by Nick Oldham
‘ And it’s a godamned good job we don’t have video conferencing otherwise I’d be able to see your lips bad-mouthin’ me,’ Tapperman laughed.
‘ How in hell..?’
‘ I’m a cop. People are always cussin’ me silently down the phone. Hey, look, Myrna, sorry, but we can’t afford the manpower. Tell you what I will do — I’ll get a radio message out to all mobiles, ask’ em to keep their eyes peeled, okay? That’s all I can do. We’re chasin’ our tails here.’
‘ Fine, thanks,’ Myrna conceded. ‘Any progress on Steve’s killer?’
‘ Patrick Orlove? No, nothing. We’re trying our best.’
‘ I believe you.’ She hung up.
‘ He calls me his little honey pot, but I don’t really know why. Because I’m sweet, I suppose.’ Grace managed a weak smile. The effort of self-revelation had taken everything out of the little girl. All her own important stuff had been about herself, not Claire; her past, present and unspeakable future. ‘I met Claire in one of the arcades and I could tell she were alone, like. I talked to her and said I could get her somewhere to sleep for the night. I took her to see Ollie and he give her a couple of quid for some chips an’ me an’ her went for some an’ came back when the arcade had closed. We got into Ollie’s car and he drove us to his flat an’ Charlie were there waitin’ for us. I got pissed on wine — I like wine. Claire had a bit to drink and she got smashed easy, like. Then Ollie asked me to give him a suck an’ he got it out an’ I started. I had to close me eyes ‘cos I don’t really like lookin’ at it and the wine takes the taste off.
‘ While I were doin’ this,’ she went on, ‘Charlie took Claire out the room and into the bedroom. Going for a shag. Everythin’ were all right and Ollie’d cum in me mouth an’ he made me swallow it an’ then all hell broke loose. There’s a loada shoutin’ an’ screamin’ from the bedroom and Claire ran out… she had no clothes on and Charlie were chasing her. He were fuckin’ angry. He grabbed her and thumped her in the face and sez to Ollie, “Come an’ ‘elp me with the little bitch.” They both grabbed her then an’ dragged her back into the bedroom an’ slammed the door behind ‘em. Well, the door don’t close proper and it just sorta bounced open a bit an’ I sneaked a look.’ Tears welled up in Grace’s eyes.
‘ Go on,’ Danny said gently.
‘ I were frightened. Claire were strugglin’ an’ fightin’. They were both holdin’ her down and Charlie was trying to get his dick in her, but she were really fighting and kickin’ and they were gettin’ really mad. Charlie had a rope or somethin’ round her neck, pullin’ tight an’ next thing Claire weren’t moving at all.’
She fell silent.
Danny touched Grace’s trembling fingers. The social worker was white.
‘ They said she were all reet, just sleepin’. I could see she wasn’t. They’d been smashing her in the face too and it were a real mess. I’ve never seen a dead person before. It were ‘orrible… I can still see her now.’
‘ What happened then?’
‘ They carried her into the shower and washed her, I think. They told me not to look. I just ran out and glued meself up… I haven’t been back.’
‘ Who were the two men?’
‘ Like I said. Charlie and Ollie.’
‘ Do you know their last names?’
‘ Charlie Gilbert. Ollie Spencer.’
‘ What do Charlie Gilbert and Ollie Spencer have in common?’ Henry Christie pondered out loud. He knew Gilbert was one of the most respected figures on the Fylde, and Spencer was a purveyor of porn and perversion across the Northwest. ‘Other than their sexual interests, that is.’
‘ The fact is, they are together and I want to go and arrest both for murder,’ Danny stated categorically. She could hardly contain herself after listening to Grace’s story and recording the subsequent statement. Grace was still in the police station, being held on the assault and shoplifting charges whilst a decision was made about what to do with her. In many ways it was out of the hands of the police. She had to be handed over to Social Services for safekeeping — not something either Henry or Danny was happy with. They would rather have kept her under lock and key.
They were in the incident room at Blackpool police station, scrumming down with FB and other members of the murder squad.
‘ Just hold your horses,’ FB said impatiently. His jacket and tie were off. He paced the room, taking up the tension more degrees than necessary. ‘Tell me where we’re up to exactly.’
He looked at Henry, who, never afraid of delegation and empowerment, looked in turn at Danny.
She cleared her throat.
‘ Okay, we’ve boxed off Trent. He’s out of the picture, back on remand next Thursday, charged with numerous serious offences. If he ever sets foot out of prison again, it should only be in a pine box.
‘ Claire Lilton: missing from home. Turns up murdered, and initially we think it’s down to Trent, but it doesn’t quite match his murder MO — the knife. So we agree we have a problem — another child-killer on the loose. Then Grace Lawson turns up, a witness from nowhere, also a misper, eleven years old who says she saw Claire get murdered by Ollie Spencer and Charlie Gilbert. Describes the whole event in gory detail and it matches everything we know medically and forensically about Claire’s death.’
‘ Thanks — very succinct,’ FB said. ‘Anything else?’
‘ Yes. Claire had four-day-old sperm in her. Her step-father gave himself up and admitted having sexual relations with her. We’ve DNA’d him and at present he’s on bail, returning here in a week’s time. We’re pretty sure he didn’t kill her, but we are going to fettle him good and proper. Unfortunately there are no further forensics or DNA; as Grace told us, Gilbert and Spencer washed her body off. They were very thorough.’
‘ Do we know where the crime took place?’ FB asked.
Danny nodded. ‘Spencer’s flat.’
‘ In that case we need to hit it quick and go for bedsheets, et cetera, et cetera, down the plughole, everything,’ FB decided. ‘Let’s just see how thorough they’ve really been. Anything else?’
‘ Yep,’ said Henry, ‘and it concerns Gilbert, bastion of society. It’s an American angle. Remember Karl Donaldson?’ Henry raised his eyebrows at FB, whose face went sour at the mention of the FBI operative. FB and Donaldson had a history and did not match well. ‘Gilbert was recently arrested in Miami on child-molestation allegations and released without charge. Seems he’s involved with some American gangster called Bussola, very big crime-wise in Florida. His legal business side includes amusement arcades, where it’s believed he deals drugs. The amusement side is probably where Bussola’s connection with Gilbert comes in, a man who made most of his fortune from kids’ pennies. Gilbert apparently buys Bussola’s arcade cast-offs. That’s how they know each other, I believe.’
‘ Where’s this leading, Henry?’ FB asked impatiently.
Henry did all but ignore him. Their history gave Henry some rights not normally available to Detective Inspectors. ‘The dead girl found over in Darwen, actually: the five-year-old murder. Don’t ask me how — I’m sure it’ll come out in the wash — but a girl over in the States read about the murder and came forward to say she knew who’d done it…’ he paused for effect ‘…Charlie Gilbert. Then she clammed up and said nothing else, except, and this is the killer’ — his eyes turned to Danny — ‘that she’ll only talk to Danny, who she met some years ago. The girl is a Brit, working over in the States.’
‘ She’ll only speak to me?’ Danny was puzzled. ‘What’s her name?’
‘ Tracey Greenwood. Ring a bell?’
‘ Not offhand.’
‘ She also insisted on something else too — that Danny goes to the States and brings her back to England and she’ll give evidence against Gilbert. But only Danny.’
‘ Out of the question,’ said FB. ‘She’s pulling a fast one for some reason.’
‘ There is another thing too.’ Henry pulled a face. ‘She’s do
ne a runner.’
‘ They’ve lost her?’ FB said incredulously. ‘Typical bloody Donaldson.’
‘ So I’m waiting to hear,’ Henry said.
‘ Okay, thanks, Henry. We’ll see what comes of it — if anything. But for the moment, let’s concentrate on the here and now — Gilbert and Spencer.’ He looked squarely at Danny. ‘Go get ‘em.’
Chapter Eighteen
They had to do it right and they needed the manpower to get it right.
FB, unusually magnanimous, gave the go-ahead.
First up, the Surveillance Unit were hurriedly called in and briefed by Danny: their task to pinpoint the suspects, keep them in sight and report their whereabouts.
Secondly, the Support Unit were roused and, again, briefed by Danny. Their job was to follow arrest teams in and, under the instructions of a team leader, to search, seize and secure evidence. That meant at Spencer’s place the bedclothes, the sink, the drains, the shower — anything which could be useful for forensics and could link Claire Lilton with the address.
Then there would be a forensic and Scenes of Crime team behind them, supporting and bagging any evidence for further examination.
It had been decided that Danny would lead one arrest team, Henry the other. They would hit both men simultaneously and bring them to Blackpool nick. One at a time. Ensure no contact — eyeball, verbal, physical, whatever, their cells were to be at opposite ends of the complex so they would not be able to even shout to each other.
Once both men were incarcerated, given their rights and everything else they had to be given, Danny would lead the interview teams whilst Henry took a step backwards to supervise the process.
They tossed up to see who would arrest whom. Henry flicked the 2p piece with his thumb. ‘Heads I take Gilbert, tails you take him.’ Both wanted him badly.
The coin rolled up through the air, slow motion almost.
Danny prayed: Let it be tails.
Henry moved out of the way of the falling coin. It clattered on the floor.
Danny smiled grimly.
Four hours later and Myrna had heard nothing. She helped herself to a strong black coffee from the machine in the main office and stared through the window across the cityscape, a vacant look in her eyes but her mind churning angrily because she felt such a fool on two counts.
One, she had been used by Tracey, the little bitch. Two, Karl Donaldson must have thought she was an annoying little tick who could not do anything right.
Damn the girl.
The two detectives waited patiently as the Surveillance Unit coasted into action. There was nothing to do now but be patient.
‘ How’s things on the Jack Sands front?’ Henry asked conversationally.
Danny’s skin crept at the mention of the name. ‘Okay. No hassle. Haven’t seen him, actually. How about you?’
‘ Me neither. Seems to be keeping a low profile.’
‘ Think he’s got the message?’
Henry shrugged. ‘Don’t know. He’s not thick, but he’s stubborn.’
A personal radio stood on its base on Henry’s desk, tuned into the encrypted channel dedicated to the arrest operation. It crackled. A message passed from one member of the Surveillance Unit to another. It was nothing for Henry or Danny or the arrest teams, who were biding their time by playing snooker upstairs in the recreation room.
Danny’s heart jumped, but she remained calm.
Soon, she thought. Soon.
‘ Any progress?’
‘ Zilch.’
‘ Not to worry,’ Karl Donaldson said reassuringly. ‘She’ll turn up.’
‘ Yeah, yeah, sure,’ Myrna moaned. ‘Look, I’m really sorry if I’ve caused any problems over there. She was right here when I spoke to you.’ Myrna gestured to the empty seat in her office as though Donaldson could see. ‘Then I dozed off and when I woke, she’d skedaddled.’
‘ Just keep me posted.’
‘ Yeah. Hey, Karl, thanks for phoning. I’ve felt such a barf.’
‘ Forget it.’
‘ Got him! Target Two in sight, walking down the Promenade. Dressed in a pale blue suit. Grey shoes. Completely un-fucking-mistakable. Stands out like a prick in a nursery.’ Danny grabbed the radio before Henry could.
‘ Good job. But remember there’s more than just you and your team listening, so maintain strict radio discipline. Received?’
‘ Roger,’ grunted the glum reply, knuckles rapped.
‘ Whereabouts on me Prom?’ Danny asked.
‘ Just outside Tussaud’s, walking north. There’s a two-man follow behind him now on foot. We’ve got him. He’s not going anywhere without us knowing, especially in that suit.’
‘ Keep us informed.’
Henry gestured for the radio.
‘ Arrest squad two,’ he transmitted over it. ‘CID office, two minutes, ready to roll, please.’
‘ Already there, boss,’ came the reply.
‘ I’ll see you later.’ Henry pointed at Danny, stood up, and clicked his thumb.
‘ Henry?’ She rose slowly and looked at him.
Another of those stomach-churning, ‘Do we? Don’t we?’ moments flipped between them. Both caught it, both held back. Instead, Henry squeezed her hand and less than romantically said, ‘Next time I see you, make sure it’s in the custody office.’ It was probably destined to be one of the great romantic lines of all times. They laughed, parted and Henry was gone.
The Promenade was bitter cold, the usual icy wind driving in from the Irish Sea. Henry danced a jig and rubbed his hands to keep warm. His jacket collar was turned up high around his ears, his shoulders hunched low. He was near the entrance to North Pier, looking across the wide Prom towards a row of amusement arcades on the opposite side of the road, just south of the junction with Talbot Square. He was chatting to a member of the Surveillance Unit.
Ollie Spencer — Target Two — had been seen to enter ‘Ollie’s Amusements’ and go into the back room of the arcade. As arcades went in Blackpool, it was one of the less salubrious ones, fairly grotty, but still able to attract the penny-droppers. From the short opportunity Henry had had to do some research into Charlie Gilbert, he knew the fat man owned this business.
The front and rear of the arcade were covered by the surveillance team. At anyone time, using a tried and tested rotation system, there could be up to three members of the team in the premises, playing the bandits and video games. All on expenses, of course.
Once Henry had been briefed as to the situation, he walked back to his car parked a safe distance away. A member of his arrest team was driving for him.
The surveillance officer he had been talking to rejoined his team.
Henry crashed back into the passenger seat and smiled at his companion, a Detective Constable named Dave Seymour. Henry turned up the heater and said, ‘We wait.’
Seymour nodded. Waiting suited him. He didn’t like moving unless absolutely necessary.
The other members of the arrest team — two uniformed officers driving an unmarked police car — were parked nearby.
‘ He’s coming out of his office now,’ a voice came over the radio. ‘Leaving via the rear door. Get ready guys, ‘n’ gals, he’ll be with you in fifteen seconds.’
There was a silent delay on the airwaves. It seemed interminable.
‘ Got him,’ came the next voice eventually, ‘heading towards Talbot Square.’
Henry breathed out, not realising he had been holding his breath in the first place.
They followed him unobtrusively, sometimes even brushing past him, even actually making eye-contact with him on occasion. So Spencer actually saw members of the surveillance team, yet never once suspected remotely they were cops and he was being tailed.
‘ Up Talbot Road, away from the Prom.’
‘ He’s going to take them to his flat,’ Henry mused out loud. Where, if their information was correct, Claire had been murdered.
‘ Turning left onto Dickson Road.’
>
Henry looked at Seymour. Yes, Ollie Spencer was taking them home.
The other surveillance team were not having quite the same measure of success. The whereabouts of Target One, Charlie Gilbert, eluded them. They set up an ob-point near his house in Poulton-le-Fylde, but no one was home. Another ob-point was at his usual place of work — a grand, restored building, formerly a warehouse of some sort which had been refurbished as offices and storage facilities. But Gilbert could have been anywhere. He owned a chain of arcades down the Golden Mile on the sea-front, restaurants, cafes, shops selling cheap tack; and not only in Blackpool. There probably wasn’t one large town in the Northwest of England which did not have one of Gilbert’s arcades in it. They were everywhere. His other recent business moves included out-of-town developments where, several years before, he had bought cheap land and then as the out-of-town shopping boom burst open, he began to develop the land, making vast amounts of money in the process.
In Henry’s office, Danny grew impatient, wanting to get going. She tapped her teeth with the tip of her pen as she listened to the movements of the team tracking Spencer.
Her PR crackled. ‘Target Two now entering the flat above the electrical goods shop.’ She heard Henry acknowledge this piece of information. Then: ‘Unit One interrupting!’
Whoa! Danny’s heart quickened.
‘ Target One’s vehicle now pulling into the driveway of his home. DS Furness received?’
She jumped for the radio. ‘Sit on him, don’t let him see you and wait for support… Arrest Squad One, meet me down in the garage.’ She spun out of the office into the corridor and collided, body to body, face to face, with Jack Sands.
She tried to heave him out of the way.
He took hold of her, his big powerful arms circling her body, and he literally carried her back into Henry’s office, slamming the door behind him with his heel. Danny squirmed and wriggled herself out of his grasp.
‘ I haven’t got time for this shit, Jack,’ she snarled angrily. ‘Just get out of the way.’
