by David Evans
“How are things then, Jezza,” Souter began. “Got promotion since I saw you last year I hear.”
“Thanks,” he said and sipped his pint. “The old head retired at the end of last year. I applied, didn’t think I’d get it but …” Bullen grew serious. “Anyway, I was just thinking about our last meet the other day.”
“Oh yes.” Souter raised his glass, more to avoid eye contact with the man than anything else. “Sorry,” he said, glancing to the bar, “Did you want any crisps?”
Bullen shook his head, eyes on the table, “It took me a while to think where I’d seen her before,” he said then looked straight at Souter. “When you came to see me last, you were with that young street walker. What was her name now?”
“Oh, you mean the girl whose friend had gone missing?”
“That’s her, yes. I quite liked her really. And I was really sorry to hear how it turned out with her friend.” Another gulp of lager. “But d’you know what brought her back to mind?”
Souter shrugged. “Dunno. You saw that piece in the Post I did last week about …” He stopped.
Bullen was smiling and shaking his head. He slowly pulled out an envelope from the inside pocket of his jacket and passed it to Souter.
Souter tried his best bewildered look but he suspected what was coming. He took the envelope and pulled out the photographs from inside. They were stills taken from CCTV cameras, obviously inside the Town Hall.
He studied them for a second or two. They were good quality. The first was a front view of Sammy walking down a corridor. The second was even better. Bullen had obviously zoomed in on her face and shoulders. Her long blond hair looked far healthier than the straggly, lifeless mane she sported a year ago but there was no mistaking it was Sammy. “You think this might be her?” he asked.
“I’ve nothing to compare it with … unless I saw her again.” Bullen looked round to the bar. A couple in their thirties, office types, had come in and were being served.
“But what’s so interesting about this?” Souter asked. “A young woman who looks a bit like someone you might have met once before walking down a corridor?”
Bullen smiled. “You know, don’t you, Bob?”
“You’ve lost me now, Jezza.” Souter replaced the photos in the envelope.
“Look, can we be honest with one another?” Bullen leaned in closer. “Bernard Faulkner, Leader of the Council …”
“Go on.”
“Prize arsehole and bent as one too …” Souter remained silent, allowing Bullen to continue, “Someone talked their way into his office last week when he was on holiday. We suspect they looked through his computer files, at the very least.”
“And what would they have found, do you think?”
“A man like that … he has secrets he’d rather keep secret.”
“And you think this girl was involved?”
“Matches the description given by Faulkner’s dozy secretary.”
“Have you shown her these images to confirm?”
“Not yet. I thought I’d do a bit of investigating on my own first. You’re the obvious first port of call.”
“Me?” Souter was thoughtful but he could see Bullen was weighing him up too.
Eventually, the man opened up. “Look, Bob,” he said, “nobody really likes the pompous sod, and if someone’s got something on him …” He glanced around the room again before his voice went very quiet. “There’s rumours about lining his own pockets, doing favours for ‘appreciative’ friends. And with this big Lofthouse scheme breaking …”
“Are you saying you might welcome his downfall?”
“A lot of honest people might.”
“If, and let’s just talk hypothetically here, if this woman was ‘assisting’ that possibility, how would you propose to deal with these?” he tapped the envelope with a finger.
Bullen shrugged. “There might have been a fault on some of those cameras; the focus might have been faulty. We have problems with the CCTV system from time to time.”
Souter considered for a few seconds, studying his old team mate. “Okay,” he said, “this is the situation …” For the next few minutes, Souter explained the background to the incident. “But I didn’t know they were doing this. Not until they brought the files to me,” he concluded.
“So you have something on him?”
“Nothing solid as yet, just circumstantial.”
Bullen studied the beer mat, turning it one way then the other before he finally responded. “Look, this is difficult for me. I’m paid to ensure there are no breaches in security. But … if this big greedy bastard is turning us all over, everyone who pays council tax, then in my book, that’s a breach of security too.”
Souter nodded. “Not quite in the league of T Dan Smith and John Poulson … or not yet, as far as I know.” He could see the puzzled look on Bullen’s face. “Back in the sixties, up in Newcastle, Smith was the council leader and involved in redevelopment schemes with Poulson an architect, born in Pontefract interestingly. Anyway, huge political scandal when it all came out, Smith and Poulson done for fraud in the early seventies.”
“That vaguely rings a bell. Christ, you think we might have something like that here?”
“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves, Jezza. All we have are a few rumours.” He paused a second. “But listen, about the girl …”
“What girl?” Bullen replied. “We couldn’t get any useful images off the CCTV.”
“Another?” Souter reached for Bullen’s empty glass.
“No thanks, Bob. Got to go. Said I’d take the little one out for a kick about in the park.”
Souter smiled. “I’ve got to get off myself.”
“The big man stood to leave. “But listen,” he said, “it’d be good to maintain contact on this.”
“Sure.”
34
Thursday 16th August 2001
“Only three more days to our holiday, Suz,” Sammy said. “Are you getting excited yet?”
“I’m beginning to,” Susan grinned. “It’s actually two more sleeps. You know like when you’re a kid and you’re counting down to Christmas?”
Susan had finished work and met up with Sammy in Leeds for a breeze around the shops. They were doing some final shopping for clothes, sun creams and anything else they felt they would need for their week long break to Majorca. They’d been all round Albion Street, The Headrow and the Merrion Centre and had got almost everything they’d set out for.
“I think we need a drink to put us in the holiday mood,” Sammy suggested as they walked along the street with their purchases.
“What about that place the other side of the hospital where we’ve sometimes been? They sell San Miguel on draft,” Susan said.
Before they realised, they were walking past the hospital itself. “Seems like a lifetime ago since I was in there, Sammy.”
“Over a year now.” Sammy hesitated and bent down to look across to a car parked in the staff car park.
“What’s up?” Susan asked.
Sammy pointed. “Isn’t that Belinda’s car? Looks like her in the driver’s seat, just sitting there.”
Curiosity aroused, they strolled over. Sure enough, the woman was sitting motionless with her head in her hands. Susan gently tapped on the window. Startled, Belinda looked out. Mascara had run a little way down her tear-stained cheeks.
Susan looked to Sammy who ran round the front of the car and opened the passenger door and got in. Susan got in the rear and sat behind Belinda.
“Belinda? What’s happened?” Sammy asked.
The nurse reached down into the floorpan, opened her handbag and pulled out some tissues.
“Who’s upset you?” Susan gently rubbed the woman’s shoulder from behind.
Belinda wiped her face and blew her nose. “Oh, ignore me, I’m fine.” She looked to Sammy. “I should be happy. Anthony got his AS Level results this morning; four A’s and a B; better than he expected.”
“W
ell that’s good news,” Sammy replied. “I never even passed my cycling proficiency test.”
“Susan chuckled. “You did. Don’t put yourself down.”
Sammy looked serious again. “But you’re not fine. So come on … spill.”
That brought a semblance of a smile from Belinda. “I got a letter this morning … from a firm of solicitors. I know them, of course. One of Charlie’s friends.” She turned in her seat to face Sammy and look to Susan who had moved across in the back seat so they could all see each other. “He wants a divorce.”
“Is that really such a surprise?” Susan asked. “Especially after our last conversation the other week.”
“But I’d have thought you could divorce him after finding out about what went on at that other house.”
“It’s just … well you never think it could happen. I suppose deep down I was hoping we could sort it. It’s obvious he’s not been happy with me for a long time.”
“Best off without him though,” Sammy said. “I’ve seen loads like him. Cheating on women like you.” She took Belinda’s hand. “And don’t forget, if it wasn’t for your efforts, bringing up the kids and all, keeping the house in order, not to mention bringing in some money, he wouldn’t have been able to build his career, never mind indulge himself in all that unsavoury stuff.”
Belinda started crying again then leaned towards Sammy and hugged her. “What would I do without you …” She turned and put an arm over Susan’s shoulder. “… Both of you.”
“Right,” Sammy said decisively, “What we need is a drink and formulate a plan of action.”
“But I can’t,” Belinda pleaded. “I’m only on a break. I don’t finish my shift for a while.”
“You’re sick,” Susan said from behind. “I can tell.”
Sammy nodded towards her friend. “You should trust her, she used to be a doctor,” she added.
Belinda looked from Sammy to Susan and back again. Finally, she pulled out her mobile phone and made a call.
35
Flashing blue and red bounced off adjacent buildings, fire appliances and other vehicles in the dim light of dusk. The uniform, recognising Strong, raised the plastic police tape to allow him to drive into the restricted area. Leeds Road was closed in both directions and diversions were in place around back streets. A small knot of onlookers had gathered at either end of the cordon.
The stench of destruction invaded Strong’s nostrils when he stepped from his car. Station Officer Gavin Blake broke off from giving instructions to one of his firefighters to come over to him. “Colin,” he greeted, taking off his glove and offering a hand. “Bit unusual this one … but, there again, nothing surprises me any more.”
“Good to see you again, Gavin.” Strong shook his hand. The two had worked together on a number of suspicious fire investigations over the years.
“We’re clear of here. Once we discovered it, we called you boys. The fire is out and I’m assured the building is structurally sound.”
“Let me get kitted up and you can show me what you’ve found.”
A few minutes later, suited and booted in full forensic gear, Strong followed the fire officer to the smashed-in front door of the terraced house. The room window was shattered, its plastic frame partly melted onto the sill and down the brickwork. Blackened masonry above was evidence of smoke belching from the opening.
Inside, Blake switched on a heavy duty torch. The beam swept around the front room illuminating the scorched ceiling and sooty walls. In the middle of the room, the remains of a three-piece suite had collapsed in on itself. Between the settee and the fireplace was the spot identified as the seat of the fire.
Blake focussed the torch light on what appeared to be a pile of rags with a wire leading from it. “The remains of an iron, still plugged in,” he said. “Sitting on a pile of clothing. That’s where it started.”
“Deliberate?” Strong asked.
“I’ll let you be the judge of that. Scenes of Crime should be here any minute. I’m sure they’ll be able to give you the full story. But, combined with what’s up here …” he indicated the steep staircase rising up between the front room and the blackened kitchen.
Carefully, they ascended and, at the top, Blake stood aside at an open doorway and handed the torch to Strong. The room was obviously above the sitting room. He shone the torch into the darkness. The beam picked out a naked male, head hooded, body slumped forward, wrists and ankles shackled to a frame bolted to the far wall. Strong took a couple of steps in to the room. “Shit,” he said quietly.
“I know what you mean,” Blake agreed.
“No, it’s just this looks familiar, Gavin.”
“You’ve seen this before?”
“No, I don’t mean the death … it’s just …” Strong left the rest unsaid. Leaning forward, he could finally see the smoke blackened holes cut into the hood at the nostrils. Tape covered the mouth.
“Scenes of Crime are here, chief,” a voice from below announced. “We’ll help them set up some lights next.”
“Thanks, Tom,” Blake shouted down.
Strong turned to leave but paused at the doorway. He glanced down at the lock. “This key was in here, on the outside?” he asked.
“And locked,” Blake confirmed.
“Well this is suspicious at the very least,” he said. “Let’s clear out of SOCO’s way.”
Outside once more, Strong pulled his face mask clear and greeted Doug Norris, the senior SOCO man he had worked with many times over the years.
“Hope you haven’t contaminated my locus,” Norris said, a broad smile on his face.
Strong held his arms wide. “Look at this, I’m all kitted up. Overshoes as well. You’d be proud.”
“Is it suspicious?”
Strong moved closer and lowered his voice. “Some poor sod naked and shackled to a frame in a locked room when a fire starts on the floor below? I think that counts as suspicious in my book, Doug,” he said, grimly. “I’ll be interested in what you find.”
“It’s going to be a long night, then.” Norris turned and made his way inside.
A familiar figure approached. “Guv,” Stainmore said.
Behind, DCI Hemingford followed. “Something to interest us, Colin?” he asked.
Strong repeated the information he’d just given Norris.
“Any idea whose property it is?”
“Luke’s checking with the council, although it’s a bit difficult out of hours. But apparently you can view the Electoral Register online these days. Meanwhile, nothing like old-fashioned police work. We need to knock on a few doors.”
“I’ll instruct uniform to make a start,” Hemingford responded.
“In the meantime, Kelly, are you busy with anything?”
She looked to the DCI who turned and strode away. “Not really, guv. Why?”
Strong watched Hemingford approach a uniform before continuing. “I’d like you to come with me on this next visit. I’m sure we’ve seen that location upstairs before.”
36
On the short drive towards the address that he remembered, Strong described how the sight he’d just seen in the house resembled closely the scenes in the photographs brought in for developing by Belinda Chamberlain.
“You think it’s Charles Chamberlain, guv?” Stainmore asked, a surprised look on her face.
“Firstly, I’d like to confirm the address of this property where she found the roll of film. And secondly, I’d like to see if Mr Chamberlain is at home. After all, it may be some other poor sod who thought he was going to have some fun.”
They parked up in St John’s Square and got out. Strong looked to the Chamberlain house but there were no lights on. His knocks on the door and ringing of the bell went unanswered.
Back in the car, they sat in silence for a moment, broken when Strong’s phone rang. “Yes, Luke,” he said and listened for a few seconds. “Okay, let me know if you do find anything.” He ended the call. “No one listed on the
Electoral Role for that address,” he said,
Stainmore looked at him for a second then spoke. “So where to now, guv? LGI?”
“Yep,” he responded and started the engine.
Up in the Orthopaedics Ward, Strong and Stainmore approached the nurse’s station. A nurse in her thirties with short dark hair, wearing a dark blue uniform with Sister Logan on a name badge, looked up from some paperwork she was discussing with a colleague. “Can I help you?” she asked. “Visiting time is long gone.”
“I’m looking for Belinda Chamberlain,” Strong said quietly, discreetly showing his warrant card.
“Is there something wrong? I mean, she’s not here. She went off for her break then called me to say she was ill.”
“What time was that?”
“She went off about seven-thirty and called me about half an hour later.”
“She seemed quite upset earlier,” Sister Logan’s colleague added.
“So neither of you have seen her since she went off the ward for her break?” Strong persisted.
The nurses both looked worried. “Is she all right? She’s not in any trouble is she?” Sister Logan asked.
“No. Everything’s fine. We just need to speak with her, that’s all.” Strong thanked them for their time and he and Stainmore returned to their car.
* * *
The house was in darkness when Belinda arrived home. That was a good sign, she thought. At least he wasn’t here. Anthony was staying at Simon’s again. It was good his parents were so understanding. With that thought, she lifted the phone and dialled their number. Simon’s father answered.
“Hi, it’s Belinda Chamberlain here. I just wondered if I could have a quick word with Anthony.”
“Anthony? I’m not sure he’s here,” the man responded. “There again, I’ve not been in long. Let me check.”
Belinda felt the rush of blood as the first doubts began to bounce around her head. He told her this morning he was going to Simon’s and would probably stay over.
