by Graham Smith
‘That’s enough, DI Evans.’ Tyler fought to regain supremacy and retreated behind his superior rank to do so. ‘I’ve had it up to my back teeth with your insubordination and blatant disregard for procedure. It seems like hardly a day goes by without some tale of you upsetting a colleague, intimidating a suspect or witness, using violence as a means of self-gratification. I know that you know all about procedure. I know that at least three times a week, you give DS Chisholm a list of procedural errors in whichever crime novel you’ve just read, so that he can email the authors. For goodness’ sake, Evans, the IPCC have my number on speed dial because of you.’
‘Well, you’ll have to go ex-directory then, ’cause my methods aren’t gonna change just because some interfering bastard wants a game of pin-the-tail-on-the-good-guys. Now, tell me today’s problem so I can ignore it, you and the fucker who’s wasting valuable police time.’
Sighing, as he knew battling with Evans was a waste of time, Tyler outlined the complaint an unnamed traffic warden had brought against Evans, which had in turn landed on his desk via the Independent Police Complaints Commission.
‘Fair enough. I’ll make sure he doesn’t have the same issue next time we meet.’
‘I hope so, Harry, I hope so.’
‘Don’t worry, Dickie. Next time I’ll park on top of the bugger and stop the hassle at source. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to go and catch some criminals.’
As he reached the door he turned back to Tyler. ‘Bullshit apart, Richard. You’ve been in the force as long as me, and you know I’m right. If you do your job and run interference for me, then I’ll fill the jails while you shuffle the paper. Just cover for me these last few days. Warn me of what bollockings I’m supposed to have had and I’ll agree I’ve had them. Otherwise you might want to rearrange your office so I have my own desk; we’re short of space in our office and I’ll be here more than there anyway.’
Evans knew he was almost untouchable by Professional Standards – all they could threaten him with was the loss of his pension, and at this stage of his career he knew they daren’t take that away from him, his arrest record alone would make it a PR disaster.
Rather than wait for the negative reply he knew Tyler would have to give, Evans left the office and headed back into the maze of pale green corridors linking the various departments within the station.
Knowing what he had to do next was one thing; doing it was another. The long empty nights he endured on his own were bad enough. The thought of not having a purpose or a day job terrified him. He was self-aware enough to recognise the fact that while he was a people person and craved company, he also needed periods of solitude. Time to reflect upon losing the wife he still loved with every fibre of his body.
Janet’s departure had wounded him to such an extent that he couldn’t begin to think of being with another woman.
When his natural urges began to drive him to distraction, he knew what he would do to have his itch scratched. Money would change hands, safe sex would be practised and the itch would vanish for a while. It would be a transaction, nothing more.
As he reached his destination, Evans paused to collect his thoughts. He slipped a mint into his mouth and gave three sharp raps on the door.
‘Come.’ The word carried authority.
Swallowing his nerves, Evans opened the door and walked into the office. This was his last chance to stave off enforced retirement. To fill his days with a worthwhile purpose, instead of trading on former glories to secure a job he didn’t want.
‘Hello, Harry, have a seat.’ Warmth had replaced the stern tone in the voice of the assistant chief constable. ‘I’ll order some coffee.’
Evans took the seat offered and waited while ACC Greg Hadley put the request to his assistant.
‘Greg.’ Evans swallowed again, pride instead of nerves troubled him. ‘I need your help.’
‘I must confess, I’ve been expecting you to come and see me.’
‘So you know then?’
‘That you’re due to retire. That you’ve spent the last six months trying to persuade anyone who’ll listen to extend your license to roam Cumbria as a one-man crime-fighter. I got you the team you have now to show you that modern policing is about science and evidence, not gut instinct or hunches.’
‘Has my arrest rate suffered with the new team?’
‘You know fine well that your team has far and away the best arrest record in the county.’
Both men fell silent as the civilian secretary brought in a tray of coffee. When she had padded her way out the door, Evans picked up the conversation while Hadley added sugar and cream to the two coffees.
‘I have local knowledge. That’s what gets me my results. I know everyone worth knowing and I know where they live. This Campbell that you’ve got to replace me seems basically all right, but he’s far too regimental. He hasn’t got the same instinct we have. Remember how you and I cracked cases based on hunches and guesses?’
It was a low blow from Evans to remind Hadley of the time they’d worked together. Twenty-five years ago Greg Hadley had been an eager DC, intent on climbing his way up the greasy pole called promotion. For two years they had worked side by side out of Kendal Station.
‘That was a long time ago, Harry. Even then your methods were becoming old hat. Hunches don’t have a place in modern policing. We used to do it all ourselves without help from the lab. Think about the support your team give you now. Without them’ – Hadley raised a hand to cut off Evans’s objection – ‘without them, your arrest rate would be much lower and you know it. They do all the boring stuff while you run around playing Superman. The days of kicking down doors and beating confessions out of suspects are long gone.’
‘You used to do it with me.’
‘I know I did. But times changed and I changed with them. You haven’t, Harry, and that’s the problem. It’s not just about arrest rates anymore. It’s also about the number of complaints against us, public confidence, accountability, transparency and a hundred other things.’
‘That’s all just management bullshit—’ Evans bit off the rest of his sentence. Hadley was a friend. Antagonising him wouldn’t help his cause.
‘Perhaps it is. But that’s the way the police force is run these days.’
‘So I’m a dinosaur waiting for the meteorite to land. Is that it?’
‘I’m afraid so.’
‘There’s got to be a decent opening somewhere in the force for me.’
‘Have you tried applying for a Traffic Statement position?’ Hadley was referring to the role offered to retired officers. They would be called out to assist with taking statements at major road incidents.
Evans pulled a creased envelope from his jacket and tossed it across the desk. The action grieved him: Janet had been the only person he’d ever allowed to read his mail. However, he didn’t trust himself to tell Hadley about it without losing his temper.
When Hadley finished reading the letter he reached inside his desk and pulled out a bottle of whisky and two glasses.
‘They turned you down then.’ A simple but damning statement. Every one of the five words painful to hear.
Evans took a swig of the whisky, savouring the peaty tang as the secondary flavours washed down his throat. Hadley had always liked Islay malts and this one was smokier than a seventies tap room.
‘The least shitty stick in my pile doesn’t want me. That wasn’t even a job I wanted, but at least it would have kept me in the force.’ Evans saw the scowl and corrected himself. ‘After a fashion, that is.’
‘I don’t mean to kick you when you’re down, Harry, but have you never considered that years of erratic behaviour and rule-breaking would catch up with you?’
‘My arrest record speaks for itself.’ Evans wanted to kick himself for the pleading tone that had crept into his voice.
‘So do the files the IPCC and PSD have on you. All that comes into account, you know.’
‘So what am I supposed to d
o? Get a hobby? Go fishing, gardening? Can you picture me standing in a freezing river or fucking about in an allotment?’
Smiling at the image, Hadley shook his head. ‘No, I can’t imagine you doing either of those.’
Hating himself for almost begging the man who’d once called him ‘sir’, Evans changed tack. ‘Surely there must be something you can sort out for me. A cold-case division or something like that would be perfect. I could work cases myself, with occasional backup from the current team.’
‘I’ll try, Harry, but I seriously doubt the chief constable will sanction it. Budgets are tight enough without creating new positions.’
‘Thank you. I appreciate your help.’
‘If it doesn’t work, there’ll be nothing else I can do. I’ll be in touch when I’ve spoken to him.’ Hadley steepled his fingers before changing tack. ‘What do you plan to do once the trial is over?’
‘If I can’t stay on in the job, I suppose I’ll take one of the jobs the security firms have offered me.’
‘Perhaps a change of pace will be good for you… with the trial and everything.’
Evans fought to keep the scowl off his face.
The trial of Janet’s rapist was due to begin next week. Scheduled for the whole week, the trial would span the anniversary of his thirtieth year as a policeman.
Compassion lined Hadley’s face. ‘How you coping?’
‘I’m fine. Or at least I will be when that bastard is behind bars.’ Evans didn’t believe in the touchy-feely modern way men shared their feelings. His lip was always stiff while in public. Only in the privacy of his flat would he allow it to wobble, Tripod his sole confidant as he poured his heart out.
‘The case against him is solid. I’ve talked to the CPS and they said that Yates’s solicitor has been trying to get him to cut a deal.’
‘No fucking way. I want that bastard to go down forever. Janet was his second count, remember?’
‘It’s OK, the CPS aren’t budging on this. I’ve made sure of that.’
‘Thanks.’
Hadley opened his mouth to speak but hesitated.
‘What is it?’
‘Have you… er… taken any of the counselling offered?’
A rueful smile crossed Evans’s lips as he raised his glass high. ‘What do you think?’
Chapter 22
Elsewhere in the station, Campbell was sitting at a desk going through the lists of suppliers for each of the burglarised premises. As he always did, he arranged the information in front of him into a timeline and tried to find a pattern between events.
Lauren was busy on the phone, double checking with the various license holders about the service providers who were on the lists of premises other than theirs. It was a menial task, but important, in case someone had missed a supplier off their list when questioned. Her flirtatious tone told him she was speaking to a man.
Chisholm was tapping away at his keyboard. The printer beside him spitting occasional documents out with a clattering whirr.
‘I’ve spoken to them all, sir. Apart from the guy at Jumpers. He’s gone on holiday for a fortnight.’
‘Holiday? After the place he runs has just been turned over. Did you get the details of where he’s going?’
‘Of course I did.’ Lauren bristled at Campbell’s unspoken accusation. ‘He’s gone to Tenerife for a fortnight. Apparently he booked the time off months ago. It was a relief manager I spoke to. He wasn’t happy about having to pick up the reins after the place had been robbed. “Pissed off” would be the words I’d use to describe him.’
‘Are there any other members of staff worth speaking to?’
‘They are all temporary staff. Mostly Eastern Europeans from what I could gather.’
‘What about the parent company then? Someone there will know which suppliers they have.’
‘I’ve got an email address for their accounts department. I’m gonna send a request off for a full list of suppliers before I go.’
‘Go?’ A look at his watch made Campbell realise he’d lost track of time as he’d read and reread the lists on his desk.
‘Yes, I’ve got a date tonight.’
‘OK then. Do that and get yourself away.’
Campbell wanted to get back to his wife, but the urge to beat Evans to the solution, thus proving his ability to manage this oddball group, made him stay at his desk.
When Lauren got up to leave, Chisholm grunted a goodbye without bothering to take his eyes off the screen in front of him. That, coupled with the fact Bhaki had not returned from his visits yet, told him that the team were dedicated to their jobs and weren’t the clock-watchers he was used to. Something told him that he would make allowances for Lauren and that nobody would complain. She’d been wearing a mini-dress that had given him flashes of stocking tops whenever she crossed or uncrossed her legs, actions she did on a regular basis.
A text message came in from Sarah asking what time he’d be home. Checking his watch, he tapped out a reply telling her he’d be home by seven. He knew she wouldn’t be happy, but he’d explained the importance of him to make a good impression on both his team and his new superiors.
Returning his attention to the papers on his desk, he tried to clear his mind of the details already ingrained in the hope of gaining a fresh perspective.
The new tactic was starting to frustrate him when his mobile shrilled. Sarah’s name and a picture of her bump decorated the screen.
As soon as he thumbed the phone, he started to speak, intending to head her complaints off before they reached the pass. ‘Hi, I’ll be home by seven. I promise.’
‘John. The baby’s coming—’
‘I’m on my way. I’ll be there as soon as I can.’ Campbell was halfway across the office before she finished the sentence.
Running through the station, he made it outside in record time. Fumbling keys from his pocket, he pressed the blipper to unlock the doors of his Mondeo before he even reached it.
As he twisted the keys in the ignition, the enormity of the situation hit him a devastating broadside. He was going to be a father. His son would soon be born. No longer would he and Sarah be a couple. Instead they would be parents. Tutors in life. Guardians of morality and well being.
Holding his breath deep, he exhaled to calm himself. His hands shook as he released the handbrake and engaged first gear.
Chapter 23
Throwing herself forward, Samantha ran towards the open window intent on diving through it. Towards the police car which had driven into the farmyard. Towards rescue. Towards freedom. A scream burst from her mouth as she tried to attract the attention of the car’s passengers.
She was six feet from the when she felt a muscled arm coil around her body, slowing her momentum. A second arm joined the first as Blair tackled her to the ground. Her face colliding with a pair of boots left beside the couch.
His weight pinned her down, a hand clamped itself over her mouth. His stinking fingers polluted her nose as she tried to wriggle free. Trapped by his fat body, face down on the disgusting carpet, she struggled to get enough air into her lungs as his fingers half blocked her nostrils.
‘Stay quiet, you little bitch.’ His free hand found a pressure point on her upper arm, causing a wave of agony to shoot through her whole left side.
Samantha thrashed about beneath him until she realised the futility of her action. He was too strong for her. With him lying on top of her, there was no way she could get enough purchase to attack him or let out another scream.
As she lay squashed beneath his body, her defeat became obvious to him and he started to gloat.
‘Thought you was gonna escape, did you? Thought you was gonna leave without giving me my goodbye fuck, did you?’
Urghh, God. No.
Hearing his foul intentions renewed Samantha’s determination to escape his grasp, yet try as she might she couldn’t break his grip. Her exposed skin rubbed against the carpet, raising angry red burns as she fought her captor
.
‘Don’t you like the idea of fucking me? ’Cause I love the idea of fucking you.’
Samantha did her best to ignore Blair’s perverted words, to close her mind to the whispering in her ear about how he planned to take her any and every way he desired. Reacting to his fantasies would drive him on and her crazy. As time dragged on, his words became ever-more depraved until his lips spewed nothing but filth. Samantha knew it was only a matter of time before he realised the police weren’t going to rescue her.
When that penny dropped into the cesspool of his mind, she expected his hands to start wandering to the more intimate areas of her body.
A door bumped shut and Elvis’s boots appeared in her eyeline. ‘You can let her up now. Plod’s away.’
Feeling Blair lift his weight of her back, Samantha grabbed for the hem of her dress. Pulling it down as far as she could, she climbed to her feet trying to preserve as much dignity as possible. Her arms became shields against Blair’s leering gaze.
Looking to Elvis she awaited his instruction.
‘Back upstairs, you. And don’t even think about doing that again. Right?’
Samantha nodded to satisfy him although the gesture was a lie. Given half a chance to escape or instigate a rescue she’d always try to get away.
She trooped up the stairs, fighting the multitude of emotions coursing through her body. She had been so close to escaping only for it to be snatched away. Yet Elvis hadn’t carried through on his earlier threats about trying to escape.
Does that mean they’re bluffing?
Then she remembered the video. The threats were no bluff. These men would take that torch to her.
A hard push from Elvis propelled her into the bedroom.
Kyle watched as she picked herself up, concern written all over his face. ‘Are you OK?’
‘I’m fine. I just tripped and fell. Nothing to worry about.’
‘What happened, Sam?’
‘I told you. I fell over. That’s all.’ She put a tone of annoyance into her reply as she needed him to stop asking the same question.
‘I don’t believe you.’
