by David Carter
‘Her name was Susan Wheater, not Wheatland. You could at least do her the honour of remembering her name.’
‘Slip of the tongue, Darriteau, slip of the tongue. At least you didn’t get the deathogram duty, telling the hubby the bad news, though maybe I should have sent you on that job. As it turned out, he didn’t seem unduly upset about things. Maybe if you want to spend precious time on seeking her murderer, you should be looking at him!’
‘Suzy said he was in all night cooking her dinner.’
‘Maybe, but that doesn’t mean he was in all night, does it?’
‘There is nothing whatsoever to connect Mr Wheater with his wife’s death.’
‘Maybe, but there is nothing whatsoever to connect the Nesbitts to the murder either.’
‘It’s them, Conlan! We were so close. They were rattled. They did it!’
‘Prove it, Darriteau! And it’s Sergeant Conlan to you, if you don’t mind!’
‘It seems to me that just because you couldn’t put the Nesbitts away, you don’t want anyone else to do it either.’
‘Enough! You’re out of order. You’re talking bollocks! The Nesbitts are off the hook, and will remain so until concrete evidence is found to suggest otherwise.’
And there it stayed for a while. The police hunted everywhere. There was no shortage of man-hours and overtime put in on the case, though in Walter’s experience a lot of it was tokenism and wasted time, as any number of people sat about in cars, counting the hours and extra pay.
Someone came up with the convenient explanation it had been an aged drunk who, not knowing she was a police officer, mugged her. She’d gone into the alley to relieve herself, a suggestion that Walter did not accept, and in the ensuing struggle she was accidentally stabbed.
The fifty-four-year-old drunk went off and bought three bottles of vodka, drank the lot, fell asleep under the railway viaduct, and conveniently never woke up. There was nothing to suggest the evening had played out that way, but in the absence of anything better, it seemed the people who mattered were prepared to accept it. Maybe the truth was, the powers that be were desperate to boost their crimes solved stats, and who was to say different?
The case went cold. People accepted nonsense in an effort to bury it. Walter felt sure if it had been one of the boys on the square murdered, a hell of a lot more would have been done. But it didn’t grow cold in Walter’s mind. He was determined to get to the bottom of it, and worked on it out of hours, though where he could turn next he had little idea. Three weeks slipped by and nothing happened until one late afternoon Mandy Redfearn appeared on the scene.
NOT MANY DETECTIVE inspectors travel to work on the public bus, but Walter was happy to. It gave him ten minutes additional thinking time, fifteen if traffic was bad. He liked to jump the early service, for it was invariably half empty and had more chance of running on time. Walter’s combined brainpower, like everyone else’s, was capable of handling fifty thoughts every minute, or five hundred thoughts in ten minutes, or seven hundred and fifty thoughts if the bus was delayed. He sat back and closed his eyes and thought of Suzy Wheater. There was plenty of thinking time to do that.
He discovered later that Mandy Redfearn got out of work early because she’d stayed late a couple of days before. A debate had raged in her brain all day, and she was still in mental turmoil when she approached the forbidding looking police station. She had never set foot in such a place before, and with all the crazy stories she had heard about people who had gone in there, never to be seen on the streets again, it took courage to walk up those three wide stone steps.
She’d ambled to and fro across the face of the building three times before plucking up the courage to go inside. There was a peculiar smell in there, sweaty clothes, cleaned-up vomit, hastily eaten meat pies, photocopying and musty paperwork, and something else she couldn’t quite put her finger on. She approached the counter, but there was no one there. A moment later an old man policeman, for that is how she saw him, appeared and juggled his lips and looked at the young woman and said, ‘What’s up, kid?’
‘Err, I’d like to see the detective looking after the murdered WPC case.’
‘Would you now? And why would you want to do that? If you know something, you can tell me,’ said the old guy, ever eager to grab a credit if there was one to be found.
‘No,’ persisted Mandy, ‘I’d like to speak to the man.’
‘Which man?’ said the old PC, but before Mandy could answer Sergeant Conlan appeared in the reception area, carrying a handful of papers, asking after some solicitor who was due in the building.
‘Ah, sarge,’ said the PC, ‘this young woman wants to speak to you about the Wheater case.’
Conlan paused and glanced at the girl. She was OK, pretty if you liked women a little on the tarty side, early twenties, pale green or was it turquoise dress, a short outfit too, and long white boots.
‘What’s up, doll, what can I do for you?’ said Conlan, giving her a second appraisal. She could make his dinner any time.
‘No,’ said Mandy, ‘not you, no offence meant, I mean the big black fella, it’s him I’d like to speak to.’
‘Out!’ said Conlan, ‘which means he’s not in, and I have no idea when he is coming back, indeed if he’s coming back at all. He’s what shall we say, a little preoccupied at the moment, can’t seem to get his brain in gear, mind not on the job, I doubt he’d be any use to you.’
‘Oh, that’s a pity. Maybe I’ll call back,’ said Mandy, turning away.
Conlan grabbed her arm. It was an opportunity not to be missed. Bare young feminine skin in his rough hand, ‘I’m sure I can help you. Do you want a coffee? I’ll find a quiet room, don’t go running off, we need all the help the public can give us on this one, stay and have a chat.’
His pleading almost worked, but at the last second Mandy shrugged her arm from his clammy grasp and said, ‘No, sorry, I have to go, I’ll come back another time,’ and the last thing Conlan saw was those kinky boots easing the door open, and the girl vanishing out into the burgeoning rush hour.
The old PC and Conlan shared a look as if to say: Thick as two boards if you ask me, kids of today! But neither of them were capable of formulating a cogent sentence.
Mandy wished she’d not gone near the place. That weird guy gave her the creeps, and she could still feel his touch on her naked arm. She hurried down the street, intent on catching the number 90 bus back to the flat. As she reached the junction, who should come round the corner in a big hurry, but the big black guy? He did seem preoccupied with something, staring ahead but not seeing much, as the two of them almost bumped into each other.
‘Hi,’ she said, forcing a smile.
‘Sorry, I wasn’t looking where I was going.’
She thought he hadn’t recognised her, and maybe she was right.
‘I’m Mandy, from Nesbitts. I’ve just been to the police station. Actually, I was looking for you. I wanted a word, but not with that creepy guy. I wanted to speak to you.’
‘Of course, Mandy, yes. I knew I had seen you before. Sorry my mind’s on other things at the moment.’
‘Yes, they said you were preoccupied.’
‘Did they? What else did they say?’
‘Stuff and nonsense, really. Do you think we could have a quiet chat, but not in the station, there’s a coffee bar on the next corner,’ and she pointed that way.
‘Of course, sure,’ and he smiled at her and they set off for the caff.
There was only one person in there, an old woman who looked as if she had been sitting there for hours, the remnants of a scone in front of her, and half an inch of stewed tea at the bottom of her cup.
‘What would you like?’ asked Walter.
‘Coffee, black,’ and she smiled again; she had a cute smile too, and said, ‘watching my weight.’
‘You don’t need to watch your weight. Take a seat. I’ll be back in a jiff.’
‘Thanks.’
Walter ordered
two coffees, but only just. The guy didn’t look happy and muttered something about you’ll have to be darn quick, for they were closing in ten minutes, and couldn’t stay open beyond closing time. That was the way to attract custom, thought Walter, but he brushed that aside and joined Mandy, and set the coffees on the plastic-topped table.
‘So?’ he said. ‘What can I do for you?’
‘Maybe it’s something I can do for you.’
Walter grinned and said, ‘Well, let’s hope so, they’re the type of chats I prefer.’
Mandy took a moment, as if she were shuffling her thoughts into some kind of order, sipped the coffee and set the cup down.
‘I read about it in the paper.’
‘About Suzy, my oppo?’
‘Yes, she seemed a great girl, full of laughs, I’d imagine. She didn’t deserve that. I couldn’t believe it when I heard, and when I saw her picture in the paper it took my breath away.’
‘She was,’ said Walter, ‘full of laughs, and we all miss her,’ though even as he spoke, he wondered if it was true. He missed her right enough, though he doubted the others did.
‘And you haven’t solved the case?’
‘Not yet, but we will.’
‘The thing is, oh, I don’t know your name.’
‘I’m Detective Darriteau, you can call me Walter.’
‘She smiled that cute smile again and said, ‘Walter, yes, well Walter, I heard something, you see, something you’d be interested in.’
‘Go on.’
‘They were talking, the pair of them, quietly, like.’
‘Who were? The Nesbitts?’
‘Yes, I think they thought I’d gone home, but I’d stayed late ’cause I wanted a word with them. I wanted to ask for a pay rise, pay’s crap you see; and I have just got meself a nice flat; it’s a tiny thing but it’s mine, and I’m struggling with the bills. Anyway, I went to their office door. I’m light on my feet, even with these,’ and she paused and took one foot from beneath the table and showed Walter the white boot. ‘I had to learn to be quiet at home, I don’t get on with my parents, not at all, especially him, and when I was up in my bedroom he always accused me of walking round with clodhoppers on, making so much noise. He said he could hardly hear the telly. So I crept about everywhere, and that habit has kind of stuck. They were really getting on my nerves, at home, so I left and moved up to London. I come from Bournemouth, and I don’t really know anyone up here, but listen to me, I am sure you don’t want to hear all that nonsense.’
Walter smiled and said, ‘So there you were, waiting outside their office door and you heard something?’
Mandy nodded and muttered, ‘Yeah.’
‘Was the door open?’
‘No, ajar, they couldn’t see me and I couldn’t see them.’
‘But you heard them?’
‘Clear as day, my hearing is spot on.’
‘Who was in the room?’
‘Just them, the Nesbitts, Johnny and Tony.’
‘What did they say?’
‘Tony said, it was a big mistake, softly like, but I know what I heard. I wondered what mistake he’d made, and Johnny said: I got her off my back, didn’t I, and Tony replied: you took a hell of a risk. John said: Life’s a risky business, something like that. Tony came back with: You’re a lucky man, looks like you got away with it.’
‘And you think they were talking about DC Wheater?’
‘What else? Don’t you?’
‘Highly likely. What else did they say?’
Mandy shifted uncomfortably in her seat.
‘What?’ said Walter. ‘They were talking about you?’
She nodded and took time out, sipping coffee.
‘Tell me a bit more.’
‘Oh you know, man’s talk, dirty talk, saying what they’d like to do to me, saying I had it coming. I didn’t like it, and forgot about asking for a pay rise and crept silently away, and left them to it.’
Walter thought about it for a second and said, ‘Would you be prepared to sign a statement to that effect?’
‘Would I have to go to court?’
‘Possibly.’
‘That’s the thing, Walter. I’m all alone up here and they know where I live. They’re frightening guys. I believe they stabbed your friend. You don’t have to be Einstein to work out they could come after me.’
‘Have a think about it,’ said Walter, taking a card from his pocket and slipping it across the table. ‘You can ring me anytime you want, and I’ll see what can be done to offer you protection and anonymity.’
She breathed out heavily and picked up the card, slipped it into her white handbag, stood up and said, ‘Have to go, I’ll be in touch,’ and they left the old woman sitting alone, gazing into space.
Chapter Fourteen
‘I THOUGHT WE’D NEVER get to bed,’ moaned Midge, as he slipped off his shirt. Lisa laughed nervously. ‘We couldn’t just walk out on them. It wouldn’t have felt right, and anyway, I have something to show you. Look at this.’
He turned towards her and crossed the room. She’d stripped to her bra and jeans and was holding her arms out towards him. He grasped her right wrist and stared down at wounds.
‘Hell! What’s this?’
‘They were having a laugh,’ jabbered Lisa, ‘in the bar, taking turns to handcuff people to this target while they threw darts.’
‘Darts!’
‘Rubber tipped darts. They were rubber tipped.’
‘Look at you! I let you out of my sight for five minutes and you come home branded.’
‘Don’t exaggerate, Midge.’
He sat on the edge of the bed and kissed the bruised and battered wrists.
‘Are they sore?’
‘Not really,’ she lied.
He stood up and caught the aroma from his armpit as it floated heavily past his nostrils.
‘I’ll grab a quick shower, I stink.’
She laughed a relieved laugh and watched him hurry away towards the bathroom. So far, so good. He seemed to believe her. Maybe his mind wasn’t quite there, and what a relief that was. She undressed and leapt into the large bed and pulled the covers around her. When he returned, he was still steaming. He shook himself like a dog and began vigorously rubbing his hair, broad shoulders, and chest. He walked up and down the bedroom twice, a large towel folded around his waist, as he rubbed away and smiled down at her.
‘Are you coming to bed or what?’ she asked.
He grinned and slung the heavy wet towel to the floor and leapt into bed. She was naked and surprisingly cold.
‘You’re freezing!’
‘I am, tuck the covers in and warm me up.’
He lay astride her and kissed her softly. She moaned approval and reached out and turned off the light.
‘What did you do that for? You know I like the light on.’
‘Well, tonight we’re having the light off. It’s more exciting, you can imagine whatever you like.’
‘I see,’ he said, and in the darkness she could tell he was grinning. ‘And what is it you like to imagine?’
‘Oh, I don’t know, being ravished by Genghis Khan, or being taken by a handsome Romany.’
‘Is that what you want? To be taken by a gypsy?’
‘No, not really,’ she whispered. ‘The only man I want to be taken by is....’
‘Who?’
She hesitated for effect.
‘Who?’ he persisted.
‘You, of course, Midge. I love you so much.’
He kissed her again, reassured by her reply, as he brushed her excited lips with his. She came to him for more, closer, demanding a passionate response. She was the best girlfriend any man could ever have.
‘I love you, Michael,’ she gasped, ‘and whatever happens in the future, don’t ever forget that I love you to bits.’
‘I love you too, goosie. You know that.’
AT BREAKFAST, LISA sat eating toast and marmalade in her pink sweatshirt and jeans. She glanced
at the heavy newspaper before tossing it to one side. She had one more day off work before returning to the solicitors. Messine sat next to her. She was dressed to the nines, her long blonde hair freshly washed, and her face professionally made-up. She imagined she looked like the missing member of the Versace family, and acted accordingly.
She’d opened her own fashion company; Messine’s, designing and manufacturing expensive clothes. She had taken a shop in the Rows in Chester. It was costing a fortune and had failed to net a penny in profit. But it was well received in the local media, and she harboured dreams of establishing her own fashion house in London and New York. For the moment, she would make do with Chester. Her parents encouraged her to the tune of subsidising her business several thousand pounds every month. It would all pay off in the long run, you’ll see, Messine repeated, and no one begged to differ.
‘Are you going to tell us how you came by those interesting bracelets?’ asked a smirking Messine.
Lisa glanced at her and wondered why she was making mischief. Laura set down her toast and stared across at Lisa’s wrists.
‘Good grief, girl, they look painful. How on earth?’
‘They were larking about in the bar. Handcuffing people and firing darts at them. Rubber tipped darts, it wasn’t dangerous, just a game, you know how it is.’
The quiet one, Persia, was eating muesli like a rodent, struggling to keep her mouth closed. She was the middle girl, the brightest of the three, excellent at maths and geography, two ideal commodity trading talents. She smiled across the breakfast table at Lisa’s discomfort. Not that she disliked Lisa, but all the girls enjoyed teasing one another. It was practically a sport in Misnomer.
It had come as no surprise to anyone that Persia had joined Midge and her father in the family business as soon as she was able. She was bolting her breakfast in order to cadge a lift in Midge’s Merc. She was pretty too, but used sparse make-up and kept her hair shorter as it folded neatly beneath her chin. She looked every inch the corporate trainee in her business suit, an accountant or lawyer, two professions she had toyed with studying at Cambridge University, before oddly gaining a first in history.
