by Jake Barton
The Mazda was parked outside the churchyard. Empty. Donna saw a figure on the bridge and recognised Paula Dobson. She was leaning over the parapet as Donna drew alongside and dropped a plastic bag over the edge. A defiant smile on her face, she turned towards Donna, her smile fading as she caught sight of Peg. Donna turned round to look at her. Bloody Hell, what a sight. Mouth gaping open, she looked like a waxwork figure that had been placed too close to the fire.
Peg tapped her pocket. "Took my teeth out going down the hill, thought I might swallow them," she said, pulling the gleaming dentures out of her coat pocket and reinserting them with a flourish. Donna looked over the bridge but saw nothing. Just the empty Wirral Way stretching away in both directions. No one else was around.
"I had to do it this way," Paula said, her face pale and drawn. "He sent a message, attached to a bouquet of flowers. Told me to go out in my car, taking the ransom money. If I told anyone else where I was going, he said I’d never see Celine again."
"He told you to come here?"
She shook her head. "No, he rang me on the car ‘phone. Celine must have given him the number. The note said to drive around until he’d checked I wasn’t being followed."
"Paula," Donna said. "You don’t even know if…" Donna couldn’t finish the sentence.
"Oh, I’ve got a ‘photo," she said, triumphantly, rummaging in the pocket of her jeans and producing a Polaroid picture. Donna looked at it – Celine, naked and blood-spattered, but undeniably still alive. The morning newspaper established that. Donna remembered the ‘phone and pulled it out of her pocket.
"Andy?
"Right here," he answered at once. Donna filled him in on what had happened. He said he’d ring Dexter and get him to meet them on the bridge. Donna was about to sign off when a motorbike engine roared into life under the bridge. "Andy," Donna gasped. "He’s still here, under the bridge."
The motorbike roared off along the track, heading in the direction of West Kirby. "A male figure, black helmet on his head. Tell Dexter he’s on a motorbike, on the Wirral Way, going towards West Kirby," Donna gabbled. "I’m after him."
Ignoring Paula’s protests, Donna twisted the throttle and roared off down the hill, only remembering her elderly passenger as she reached the park. Bollocks.
"Hang on, Peg," Donna shouted. Peg gave a whoop of exhilaration and clenched her hands tight around Donna’s waist.
They rode along the greasy path, just avoiding a pensioner walking an equally elderly dog. Swerving, Donna misjudged her turn and had to ride across the manicured surface of the bowling green. Shouts of abuse from the direction of the bowling club followed them as Donna squeezed through the narrow entrance to the Wirral Way. Under the tree canopy it was gloomy, too dark for the speed Donna was travelling, but she pressed on as fast as she dared. Donna caught a glimpse of brake lights far ahead. He had a good start; she was catching him.
Donna saw him slowing to negotiate the bollards at the far end of the trail; she was now gaining on him. He got through the bollards safely and turned left onto the slip road leading to Grange Road. Donna slowed as the bollards approached, but was still travelling too fast as she swerved around the first obstacle, overcompensated and hit the last bollard with a solid crunch. Donna instantly turned to check on Peg who gave her the thumbs up sign. Donna left her with the bike and ran to the corner as Dexter screamed to a halt on the main road. Donna pointed at the motorbike just passing the station entrance and he took off in pursuit, tyres squealing. Donna walked back to Peg and examined the bike for damage. The front mudguard was scratched and distorted, the forks perhaps a little out of line, but that seemed to be the limit of the damage. She called Andy and told him what had happened. He said Roper was with Mrs Dobson and would escort her home. Donna told him she’d try to get the bike back on the road, run Peg home, and then head for Meols Drive.
Donna pulled at the mudguard and finally got it free of the wheel. She took it steady going back to the house and dropped Peg off safely.
"That was grand," Peg said. "I really enjoyed myself."
Gary came out and Donna blanched, thinking of the damage to his bike. He couldn’t have been nicer, as it happened. He was more interested in ensuring Peg and Donna were safe and unhurt. The poor old bike never got a look in.
*****
Under the Church Road bridge, the elderly dog-walker didn’t look elderly any more. He tied the dog’s lead to a spike protruding from the brick wall. The dog had served its purpose. Perhaps it would be reunited with its owner. Perhaps not.
He collected a plastic bag from behind a bush, untied the knot at the neck of the bag and checked the contents, flicking through the bank notes with nimble fingers. He put the bag in his pocket and strolled off along the trail, heading in the opposite direction from that taken by Donna, towards Cubbins Green where his car was parked.
*****
Grim faces all round occupied the house on Meols Drive. Mr and Mrs Dobson were not speaking to one another, nor did they speak very often to anyone else. All of them congregated in the big room, awaiting Dexter’s arrival which prompted a flood of questions.
He’d chased the motorbike down Meols Drive, passing right by the house, until his quarry had swerved off the road and rode across the golf course. The hallowed turf of the Royal Liverpool Golf Club had been violated in turn by Dexter who’d followed the man over the links at high speed. First my vandalism of the bowling green, thought Donna, and now this. Not a good day for the National Union of Green-keepers. Assuming such a body existed.
Dexter described how the bike had crashed attempting to climb the steep slope of a sand dune, and he’d been able to walk across and detain the rider at his leisure. He certainly wasn’t going to run far, Dexter had said, not with a compound fracture of the leg. He’d called for an ambulance, and also informed the Police. This provoked a furious outburst from Mister Dobson, but Dexter remained unrepentant. "Out of our hands now," he said. "Car chases and other people involved, especially with a suspect in hospital. Try and keep the Police out of this now, and you’re talking about withholding evidence."
"What about Celine?" Paula was in a right state. Donna didn’t blame her. She wasn’t the only one. Dexter shook his head. "Wrong man," he said. "No ransom. He’d been paid to lay a false trail and never met the man who hired him. All done over the ’phone."
"Are you sure of that?" Dobson asked, his face red.
Dexter nodded. "He was telling the truth," he said. "Someone with the bones sticking out through the leg of his jeans isn’t up to thinking up fancy tales. Not with me threatening to break his other leg if he doesn’t talk."
The ‘phone rang and they all jumped a good foot in the air. Even Dexter. He picked up and listened in silence, the spools of tape turning on Roper’s machine next to the ‘phone. Dexter replaced the receiver without having said a word to the caller.
"Taped message," he said in explanation, rewinding the tape recorder. They sat and listened to the eerie voice coming out of the machine. The message thanked Mrs Dobson for the ransom money which would be regarded as a down payment. Celine was alive and would speak to her parents in the next message. The message concluded in chilling fashion. Celine would be returned to her parents, either whole or a piece at a time, the voice said.
"Disguised voice," Dexter said, "but clearly male. Irish accent, pretty strong at that. Not local certainly."
A squeal of brakes announced the arrival of the Police and Dexter stood, walking out with Roper to admit them. As Donna prepared to leave, Roper held up his hand. "They’ll need a statement off you, Donna," he said. "Wait in the kitchen, that’ll be best."
Donna wandered into the kitchen, made herself a drink and sat down on one of the chairs, looking out at the garden. This house was lovely, but the sadness that lay over it at this time was almost overwhelming.
Donna spent the next hour plodding through her statement with the dimmest constable she’d ever met. He looked about fifteen, but acted forty-five.
Writing out her statement was a laborious procedure, only enlivened when Dexter arrived in the company of one of the men Donna recognised from their evening at the Philharmonic. Not Marriott, to her great relief.
" What’s taking you so bloody long?" the man asked the constable. Donna’s thoughts exactly. He introduced himself to Donna as Detective Sergeant Abbott, got rid of Constable Dopey and sat down next to Donna balancing an empty coffee cup on his knee. Not even a wobble. Just try it with a full cup and see what happens. Sods law in action.
"Got ourselves a problem here," Abbott said. "My gaffer won’t be best pleased that we knew fuck all about-" He paused, glancing across at Donna. "Sorry love."
Donna smiled, pointing to Dexter with her thumb. "No problem," she said. "I’m used to it, working with your mate here."
Abbott smiled. "Oh, in that case," he said. "The problem is, Superintendent Hawkes is a…" He hesitated, searching for the right word.
"Twat?" suggested Dexter.
"Exactly. He won’t like being messed about by a private firm, not when it’s something big like a kidnapping. Fortunately for you lot, most of the flak would be aimed at your clients and there we have an ace up our collective sleeves. Dobson isn’t someone to be pushed around. He’s well connected. He’s more than likely in the same Lodge as the Chief Constable, so I’m not too worried there. The problem is with you."
"Me?" Donna squawked.
"Paula, Mrs Dobson I should perhaps say," said Dexter, "wants you to stay with the enquiry. She’s not bothered about me, Roper or anyone else, but she’s taken a shine to you. Same generation as her daughter, that sort of thing. Roper nearly threw a fit, as did bloody Dobson, but she’s made up her mind. You’re to stay on the job. I’m to stay as well for now and act as liaison with the boys in blue." Donna said nothing. What could she say?
"What that means, in practise, is you keep us informed at every stage," Abbot said. "Merlin here will keep me up to speed and I’ll filter back as much as I can. Under the table, naturally as Hawkes takes such a dim view of bloody civilians poking their noses into police business. His words, not mine. As far as I’m concerned, Merlin here knows more about coppering than Hawkes will ever do. You’ll be surprised to hear," he said, turning to Dexter. "I’ve been made up to Acting DI for this one. More a case of no-one else available than any lofty opinion of my ability, but there it is."
Dexter extended his hand and shook Abbott’s hand warmly. "I couldn’t be more pleased," he said. "You deserve it. I know I’m just one more old fart these days, but anything I can help you with, don’t hesitate." Abbott grinned his appreciation.
Donna was struck once again by the bond between Dexter and his former colleagues. He may consider himself a bit of an old fart, but he was still very much the top man to those who’d worked for him.
Dexter gave Donna her last instructions. Keep the mobile fully charged and report in regularly. The usual crap.
They left it there and Donna went back to see Paula before leaving. The poor woman, who sat looking out of the wide casement window, hardly noticed her arrival. Donna sat next to her and Paula reached for her hand, giving it a light squeeze.
"The Police seem confident they’ll find her," she said. "The one in the suit seems nice. Abbott was it?" Donna nodded. "The blood in the ‘photo? Probably not Celine’s blood. Could be pig’s blood, something like that." Donna smiled at her, trying to radiate confidence.
"You will find her, won’t you?"
Donna squeezed back on her hand. "I said I would. Try not to worry."
*****
Marcus looked through his binoculars, turning the focus wheel while studying the perimeter wall in minute detail, grunting with satisfaction when the lens revealed a series of tiny projections at regular intervals. He couldn’t see the beams they were emitting but had no doubt such beams existed.
He concentrated his attention on the end wall of the house, refocusing on an alarm box mounted just under the eaves. The box was in shadow and at the furthest extent of his available magnification, but he could just make out the name of the installer at the base of the box.
Marcus smiled.
Vanity, he thought, the weakness in this system, as with so much else.
~ Chapter 10 ~
Superintendent Hawkes was annoyed. The bloody audiotape was proving more difficult than he’d imagined. He’d pulled rank to find two so-called experts, but all they seemed to be capable of was arguing amongst themselves.
"Play the fucking thing again, just the last bit," Hawkes growled.
The disembodied voice boomed out from the massive speakers provided by the audio technicians.
"Who are you?"
"I don’t think you need to know any more than that I’m a close personal friend of the delicious Celine. Such a delightful child. I might as well tell you now, I'm not going to stop. The cleansings must continue."
"Cleansings, what's that?" Hawkes snarled. "A religious nutter you reckon, hearing messages from God?"
Abbott raised his head from a close study of the carpet. "Peter Sutcliffe did. In a graveyard of all places, when he was working as a grave digger."
Hawkes scowled. "Well, even if what he said actually happened, some bloody defence, isn't it? I mean to say, God told Sutcliffe to kill prostitutes, so that makes it all right? I can't see it. Unless this tosser fancies himself as a clever cunt and wants to show us how smart he is. This cleansings crap is too obvious. There's only one reason to use that word, to make us start turning over all the religious freaks."
"So we ignore it then, do we?"
"What do you fucking think? Ignore it and he turns out to be an unfrocked choirmaster or something, my bollocks would be in the ringer if I'd done nothing about it. No, we can't ignore it, I'm just telling you now, it's a fucking wind up."
The expert on dialects held up a hand. "I'm prepared to state here and now that if this man was not a native of Belfast, at least during his formative years, then he is quite simply the best mimic I've ever heard." His colleague nodded vigorously, their agreement on this point at least being absolute.
Hawkes threw down his pen. "That’s all we fucking need, a fucking Mick."
*****
Donna picked up her surveillance kit from the bottom of the wardrobe. A miniature Nikon with a decent zoom lens, and a top of the range JVC camcorder with all the bells and whistles anyone would ever need.
She’d say one thing for R and D Security, they didn’t stint on equipment. As long as it was tax deductible. Also included in the kit was a rather more unusual item – half of a pair of binoculars. Easier to conceal in one hand and fitted easily into a top pocket. Dexter’s idea, of course. He had the other half.
Gary had gone out on his bike, trying out the front forks to check the extent of the damage. She’d left him a note, feeling guilty at abandoning him after making more rather romantic plans earlier in the evening. That had been before Dexter’s ‘phone call.
Abbott had called Dexter with the news that they’d found a fingerprint on the cellophane cover of the flowers delivered to the Dobson house. Alex Melia had fallen foul of the law in the past with the result that his prints were on file. Checking the prints against the cellophane wrapper produced a positive match. Also, the voice on the tape, although disguised, clearly belonged to someone with an Irish accent and Alex Melia had lived in Belfast until he was thirteen. Donna hadn’t known of Alex Melia’s Irish connection. Not that she’d thought to ask about anything like a distinctive accent. That was it as far as the Police were concerned. They had a suspect and a general hunt was now under way for Alex Melia.
Dexter wasn’t convinced. She could hear it in his voice. Donna wasn’t convinced either. She remembered Lisa telling her about the new man, Lancelot, saying that Alex was only a taxi driver for Celine. Mainly though, Donna thought about Gary’s house burning down. Too much of a coincidence perhaps and she’d said as much to Dexter.
"I know," Dexter said. "I’ve always thought there was m
ore to this than just a ransom demand. Marcus Green is still in the frame as far as I’m concerned, but that’s not the official view. You must admit that fingerprint and the tape change things. Evidence, not theories, that’s what I always preached to my lads." They’d left it there. Donna wasn’t entirely happy at Dexter’s albeit reluctant acceptance of the revised situation, but when he suggested a surveillance job on Marcus Green’s mother she brightened up and could hardly refuse. Even when Dexter told her she’d be on her own.
Donna pulled up at the end of the road and waited for Dexter. His car drew past and parked in the shadow between two streetlights. He got out and walked back towards her. Donna reached across and flipped up the door button. Dexter got in the car, flicking a piece of lint off the passenger seat before sitting down.
"That’s the house, next to the end," he said. No wasting time on small talk. Donna nodded. She’d been counting house numbers while waiting for him to join her.
"I checked with the local nick and they’ve not seen anything of the son, Marcus, since he was released, but I wouldn’t have expected them to. There’s a warrant out since he failed to keep up with his probation order. He’ll be in touch with her though. I’m sure of that."
"Why?"
"Apart from when he was in the loony bin and not allowed visitors, his mother never missed a visit. He gets out and never comes to see her? I don’t think so."
Donna deflected the loony bin reference as best she could. Her own spell as a psychiatric inpatient had taught her the folly of taking such figures of speech at face value.
