by Graham Smith
‘Oh, and, Pam.’
Hearing Evans call after her, the barmaid turned and threw him a questioning look.
‘Do us three breakfast rolls to go as well, would you?’
Pam punched their order into a till and after contacting Helen Salter via an internal phone turned to face Evans. ‘I’m afraid I can’t serve the pints, It’s only half nine and there are coppers in.’
As they waited on the breakfasts coming, having spent little time in each other’s company since they had collared the gang extorting money for protection, the new colleagues started in on small talk and a natural assessment of each other.
Beenies was the kind of place where most of the clientele are on the pull or just want to be seen in the trendy place. A cafe-bar through the day it morphed into a cool hip place in the evening, with a clever use of different lighting systems. The decor was ultra-modern with retro touches such as the mosaic of a seventies’ hippy wearing a beanie hat. There were two or three tables occupied with people having breakfast and coffees, but it was still too early in the day for any of the lunchtime crowd.
Campbell guessed Evans was an alcoholic ordering drinks so early in the day, and while he obviously had no time for his superiors, they must have had a great deal of faith in him to let him run this team. He made a mental note to find out why the DCI called him Quasi.
A woman in her mid-thirties came over carrying two breakfasts. Her admonishment was delivered before the plates. ‘You should know better, Harry, asking staff for a pint outside licensing hours.’ She then went and poured the drinks herself, setting them down in front of Evans and Campbell.
‘DI Campbell, Helen Salter.’ Evans made the introductions while reaching into his jacket pocket and producing a small bottle of Tabasco sauce. Spreading a liberal splash over his breakfast, he picked up his knife and fork to begin his assault on the food.
Evans questioned Helen Salter as he ate, half-masticated food visible in his mouth as he made his enquiries. ‘Where the money was taken from?’
‘The main safe cabinet.’
‘Who had keys?’
‘Only me.’
‘How much money was taken?’
‘Over six grand. Six thousand and twenty-three pounds and fifty pence, to be exact.’
‘Why was so much in the safe?’
‘It was the weekend’s takings.’
Slowly they went over who had keys to the building, when the theft was discovered and by whom, whether there any obvious signs of how the thieves had got into the building and what, if anything, had been taken from the safe other than money. Helen answered each question with tightly-suppressed irritation.
‘Why didn’t you read the notes the detective took when he questioned me yesterday?’ she asked when they were finished.
‘If I ask questions myself, I remember the answers better.’ Evans paused for a moment. ‘Do you remember the name of the investigating DC?’
‘Patterson. DC Patterson.’
Evans put down his knife and fork for a moment and looked at Helen. ‘He’s an imbecile who couldn’t find a pane of glass in a greenhouse.’
She nodded. ‘He didn’t seem like the brightest spark in the fire to me.’
Campbell was trying to write down her answers but couldn’t keep pace. Evans made no attempt to commit anything to paper, trusting his memory.
As he listened to Evans’s questioning, Campbell revised his opinion of the man’s ability. While his approach was unorthodox, there was nothing haphazard about it. Evans was asking all the right questions. Every question he thought of, Evans included in his debrief of the woman.
Her answers were short and to the point. Not the usual rambling answers witnesses gave. None of the usual evasion or tentative guesses, just the information asked for in a brief statement.
Upon finishing his breakfast, Evans downed his pint and, without announcing his intentions, stalked off towards the door marked ‘Private’, through which Helen had entered. Helen and Campbell tagged along behind him and Helen showed them where the cabinet safe was.
The cabinet safe was roughly six feet tall by four wide and two feet deep. It sported a secure lock on the outside and shelving with files and backup computer CDs stacked neatly throughout. At the bottom there was a safe with a key code lock from which the money had been taken.
Evans asked for a list of employees for the last two years and a list of all suppliers, reps and repairmen who may have been in the office over the same period. Handing Helen a card with his contact details on, he asked for the list to be emailed to the address on the card as soon as possible, then he led Campbell out, stopping only to drain Campbell’s untouched lager and collect three tinfoil parcels from Pam.
As they walked to the car Campbell rounded on Evans, asking why they had not paid for breakfast, why he was drinking before ten in the morning and why Helen Salter was not under suspicion, as she was the only person who had keys for the cabinet, the building and knew the internal safe code.
‘Helen Salter used to be Job. She left after she blew the whistle on some bent coppers who were taking kickbacks. That’s how I know she isn’t the thief. Plus the fact we’ve had three of these types of burglaries in one night across the whole fucking county.’ Pausing only to draw breath he resumed. ‘Maybe in Glasgow there could be a coincidence like that, but three across Cumbria in one night just doesn’t happen.’
‘OK, I was wrong to miss that, but it seems too hard for anyone else to rob it that neatly. Typical burglars of licensed premises smash a way in and leg it with as much cash, booze and fags as they can carry.’
Evans scratched his backside without any attempt at discretion. ‘That’s what we’ve got then. A burglary committed by an atypical offender. It’s not a bunch of scrotes or petty criminals who are little more than smash and grab merchants. They’d have left a trail a mile wide. What we’re looking for is a thief who has a reason to be there if challenged and every cause to be concerned about leaving signs of their crime as they are trying to shift the blame onto those in possession of the keys or safe codes.’
Campbell didn’t back down when Evans stood toe to toe with him. ‘I don’t yet know how much of a copper you are, sonny, but if you had been paying attention you would’ve seen me drop a twenty spot on our table as I finished the drink you left untouched. The breakfasts were three quid each and the pints two quid apiece. The rolls were nine quid in total, which leaves a pound tip. As for the pints I only drink when I need to think, and based on your current form, I can see I’m gonna have to do all the fucking thinking.’
Campbell cursed himself for not seeing Evans leave the money. Some new start he was making. One unorthodox character and he was distracted beyond belief.
Evans disappeared into an alley behind Beenies. Chasing after him Campbell half expected to find Evans relieving himself, instead he found him distributing the tinfoil parcels to a trio of homeless men.
The two men walked back to the car park, each wrapped up in their own thoughts and climbed into the BMW. Evans jumped into the driver’s seat, despite Campbell’s protestations that he better drive as he hadn’t drunk two pints in the last hour.
Evans’s response was typically uncompromising. ‘Shut the fuck up, if I want nagged I’ll bring the chief super along.’
Campbell was glad that he’d only be working with Evans for a week. He promised himself he’d make sure he insisted on using his own car tomorrow.
Chapter 9
Victoria’s mobile beeped just once. Snatching it she tapped the screen until she could read the text message. It was from an unknown number and contained just two words.
Visit watchmykids.com
She reached for her laptop and while it booted up, summoned Nicholas to join her in the kitchen. Every second that passed was an eternity for her frayed nerves and unsettled stomach. The pretence of hiding her cigarettes had long gone and she now smoked in front of Nicholas as she plotted their next move. Nicholas’s comment on her h
abit had earned him a face-full of second-hand smoke and a curt dismissal.
As soon as the laptop gave out the four tone chime of Windows loading, she went to the website which had a picture of her daughter holding that day’s Daily Mail while Kyle held up the Sun.
Stifling back a sob, she thanked God they were unharmed. As they stared at the screen, the image of their children disappeared and was replaced with a video of Samantha walking around in a ridiculous French Maid costume serving food and drink to three of the four masked men who had abducted her. The camera seemed to find every opportunity to show what the maid’s outfit was designed to cover and one lingering shot appeared to be taken from the floor and the cameraman zoomed in whenever Samantha bent forward. Both were struck dumb as they watched the perverted video of their daughter.
‘Your kids are fine. Make sure you get us the money and they’ll stay that way.’ Elvis’s voice sounded tinny coming from the computer. ‘Watch the next video and you’ll see what will happen to them if we don’t get paid, or if you call the police. On this website is a contact form. Use that to let us know when you have the money. Remember no police. We have friends who’ll tell us if you call them.’
The picture faded out and was replaced by a naked man tied to a wooden chair. From the right-hand side of the screen, a blowtorch of the type Elvis had shown them when he took their kids entered the shot, and moved towards the man’s right knee.
A short blue flame blazed from the end of the nozzle and when a thumb depressed the long lever on the side, it changed as oxygen forced its way through the nozzle and fanned the flame into an intense silver blue.
A whooshing sound could be heard as the flame was applied to the man’s leg. They watched agog as the heat blistered the skin until it blackened as the flame got ever closer. Nicholas turned and vomited into the sink until he was incapable of vomiting any more.
Victoria sat transfixed, ignoring the acidic smell of Nicholas’s sick. Her eyes never leaving the screen, as she watched the torch burn its way through the man’s knee. Once the torch had passed through the knee, the man’s lower leg fell away, only prevented from hitting the floor by the duct tape binding his ankle.
The camera then shifted and zoomed in on the blackened and cauterised stump of the man’s leg. The victim had passed out from the pain but his screams would haunt her forever.
‘We’ve got to get the rest of the money together.’ Victoria’s voice cracked as she spoke. Tears formed silent rivers as they poured from her eyes.
The last three days had felt like purgatory. Every waking moment had been spent crushing down mental images of her children in peril at the hands of their kidnappers.
She had alternated between Kyle and Samantha’s beds as she beckoned sleep to take her from the waking nightmare. Plots, schemes and plans ran through her mind as she tried every avenue she could think of to find the money needed to save her children.
Calls from Samantha’s friends had become regular occurrences. They didn’t believe Victoria’s lie that she was ill. Samantha’s missed date on Saturday coupled with her Facebook silence worried them. It took all Victoria’s self-control not to scream at them to leave her alone. That Samantha was gone and may never come back.
She had toyed with the idea of using Samantha’s Facebook profile herself. Making a few token comments and likes to quieten the friends, but she didn’t fancy her chances of impersonating Samantha without fuelling suspicion. Kids these days had a language of their own and she’d be found out in no time.
If one of Samantha’s friends was suspicious enough, they might call the police with some crazy idea fixed in their young mind. The last thing Victoria wanted was the police showing up at her door. If the kidnappers were watching them as they’d said they would, they’d know straightaway and her precious children would bear the brunt of their wrath.
To compound her situation, Victoria was forced to stay and work with Nicholas. He was the architect of her children’s plight. Every word, gesture or mannerism assaulted her sensibilities. She could not bear to think of him, finding herself filled with disgust and self-loathing at the way she had been deceived by his lies.
Snatching her mobile from the table, she tried dialling the number with the intention of begging for her children to be released. All she got was a network message saying the number could not be connected.
She’d rather have been working than stuck at home with nothing to do. At work she could glean information to help her efforts in obtaining the ransom money. All she could do today was think dark thoughts.
The Easter eggs Kyle had so carefully arranged on the mantelpiece taunted her, mocking in their sentinel presence.
Helplessness and self-pity were her greatest enemies. Action was her friend, but until she was back at work, she couldn’t get the data she needed to continue with her plan.
Instead she filled her day listing every saleable item in the house on eBay. Set to finish in three days’ time, she made sure that every listing was also set to receive payment via PayPal or cash on collection. Cheques and postal orders were no use to their cause, so she blocked these methods of payment.
Chapter 10
Upon leaving Carlisle, Evans joined the motorway and went south before cutting across the fells and heading towards Bowness-on-Windermere. The majority of the journey was travelled far above the speed limit, with any hold up causing a stream of invective and politically incorrect abuse to spring from Evans’s mouth.
Campbell having worked in the sectarian world of Glasgow was no stranger to bawdiness and black humour, but he couldn’t stop himself from laughing when Evans berated one women driver – who looked younger than he did – for taking an age to turn a corner. ‘For fuck’s sake, Jock, look at that dithering old cow. I bet she’s got the seat so far forward her lipstick will be rubbing off onto the windscreen and she daren’t turn the wheel too quick in case her droopy old tits get tangled in it.’
As they’d barrelled down the M6, Campbell had queried Evans’s choice of Bowness-on-Windermere as the first destination when Silloth was nearer to Carlisle.
‘Silloth CID are far better than Bowness’s, I trained most of them myself. The guys at Bowness are so shite that if you gave them a perfectly good fanny they’d only go and fuck it. We can trust the Silloth boys to have done the job right, so there’s no immediate panic to get there, as I doubt we’ll learn owt that’ll not be in the report.’
Evans supplied a running commentary on the local history as he drove, only changing the subject whenever they neared a town with a police presence. Then he would inform his replacement of the various officers and detectives at each location. When Campbell asked for descriptions of any of the people Evans named, there would be a one-line description of their physical characteristics.
Campbell made furious notes of all the information he could and questioned Evans about the team he’d be taking over. He wasn’t too bothered about their abilities; he wanted to make his own judgements on that. What he wanted to know was the background details that could take months to find out. He quizzed Evans on the team’s work relationships, traumas they may have been through and family life.
As Evans navigated his way through the holiday traffic, Campbell looked at the quaint town with a visitor’s eye. A riot of colour assaulted his eyes. Each shop, pub or cafe was painted in a different primary colour to the ones adjacent.
The pavements were filled with tourists dressed in shorts and T-shirts, the various cafes, restaurants and souvenir shops advertised their wares via window displays and sandwich boards. The road was filled with cars negotiating the streets with a newcomer’s unfamiliarity. Sudden braking and un-indicated turns were the norm as drivers tried to find their way to their destinations.
From the outside, the Black Horse was a traditional small town hotel with whitewashed walls and black-painted window frames.
Evans marched round the back of the hotel and walked through a door, which led into the kitchens. Campbell follo
wed Evans through the building, until they came entered the main public bar. A barman was restocking shelves in preparation for opening time.
Evans flashed his warrant card. ‘Go and find that fat imbecile Larry.’
When the barman scuttled off to find the hotel manager, Evans set about pouring two pints of Stella, one of which he handed to Campbell. ‘Drink it, there’s no room for lightweights on my team.’
The hotel bar ran true to Campbell’s expectations – a low ceiling with exposed wooden floor joists, a smattering of brass ornaments and a fireplace which, though not yet lit, was set ready with coal and kindling piled atop balled newspaper. A battered dartboard adorned one wall with the legend ‘John was ere’ chalked onto the scoreboard. Off to one side was a lounge bar-cum-restaurant where hotel residents and tourists would be served meals.
Campbell listened with interest as Evans filled him in on Fat Larry’s history.
‘Larry is the best hotelier in Cumbria. He spent his life savings putting his daughter Emily through rehab and then the poor bugger had to take a job working for the Leightons to pay off the money she snorted. He hates it, but he’s a man of honour and will pay her debts off if it kills him.’
By the time Larry came into the bar, Evans was onto his second pint while Campbell had drank less than a mouthful. Larry was a dishevelled man in his fifties, whose girth caused him to wheeze with every step he took.
‘Morning, Harry.’ Larry poured a pint for himself and then sat down with the two DIs and lit a cigarette. Evans got up, retrieved an ashtray from behind the bar and helped himself to Larry’s cigarettes, oblivious of the smoking ban.
Campbell introduced himself. ‘We’re here about last night’s robbery.’
Larry looked at Evans, his face a portrait of misery. ‘What do you need to know, Harry?’
