Walk On By: DI Ted Darling Book 7

by L M Krier

‘She was completely off her face when she was brought in, boss, so we had to wait to question her. She’s got the duty solicitor now and seems to be fit to interview. So far she’s admitted everything, but no doubt her brief will urge caution until he’s had more time to talk to her.’

  ‘Anything else new I should know about?’

  ‘Boss, I’ve been speaking to the police in Marseilles about Bacha. A really helpful officer from their criminal division, who speaks reasonable English. He said he’d be happy to talk to you. Do you want me to set up a conference call? I could help to interpret, if there was anything he didn’t know the English for, if that would help?’

  ‘That sounds excellent, Océane, thank you. As soon as you can, please. I’ll be in my office, drowning under paperwork, no doubt.’

  It wasn’t long before Océane buzzed him to say that she had the French police officer online ready to talk to him. Steve was out, so Ted pulled his chair across and sat down next to Océane, in front of her screen.

  ‘Boss, this is Commandant Olivier Moreau.’

  ‘Thank you for agreeing to talk to me, Commandant. I apologise for not speaking any French at all, but Océane tells me your English is good.’

  ‘I enjoy to practise my English, inspecteur,’ the other man replied. His accent had a mid-Atlantic twang to it.

  ‘Please call me Ted. Now, can you tell me anything about this man, Dorian Bacha?’

  ‘We have no real interest in him. He has not yet a rap sheet. Is that right? I like to watch American crime on the télé.’

  Ted smiled. It showed, in his choice of words.

  ‘We usually say record rather than rap sheet, but that’s fine. But I think you have his father under observation?’

  ‘Stups are interested in him and are watching him.’

  ‘Stups?’ Ted queried, looking at Océane.

  ‘Drug Squad, boss.’

  ‘But the son, no, not so much. We know about him. He has some bad friends. They are always in trouble. But his papa keeps him clean. He has plenty of fric.’

  ‘Cash, boss,’ Océane told Ted when he looked at her questioningly.

  ‘He protects the boy because he wants to be a liar. And that will be helpful to him.’

  Seeing Ted’s puzzled face, Océane helpfully corrected the mispronunciation of lawyer, then fired off a rapid stream of French, which made Moreau laugh out loud.

  ‘Excuse me, I am very stupid. But it’s a good joke, non? Many lawyers are also liars.’

  ‘Do you think Bacha is capable of killing someone? A woman?’

  Moreau spread his hands.

  ‘Who knows? He may already have killed and papa has just hidden the facts so we do not yet know. I think he is not very brave. Perhaps if things go wrong, he panics? We know already that he does a lot of sheet.’

  ‘Dope, boss. Hash. The French call it shit.’

  ‘His father does not approve. He is happy to sell it to others, but he does not like that his number one son does drugs. Cocaïne, also. It might explain the violence, non?’

  ‘And as far as you know, he’s not in France at the moment?’

  ‘We have not seen him for some time. If we do, I will be happy to contact Océane to tell you.’

  From the way he smiled as he said it, Ted was relieved that Steve was not in the office. He and Océane were something of an item and Ted didn’t want any jealousy getting in the way of work. It seemed as if the French officer was openly flirting with Océane. And she didn’t seem to be objecting.

  ‘God, sir, you’re on fire! I don’t know who your informant is but you’re coming up with better stuff than we are, that’s for sure.’

  It was Neil Smith, calling Ted’s mobile, later the same afternoon.

  ‘You know the rules, Neil. If I tell you my sources, I’ll have to kill you. So, what have you got?’

  ‘We’ve only gone and got some second or third or whatever Bacha cousin we didn’t even know about, living in Manchester. Stretford, to be precise. So we’re betting there’s a reasonable possibility young Dorian, if he’s still in the country, could be staying there.’

  ‘I’ve been speaking to the French police about him. I’ll circulate the information I have from them as soon as I get time to write it up.’

  Smith laughed.

  ‘Too busy hobnobbing on the Eleventh Floor, eh, sir, leaving us mere mortals to do the dirty work?’

  Although HQ had moved long ago from the old Chester House building, the term “Eleventh Floor” was still used by longer-serving officers to allude to the hallowed ground where the top brass had dwelt when they were not descending to walk among the mere mortals.

  ‘I don’t need to tell you this is going to need careful handling. The French police say Dorian Bacha has no known record of violence, but he is a known drug user. His father has the money to have covered up anything he’s done at home. And if it is him, now he’s killed once, he’s going to be dangerous. It’s going to require careful surveillance this time, then quite possibly Armed Response to make an arrest. Have you told Mr Marston yet?’

  ‘Same as you, I just need to find the time to file my report, sir. So stand by for one of his snap briefings. Knowing him, it could be in the middle of the night. I suppose if we’re bringing the shooters in, you’ll want a piece of the action, for old time’s sake?’

  ‘Well, I’m in charge of the murder enquiry, and he might be my killer, even if he isn’t holed up on my patch, so I might well claim rights over him.’

  Both men were laughing as they ended the call, but Ted was worried about history repeating itself. With Marston in overall charge of Croesus, he might want to take command of any arrest operation. With the combination of his arrogance and his refusal to listen to officers with the right experience, it could be a disaster waiting to happen. And the presence of his old enemy, Ted, could be like a red rag to a bull.

  Trev was sprawling on the sofa, buried under cats, watching a French news channel when Ted got home late. He sank gratefully down next to him, picked up his hand and kissed it.

  ‘I saw you hadn’t been home yet. I’ve not eaten, either. I thought we could eat together, if you weren’t too late back. Like a proper old married couple.’

  Even without understanding the language on the television, Ted could see that the news was the same as everywhere. Terrorism, fear of a far right resurgence, homelessness and poverty.

  Trev smelt of shower gel and shampoo and was wearing sweat pants with a vest top which showed off the muscles in his arms and shoulders. He muted the sound on the TV with the remote.

  ‘How was karate?’ Ted asked him. ‘I’m sorry I couldn’t get there. I could really do with a good workout, but it’s finding the time. I might try for some Krav Maga this weekend if I can get away.’

  ‘Excellent. Billirant, in fact.’

  They still made a joke of Trev’s drunken typo in a text home from his recent trip to France.

  ‘There’s a tournament coming up and they want me for the team.’

  ‘I should think so too. You’re excellent; the best they have.’

  ‘You taught me well.’

  ‘Perhaps. But the pupil is better than the sensei these days. Where is the tournament? I’d love to watch you thrash the opposition. But you do understand I can’t promise to be there, not with the way work is at the moment?’

  ‘It’s in London, and that’s fine, I understand. In fact, I assumed you wouldn’t be able to come, so I was planning on making a weekend of it. I thought I’d go down on the coach with the rest of the club, but then stay over for the night with Laurence and get the train back. You do remember who Laurence is, don’t you?’

  Ted grinned ruefully.

  ‘I’m never going to be allowed to forget making such a prat of myself, am I? It’s fine, I’m glad one of us will be having some fun.’

  ‘Good, because while you’re in a generous mood, there’s something else I want from you. Willow and Rupe are having a big bash on Saturday week and w
e’re invited, of course. I won’t tell you where it’s being held because you’ll only complain and say it’s too posh, but it is black tie.’

  Ted groaned. He disliked dressing in a suit for work, never mind the idea of parading himself like a penguin for a social occasion.

  ‘It’s a bit short notice, isn’t it?’

  ‘You’ll understand why when you see where it’s being held. The waiting list is months and months, literally, and they got a cancellation, somehow. I think they probably had to kill to get it.

  ‘A lot of their friends couldn’t get to the wedding reception because of work commitments, and of course, we both missed most of it, so I really want to go. They’ll certainly all drop everything for this, though. It’s going to be fantastic. An all-night do. Carriages at six, that kind of thing. There’ll be dancing, and a karaoke.’

  ‘Karaoke? Isn’t that a bit nineties?’

  ‘Ted, you’re hopeless when it comes to trends. It’s so passé it’s now back in fashion. Retro chic. Anyway, here’s the thing. When I went to France with them, I discovered Willow is a massive country fan, like you. Can you believe it? She also sings really well, too. So I said you’d do a duet with her. You know, a bit of Kenny and Dolly.’

  Ted turned and gaped at him in horror.

  ‘Hello, have we met? You think I’d get up in public and make a complete idiot of myself singing? When you know I can’t even get pissed to have the nerve to.’

  ‘I could always get you stoned.’

  ‘Don’t you dare! Seriously, though, I don’t even know if I’ll be able to go, what with this case ...’

  ‘I know that. But it’s always the same. Last time it was that case, now it’s this case, next time it will be another case. You keep saying you’ll make it up to me so please just do this one thing for me. And don’t drop out on some lame excuse. Just if you get another body.’

  Ted let out a long sigh.

  ‘We’ve Got Tonight?’

  ‘I said you’d do that one. Willow’s already practising. I said you’d do Islands in the Stream together as well.’

  ‘Two?’ Then, seeing Trev’s look, he nodded. ‘All right, both of them. But I’m not growing a beard. And no rhinestones.’

  Chapter Seventeen

  ‘Right, so we now have a house in Stretford under twenty-four hour obs, with reason to believe that if Dorian Bacha is anywhere in the country, he may well be there. As we think he’s already killed, and we don’t know what weapons he has at his disposal, it’s likely to involve an Armed Response team to arrest him. But – and at the moment it is a very big but – before we can do anything, we first need to establish if he’s there. And then if we have any evidence at all against him to warrant such an operation.

  ‘So, Rob, anything yet from Wilmslow on a second vehicle?’ Ted asked.

  Rob and Sal were doing good work at Wilmslow, handling things well. Magnus Pierson had phoned Ted to say he was impressed with them and glad of their help, having such a complex case as his first murder enquiry.

  ‘We’ve identified and searched a few places so far, boss, but nothing as yet. There are still plenty of places to look. It’s going to take a lot of hours, though.’

  ‘You just do what it takes and leave me and the Super to worry about the budget. No point pinning down where Bacha is if we have no evidence at all to move against him. We need to know how he left the scene and where he went. Did he change to the second vehicle or did he drive Mrs Ashworth’s Peugeot to its destination?’

  ‘Boss, if Kateb or any of the others had heard early reports on the news about a fatal incident in Wilmslow, it must surely have crossed their minds that it could have been Bacha, especially if this was their first time of using him,’ Mike Hallam suggested. ‘I can’t imagine they would be waiting to welcome him with open arms if they’d got wind of how badly their operation had gone wrong.’

  ‘What I don’t get, boss, is why he’s still hanging round here, if it was him,’ Maurice Brown put in. ‘Why didn’t he just leg it and jump on the first flight back home to France?’

  ‘Can I say something, boss?’ Océane looked up from her computer. She had a knack of getting on with her own work, seemingly ignoring what was being said around her, but still aware of it and ready to jump in if she had a useful contribution.

  ‘Of course, Océane. You know that any input is always welcome.’

  ‘From what Commandant Moreau was saying yesterday, it sounds as if there’s friction between Dorian and his father, certainly over his drug use. Perhaps he was sent over here to keep him out of whatever trouble he was already in there, and now he’s afraid to go back and face the music after what he’s done here.’

  ‘So we think he definitely still made the meet-up for the car?’ Maurice again.

  ‘Keep up, Maurice. The plates were changed at some point so it’s likely he did,’ Megan told him, gently teasing. Then she asked reasonably, thinking from a parent’s perspective, ‘If he was already in trouble, would his father send him over to work with someone running scams and fraud?’

  Océane gave a very Gallic shrug.

  ‘White collar crime. It’s not quite the same thing. Papa might have thought it was preferable to whatever Dorian had been getting up to over there.’

  ‘Sir, would he have had much blood on him after the stabbing?’ Steve asked. ‘That would take some explaining, turning up at the meeting place with the car and the rest of the stuff, but covered in blood.’

  ‘Good point, Steve. I should have thought of that myself. I would imagine so, but I’ll check with Professor Nelson, to be sure.’

  ‘So we could be looking for blood traces, too, at the meet-up site, when we find it? Is it too late to think of getting dog teams in, boss?’ Rob asked.

  ‘We got lucky that way with the last big case, but we did, at least, have a rough idea of where to look. It’s a good point, but at this stage it would be real needle in a haystack work. If we could at least pin down roughly where to start looking, it might still be worth a shot.

  ‘Today’s priority needs to be to find something solid, anything, to put Bacha somewhere near the scene of crime, or the house in Stretford. And to trace who the second person was, whoever helped him change plates. Rob, go back to that witness again and probe a bit more.’

  ‘Will do, boss. We’re also working with Inspector Pierson’s team to check all the CCTV on the route to see if we can spot another vehicle hanging around, or even in convoy with the Peugeot at some point after the plates were changed.’

  ‘Anything else? Virgil, have you heard anything from Jezza?’

  ‘Nothing, boss. Maurice, have you spoken to her when she phones Tommy?’

  ‘Not a great deal to report, boss. She just mentioned this girl Tara. She’s ok though.’

  ‘And the DIY stabbing, Jo?’

  ‘All over bar the shouting, boss. Girlfriend has admitted everything. We have her full statement. There are also witness statements from neighbours saying that loud and sometimes violent arguments were commonplace there, and not just over flat-pack assembly. She has previous for thumping the partner, too, and him for hitting her. Just the paperwork to sort now and the job’s a good ‘un.’

  ‘I know I don’t need to tell you, but let’s be sure that’s all sewn up tight. Get us a nice solid result, while we’re waiting for positive news on Croesus.’

  Ted called Bizzie Nelson as soon as he’d wound up the briefing.

  ‘It wasn’t a spurting, arterial bleed, Edwin, but there was considerable blood loss. From the depth of penetration of the blade, unless it was a knife with an extremely long handle, I would expect the perpetrator to have had blood on their knife-hand at least. As they withdrew the blade, it’s quite probable that there would also have been drops on their clothing.

  ‘But I stress this is speculation, and you know how it goes against my scientific grain to rely on that. On balance, I would have to say that it is more likely than not that whoever stabbed Mrs Ashworth woul
d have had blood on their person and their clothing.’

  Professor Nelson was nothing if not guarded when dealing with anything which was not a simple matter of provable fact. It was helpful, though. It made Ted think it was less likely that Bacha would have delivered the car himself to Kateb, if he was in a state like that. He would know he couldn’t hide for ever, but he could at least delay the inevitable if he had time to clean himself up and compose himself.

  Ted’s next port of call was to Kevin Turner. He wanted to know how the case against his mother’s attacker was progressing. In particular, he wanted to know the likelihood of a guilty plea. He was hoping his mother could be spared the ordeal of having to travel back up from Wales to give evidence in court.

  ‘He admitting to pushing your mam but is denying intent to cause her any harm.’

  ‘Have you got any photographic evidence from the eyewitnesses? She said there were plenty there filming what was happening but not doing anything to help. And what about the two lads who did come to her help? What are they saying?’

  ‘Ted,’ Kevin told him patiently, ‘we may only be humble Woodentops, not clever detectives like you lot, but we do know our job. I know it’s worse because it’s your mam, but we will nail the bastard. Don’t worry about that. You know well enough he could go down for up to five years on an ABH, especially as he has form.’

  ‘Actual Bodily Harm? You’re not pressing for Racially Aggravated Assault, then? You know he could go down for longer on that.’

  Kevin shook his head in mock despair.

  ‘Ted, Ted, the reason you and I mostly get along is that you’re not usually a patronising bugger, like some of your type. I’ve spoken to CPS at length. They’re happier with a strong chance of conviction on ABH than taking a punt on Racially Aggravated and it not sticking.’

  Ted grinned ruefully.

  ‘Sorry. I should know better. You know what you’re doing. It’s just, you know ...’

  ‘It’s your mam. Of course I know, you daft bastard. I’d be the same if anything happened to any of my family. You worry about Croesus, I’ll see your mam right.’