by Adam Croft
She decided not to tell Grundy that her suspicions were exactly that. It’d have no bearing on what she asked next.
‘I was thinking of perhaps asking for Jack’s help,’ she lied. ‘But I’m not sure if I can. What would you suggest I do?’
‘His help in what?’ Grundy asked, cocking his head.
Wendy sighed. ‘I really don’t know. Look, I shouldn’t even be here. I just feel... I dunno. I can’t really speak to anyone at the station about things as they’re too close to the whole situation. Plus everyone’s being careful about what they say with Malcolm Pope about. The whole atmosphere’s toxic. And with Jack the way he is, he’s hardly the best listening ear in the world.’
‘Is he ever?’ Grundy said, chuckling.
Wendy chuckled too. ‘True. I guess sometimes I just need to speak to someone who understands but isn’t directly in the situation, do you know what I mean?’
‘I know exactly what you mean,’ Grundy said, smiling. ‘I suppose that’s one of the good things about the way things have changed. If something affects you at work these days you’ve got counsellors on hand and all sorts.’
‘Yeah, at Milton House,’ Wendy said. ‘Hardly the best place to go when you’re feeling depressed or despondent. It’s enough to finish you off.’
Grundy looked at her for a few moments. ‘So what’s this really all about?’
‘How do you mean?’ Wendy asked.
‘Well, you haven’t just come here for a social chat in the middle of a murder investigation, have you?’
Wendy looked at the floor. ‘Not exactly, no.’
‘So why don’t you tell me?’
Wendy swallowed. ‘Jack’s worrying me. I can’t go into the details, but there’s only really a limited number of people who could be involved with these killings. He’s been acting very suspiciously and some things just don’t seem right.’
‘You think he’s involved?’ Grundy asked.
Wendy forced a smile. ‘Do you think it’s possible?’
‘Well, that’s a big thing to ask. Personally? No. Jack wouldn’t get involved with anything like that. He’s determined, sure. A stubborn old bugger. But above all else, he’s principled. He sticks to his beliefs.’
‘That’s what I’m worried about,’ Wendy replied.
‘How do you mean?’
‘I mean I’m not just worried about him being involved somehow. I’m worried that he might be the murderer.’
The reassuring expression on Grundy’s face slowly dropped. ‘I think perhaps we ought to have a drink.’
33
Wendy needed answers. Whether Jack Culverhouse was involved or not, it didn’t actually matter. The problem was she needed to know either way. The thought that her trust could have been broken in that way was devastating, but the possibility that she could have thought such a thing about Jack if it was untrue would potentially be even worse. Whatever the truth was, she needed it.
Her distinct lack of self esteem meant that she was certain there was no way she could outwit Jack. He’d always be one step ahead, so trying to prove anything would be futile. She was sure that she knew him pretty well by now, though. A lot of the time, she could see through him. His macho attitude and bravado was just one big cover — she’d learnt that much fairly early on — and she reckoned she knew what buttons to press. She saw that it was to her advantage to strike while he was clearly not as stable as he had been, and took the opportunity.
Jack didn’t seem the slightest bit surprised to see her when he opened his front door, but he didn’t immediately stand aside to let him in.
‘What?’ he said, his eyes glazed.
‘Can I come in?’ Wendy asked, tilting her head.
‘Are you sure you want to? It’s probably not up to your standards.’
Wendy closed her eyes. ‘Don’t be daft. I’m here to speak to you, not to inspect your cleaning.’
Culverhouse shrugged and stepped aside. Wendy could smell the alcohol fumes as she walked past him, the stale fug of the house hitting her in the face like a sledgehammer as she made her way through to the conservatory at the back, assuming that this would be the least unpleasant room to sit in.
She sat down on a wicker chair as Culverhouse hovered around in the doorway. ‘Do you want a drink?’ he asked.
‘No, thanks,’ Wendy replied. ‘Guv, can you sit down please? I need to speak to you about something.’
He looked at her for a couple of seconds, then did as he was told.
‘First things first, I don’t want you to go off the head at me, okay? I just want to speak calmly and rationally so I can move on with this investigation.’
He looked at her for another couple of seconds. ‘What the fuck are you talking about?’
Wendy breathed out heavily. ‘When you said you wanted to shake the hand of whoever had killed Jeff Brelsford, did you mean it?’
Culverhouse’s tone was neutral but firm. ‘If you’re asking me whether I’d rather spend the evening with a live Jeff Brelsford or the man who killed him, I’d take the latter every time.’
Wendy swallowed. ‘And if you knew who was doing it, or had suspicions as to who it was, would you withhold that information or make it known?’
His face didn’t change. ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’
She didn’t quite know how to phrase it. ‘Look, we’ve had some information come to light. This isn’t easy for me to say.’
‘For fuck’s sake, Knight, will you spit it out?’ His voice rose in volume.
Wendy looked him straight in the eye. ‘Why did you look up a list of offenders on ViSOR three days before Jeff Brelsford was killed?’
She thought she saw a flicker of something move across his face.
‘I’m a DCI,’ he said impassively. ‘It’s my job to look at lists of offenders.’
‘Not sex offenders. Not at that point. You weren’t working on any cases involving sex offenders,’ Wendy replied, leaning in closely. She heard his breathing becoming louder and thought she saw his jaw clench.
‘It was to do with another case,’ he said, finally.
‘Guv, tell me the truth. I deserve that much.’ Wendy could feel herself close to tears. ‘Who’s next, Jack?’
‘Are you having a fucking laugh?’ he barked. ‘Why are you always so blinkered? Do you seriously think I’m going around popping off paedos?’
Wendy closed her eyes. ‘I don’t know what to think any more.’
‘Right. Great. Thanks very much. As if things couldn’t get any better.’
‘Just tell me,’ Wendy said, her voice breaking.
‘I’ll tell you one thing and one thing only,’ he said, standing up. ‘I’ll tell you that if after all we’ve been through together, as a team, that you think I’m some sort of turncoat, then you can forget it. You can fucking forget it!’ he yelled, swiping his arm across the side unit, a pile of papers and glass ornaments crashing to the conservatory floor as Wendy watched.
‘Now,’ he said, his voice much calmer. ‘You’ve got two options. Do you trust me or are you going to throw away everything we’ve worked for over the years?’
34
Frank Vine found Wendy in a rather less positive mood than usual that morning. He was pretty sure, though, that the information he’d had from Bower and Sons’ web hosting company would brighten her day a bit.
‘Right,’ he said, plonking his notebook down on the desk and explaining its contents to spare Wendy the trouble of having to try and decipher his handwriting. ‘I managed to do all this without calling the tech team, which I’m pretty bloody pleased about.’
‘All what?’ Wendy asked.
‘Finding out who’d nabbed the registration number for the Vauxhall Combo off the website of the van hire company in Birmingham. They’ve got a .co.uk domain name, right? So I went to Nominet. That’s the domain registry. Their records showed the website is hosted by a company called Edge Online. I got onto this Edge company and sent over a formal requ
est for the server logs. Took a bit of time, unfortunately, but they came back to me and even helped to interpret the information. I couldn’t make head nor tail of it. Turns out the IP addresses — the identifier of the internet connections used to connect to the website — were mostly from the Birmingham area, funnily enough. Their website doesn’t get many hits at all, apparently. A couple from the States, India and the Philippines, which was a bit weird but pretty normal according to the bloke at Edge. What was really interesting was a visit two months back from an IP address in the Mildenheath area.’
Wendy cocked her head and looked at him. ’Jesus, Frank. How did you manage that? You’re still struggling with light switches.’
Frank grinned from ear to ear. ’I know, right? Who needs these computer forensics blokes anyway?’
‘So do we have an ID on a suspect?’ Wendy asked.
‘Not quite. The IP address only tells us which exchange the connection was made from. Can be hundreds of physical properties using that exchange, if not thousands.’
‘Great,’ Wendy said. ‘So all we know is that it’s someone in the Mildenheath area? We’d guessed that much already.’
‘Not quite,’ Frank said. ‘With that IP address we’re able to go to the internet service provider and get something more specific. Much more specific. Like a name and address.’
‘And why haven’t you?’
‘I have,’ Frank said. ‘And that’s where it gets really interesting.’
‘Jesus Christ, Frank! Just get to the point, will you?’ Wendy said, her voice rising in both pitch and volume.
‘Right, sorry,’ Frank said, shuffling his feet. ‘They traced it to an address in Ambassador Court. A customer called Kyle Finney. I’ve looked on the PNC and the really interesting thing is he’s got form himself. Listed on ViSOR, as it happens. Released from Her Maj’s pleasure six months ago after touching up schoolgirls in the park. The guv had been trying to nab him for ages, apparently, so he’s known. DCI Pope’s given us clearance to go and speak to him.’
‘Speak to him?’ Wendy said, standing up and grabbing her coat. ‘We’re going to have him.’
Frank Vine stood and smiled. ‘Y’know, Wendy, you’re starting to behave more like the guv every day.’
Wendy shot Frank a look of humoured displeasure. ‘Fuck off, Frank.’
35
Jack Culverhouse was glad he was the sort of person who didn’t give a shit what people thought of him. As if the looks and double-takes from his former colleagues on spotting him walking around the station in week-old clothes, unshaved and with unkempt hair weren’t enough, the ignominy of having to be buzzed through doors that only a few weeks ago he could open himself was truly humiliating. This was his lair, his domain. And now he was a stranger in his own world, unable to even open a door for himself. That was the ultimate insult.
By the time he got up to Charles Hawes’s office, he was ready to rumble. Hawes ushered him in and Culverhouse sat down on the plush chair.
‘I’m going to get straight to the point, Jack,’ Hawes said. ‘There’s a reason I asked you to come here. I’m retiring.’
Culverhouse said nothing for a moment. ‘What the fuck? No you’re not.’
Hawes smiled. ‘I’m not getting any younger, Jack. I have to retire at some point.’
‘Why now?’
‘Look, things have changed recently. The force isn’t the same as it was before. You know that as well as anybody.’
‘Yeah, and that’s exactly why we have to stay exactly where we are and fight back against the bastards. If you go now, this place won’t be standing in a year’s time. You know that.’
‘Yes, Jack. I know that,’ the Chief Constable said. ‘But I can’t keep working until I’m a hundred and five just to keep a pile of bricks and mortar standing. Change is inevitable. Sure, we can postpone it but we can’t stop it. And I know one thing sure as hell: Malcolm Pope will be here long after I’m gone. He’s young. He’s got time on his side. All he has to do is wait for me to go.’
‘So you’re just going to let him?’ Culverhouse shouted, incredulous.
‘I don’t have much choice. I can’t stop getting older. I’m always going to have the best part of twenty years on him. There’s nothing I can do about nature. I might as well go now while I’ve at least got one shred of dignity and before this place completely crushes me.’
‘That’s bullshit and you know it,’ Culverhouse barked.
‘It’s no use, Jack. My mind’s made up. I’ll be sending a statement to the papers later today. But I thought it was best that you knew first. I had to tell you in person.’
Culverhouse crossed his arms and sat back. ’Why me? I’m not even a police officer at the moment. If you think back carefully, you’ll remember that you had me suspended.’
‘You’re on leave, Jack. There’s a difference.’
‘There’s no fucking difference at all,’ he replied. ‘It’s just more bullshit wording to try and make things sound better. Right from the school of Malcolm bloody Pope.’
‘Listen, Jack. The reason I’m telling you is because there’s something I need to say. We’ve been fighting back against the tide of change for years, and it’s a fucking tsunami now. It’s pointless resisting. I’m getting out while I still can and taking the pension. You’ve put years and years into this service and this police force. The last thing I want is for you to carry on as you are, get kicked out and lose the lot.’
‘So what are you saying?’ Culverhouse asked, cocking his head.
‘I’m saying you need to mellow out a bit. A lot. Roll with the punches. Give yourself a chance of at least seeing out the rest of your service with a new Chief Constable. Because we both know you won’t last five minutes if you carry on as you have been.’
Culverhouse stared at Hawes. ‘Jesus Christ. You’ve fallen for it too, haven’t you? Malcolm Pope’s bullshit. He’s turned you as well.’
Hawes shook his head violently and raised a hand. ‘No, Jack, no-one’s turned me. This isn’t some batshit conspiracy theory. It’s a case of recognising when we’ve been fighting a battle for far longer than we’ve needed to and accepting that we’re in the minority — a minority which is dwindling. Hell, if I wasn’t Chief Constable there’s no way either of us would still be serving officers.’
‘But it’s not just a case of that, is it?’ Culverhouse said, his voice raised. ‘What about Steve and Frank? I can’t see them becoming pen pushers. You can’t just up and leave because the pressure’s getting too much. That’s what we have Chief Constables for.’
Hawes stood up and walked to the drinks cabinet, pouring himself a glass of water from the jug, which sat on top of it. ’With all due respect, Jack, it’s not your decision to make.’
‘So what’s next? Who takes your job?’
‘Who knows? Not up to me. Usual protocol is to ask the outgoing Chief Constable for their recommendation, but they don’t have to. Almost certainly won’t ask me, and if they do they’ll do the opposite of what I say. Choice is down to Martin Cummings at the end of the day.’
Hearing things like this always enraged Culverhouse. The elected Police and Crime Commissioner was nothing more than a politician sucking wages and resources from the police force whilst using it to further his own political agenda. His main focus was on reducing what he called ‘wastage’, which, funnily enough, didn’t stretch to his own salary and ludicrous expenses, but instead consisted of frontline police officers, desk staff and community policing resources.
‘Bastard. He’d do away with a Chief Constable if he could,’ Culverhouse said. ‘He’d have a Community Enforcement Manager or some bollocks like that.’
Hawes laughed. ‘I don’t think so. But the new Chief would very likely be someone who sympathises with his aims and objectives. That means Mildenheath will almost certainly be merged into Milton House.’
‘Well there’s only one option, then, isn’t there?’ Culverhouse said. ‘You’re going to have t
o stay.’
Hawes shook his head. ‘Not going to happen, Jack. My mind’s made up.’
‘So’s mine,’ Culverhouse said, standing and pushing his chair in. ‘If you’re going to make a stupid decision that brings this department crashing down and gives Malcolm Pope carte blanche to do whatever the fuck he wants, you’re doing it without my blessing. Enjoy your retirement.’
With that, he walked out.
36
This was a familiar pattern for Jack Culverhouse. Just when he thought life couldn’t fuck him over any more, it went and found a way. Work had been his only constant in life. Everything else had chopped and changed and provided him with far too much drama, but work had always been there. Sure, it was far from being a consistent job in terms of what he’d have to deal with every day, but at least he knew where he stood.
In his personal life, things were far from secure. Ever since Helen had upped and left, citing his obsession with work as her reason, he’d become even more driven by the job. After all, it was the only thing he could rely on. Now, though, even that had been taken from him. If it had been purely his own stupid fault, he could at least come to terms with that eventually. But the fact that this seemed to be one massive fit-up with Malcolm Pope at the centre made the whole situation even more bitter.
Pope had been trying to get rid of him for a long time, he knew that. But while the two men were contemporaries there was nothing he could do. With Hawes retiring, he knew exactly what would happen. They’d promote from within, the cretins at Milton House would all shuffle up a rung, Mildenheath would be closed and merged into the main CID unit and he’d find himself increasingly ostracised. There might even be redundancies.
His head was telling him he was getting too old for this shit. Hawes was right. The best thing for both of them would be to put it all behind them and either move forward and adapt or get out and take the pension. Jack Culverhouse wasn’t a man who was often driven by his head, though. He was a man who followed his heart, and his heart was telling him to stick two fingers up to the bastards and carry on as he’d always been — the way that had always got results. After all, he’d solved far more serious crimes than Malcolm Pope.
