by JOHN STANLEY
‘Jesus Christ,’ said Radford, ‘who the hell is that?’
‘Marjorie Pretty.’
‘I bet her parents would have changed her surname if they knew how she’d turn out.’
Gaines chuckled as he watched the chairwoman of the Alma Street Action Group marching resolutely towards them.
‘You, Radford, isn’t it?’ barked Marjorie, jabbing a stubby finger at him and speaking in a voice which had a lofty resonance, suggesting an upper class upbringing.
‘Yes, indeed it is,’ said Radford, ‘although some people like to put a Mister before that.’
‘Now, listen, I want to know what you are doing about these terrible goings on and don’t give me any shit.’
‘What terrible goings on might they be?’ asked the chief inspector innocently.
‘Don’t play games with me, Radford. I am referring, of course, to these murders.’
‘Did you know either of the men?’
‘I knew Garnett,’ she said, making no attempt to conceal her contempt for the former planning officer. ‘He’s the bright spark who drew up the plans to demolish our street. I take it you know that?’
She fixed him with an accusing stare as if questioning his competence.
‘Indeed I do,’ said Radford, adding with another hefty dose of innocence. ‘It is truly awful that he is dead, is it not?’
‘If you ask me, the wretched little tosspot deserved everything he got. I’d have happily have done it myself.’
‘Dangerous talk, Mrs Pretty.’
‘Miss,’ she said sharply. ‘It’s Miss Pretty.’
‘Of course it is.’
‘And I do not care if it is dangerous talk, Inspector.’
‘A more suspicious person than myself and the good sergeant here might think you had a strong motive to see Robert Garnett dead.’
‘Preposterous!’ she said dismissively. ‘No one would ever think I could do such a thing. I’m the councillor around here, you know.’
‘Ah, that’s all right, then,’ said Radford.
‘Oh, don’t get me wrong, I will not be mourning Garnett’s passing - the nasty little man will probably have the Pearly Gates demolished to make way for a Burger King - but to suggest I or anyone from my group had anything to do with his murder is the ravings of a lunatic.’
She fixed Radford with another accusing glare.
‘So,’ said the chief inspector, ‘what brings you here this morning apart from questioning my sanity?’
‘I intend to propose to the council that they abandon the demolition of Alma Street altogether in view of the latest unfortunate event.’
‘If our meeting with the developer is anything to go by, he wants to go ahead all the quicker.’
‘I take it you mean that Jeavons chap? I saw him leaving just now. He’s another vindictive little bastard.’
‘Might I really suggest that you are more careful with what you say and to whom, Miss Pretty.’
‘No you may not! Besides, from what I hear, you don’t exactly stay quiet on these things, Radford,’ and she nodded her approval. ‘I like a man who stands up for what he believes in. I don’t think Jason de Vere enjoyed your little chat last night.’
‘I am sure he didn’t.’
How the hell did she find out about it?
‘The last thing the council wants is more bad publicity,’ said Marjorie. ‘You could put a word in for us, say something in the media. Your support would be invaluable to us.’
‘Maybe - and in other circumstances maybe I would - but I’m in enough hot water as it is. And, presumably, so are you. I mean, you will get into trouble with your Labour pals on the council if you try to block their plans again. Our Mr de Vere is your leader, surely?’
‘Him!’ she snorted. ‘He has not spoken to me since the day we won the election. Oh, yes, he was all luvvy-duvvy when he needed me to deliver to the votes but now? The man is a crook and an imbecile. You can help us fight him.’
‘I will do nothing of the sort.’
She thought about saying something then glowered and turned on her heel.
‘Before you go,’ said Gaines. ‘Brian Chambers, what do you know about him?’
‘Nothing to do with us,’ she said vehemently over her shoulder. ‘The man is a total and complete fruit-cake.’
Shaking her head, she stomped back down the street towards the barriers and the small knot of protestors that was already gathering.
‘If you ask me,’ said Radford, ‘they’re all off their rockers. Now, time to crack on with some proper police work, I think. I want to take a look at the murder scenes. See if we missed anything.’
‘Which reminds me,’ said the sergeant, falling into step with the chief inspector as they walked up the street towards the house where Creeley died, ‘Perlow rang first thing. Reckons he’s got some useful info.’
‘Not about the barmaid’s sister, I hope,’ shuddered Radford.
‘No, he went to talk to some deadbeat wino last night…’
‘So it is about the barmaid’s sister?’
‘According to this wino,’ said Gaines, allowing himself another smile, ‘there’s been a strange bloke hanging around Alma Street.’
‘So what do we know about him?’ said Radford, noticing without much surprise that the front door of the house had been forced.
‘That he’s tall and dark-haired.’
‘Not exactly enough to put an APB out is it?’ said the chief inspector as he walked into the darkened house, his voice echoing back out to the sergeant.
‘No, not really,’ admitted Gaines as followed him in. ‘He passed out after that. He’d drunk loads of cider apparently.’
‘That’s Perlow for you.’
‘I meant the wino,’ said Gaines, smiling at the joke.
Radford’s mobile phone rang. It was a short, one-way conversation and Radford listened in silence then replaced the phone in his jacket pocket.
‘Showtime,’ he sighed, heading back down the hallway and emerging into the daylight, followed by his sergeant. ‘The press office has been on to the chief wanting a comment on the Heron story.’
‘And?’
‘What can they say?’ shrugged Radford. ‘It’s all true.’
‘That’s not the point, though, is it? This could get you sacked.’
‘What do you care?’
Go on, Gainesy boy, cards on the table. It’s what you want, isn’t it? Get your mate back.
‘Actually, I do care if you get sacked.’
‘Really.’
‘Really,’ said the sergeant, ‘but is it really worth sacrificing your career for, guv?’
‘Listen,’ said Radford, suddenly animated, ‘we have achieved too much with Heron just to see some nine-to-five jobsworth scrap it all. If we let that happen, then what? The dealers rule the streets again and we get kids turning up dead in alleyways. Do you really expect me to let that happen? Can I, or you, or any of us for that matter, really look some grief-stricken mother in the eye and say we did everything we could to save their kid from a drugs overdose?’
‘But surely there must be other ways of handling this?’
Radford shrugged
‘So, how did Connor take it?’ asked the sergeant.
‘Badly. Wants me back immediately,’ and Radford gave a slight smile. ‘Secure your seatbelts, ladies and gentlemen, this may be a bumpy ride. See you later.’
Gaines watched him walk to the bottom of the street and get into his car. The sergeant gave a sigh and headed back to the house to continue with Radford’s proposed reappraisal of the murder scenes. Indeed, the detectives had been due to meet one of the forensics officers at the house at 9.30. Turning at the door, Gaines waved half-heartedly as Radford’s car pulled away.
Moments later, the sergeant was standing in the empty back bedroom. As his eyes grew accustomed to the gloom, something caught his attention and he walked over to the wall by the window, feet reverberating on the bare floorboards. Peering
closer he could see, chalked in small red letters in an untidy hand, the number 60 inside a crudely drawn circle. The sergeant looked at it for a moment, then gave a satisfied grunt, realising that the house was number 60. Must have been written by one of the demolition crew. Turning to go, he could have sworn he saw the door of the cupboard in the corner of the room move slightly. Looking again, the sergeant gave a little laugh, rebuked himself for being so nervy and headed downstairs.
As he reached the kitchen, he froze at a noise from upstairs. Standing still and silent in the darkness, heart thumping, blood roaring his ears, Gaines strained to hear. Sure enough, there it was again, the unmistakeable scrape of a foot on the bare boards above him. Sounded like it came from the back bedroom.
He contemplated calling for back-up or waiting for the forensics officer but dismissed the idea immediately; not enough time. Besides, there had been no sign of the officer’s car when Radford had been drawing away. Gaines sighed. Nothing for it, he would have to go it alone. The sergeant took a deep breath and edged his way back down the hall before starting to walk slowly up the stairs. As he approached the landing, he heard the noise again from the bedroom then, to his horror, the second top stair creaked under the weight of his foot. A shape loomed in the doorway of the back bedroom. Gaines yelled out in alarm and the figure snapped out a fist and sent the sergeant tumbling down the stairs to sprawl at the bottom, cracking his head off the wall on his way.
Disorientated, and acutely conscious of blood running down his face and stinging his eyes, Gaines glanced up and saw the figure bounding down the stairs. He instinctively threw up an arm and at the last moment, the intruder hurdled the sprawling officer, deliberately aiming a vicious kick as he did so. Gaines screamed in pain as the boot slammed into his elbow then the figure was gone, diving out into the grey morning light.
‘Hey!’ shouted a voice outside and the intruder whirled round to see the forensics officer running up the street.
With a cry, the stranger sprinted onto the nearby wasteland, hurdling the barrels and bits of old timber. The officer reached the house and took a quick look towards Gaines, who was leaning against the doorframe, trying to gather his senses and staunch the blood pouring from his head wound. He gestured weakly that he was alright. The forensics officer hesitated, torn between the need to help a colleague and catching the attacker, but an urgent gesture from Gaines with his one good arm made up his mind up for him and he set off across the scrub.
Gaines staggered a few paces out of the house, intent on joining the chase, but gave a groan and slipped to his knees, head spinning and stomach heaving. Seconds later, the chase was over, the figure outpacing his pursuer and disappearing into the warren of terraced streets on the far side of the wasteland. Gaines’s last fading sight before he blacked out was the officer cursing and throwing up his hands in exasperation.
Chapter seven
As Gaines was being taken to hospital, things were moving rapidly at Read Street, and by the time the first edition of the newspaper arrived at the police station just before lunch, Danny Radford had already been suspended and sent home. The chief inspector had been taken aback by the rapidity of the process as he was escorted from the premises by one of the uniform sergeants, an old friend very uneasy at what he had been asked to do. One sentence reverberated round the chief inspector’s head as he walked slowly to his car.
‘You would do well to remember that.’ The voice was Jason de Vere’s.
The chain of events started when, on his arrival at the station shortly after 9.30am, Connor told him that the furious chief constable had been dragged out of a meeting at headquarters to answer the newspaper’s query. Over the next half hour in Connor’s office, the door firmly shut, the superintendent demanded to know what the chief inspector was playing at, his voice rising to a shout on several occasions, his face red with anger. Radford had said nothing as his friend accused him of breaching police protocol, betraying confidentiality, committing professional suicide and, this last one in a breaking and almost plaintive voice, betraying their 15-year friendship.
Confronted by Radford’s stony silence, Connor demanded that the chief inspector say something to which his friend had calmly delivered, in quiet, firm tones, a devastating speech about what he saw as the real betrayal, of the people who lived in the division. They were, said Radford in a voice laced with a barely restrained fury, people who expected the police to tackle the drug trade but whose trust had been shattered. Connor listened in mounting horror. Horror turned to fury when, rebutting Connor’s repeated attempts to interrupt him, Radford accused the superintendent of standing aside while the chief constable set about dismantling everything the two men believed in. If you want to talk about betrayal, talk about that, Radford had said. Connor had never heard him talk like that before.
Biting his lip furiously and unable to trust himself to speak further, Connor ordered Radford out of his office, his voice harsh and trembling with anger. The chief inspector walked out in silence, calm but pale-faced, ignoring the stunned officers who had lined along the corridor listening in bewilderment to the superintendent’s unprecedented tirade. Radford continued to ignore everyone as he walked in silence towards the divisional commander’s office, as instructed by Connor, where he was given the formal notice of suspension in a thirty second meeting.
After Radford’s departure, Connor locked himself away in his office for several hours, staring into space, his mind reeling at what his friend had done and the savagery contained in his final comment. The accusation that the superintendent had betrayed their belief in cracking down on crime had wounded Connor deeply but as his fury started to subside, the superintendent had to admit, albeit reluctantly, that it was true.
When the chief constable told him about the closure of Heron, Connor had made only a token objection, acutely conscious that his own relationship with the chief was not particularly healthy. There were plenty of younger men keen to take his place.
Looking back now on that short meeting, Connor felt a growing sense of shame, particularly when he glanced at his friend’s face staring up from the newspaper next to the headline: “Scrapped! Scandal of cancelled police drugs operation”. For although Radford had chosen the wrong way to voice his opinion, at least his friend had been the one person to stand up for what he believed. Danny Radford had remained true to the people he served. Gazing out of his window, Connor had to confront the difficult realisation that it was he who had failed. At the core of the men’s relationship was the knowledge that they would always be there for each other. Connor had not been. That was why both were now hurting and that was why the superintendent dare not emerge from his office to face the troops.
A mid-afternoon phone call interrupted his reverie: a message from the chief constable’s office that Radford was to remain suspended from duty until his disciplinary hearing in a little over a week. Obscene haste, thought Connor but said nothing. Not out of timidity this time, though; no, now was a time for astute tactics and keeping cards close to the chest. The superintendent replaced the phone, his despair replaced by anger, but not shouting anger, rather a tight, controlled anger, like the anger Radford had exhibited in their meeting. With a determined look on his face, he picked up the phone again.
An hour later, there was a knock on the door and in walked Peter England. The detective chief superintendent in charge of the entire force CID, he was a burly, down-to-earth dark-haired man in his late forties. A veteran of numerous murder inquiries, he was also an adept political practitioner in the corridors of power at headquarters. It was why he had survived so long.
‘Got the call,’ said England, sitting down and giving Connor a quirky smile. ‘Anything happening I should know about?’
‘No, nothing. Oh, hang on, though, there are a couple of things now you mention it. I’ve just lost a damned good detective because of some damned fool of an accountant and I’ve got a sergeant with seven shades of shite knocked out of him.’
‘How is
Gaines? I heard he was hit pretty hard.’
‘Three stitches in a face wound and a bad headache. They thought he might have broken his arm but it’s just bad bruising.’
‘The way he’s been since Radford got the job, I’m surprised someone hadn’t clagged him earlier. Is he still in hospital?’
‘No, they patched him up and sent him home. Perlow went to check on him and Pam took the afternoon off so between them, he should be fine.’
‘I know which one I’d rather have feeding me grapes. Any idea who attacked him?’
‘We think he may have disturbed a drug user.’
‘What was Gaines doing there?’
‘Radford suggested they go back and take another look at the room where Creeley died.’
‘Have you talked to Danny?’
‘Talked to no, shouted at like a ruddy fishwife on crack-cocaine, yes.’
England allowed himself a smile at the image which the comment brought into his mind; somehow, he did not think a pinny and headscarf would suit the superintendent.
‘What’s your reading of it, Peter?’ asked Connor.
‘Well, he’s certainly dug a big hole for himself,’ England nodded at the newspaper lying on the desk. ‘I take it you also know that de Vere was onto the chief, complaining about the way Radford questioned him last night?’
‘I had heard.’
‘What‘s more,’ said England, ‘one of the directors of the Green Trees development company - bloke called Jeavons - has been on about Danny’s comments in some meeting this morning.’
‘Yeah, I heard as well,’ sighed Connor.
‘What exactly did Danny say?’
‘Nothing much,’ said Connor sardonically. ‘Just told him he could whistle for his £120 million development.’
‘Oh, is that all? There was me thinking it was something really awful,’ and suddenly England was serious. ‘Bad move. Jeavons may look like an office clerk but he’s got Jason de Vere’s ear. Jeavons can cause a lot of trouble for us. They both can.’
‘Tell me about it.’
‘There is one more thing.’
