Burning Greed

by Diane M Dickson

After today he might buy a waterproof. A cheap one. The money was for Leanne, but maybe just a couple of pounds could buy a jacket and some new trainers from the market.

  He should have made the bloke meet him in town. He’d become weak, maybe he’d always been weak and only wearing the uniform made him strong. Well, that was gone now; that and everything else.

  Oh, did it matter? As long as he brought the money, that was the thing. Then he’d leave, he wasn’t going to bleed the bloke dry. Just this one payment, something to send to his ex for Leanne’s birthday, then he’d go back for his stuff and head off, or perhaps he wouldn’t go back. He didn’t need the stuff, he had lost track now of why he’d begun to collect it. He stuck his hand in his pocket and pulled out the picture of himself with Leanne when she was five, just starting school. He had that, he didn’t need the rest of it. He could just keep on walking.

  He saw now that he had no choice. This bloke would always be around. Even if he moved away from the church and the car park, the man would be in the town. There would always be a risk. This had been a bad idea, this had put him in danger. Could it put Leanne in danger? The bloke didn’t know about her, did he? Suzanne had known, she could have told him when she met him, when they went to the warehouse together. She could have told him then. People said things then, when they were close. It was possible that she’d talked about him, and his daughter. The thoughts began to blur and run, panic came down on him.

  His hands trembled, he was crying. Not loud, not sobbing, but just the constant flood of tears that always happened when he was upset – all part of his illness they had told him.

  When he heard the swish of tyres, saw the headlights, heard the door, his gut clenched, his heart thundered, he leaned over and puked into the water; nothing but bile.

  This had been a stupid mistake, what had he been thinking?

  He got up, began to run, slipping in the wet. There had been a time when he would have stopped, turned, confronted the bastard. He would have taken him on, broken his arms and legs if need be and then handed him in. Made him pay for the things that he’d done. There was a time when he was strong enough to do that. Not anymore.

  Suzanne had been scared; terrified really. He’d recognised the look, had seen it on the faces of young squaddies, back in the day. She’d been brave though – misguided, and stupid, and crazy, but bloody ballsy. He’d told her to stop what she was doing, told her it was dangerous, but she never listened, she wanted what she wanted and that was the end of it.

  For him to have done that to her, pretty Suzanne with the golden hair and the soft skin; for him to have reduced her to what he’d seen carried out of the warehouse – there’d been no need for that. Just another body bag, just like the others, too many others, in too many different places. The tears came faster, and it was hard to breathe.

  He heard footsteps. His feet were sore. He couldn’t go any further.

  He stopped and looked around. It was darker now; the river was an oily ribbon at his side. The rain washed the tears from his cheeks. Bushes behind him rustled. He spun on his heel. The dizziness was on him again, he needed to breathe properly but his chest had tightened, there was no room for air. He couldn’t remember when he last ate, the last time he had a drink. There had been no time. He’d had to move, had to dash to get here. It had taken it out of him. Not like in the old days, the route marches, proud and strong. This had turned him into a rat, scurrying along a run and now the bloke was here, and he was afraid. It made him scurry faster, gasping. He’d made a mistake; stupid, stupid. He was a fool.

  “Meet me by the river, I’ll bring the money.” What a crock of shit.

  He should have gone to the police, but they would have made him go inside, taken him into small rooms, asked him questions. There would have been court, people, lawyers and judges, questions and accusations, shouting and pointing. He felt sick at the thought of it. There was a pain deep in his chest now and his fingers tingled, he needed oxygen, there wasn’t enough in the world.

  He shouldn’t have come. He had wanted to make this scum pay for what he’d done to Suzanne. But now he saw, money wouldn’t bring her back, nothing would bring her back. Leanne was better off without him anyway, and they’d agreed: no more contact.

  He sank to the damp grass of the riverbank, wrapped his hands around his knees, closed his eyes and waited for the man. All he’d wanted was justice for Suzanne and some money for his little girl.

  Chapter 37

  “Bloody hell, you look awful.” Charlie bent to take Tanya’s bag and for once she didn’t bother to argue or even be irritated by his old-fashioned manners.

  The taxi that eventually picked her up, at the end of the road of huge houses where Fiona lived, had dropped her at the station with barely time to collect her ticket from the machine and scutter to the platform. She collapsed into the dusty seat, pushed her bag behind her legs, and her laptop case beside her against the wall. She wrapped the shoulder strap around her arm and, once her belongings were as safe as she could make them, leaned her head into the corner and let herself fall into a pit of sleep.

  Charlie had driven the one and a half hours to meet her so that she didn’t need to drag herself through the up and downs of Birmingham’s new station and stand on the draughty platform waiting for a connection. The sight of him, smiling broadly, outside the ticket barrier almost overcame the strength that had seen her through the ordeal with her sister. She was overtired, and it was making her emotional. He had a huge cup of takeaway coffee in his hand and she’d swapped it gladly for her bag.

  “I probably look pretty much how I feel, to be honest,” she said, holding up the coffee. “This’ll see me right though. Thanks, Charlie.”

  She had thrown away the sling but had already given him an email account of what had happened.

  “How’s the arm?” he asked.

  “Pretty sore to be honest. I took some pills, but the pain was there as soon as I woke up. It’ll be fine but right now it’s a bitch.”

  “Take another pill. You can sleep in the car.”

  Tanya shook her head. “No, they make me groggy. I need to go to the office, I need to get up to speed. You can fill me in on the way. I had some thoughts, watching that video. The witness. Oh, and have we found Colin the Cartman?”

  Charlie held up his hand. “Okay, okay. Let’s get in the car first. No, we haven’t found Colin, still looking. Bob Scunthorpe knows you’re back. I sent him a text. He’s coming in later to have a word. I didn’t call the team in; did you want me to?”

  She had meant to tell him to do that. Now, groggy from the journey, and with an arm on fire, she was glad that she hadn’t.

  “Let’s see how things go. Maybe later, or more probably first thing tomorrow. No point spoiling their weekend for no real purpose,” she said.

  Despite her early intentions, the warmth of the car and the quiet thrum of the tyres on the motorway were soporific, and Charlie let her sleep. She woke again when they were quarter of an hour from headquarters and it was easiest to sit quietly, gather her thoughts and wait until they were in the office and she was back, in charge and home.

  Chapter 38

  As they walked the corridor leading to their shared office, Tanya breathed in the familiar smells. A hint of cleaning products, dusty carpet, and humanity. The pale walls, grey industrial grade floor covering, and the chipped woodwork welcomed her, and she smiled.

  Throwing her bag in the corner, she booted up her laptop and plugged it into the peripherals. Charlie switched on the kettle and soon the smell of instant coffee joined the fug. She leaned back in her chair and closed her eyes. It was over, she had done her duty – more than her duty, taking into account the throbbing in her arm – and now she could move on. The sense of freedom didn’t last long.

  “How were things with your sister?”

  Charlie’s question brought her back to earth with a bump. Of course, it wasn’t over, you couldn’t cut the past out of your life and not expect a sca
r. She looked at him for a moment screwing up her face and then gave him a quick precis of the morning’s conversation. He looked upset on her behalf. Charlie with his ever-expanding Jamaican family – new babies nearly every year among the various couples – didn’t understand, and obviously didn’t believe, that what she wanted more than anything was to have nothing more to do with her sister. He didn’t argue but he shook his head sadly.

  She moved on. “Right, I want that bloke back in, Freddy Stone. I want to interview him myself. I watched the interview with Paul and Dan and there was just something.”

  “What something?”

  “Well, first of all, he’d just left a pub; there’d be a toilet there. Why didn’t he go in comfort?”

  “Well, you don’t always, do you?”

  “No, and it’s probably nothing but it struck me as odd. Mainly though it was about who he saw. He was very vague, we’ve jumped on the idea of the homeless guy, but I want him to tell me in more detail. I didn’t trust him.”

  “Hmm.” Charlie turned away, sat behind his desk and began to fiddle with the mouse and keyboard.

  “What, what’s the matter?”

  “Nothing, it’s just that, well, you know, the team.”

  “What about them? I already said I might get them in later.”

  “No, that’s not what I meant. We’ve been working our butts off on this. There’s hardly anything to go on and…” He paused.

  “Spit it out, Charlie.”

  “Well, I reckon that if you start re-doing all they’ve done it might get their backs up a bit. It’s been disheartening, to be honest, not moving forward that much and this business–” He waved a hand between them. “They had trouble knowing who was running the show. If they get the idea you’re going to re-do everything... well, I just think that maybe you should be a bit careful how you handle things.”

  “Sod that.”

  “Right.” With the one word he left the office and she could hear him moving about in the incident room.

  Tanya closed her eyes and rubbed a hand across her face. Dealing with people wasn’t one of her strong points but she had made headway with this team. In large part it was because of the way Charlie had handled her taking over the last case and now she had annoyed and upset him. She lowered her head to the desk muttered into the wooden top, “Why the hell does it always have to be so bloody hard?”

  There was no answer.

  Chapter 39

  Tanya pointed at the screen. “Look, there. When Dan asked him who he saw in the alley, he doesn’t answer right away. And when he does reply, it’s vague. ‘Probably just that homeless bloke.’ Why would he say that? And note he said, ‘that homeless bloke’. How does he know there’s a homeless bloke if all he did was go in for a pee? Does he go in there regularly? It’s just as if he is saying what he thinks we want to hear somehow.”

  Tanya had run the video again in the incident room. Though he had said very little, Charlie had no choice but to watch it with her.

  “So, why are we looking for Colin the Cartman?” she asked.

  “The beat coppers said that he was the most likely rough sleeper. It’s one of his favourite spots. Plus, he’s disappeared since the fire.”

  “Okay, all valid points I grant you but…” She turned to face him. “You do see what I’m getting at, Charlie? Maybe because I was away, maybe because I wasn’t part of the sense of – oh, I don’t know – wanting to move it on quickly.” In spite of her earlier thoughts, she was treading carefully and didn’t want to say ‘desperation’. “Perhaps I looked at it more coldly.”

  “Yes, okay. I guess you’ve got a point. But this is going to go down like a lead balloon, you know that don’t you? They’re going to feel as though they missed something. It’s given us something to concentrate on, it felt like a move in the right direction and now you’re saying it’s nothing,” Charlie said.

  “I’m not saying stop looking for him, it’s all still viable. All I’m saying is let’s get this bloke Stone in again and push him a bit. I didn’t like him, he was shifty.”

  “Bloody hell, Tanya, more than half the people we have in here are shifty.” Charlie gave a laugh, but it was devoid of humour. She knew that telling him it was just a feeling wouldn’t cut any ice. All she could do was insist and try to minimise any antagonism.

  Further conversation was cut short by the arrival of the detective chief inspector and while Charlie trailed off to the almost empty canteen to chew at a stale ham sandwich, Tanya related the events of her trip to Scotland.

  “I’ll put a call in to Stan Laird tomorrow,” Bob Scunthorpe said. “Make sure we can preclude another trip up there, for the moment at least. I need you up to speed on this warehouse fire.”

  “Yes, sir. I’ve been kept up to date by Detective Inspector Lambert, and the team has been doing a great job.” Maybe if she praised them with the seniors it would filter back and take some of the sting out of what she was doing. It didn’t quite work.

  “I haven’t seen a great deal of that. A couple of interviews, a search for a rough sleeper but no real progress,” Scunthorpe said.

  “We have identified the victim, sir.”

  “Yes, but it’s told us very little, except that some poor streetwalker was where she shouldn’t have been and paid with her life.”

  “Yes, sir.” There was nothing else she could say, he was right.

  “I’m going to do some interviews in the morning. I’m going back to the site. I’m on this, sir,” Tanya said.

  He nodded and flicked the cover closed on the thin file in front of him. “We have to find some justice for this young woman. It doesn’t matter how she came to be in that situation she still deserves our best efforts.”

  “Yes, sir. I hope that you’re not under the impression that we haven’t been putting in our best effort. I’m sure the team has been giving it everything they have.”

  He looked up at her, “If this is the best effort then it hasn’t been very productive up to now, has it? You know very well how important the early days are, how these cases become cold. I know you had to go to Scotland, that wasn’t in doubt, but we need to make sure that hasn’t compromised this investigation or we’ll all have to explain ourselves and our decisions.”

  On her way to find Charlie, Tanya had to concede that he was right. Bob Scunthorpe was a fair and honest boss. She knew that when they looked at this later, her trip to Scotland, which he had sanctioned, could well be held up as a contributory factor if they didn’t solve this murder. She had to break it open in the next day or two or it would get away from them and simmer in the background waiting for a stroke of luck maybe for months, even years. That wouldn’t do her career any good at all, and the knock on would affect the team. All except for Kate Roberts and maybe Paul Harris, they were ambitious and yearning for promotion. Well, they were just going to have to get behind her, hurt feelings or not.

  “Inspector Miller.”

  Tanya turned to see a uniformed constable hurrying behind her, a hand raised in a ‘hold on’ gesture.

  “Yes.”

  “You’ve been looking for a rough sleeper?”

  “Colin the Cartman.”

  “Right. Well, they’ve found him.”

  “Excellent.” She had spun round and was heading back to the office, her phone already in her hand to call Charlie away from his solitary lunch.

  “Well, not that excellent actually. He’s dead.”

  Chapter 40

  The atmosphere in the car was less friendly and relaxed than just over an hour before. Tanya spoke first: “I do take your point, Charlie. I can understand what it’s been like and I appreciate all you’ve done. Especially as you could have been sitting on your arse watching daytime television.”

  He nodded and glanced at her. He gave her one of his grins, the sort that had Sue Rollinson lusting after him.

  “This is more than likely going to change things, eh?” he said.

  “Not many details as yet.
” Tanya clicked open her phone to read the report of the discovery. “A couple out for a bike ride along the riverbank found him. Ruined their jolly afternoon, I reckon. Mind you, who goes for a bike ride in this weather? Serves them right.”

  “He wasn’t in the water though. Thank heavens. I hate drownings. How sure are we that this is Colin?”

  “Pretty certain. Luck more than anything, and let’s face it we should be due some by now. The mobile patrol that turned up when the 999 came in recognised him from when he was on the beat,” Tanya said.

  “Out near Shire Lake Ditch. That’s quite a distance, if his usual place was round the warehouse.”

  “Yes, I wondered about that. We’ll have to speak to some of the people who knew him.”

  Charlie didn’t need to explain the groan. They both had experience of trying to elicit information from homeless people and rough sleepers. Apart from the surroundings they inhabited, they were naturally suspicious of authority.

  “Yep. I know, but I want us to do it rather than farm it out to the uniforms.” Tanya clicked off the phone and settled in the seat. Her armed throbbed constantly and she wished she’d hung on to the sling. She tucked her hand inside her jacket, pulling the zip up just far enough to give a bit of support.

  “You okay?” Charlie asked.

  “Yeah. I’m okay. I reckon we can just have a word with our cyclists, and Simon Hewitt when he arrives. The SOCO team have been scrambled and death has already been confirmed by the on-call doctor. Then we’ll decide the best response.”

  Silence fell again except for the quiet robotic voice of the sat nav and the patter of water on the windscreen as it began to rain.

  “Shit. No, not more rain.” As she spoke Tanya leaned forward, scanning the grey sky. “Why couldn’t it just wait another hour.”

  “If we’re lucky the team will have a tent up already.”

  “Bloody hope so. Please stop raining, please stop.” She gave a shrug. “It’s not stopping, Charlie.”