen anything, would you?”
“That’s it, let’s go,” Lex Price said. “I knew this would happen. You lot just don’t want to face the truth. This country’s under attack and you’re letting it happen…”
Bobby didn’t move. “I didn’t see nothing,” he muttered.
“What, Bobby?” Kinnear said.
“I said I didn’t see nothing. I was pissed, wasn’t I? I’d been sitting by the Art Gallery and walked down to the memorial. I found Travis lying there already dead. I took the baseball bat. I dunno why. I’d had a skinful.”
“Bloody hell, son!” Lex hissed and stormed out of the room.
“I-I’m sorry,” Bobby said. “Dad said it was probably Muslims or something and I went along with him. I didn’t mean it. I just wanted to say the right thing for him.”
Kath rubbed her forehead. “You know what perverting the course of justice means, don’t you, Bobby?”
Bobby’s eyes widened. “I’m not a pervert, honest!”
“No, but you’re in big trouble, now.”
“Wait, I do remember something and I’m not making this up. When I was walking down from the Art Gallery and there was a woman
running towards me. She bashed into me, like. Sent me flying but didn’t stop.”
“What time was this, Bobby?”
“Dunno. Maybe round midnight, something like that. I didn’t get a good look at her, but she was in a real hurry.”
Chapter 32
A sense of quiet desperation gripped the Major Incident Room. Some people were tapping away at computers, other staring at screens as though willpower alone could force the solution to the case to appear before them.
DI Kath Cryer, DS Vikki Chinn, DC Kinnear and DC Manikas all sat around Blake’s desk, updating him on the scant progress they’d made. “It looks like Terry White managed to get away from the search teams around the crime scene, sir,” Alex Manikas said. “It’s like he’s vanished. The only thing I can think is that he was given a lift.”
“He could be anywhere, then,” Blake murmured. “What about Bobby Price’s ISIS invasion?”
“Popped that particular balloon, boss,” Kath said, “but Bobby reckons he encountered a woman running away from the scene about midnight. I believe him. Thing is, she’d have been running in the direction of Travis’s house.”
“D’you think it could be his wife, Ma’am?” Kinnear said.
“He described her as being tall. Rachel Travis is short,” Kath said.
“Plus, I can’t see how she’d be involved in the murder of Ufford or Ince. It keeps coming back to Terry White. We’ve just got to find him,” Blake said, tapping his pen on the desk. “But it might be worth getting Tasha Cook to check with Rachel, discreetly. This woman might have witnessed something. Put a request out to the public and reassure anyone who might be afraid of coming forward, especially if they think it’s terror related.”
“Do you think he’s likely to strike again, sir?” Alex Manikas said.
“I don’t know, Alex,” Blake replied. “We need to get some kind of handle on White. A profile of him. With the exception of Ian Ollerthwaite, all of his victims have been known to him. That means any of his workmates at Pro-Vets could be in danger.”
Vikki raised a hand. “What about Nicola Norton, the psychologist, sir? She could give us a good idea of White’s frame of mind.”
“Yes, good idea, Vikki, at the same time, let’s get a warrant to look at his medical and personal records, so we can see what kind of medication he’s on and how effective it is. It might be useful. It’s getting late. Let’s do what we can but don’t forget to get some rest, too.”
“That includes you, boss,” Kath said, with a smile.
“That includes me, Kath, yes,” Blake said, grinning back. “I’ll go and talk to Martin first and see if he’ll let us bring Norton on board.”
*****
It struck Blake as he regarded Superintendent Martin’s scowl that he probably should have been more conciliatory with Hannah Williams the Media Manager.
“Ah, I see. Now you’re all in favour of having the right person for the job when it suits you, Will,” Martin said. “Do you know how long it took me to calm Hannah down? She was that close to putting in a complaint about you.”
“I’m sorry, sir. I didn’t mean to offend anyone. I just wasn’t sure what our role was once she took over, that’s all.”
“Her role was to spot the traps that crusty old-timers like you and I can’t see and steer us around them. Which she did. You never win a debate with a journalist, Will, you know that. Even if you do, they go away and write something entirely different and make you look wrong. Hannah’s good at her job.”
“Yes, sir. I’ll make a point of apologising to her next time I see her,” Blake mumbled. “Anyway, you’ll be pleased to hear that Bobby Price has retracted his statement about the two jihadis. He made it all up. It means we can focus on Terry White…”
“I thought you were dubious about White’s guilt, Will?”
“Possibly, sir,” Blake said, feeling his cheeks flush. “But I suspect there might be money laundering going on at Pro-Vets…”
“Well why aren’t you digging into that?”
“There’s a possible connection with the Quinlan case, so I’ve passed the information over to Matty Cavanagh, sir. I know my past connection to Laura Vexley might compromise things.”
Martin nodded his approval. “Good thinking, Will. That’s one less thing to worry about, anyway. Go ahead then, bring this Norton woman in for advice if you think it’ll help us pick up Terry White sooner rather than later.”
“Thank you, sir,” Blake said, turning to go.
“And Will,” Martin said as Blake reached the door. “Don’t forget to speak to Hannah.”
Blake winced. “I won’t forget, sir.”
*****
The smell of oil and petrol filled the air. Cold nipped at Terry White’s face and cheeks but a heavy blanket kept the rest of him warm. For a moment he lay, luxuriating in the cosiness. He couldn’t feel anything because he hadn’t moved and he didn’t want to. He wondered where he was. Thinking back, Terry remembered a dead body and lots of blood. It was Quentin. Quentin was dead. Then a big man came banging on the door. Terry had escaped. In a van. And now he was here.
Someone shifted and coughed to his left. Terry sat up, the blanket slipping down his body.
“Woah, big fella, you’re fine. You’re safe,” said a soothing voice. The scrawny old man who had offered Terry a lift yesterday. He still had his black donkey jacket and woolly hat on. He smiled at Terry, showing a crooked line of small, yellowed teeth. “I’m making a brew. You want one?”
“Yes please.” Terry put a hand to his forehead, which throbbed fiercely.
“You had a funny turn yesterday,” the old man said, stirring a spoon in a mug. “A seizure or something. I damn nearly called an ambulance but then you stopped and fell asleep. Does that happen a lot?”
“If I don’t take my tablets,” Terry said, frowning. “It’s cos of my injury.”
“I guessed that,” the old man said. “My name’s Noel, by the way.” He handed Terry the mug.
Terry took it in trembling hands and looked around. They were in a wooden garage of some kind. Cobwebbed ropes, hoses and chains dangled from low beams above him. Shelving filled with old cardboard boxes, cables and bits of angle iron covered one wall. A cold, grey light bled in through the grimy windows that comprised the top third of the doors. The table on the other side of the garage housed an electric hob, a kettle and some chipped plates and battered pans. “Do you live here?” Terry said.
“Sometimes,” Noel replied. “When I’m not travelling. The owner lets me stay. I do a few jobs for him now and again. You’re safe here.”
Terry looked into his mug. “What do you mean?”
“I’m not daft, mate. You were running away from something when I picked you up, weren’t you? I don’t wanna know who from or what for. You’re welcome to stay ‘til you feel better. No pressure. You look like you’ve been in the wars.”
“I have,” Terry said. “I need orders. I need to know what to do next.” Suddenly, hot tears began to scald his cheeks and he scrubbed at his face. “I don’t know what to do. I need orders.”
“Who from?”
Terry shook his head slowly. “I dunno.” He pulled a phone from his pocket. “They call me on this, but it’s stopped working.”
“Let me see,” Noel said, taking the phone. “Just needs charging, mate. I’ve got a charger somewhere.” He pulled open a drawer and rummaged through a tangle of wires and cables. “Here we go.” He plugged the phone in.
“Thank you.” Terry pulled his knees up to his chest and stared ahead. His stomach grumbled loudly.
“Sounds like you need some food, fella. Are you hungry?”
“I dunno,” Terry said. “I suppose so.”
The phone beeped and Terry leapt up. A text read:
You are in danger. Lay low for a while.
He looked at Noel. The old man had his back to him while he fussed over some tins. Terry didn’t think Noel was a threat. Graves hadn’t taken over the old
man. He was pretty sure. He’d met him at random on the road. The old man was being kind. He’d do as he was told and lay low for a while. When it was dark, he could decide what to do next.
Chapter 33
Although she had a swish office in Heswall, Nicola Norton lived in a small, terraced house to the north of Port Sunlight at the Bebington end. Blake had phoned her and agreed that he would call in to discuss her involvement in the case. Standing outside the house now, he found himself wondering if the original occupants looked over the road and envied the Port Sunlight employees living in the bigger houses or was that something they aspired to?
She answered the door almost as soon as Blake knocked. She wore black leggings and her long, golden hair spilled down over a baggy sweater. “DCI Blake, come on in,” she said. “You look surprised about something.”
The house had kept many of its original features, with high skirtings and ornate ceiling cornicing. But Norton had put her own stamp on the place, too with subtle pastel paints and soft furnishings. “To be honest, Ms Norton, I had expected you to live over by your office rather than on this side of the Wirral.”
“Call me Nicola. This was my mother’s house, DCI Blake. I grew up here. When she passed away, I inherited it. My business seems to haemorrhage cash and the Heswall office is so expensive to run. It’s cheap, but full of memories, not all of them happy.”
Blake nodded. “I know what you mean, I live in my parents’ old house too. I keep meaning to get organised enough to sell it and move on but…”
“Life’s too busy. Things get in the way. Yeah, tell me about it,” Nicola said. “Would you like a coffee?”
Blake followed her into the kitchen. “You worked quite closely with Terry White, then.”
“I did, Inspector. He was a troubled soul. Full of guilt for surviving, full of anger at what happened to his friends and so confused.”
“This condition that he has, the delusion. Can you explain that to me?”
“Fregoli delusion,” Nicola said, stirring the coffee. “Terry sustained a serious brain injury when he was caught in an explosion. He’d had psychological problems before but doctors think that the injury exacerbated an already existing condition. Put simply, Terry had trouble recognising faces and so would attribute the same identity to different people.”
