Owen’s fingers tapped the keyboard and a complete collection of these morbid items came up from bandanas to full skull balaclavas.
“It’s a bandana as they’re easy to pull down and re-cover. It looks like the people we need to find.”
Owen started the film again. “You’ll see, there’s no number plate nor reflection from one.”
“Has anyone else come forward?”
Owen shook his head.
“Don’t give any details to the press that we’re looking for a truck or it will be a pile of ash and twisted metal by tonight. We should receive some lab results today.”
“There’s some good news, Sir.”
Cyril just raised an eye-brow and took another sip.
“The technical lads have fixed her camera!”
Cyril simply raised both eyebrows and sighed. “I’m glad we’re good at some things, Owen.”
***
Cyril stood and looked at the variety of intriguing ornaments that were displayed on the glass shelf in Dr Pritchett’s office. He was tempted to draw a smiley face in the dust but restrained the urge. He was sure the ornaments all came from some part of the human anatomy but he was not sure which part. The door opened and Cyril turned and smiled quizzically whilst pointing at some semi-spherical objects slightly smaller than cricket balls.
“Morning Cyril. Kidney stones believe it or not. It’s amazing what the body will produce. Speaking of body and producing, that was a mess you discovered. Coffee?”
Cyril settled with a coffee and produced a small Dictaphone. “Do you mind?”
Julie shook her head.
“You were saying?”
“Male. Cause of death, heart failure brought about through severe body trauma. Attacked by dogs that were out of anyone’s control. Not only attacked but also a good deal of body tissue was consumed, hence the missing fingers and facial features. We presume the dogs were starved. It could have been a pack but I doubt that. When was the last time you saw a stray on The Stray?” She grimaced at her own pun. “Let alone a pack of strays? The partial hand found later was, we believe, moved post mortem, probably by a fox, but the bleach used to clean the corpse would dissuade consumption. The scene of death must have been awash with his DNA. Considering the severity of the injuries, he probably bled out where he was attacked. Any ideas?”
Cyril shook his head.
“Clear traces of drug and alcohol abuse and marks of scabies and lice infestation, common with those that fall from grace and live rough.”
“Any information from his dental records?”
“They’re being scanned at present and we have photographs of the tattoo I mentioned to you at the scene. It appears to depict some cartoon character but there’s damage. I thought it was Snoopy. The words, ‘The Mad Punter’ were discernable with some difficulty below it and that made me doubt my initial thought but my assistant agrees. It’s forwarded for your attention.”
The conversation was interrupted as a colleague entered and a sheet of paper was placed on the desk. Julie read it.
“Your man is a Mr Drew Sadler, 46. He’s been living rough for the past twelve months or so and according to his records he’s a divorced father of two. And to think that most people think their teeth are used only for chewing! His previous address is here along with a brief history. You owe me dinner.” She smiled and handed Cyril the paper.
Cyril read through it again before folding it and putting it in his inside pocket. He switched off the Dictaphone.
“The dinner is off the record.” She smiled.
Chapter Eleven
Owen was tapping a particularly stained mug with his pencil whilst humming some unfathomable tune when Cyril walked in.
“Still as musical as a stone trough, Owen. Don’t give up the day job and if you keep drinking out of mugs like that you’ll be booking a date with Dr Julie before me. It takes two minutes to wash it.” He peered into it to see what appeared to be a fossilised tea bag lodged at the bottom.
“Washing the cup ruins the brew, Sir. Besides my guess is that there’s some form of antibiotic in the residue.” He smiled before picking up a report. “When Sadler went off the rails he derailed in a big way. Total train crash. Re-mortgaged his house, borrowed from friends as well as hitting the bottle. Eventually he embezzled cash from work, lost friends, lost his job and lost his home. According to the autopsy he also enjoyed cocaine. His family’s now living with her parents, she works, kids at school. Her parents have supported them through the rough times.”
“Do we have his records here, a photograph of a tattoo?”
Owen slid it across the table from the file. Julie was correct. Although damaged it was clearly Snoopy.
***
37, Moorside was a large, respectable, Victorian detached house. Owen rang the bell. The curtain in the bay window twitched and a short time later the security chain was slid onto the door before it opened just enough to allow the face of a gentleman in his late sixties to partially appear.
Owen showed his ID handing it to the man before introducing himself.
“Mr Baines? DS Owen and this is DCI Bennett. May we come in and have a word? It’s about Drew Sadler.”
Owen heard a deep, frustrated sigh as the door closed briefly and the chain was removed.
Swinging the door wide, Mr Baines looked at both men and they could see the anger in his eyes. He took them through to what he referred to as the parlour. Owen could see that he was on edge.
“I’ve bad news I’m afraid. You might want to sit down. Mr Sadler’s body has been found. Could you tell us when you last saw him?”
Owen noticed immediately that the anger had returned as his seated body stiffened at the very mention of the name. There was a drawn-out pause.
“Must be twelve months since that bastard disappeared after taking everything from my daughter and the children, even took her engagement and wedding rings and the kids’ laptop. Probably sold them to feed his gambling habit as well as his other sins.”
Cyril looked up from his notes after underlining the word, ‘SINS’.
“Good riddance, that’s what I say. Not too Christian a philosophy, I know, but then we are talking about one of Satan’s own.”
The door opened and Mrs Baines entered. Cyril stood, allowing his foot to tap Owen’s who immediately looked at Cyril taking the hint.
“He’s dead is he? We can all rest. I don’t suppose it was natural causes, probably not found in his own bed more likely in someone else’s, caressing some cheap prostitute and a bottle of vodka?”
Both officers stood amazed at the immediate and forthright hostility shown by the petite pensioner.
“Could you please elaborate, Mrs Baines? His death doesn’t seem to be much of a shock to you. We’d be grateful if you could fill in some gaps. We’re interested in the period from when he started to go off track.”
“Sit!” she barked, more an instruction than an invitation. “As far as I was concerned he was never on track. He did dreadful things to my daughter, and I doubt whether the children will recover fully from the trauma of seeing their father slowly dismantle their lives. It wasn’t the first time in the relationship where he rocked the boat. I believe the worst for them was having strangers at the door threatening physical harm and damage to property.”
“Mrs Baines, I’m confused. Could you go through the problems chronologically? I know this must be difficult and if you wish we could come back later to give you time in which to get your thoughts in order.”
Cyril had hardly finished when she snapped back at him.
“Inspector, I want this out of the way with the minimum of fuss. Enough of Drew Sadler is certainly enough. They’d been married for a year when he had his first affair. Joan was pregnant with Gregory. He’d been promoted to manager of the supermarket and he had a dalliance with one of the checkout girls, but if you ask me he’s always had a roving eye. I often felt as though he were undressing me when he looked at me and I’m no oil p
ainting.”
Cyril sensed Owen turn in his direction and then heard him cough as if stifling a laugh.
“You want to say something, Owen?” Cyril’s voice showed his annoyance.
Owen shook his head, simply clearing his throat.
“Joan took him back but I think he carried on his lechery, maybe not with the same girl but probably there were others with eyes for their boss and hopes of promotion. I imagine there were prostitutes too.”
“Did the threats you mentioned come from jealous boyfriends, husbands, pimps?”
Mr Baines, who had been silent interrupted, “No, they came from the people to whom he owed money. And believe me he owed a lot of money.”
“Reg, go and put the kettle on I’m sure the Inspector would like a cup of tea.”
Reg immediately stood and went into the kitchen. He glared at his wife, angered and frustrated by the way she had dismissed his input.
“Drew started to go to the local gym after work and on Wednesdays he’d call at the ‘Running Horses’ on his way home afterwards, often until late. Joan grew concerned because she thought he was meeting a woman but he wasn’t, he’d joined a poker group. I sent Reg in one time to have a look. He knew he was in because his car was on the car park. It seemed very innocent and once he’d told Joan they seemed better, they appeared more relaxed, happier. It was after this that things started to go wrong. The poker games went from one evening a week at the pub to two and then on the days he didn’t work he’d disappear for a morning or afternoon. They stopped doing things as a family. Money suddenly seemed tight and Joan started to ask us for a few pounds for the children’s school dinners or for school trips and then she noticed bills were not paid on time and that was unusual. Anyway, Joan discovered that the house was in the process of being re-mortgaged, that he had run up huge credit card debts and he’d even handed over the car logbook for cash to feed his gambling addiction. They began to argue and although she’ll not admit it, I believe he was violent. It was then the phone calls started. They wanted Drew but when he obviously failed to reply strangers appeared at the house. On one occasion, he came home very badly bruised and knocked about. He told my daughter he’d had too much to drink and fallen but she knew. Someone threw a brick through the lounge window and if that was not bad enough a total stranger even called at Joan’s work place demanding money. My daughter became very scared as you can imagine, Inspector, and extremely confused, so she came here and Drew stayed at the house. The final straw, as I’m sure you are aware, was his embezzlement of money from the supermarket, resulting in the termination of employment and a suspended sentence. It was then that he lost the house, it was auctioned by the building society and he vanished.”
Reg arrived with the tea.
“So your daughter and the children live here with you?”
“She can still work and we can help with the children. Try to bring some stability back. Families need stability, Inspector, they need to be together, don’t you agree?”
“So none of you has seen Drew since then?”
Reg coughed and spoke much to the annoyance of his wife. She folded her arms under her ample bosom and looked away.
“I saw him on The Stray, near Montpellier Hill, he was surrounded by his worldly goods; bin bags and an empty bottle. He didn’t see me. I wanted to give him a piece of my mind but…”
“We’ll need to speak with your daughter. It might be better if she came to the station. We shouldn’t interview her here owing to the children, they’ve been through enough as it is. Thanks for your time. There’s no need to identify the body as that’s been done. We’ll let you know when the coroner releases the body.”
“We are neither interested in the body nor a funeral, Inspector.”
“But your daughter might be to ensure an end to the matter. We’ll discuss that with her. Please give her my card and ask her to ring me.” Cyril spoke forcibly to ensure that she wobbled on her high horse.
Cyril was barely on the drive when Owen piped up. “Jesus, I’d drink and gamble if I had a mother-in-law like her! God knows what sort of life our Reg has, the guy hardly dares draw breath.”
“Love and marriage, Owen, love and marriage. There’s a free lesson in life about choice if you care to heed. Visit the Running Horses and see if you can get any names of people involved with the poker group. I know it was a while ago but see if anyone remembers Sadler and check if they’re aware of any other poker nights run at different venues. Names, Owen, names! I’ll call at the supermarket and see if any of the staff remember him. If they were there when he was, then they should.”
Chapter Twelve
The long table in the incident room was carefully ordered. Displayed on one wall were a number of the images detailing the initial finding of the body, the autopsy and, at the top left, an unflattering police mug shot of Drew Sadler, taken when arrested for embezzlement.
Owen and Liz entered. Cyril frowned as Owen entered first leaving Liz in his wake before taking a seat and pulling a sheaf of identical papers towards him. Liz simply smiled at her boss, a smile that reflected everything Cyril was thinking.
Cyril looked at them both, Liz, petite and smart, was the total opposite of Owen who not only demonstrated a total lack of manners, but was also large and untidy. His plain tie, speckled and patterned with the remnants of some forgotten meal, looked almost designed that way. It was a good job dress sense didn’t reflect his police work.
“Afternoon. No doubt Owen has regaled you with our visit to the Baines’ household? To put it politely, I can concur that they were not exactly enamoured of their son-in-law.”
“She wasn’t enamoured by anything other than her daughter. If she could have got shot of her husband I’m sure she would,” grumbled Owen.
“Cyril shook his head. Not necessarily true. Who’d make her tea?”
Owen laughed.
“However, they’ve filled in some gaps and created a more positive path for this investigation to pursue. What news at The Running Horses?”
Cyril picked up his pen to make notes.
“The landlord has been there for years and remembers Mr Sadler well and not too kindly either. The poker night was each Wednesday from 7:30 till 11:00 and from all accounts complied with the Gambling Act 2005. The group started small and gradually it proved popular with more and more people becoming involved. They were linked with pub tournaments. Sadler did well and was often the leading points scorer. Landlord said he was a big head and a pain in the arse. He was probably the keenest participant; he was always there at the start and remained until the last man left. The landlord had also heard that he’d got involved with some guys who ran a private poker game so you can guess that they weren’t playing for points then.”
“So if he was a winner in the pub how come he lost all the money?”
“My question exactly to the landlord. His experience suggests people play a different game when hard cash is involved, particularly when they can’t afford to lose. They take greater risks, lose their confidence and basically and I quote, ‘Flap and then flop’. Once they are in debt they bet bigger to try to recoup. He never saw this with Sadler because they were never in that situation in the pub, but he heard rumours. Losing a couple of hundred an evening was commonplace.”
“Did he continue to play at the pub?”
Owen shook his head. “For about six months only and then nothing. He still heard some frightening tales, not just about Sadler but one or two others who thought they could win big. I’ve a couple of names and I’ll follow them up discreetly. If they’re heading down the same track, then we might be able to avert a similar crash. Should have been in Social work.” Owen looked up and grinned.
“So no money changed hands in the pub?”
“Nope, just points. It’s legal to have money games but it’s heavily controlled, a limit of something like £5 per game per person. All controlled by the Gambling Commission. The advice is here.”
Owen passed three s
tapled documents across the table.
“Thanks, Owen. So you’ll check those names? Just add that to the board, there could be a lead. His last place of work didn’t have many glowing words for the deceased either I’m saddened to say. From all accounts he was a lecherous sod, promoting those females who, shall we say, accommodated his interview techniques. One young lady told me he was always spouting on about how much he could win at poker, always flashing money. When he took her out one Sunday, they ate in style, champagne, good wine, the lot. She even told me that he had offered her cocaine after they had had sex in his car but she’d refused. Interestingly they all thought he was divorced, whether he said that or whether it was just assumed, we don’t know.”
“She took everything and then she obediently opened her legs even though she thought he was a total loser.”
“Prostitution takes many forms, Owen. You know that.”
“Let’s not be quick to judge!” Liz shot back angry at the way the discussion was going.
“You’re right, Liz,” Cyril answered holding a hand up. “My apologies. So what do we have? He’s a gambler, drinker, womaniser, manipulator, husband and parent. He’s also arrogant, inept, insecure, immature, and to use Owen’s term, a total loser who has been found dead under the strangest circumstances, a death that by all accounts was long drawn out and painful. Basically he was eaten. Liz, add those words to the board too. What are your thoughts?”
Liz wrote the words as Cyril read them again more slowly. She wrote ‘No respect for women’ at the end, underlining the words to demonstrate her annoyance at their biased, male opinions. She had said little since entering the room, her thoughts were constantly with the attacked child. When she had finished writing the last word she put down the pen.
“Funny, Sir, two people have been attacked by dogs, one lived, one died. At least in my opinion the correct one lived. Someone has used our man as an example, the attack was probably videoed and will be used to deter others from some activity whether that be failing to repay debt or some other intimidation. Could be mafia, could be triad, could be just a local drug gang wanting to elevate their standing in the community. We have enough possibilities with criminal gangs spreading from Leeds, York and Bradford, all wanting a bigger part of this lucrative, professional town.”
Hell's Gate: A gripping, edge-of-your-seat crime thriller Page 5
