by David Evans
“Some time.” She didn’t think he needed to know the full details for the time being. “Could you tell me the last time you saw your mother?”
He appeared to wince. “Things have been difficult.” He lifted an ashtray from the floor and held it in his lap. Another draw on his cigarette. “It must have been January last year.”
“So, over eighteen months?”
He pointed a finger at her. “Look, don’t judge me. If you’ve done some digging then you’ll know she wasn’t what you’d call a typical mother.”
“I’m not judging anyone, Mr Whitaker.” She paused a beat before continuing, “Are you referring to her lifestyle?”
“Huh. If you can call it that,” he snorted.
“Is that why you weren’t in regular contact?”
He took a deep drag and blew the smoke out violently. “How would you feel if you discovered your mother wanted to be a bloke? Had done for some time. Christ, it’s weird.”
“And your father, he’s not on the scene?”
“He died eight years ago. They’d been divorced for about ten before that.” He gave an ironic chuckle. “Fuck! What would the old bastard have made of that? He marries a woman who, it turns out, wants to be a man.”
Stainmore said nothing, allowing the man to continue.
“She was serious about it, you know?”
“About what?”
“Having an operation. Constructive … I almost said reconstructive, surgery. But how can you reconstruct something that was never there?” He laughed again, stubbing out his cigarette hard in the ashtray before placing it back on the floor. He looked to the ceiling then rubbed his face with both hands. “The last conversation we had, she said she’d got a plan, and soon, she’d have her wish.”
“And that was last January?”
“No. we spoke on the phone about four or five weeks after I saw her.”
“So what did you take her to mean when she said she’d have her wish?”
“I don’t know, the operation maybe? But she’d told me before it would cost at least ten grand.”
Stainmore thought back to the contents of the terraced house in Normanton. Nothing she saw there would lead you to suspect the occupier had a spare ten thousand pounds. From what the solicitor had said, the whole estate wouldn’t amount to much more than the cost of the funeral. “Did you have any indication as to where she might obtain that sort of money?”
Whitaker shook his head. “The house was rented from the council, Dad left three eighths of sod all and I’m not sure if she’d enough saved for a half-decent send off.” He looked directly at Stainmore. “I mean, fifty-eight. You’d expect to make a good few years after that, wouldn’t you?”
“And you never spoke to her again after that last telephone call in … February last year?”
“It would have been March. But no, we’d had words … heated. I left it up to her to contact me.” He laughed nervously. “To be honest, the next time I expected to hear from her … I was thinking some fella might turn up.”
Stainmore was silent for a second. “Did she work? As you said, fifty-eight wasn’t old.”
Whitaker looked away and hesitated to respond.
“Look, I’m not interested if she was earning a few bob on the quiet and claiming benefits. I just want to get a full picture of Denise.”
“As far as I know, she did some part-time cash in hand jobs over the years. The last thing she’d been doing though was a bit of cleaning for some bloke with money. I’ve no idea who or where.”
* * *
Strong was sifting through the resultant reports from the detectives and uniformed officers who had conducted door to door enquiries in the area of the six known distraction burglaries. In all, there were sightings of a suspicious van seen in the vicinity of two of them around the times that the offences were committed. Unfortunately, there was no number plate information, not even partial. Finally, he gathered up the paperwork, rose from his desk and walked into the CID room.
Ormerod and Darby were the only two officers there.
“Luke, John,” Strong began, “you’ve seen these latest reports from near where these distraction cases occurred?”
“I visited Walton and Sandal,” Ormerod said, “Kelly went to Ackworth and John, you visited Hemsworth, didn’t you?”
“That’s right, guv,” Darby confirmed. “Meanwhile, Jim Ryan got hold of the South Yorkshire notes where they had two cases in Barnsley.”
“Have you cross-checked any of them?”
Ormerod and Darby looked at one another before Darby answered. “Well, we’ve all seen all of the reports, if that’s what you mean.”
“Are you talking about the white Transit van, guv?” Ormerod added.
“There is that, although that’s a bit sketchy. No, I mean, does anything strike you as odd?”
Again Ormerod and Darby exchanged puzzled glances.
“Have a look at this.” Strong sat down at a nearby desk and began to spread out the sheets of paper he’d brought with him.
The other two detectives gathered round.
“Take the first known case, Florrie Harvey in Hemsworth.” Strong pointed to one sheet. “She lives in a community of old people’s bungalows.”
“That’s right,” Darby agreed.
“Similar for old Frank Parsons in Ackworth.” Another sheet indicated. “The two in Barnsley, similar.”
“That’s not the case for Mrs Williamson in Walton or Winnie in Sandal, though,” Ormerod commented.
“But there are a lot of elderly people living round and about both of them though, isn’t there?” Strong persisted. “I mean some of those would have been spoken to in this round of door to door?”
“Go on, then, guv,” Ormerod encouraged, “you’re obviously on to something. What’s there that we haven’t seen?”
“That’s exactly it, Luke. It’s what isn’t there that’s interesting.” Strong leaned back in the chair. “If ‘Little and Large’ were speculative, areas where a large elderly population lives are where you’d expect this to occur.”
“And it has,” Darby uttered.
“Yes, John, but, if that was the case, I would expect to see other reports of attempted distractions …”
“I get it,” Ormerod said. “You think each of these victims was targeted in some way?”
“Right,” Strong agreed. “That being the case, there must be some connection between the victims. Did Kelly mention last week, we should look into that?”
Darby shook his head and Ormerod answered, “No, guv.”
Strong sighed. “Okay, let’s look at all the victims again. Get as much detailed background from them as possible and see if we can’t come up with something.”
* * *
Belinda stared at the film tube standing upright on the desk at the nurse’s station. What secrets were hidden in there? Did she want to know? Of course she did; she had to. She’d done not much else but mull those thoughts over in her mind since she came on shift
“Penny for them, Belinda?”
She looked up to see Helen, the ward HCA – Health Care Assistant, smiling at her.
“Sorry, I was just wondering what gems were on here.” She picked up the film and turned it around in her hand then put it back down.
“Only one way to find out.” Helen leant over the desk, took the film and examined it. “Can’t you remember what you took?”
“Just found it in the back of a cupboard. Must have forgotten about it.”
Helen handed the film back to her. “But what’s really puzzling you, Belinda? You’ve been distracted for a while now, not just today.”
“Oh, nothing really. Worrying about Anthony and his exams, I suppose. You know he’s got himself a little part-time job for the summer?”
“I didn’t, no. Where’s that?”
“Waterstones in Wakefield, so it’s handy for him to walk to. He started today.”
“Good for him.”
“An
d then there’s Grace in Southampton. She seems to be enjoying her job after she graduated from there last year.”
“Do you think she’ll ever come back north?”
“Who knows.”
Helen raised her eyebrows. “But nothing else worrying you?”
Not only was she a good HCA, she was also perceptive. Belinda decided to move the conversation on and picked up the film once more. “You’re quite right. There’s a place in Wakefield I know. I’ll take it in there tomorrow before I come in.”
Further probing by Helen was cut short by the ward phone ringing, giving Belinda the opportunity to avoid the issue. “Orthopaedic Ward,” she announced.
13
Wednesday 25th July 2001
“They’ve firmed up the dates when they want me in New York and some other details,” Alison said.
“So shall I come up to yours after work?” Souter responded.
“I thought I could come to you for a change.” Alison lowered her voice. “I thought you could take me to that new Italian place on Westgate to celebrate.”
“Okay … so you’ll be staying over.”
“See you later.” She giggled and was gone.
Souter was left with a broad smile on his face, only to be interrupted by Susan approaching his workstation.
“What’s the latest news on the Lofthouse project, Bob?” she asked.
He wasn’t quick enough changing expressions. “Not sure.”
It was her turn to grin. “What are you looking so pleased with yourself about?”
“Nothing to concern you, young lady. Anyway, Janey has her finger on the pulse of Lofthouse.”
“It seems to have gone quiet, according to her. I was just wondering if you’d managed to dig up anything on Faulkner or Pitchforth?”
“Not had much of a chance. I’ve been tied up with other things.”
“So what if I could find out some confidential information for you?”
Souter looked puzzled. “What are you on about?”
She pulled up a chair and sat down next to him. “I’ve just been chatting with Billy Wilkinson earlier.” Billy Wilkinson, Post photographer and font of all knowledge on all things technological.
Souter gave her his full attention. “Oh, yes.”
“He was explaining to me how … people might be able to …” she hesitated, “listen in to mobile phone messages.”
Souter shook his head. “I know he’s a gadget geek, but that can’t be legal.”
Susan raised her eyebrows. “No idea, but who would know?”
“Christ’s sakes, that’s not the point.” Souter stood up and looked round the newsroom to check no one could overhear the conversation.
“Come on, we need something to give us an advantage. Billy’s explained how to do it. It’s relatively easy. All we need is their mobile phone numbers, and you remember, I’m quite good at that, and hope they’ve not altered the pre-set code to access their messages remotely.”
“It’s not right, Susan. I’m not condoning this.”
“And then Sammy could hack into their emails. She told me she could do that.”
“Sammy? You’ve told her about this too?” Souter shook his head and gave an exasperated gesture. “I told you to keep all this to yourself. Now I find you’ve discussed it with Sammy. Billy knows about it and God knows who else.”
“No, Billy doesn’t know. We were just having a conversation about modern technology when it came up. And I thought, this might be just what we need.”
“Like a bloody court case, you mean. That’s where all this eavesdropping will end up.”
“Okay,” Susan said. “Have you got a better plan of finding out what these characters are up to?” She stood up and stormed off, passing Janey who had just come in.
“Aw,” Janey said, “you haven’t upset your little prodigy, have you?”
“Piss off,” Souter retorted and returned to his computer screen.
* * *
Strong had handed another report into Flynn’s office. The man himself was out. That was one thing he wouldn’t miss about being a DCI. Loads of paperwork. The job was becoming wrapped up in it. Striding down the corridor to his office, he became aware of hilarity coming from the CID room. He approached the door and paused.
“That looks bloody painful,” Darby could be heard saying.
“But have you seen her?” Ryan asked. “She looks as if she’s really enjoying it.”
Strong silently peered in to see Darby, Ryan, Newell and Kirkland grouped around a desk, picking up various photographs, turning them one way then the other and putting them back down again.
“Is that a bloke in stockings and suspenders?” Kirkland wondered.
“Either that or a butch bird,” Darby said.
“He’s a big lad,” Newell remarked.
Darby took the picture from him. “What are you on about, Trevor? He’s not even average.”
Guffaws of laughter followed Kirkland’s quip of, “Right. You’d need both hands to find yours.”
Strong had quietly approached the group. “Gentlemen,” he interrupted, startling the detectives. “Something I should know about?”
Newell and Kirkland drifted away to their respective desks as Ryan and Darby became serious.
It was Darby who spoke. “Just had the manager in from Magic Snaps, guv. He was a bit concerned about the contents of a roll of film a customer brought in to be developed the other day. We were just er … checking it out.” A smirk appeared on his face.
Strong looked down on the desk. “Oh yes,” he said, picking up one of the pictures. “So now you’ve all had the opportunity to review the evidence, what do you feel?” he asked the whole group. “Is there evidence of criminal behaviour?”
“What he’s doing to him is definitely criminal,” Darby said, with a broad grin.
Strong shot him a disapproving glance then concentrated on the twenty or so colour prints that were on the desk. He singled one out and studied it for a few seconds. “This character here,” he said, “the one that appears to be shackled to a frame. He doesn’t seem too happy about his situation. And look at this,” another photo selected, “his backside looks in a bit of a state. Or is it she?” He looked at Darby. “Who took the film in to Magic Snaps?”
Darby consulted a notebook. “A woman, guv. Belinda Chamberlain. No address, just a telephone number.”
“Give it a ring and see what you can find out. Be tactful and discreet. Don’t arouse any suspicion.”
At that moment, Ormerod and Stainmore came into the room. Ormerod, at least, looked excited.
“We think we’ve got it, guv,” Ormerod said.
“Good for you, whatever it is.” Strong sat down at a spare desk. “Grab a pew and tell me all about it.”
“We think we’ve found a link,” Ormerod began.
Ormerod and Stainmore sat in two chairs opposite Strong. Stainmore looked disinterested, he thought. “Everything okay, Kelly,” he asked, for what seemed to be the umpteenth time in recent weeks.
“I’m fine, guv,” she responded. “Just want to get these bastards.”
Ormerod took up the conversation. “Kelly, John and myself,” He gestured towards Darby who, by now was on the phone. “have been back to speak to all the distraction victims.” He flipped open a notebook. “Florrie Harvey had a knee replacement a few years back and regularly attends Pinderfields for outpatient appointments.” He paused to look to his boss before continuing, “Hannah Williamson was rushed into A & E a week before she was robbed. Suspected heart attack, but it turned out to be just a panic attack. Pinderfields again. Winnie Haywood is also a regular attender at Pinderfields outpatients. And ten days before Frank was targeted, he’d been taken into Pinderfields A & E after a fall at home. Fortunately, he suffered nothing major, just a few cuts and bruises.”
“So, the hospital is a common factor,” Strong pondered. “Not unusual for people of that age. Not all the same departments either.”
/> “No,” Ormerod agreed, “But it’s something.”
“You’re right, Luke. So I’m assuming you’re off down there next?”
Ormerod looked to Stainmore who had said nothing so far. “We were thinking, who they could have met whilst they were there?” she said. “Nurses, doctors, porters, ambulance staff, although not for the outpatient women, but they could all have had the same ambulance car driver home. And he, or she, would certainly know where they lived.”
“See if you can get as much info about the times of their visits,” Strong said. “It’ll mean speaking to various members of staff, including admin. If you come across any awkward sods that claim patient confidentiality or some other old bollocks, let me know.”
Strong stood to leave when Darby called across. “Belinda Chamberlain, guv,” he said, “must work on the Orthopaedic Ward at Leeds General. That’s the answer I got. Not on duty till this afternoon.”
“Okay.” He thought for a moment. “Kelly, we might take a trip into Leeds later, so let Luke head down to Pinderfields now. It might be useful to have a female presence when I speak to this, Belinda Chamberlain.”
* * *
In the Horse and Trumpet pub on The Headrow in Leeds at lunch time, Souter, Susan and Sammy sat around a table with a drink in front of each of them. Sammy had called Susan that morning and suggested she bring Bob to have a chat. They’d eaten the burgers that Souter had bought and were discussing what to do about Susan’s idea.
“This is crazy,” Souter said. “I can’t believe I’m even considering it. You can’t just listen in to private messages.”
“Look, it might not work,” Susan suggested. “There might be no messages left on any of their phones. But I can’t see how anyone would find out.”
“Famous last words.”
“Oh come on, Bob,” Sammy joined in. “How else do you suppose we can get inside this story?”
“The pair of you are ganging up on me. If ever this gets out, I had nothing to do with it.”
Sammy smiled. “We’ll take that as a yes, then.”
“No time like the present.” Susan stood up.
“Where are you going?”
Susan raised her eyebrows. “The ladies, where else?”
