Blackwater (DI Nick Lowry)

by James, Henry

  ‘Hang on, sir, this is about WPC Gabriel, yes? But it was only yesterday you asked me to take her to a Masonic bash!’

  ‘Correct, son, but if the girl – woman – in question happens to be the troubled niece of the ACC, it’s probably best to adopt a hands-off policy, don’t you think?’

  ‘Yes, sir,’ Kenton acquiesced.

  ‘Good lad. We’ll say no more about it then; consider yourself reprimanded and leave the girl alone and save your magic potion for the ring.’ He reached for his comic book. Deflated, Kenton made to go. ‘Oh, and good work on the West Mersea post-office job. Lowry tells me the gun implicates Stone, the fella found at Greenstead, as one of the robbers. Good work, son. If you hadn’t cross-examined the Dodger’s paperwork, we wouldn’t have him. I shall personally be visiting Sergeant Bradley later today and advising him to get his house in order.’

  *

  ‘How was that? Promotion in the air?’ Lowry asked jocularly.

  Kenton sat down opposite like a punctured balloon, his luxurious wavy hair, usually carefully swept back, now fell unheeded across his eyes.

  ‘Dan, you okay?’

  ‘How could she? How could she?’ he muttered, staring into nothing.

  ‘The chief?’

  ‘No, no, no.’ Kenton felt himself pulse red with humiliation.

  ‘Hey, what’s up?’ Lowry leaned forward in concern.

  Kenton couldn’t face his boss like this; he didn’t want him thinking him weak. Maybe he’d been foolish. Or naïve. Either way, he shook his head involuntarily – as if that would shake the last half-hour away.

  ‘Nothing’s up. Everything is fine.’ He managed to compose himself – mind over matter.

  His phone began to ring, the shrill tone a violent intrusion on his thoughts. ‘Doesn’t matter,’ he said, taking a deep breath and picking up the receiver. ‘CID. Detective Constable Kenton speaking.’

  ‘That number you gave us.’ It was a British Telecom engineer – Lowry had asked him to try to trace the number Cowley had found in Boyd’s wallet. They’d tried to call it and got an ‘unobtainable’ signal, but as some of the final digits were smudged, it was difficult to read. But the area code was unfamiliar to them all.

  ‘Yes,’ he said, collecting himself.

  ‘It’s not a known BT number.’

  ‘But there might be a digit or two missing – it was smudged?’

  ‘I have tried every permutation – didn’t take long – adding one, even two numbers to the string you gave.’

  ‘So it’s not a telephone number?’

  ‘I couldn’t say that for certain. It could be a defunct, unlisted number. An old line, out of use.’

  ‘What does that mean?’

  ‘Unlisted means we – I mean here, or maybe at Dollis Hill – have no record of where or whose it might be. An extra digit would give the quantity of numbers for an unlisted line, but as I say, I’ve tried every combination. That’s not to say it’s been cut off – numbers can be issued then cut off—’

  ‘Who would have an unlisted number?’

  ‘The government?’

  ‘How about the military? Could it be an army line?’

  ‘Yes, that’s entirely plausible.’

  Lowry, on the phone now himself, pointed upstairs. Sparks beckoned again.

  *

  ‘I’m telling you, this man is not our murderer,’ Lowry said.

  It was mid-morning, but to Sparks it felt like the end of the day.

  ‘He’s just a half-crazy kid involved in something way over his head. His psychiatric report makes no mention of violence. He’s just a bit disturbed.’

  ‘Disturbed? I’m beginning to grow disturbed myself. He’s sitting in our cells practically with blood on his hands – if we don’t arrest him, there has got to be an extraordinarily good reason for it.’ The chief was conscious of raising his voice.

  ‘He’s mentioned Jamie Philpott. Philpott was at Beaumont Terrace.’

  Kenton’s head turned. ‘As did Tony Pond – asked him if he wanted in on a drugs deal.’

  ‘Have we pulled Jamie in?’ Sparks asked. ‘What does he have to say for himself?’

  ‘He did a bunk from the hospital Saturday night and has not been seen since,’ Lowry said.

  ‘I heard that Jamie Philpott has never been arrested,’ Kenton said disingenuously.

  ‘He’s been known to peddle dope to students, but he’s never been nicked.’ Lowry glanced at Sparks. Corruption wasn’t widespread in Colchester, but there were, it was acknowledged, a number of men roaming the streets who should perhaps be behind bars. Philpott was one such character. It wasn’t so much that the line between police grass and small-time hood was blurred – it was more that there was no line: to be of any value as the former, one had to be a player or dabbler in the criminal fraternity.

  ‘I hear you,’ Sparks retorted, ‘but I can’t see a minnow like Jamie Philpott being behind all this mess. Murder and smuggling this sort of thing? Different league altogether.’

  ‘But turning over a post office with Stone to get some cash to buy into a deal is credible, to my mind,’ Lowry suggested.

  ‘Yes . . .’ Sparks let the word linger. ‘And that spat between Philpott and the squaddie surely had something to do with the Castle Park incident?’

  ‘Maybe there’s a connection between the two,’ Lowry said, glancing at Kenton.

  ‘What?’ Sparks said with dismay. ‘Between a soldier’s “accidental” death in Castle Park and a drugs murder in Greenstead? How do you arrive at that?’

  ‘Jones and Daley were looking for Boyd the night the accident happened,’ Kenton announced.

  ‘Whoa, there!’ Sparks exclaimed. ‘What you’re saying is fucking serious. Soldiers trying to buy drugs?’

  ‘We’ve got multiple bodies,’ remarked Lowry. ‘It’s already serious.’

  Sparks held up his hand. ‘All right, all right. Get round to Philpott’s gaff, pull the little shit in.’

  ‘He’s gone to ground – we’ve had his place in the Stanway under surveillance for forty-eight hours.’

  The chief absorbed this information. ‘So, doing a bunk from hospital wasn’t down to a dislike of hospital food. If he’s in something this deep, no wonder he’s disappeared . . . But he’s a show-off, a smart-arse.’ Sparks lit another cigarette. He’d known Jamie for years – indeed, it was he who had overlooked his and Pond’s dope dealing until County had insisted on a clampdown a few years back, when Philpott was told quietly to ‘stop’. ‘He’ll show. Impossible to keep a lid on that cocky bravado. The only reason he’ll have gone to ground is because of the pasting that gorilla gave him in the town centre. Even men like him have pride. Try his mum’s place in Tiptree.’

  The two detectives nodded but made no sign of leaving. ‘Is there more?’ asked Sparks.

  ‘Cowley had Boyd’s wallet on him,’ said Kenton. ‘It contained a phone number that—’

  ‘Hold on a damn second!’ Sparks stopped pacing, cigarette smoke continuing to swirl ahead of him. ‘You’re saying he had one of the dead men’s wallets, and you still think he didn’t kill him?’ He was incredulous.

  ‘He picked the wallet up at the curry house on East Hill. The owner said Boyd paid and left it behind while the other was in the lav. Cowley tried to ring the number in it from a phone box.’

  Sparks shook his head in dismay. ‘What do the telecom engineers have to say? Do they know whose number it is? Can they trace it?’

  ‘Yes and no,’ Kenton interjected. ‘It’s not a recognizable number – even allowing for a missing digit or two, but—’

  ‘This is beyond fucking belief. We have a looney calling someone he doesn’t know on a non-existent number.’ He rubbed his creased forehead. He was up for a challenge, but this took the biscuit.

  ‘The engineer said, if a digit was added, it might turn out to be an old discontinued government or military phone number. Stands to reason, given . . .’ Kenton paused mid-sentence.


  Sparks followed the young DC’s eyeline. Gabriel was at the door. Sparks waved her away dismissively. He continued to tread the centuries-old floorboards, which occasionally sighed under his weight. ‘“Might turn out to be”? Can you hear yourself? You’re saying add a couple of numbers to a string of digits and you might have a number that’s discontinued?! Which possibly could be used by the military? Jesus. Forget it, for Christ’s sake. Cowley doesn’t have the sense he was born with, you say so yourself. It could be a bank account number for all we know.’

  ‘It’s incomplete. But it’s worth knowing—’

  ‘If it’s incomplete, it’s useless.’ Sparks was not prepared to countenance some flimsy army connection so swiftly after the Castle Park incident. ‘Lowry, does the simpleton know anything of any use? Where is he, anyway?’

  ‘He’s on the first floor, in interview room one,’ Lowry said. ‘He knows a little, but not much, and he’s terrified of being locked up again. I left him with Gabriel. She was there when he was pulled out of the water yesterday and I think he’s taken a shine to her.’

  ‘Hmm, he’s not the only one,’ Sparks said, noting Kenton staring forlornly at the door. ‘Anyway, let’s keep things in perspective: we’re not investigating the army, are we? Remember, we’re going to get hold of Philpott, and I haven’t seen him on the fucking parade ground of late, have you?’

  A uniform entered the room unbidden.

  ‘What is it?’ Sparks barked.

  ‘Assistant Chief Constable Merrydown is on the phone.’

  -45-

  11.30 a.m., Wednesday, incident room, Queen Street HQ

  Kenton couldn’t help but smile to himself as Sparks left the room like thunder, trailing expletives. The young DC, too proud to let on, was still smarting from the lecture he’d received earlier and was delighted to see the chief hauled away like that. Lowry, meanwhile, was contemplating the OS map pinned to the noticeboard.

  ‘I’m sure there’s a military angle,’ he said. ‘All this land here is used by the army for firing ranges. I’d not thought of it until last night.’

  ‘Why didn’t you mention it just now?’

  ‘While he’s pacing the room like a caged lion?’ Lowry rolled his eyes, and Kenton laughed. ‘Listen, Cowley was here, at Fingringhoe, and just over here are the marshes.’

  ‘What’s our next play?’

  Lowry squinted, jettisoning smoke at the ceiling. He certainly seemed more relaxed when he was smoking. ‘I need to get to Tiptree. Philpott has been gone too long.’

  ‘Shall I come with you?’

  ‘No. You track down Ted Nugent on Mersea – he’s the other piece of the jigsaw – but try not to frighten him, and remember to dodge the Dodger. And what was all that stuff about earlier, anyway? You seemed upset. Want to talk about it?’

  Kenton shook his head. ‘Nope. All fine. Do you think there really is a connection between the Castle Park incident and the Greenstead murders?’

  ‘Could be.’ Lowry ran his hand through Brylcreemed hair and adjusted his slender tie. ‘Who knows?’ He picked up his donkey jacket to leave. ‘You sure you’re all right?’ He clasped Kenton on the shoulder in a conciliatory way.

  Although his boss was quiet and often distracted, Kenton thought he felt others’ troubles keenly.

  ‘Yes; storm in a teacup. No big deal.’

  ‘Okay. Meet you back here at two.’

  Kenton slouched out of the incident room. His face said it all. Lowry reflected how young, fresh faces are less able hide their emotions, which always lie just below the surface, without any sagging, lined skin to obscure them. Gabriel entered the room silently. It didn’t take a genius to work out that whatever was wrong with Kenton involved her, but Lowry wasn’t going to pry.

  ‘Right!’ He rubbed his hands together. ‘Let’s motor.’ He tossed her the keys, catching her eye briefly as they left the cold room. Her clear blue eyes betrayed nothing. Life still had to make its mark on her, he thought, and sighed inwardly. He didn’t consider himself one of the world’s natural philosophers, but as they left the building, he found himself musing on the way every upset will add a line here and a crease there until one gradually builds up a mask of resistance, until, in the end, no one can ever tell.

  Midday, Tiptree village, nine miles west of Colchester

  They’d followed Maldon Road through the softly undulating white countryside. Neither had spoken. The wind sprayed snow lightly across the road. As she fumbled for the wipers, the police airwaves crackled intermittently: a granny arguing with Woolworths staff over stealing a ballpoint; truanting school kids vandalizing a phone box; a dog off the lead terrorizing a pregnant mother in Castle Park: that was Gabriel’s world – the general public and its daily grind.

  ‘Turn here,’ Lowry, said, the first words he’d spoken since they’d left Queen Street. ‘What did you make of Felix Cowley?’

  They were now cruising slowly through the village centre. The Tiptree police had confirmed with Philpott’s mother that he was in the village; the old woman seemed relieved to hear from them, and had said quietly he would nip to the bookie’s at noon.

  ‘He’s very confused.’

  ‘He’s not the only one.’

  ‘I didn’t get anywhere, I’m afraid. He needed his medicine.’

  ‘What sort of medicine is it?’

  ‘Lithium: some kind of mood stabilizer. I had the doctor see him. He’ll be transferred to Severalls later today.’

  ‘Good.’

  ‘He asked for pencils, too. Drawing calms him down.’

  ‘Well done.’

  ‘What for?’

  ‘You said you’d not got anywhere – but you found out he likes to draw. That wasn’t in his file.’ Suddenly, Lowry jerked forward. ‘There he is, coming out of the newsagent’s with the terrier. Pull over.’

  Gabriel did as instructed, and parked in front of a café. She found the inspector’s Saab heavy and uncomfortable to drive. She didn’t get the thrill she’d expected from the pursuit of hardened villains – if that’s the kind they were now after. She hastily grappled with the seat belt; Lowry, not wearing one, was out already.

  ‘He’s oblivious to all the world,’ Lowry said over the roof of the Saab. The suspect was walking towards them, the dog in a little coat trotting next to him.

  ‘But I’m in uniform?’

  ‘So? If he’s going to run, he’ll run.’

  Gabriel was bemused, but then there was a lot she didn’t understand at the moment. Take this morning, for instance: Chief Superintendent Sparks had made an incredibly patronizing speech – it was his way, of course – lined with platitudes concerning a woman’s place in the police force. And then there was Detective Constable’s Kenton’s inexplicable hostility.

  ‘He hasn’t seen us. Look at that shiner – Sparks was right,’ Lowry remarked as the suspect, a man in his early forties with short brown hair and large sideburns, chatted to an old man with a walking stick.

  ‘Right about what?’

  ‘Licking his wounds at his mum’s place – a self-respecting villain wouldn’t want to be seen sporting a black eye like that on his own patch; he’ll be sensitive about his reputation.’

  It sounded like machismo nonsense, so she had no further comment. Philpott and his dog stopped before them at a pelican crossing and strolled across towards a park still white with yesterday’s snow. Although she would’ve loved to be somewhere else, Gabriel decided to act positive and said brightly, ‘Tiptree: I’ve never been here before – it seems a quaint village.’

  Lowry snorted. ‘Gypsies and jam is all you’ll find here. Oi! Jamie!’

  Gabriel jumped at his sudden bellow. The man, who was wearing a green bomber jacket, stopped in his tracks just inside the park and turned round. His face registered an agitated ‘What now?’ look. The terrier, sensing his master’s displeasure, started yapping angrily.

  ‘I hate dogs, don’t you?’ Lowry asked.

  ‘My mother has a poodle . .
.’ But he hadn’t waited for a response and was crunching ahead across the white ground. Gabriel followed, catching up with Lowry as he entered the park and strode towards Philpott. A group of young boys stopped passing a football and regarded them with curiosity.

  ‘Jamie, old son, what a sorry state you are.’ Lowry tutted. Philpott was about the same height as Lowry but of slighter build: course and sinewy, she imagined, under the football scarf and bomber jacket. ‘Whatever happened?’

  ‘Fucking squaddie took a swing at me, as if you didn’t know,’ grumbled Philpott. The dog continued to yap.

  ‘Can you quieten your dog, please?’ Gabriel asked, feeling the early twinges of a migraine.

  Philpott took her in for the first time. ‘Bleedin’ hell, where’d you come from? An improvement on the usual trunks Lowry gets landed with. Shut it, Jasper.’

  ‘Why didn’t you leave a note of your whereabouts when checking out of the hospital?’ Lowry asked.

  ‘Why should I?’

  ‘We had questions pertaining to your assault,’ Gabriel chipped in bluntly.

  ‘Why question me? It should be that meathead you hassle. I’m the one who got lumped.’

  ‘We need a witness statement,’ she replied. Lowry stood by, quietly regarding the dog.

  Philpott sniffed, unpleasantly drawing up phlegm. ‘All right, what do you want to know?’

  ‘Did you know your attacker?’

  ‘By sight. Big fella.’

  ‘Why did he hit you?’

  ‘How the fuck should I know?’

  ‘He says you spilt his drink,’ she said. Philpott snorted in derision.

  The man was repellent.

  ‘Let’s go inside for a chat,’ Lowry said quietly.

  ‘Inside where?’ His eyes darted this way and that, unable to focus on either DI Lowry or WPC Gabriel.

  ‘The car. It’s chilly out here,’ Lowry said. ‘Besides, do you really want to be seen fraternizing with us?’

  Philpott regarded the boys with the football, who had yet to resume playing. Gabriel now understood why he was looking at her so disdainfully. Lowry was in plain clothes, so it was she who was drawing attention to him – her and the foul little dog.