Dead Lock (The DI Nick Dixon Crime Series Book 8)

by Damien Boyd

  ‘The phones have been pretty steady. The public are doing their best, but nothing of note, sadly.’

  ‘What about Sailes?’

  ‘You’ll need to speak to Sally Guthrie about him.’

  ‘Yes, Ma’am.’

  Potter picked up her reading glasses and turned back to her computer screen.

  ‘You didn’t tell her what you said about Sonia?’ said Jane, following Dixon as he weaved in and out of the workstations looking for Guthrie.

  ‘She’d think I was mad as a hatter.’

  ‘She’s not the only one.’

  ‘Thank you, Sergeant.’

  ‘I’m going down to my office for five minutes,’ said Jane. ‘Then I’m going home, I think. If I don’t get some sleep . . .’

  ‘I’ll catch you up.’

  It was just before midnight when Dixon crawled into bed.

  ‘Where’ve you been?’ asked Jane, rolling over, the duvet wrapped around her shoulders.

  ‘On the beach.’

  ‘In the dark?’

  ‘It’s a full moon and the tide’s out.’

  ‘What did Guthrie say about Sailes?’

  ‘She’d buggered off, but Dave was there,’ replied Dixon. ‘The car’s gone for forensics at Portishead.’ He moved his legs so Monty could jump on the end of the bed. ‘The post mortem gave the cause of death as a broken neck, which is what we expected. Did you know he dialled 999?’

  ‘When?’

  ‘Eleven o’clock that night.’

  ‘What’d he say?’

  ‘Nothing. He rang off.’

  Jane sat up. ‘Anything else?’

  ‘A witness near the Shell station on the Berrow Road saw the car being driven erratically and said the driver appeared to be in distress. It was only a glimpse, mind you. “Crying his eyes out” was the phrase Dave used.’

  ‘What’s the plan for tomorrow then?’

  ‘Portishead first,’ replied Dixon, setting the alarm on his phone. ‘Then I’d like to catch Tanya conscious for a change.’

  ‘Don’t hold your breath,’ muttered Jane, sliding down under the duvet. ‘Wait a minute.’ She rolled over on to her back. ‘What about the reconstruction at Catcott?’

  But Dixon was already asleep.

  ‘We can watch it on the telly,’ Dixon had replied, as he sped down the northbound on slip at junction twenty-two on to the M5 the following morning. Jane had asked him about the reconstruction twice, while there’d still been time to get there, and the answer had been the same both times.

  Now they were standing side by side, wearing white overalls, gloves and masks, staring at a black Renault Clio with a flattened roof and shattered windows. Both doors had been removed with cutting equipment, presumably to get Sailes’s body out.

  ‘What exactly did you want to know?’ asked the technician.

  ‘Have you finished with it?’

  ‘Pretty much.’

  ‘What caused the accident?’

  ‘That’s for the motor engineer, really, but the wheels are both buckled on the nearside, so he spun, hit the kerb and took off.’

  Dixon squatted down and peered in. ‘What was in it?’

  ‘It’s over here.’

  They followed the technician over to a locked cabinet. He opened it and took out a box, setting it down on the bonnet of the car. Each item taken from the car had been documented and sealed in an evidence bag.

  ‘There was a small amount of cannabis resin,’ he said, rummaging in amongst the plastic bags. He pulled one out with a flourish and dropped it on the bonnet in front of Dixon.

  ‘Anything else?’ he asked.

  ‘This was under the seat.’ The technician was holding up a second bag.

  Dixon leaned forwards. ‘It’s an iPhone.’

  ‘An iPhone 7 to be precise. Still sealed in its box, so it should be fine.’

  ‘What does it say on the label?’

  ‘Just the standard stuff, but it was in this bag, if that helps?’ The technician was holding up yet another evidence bag, this one containing a single Vodafone carrier bag. ‘There was nothing else in it.’

  ‘No paperwork, receipt, anything like that?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Can I take it?’ asked Dixon.

  ‘You’ll have to sign for it.’

  Less than an hour later Dixon screeched to a halt on the pavement outside Lloyds Bank in the middle of Bridgwater.

  ‘The Vodafone shop’s just down there,’ he said, reaching over and picking up the iPhone and carrier bag off the back seat, both still in their evidence bags. ‘I’ll be back in a minute.’

  ‘And if a traffic warden comes along?’

  ‘Enjoy the moment.’ Dixon grinned.

  ‘I could just move the Land Rover.’

  ‘Where’s your sense of adventure?’

  ‘I left it on Striding Edge,’ said Jane, smirking.

  Dixon ran along Fore Street and through the front door of the Vodafone shop.

  ‘I need to speak to whoever sold this iPhone,’ he said, holding up the evidence bag in one hand and his warrant card in the other.

  The shop assistant tucked her iPad under her arm and took the evidence bag from Dixon. ‘You know it was sold from here?’ she asked, rolling over the box inside the bag.

  ‘No.’

  ‘I should be able to trace it from the IMEI number.’

  ‘Whatever that is.’

  ‘International Mobile Equipment Identity.’

  ‘You live and learn.’

  ‘You do.’

  Dixon followed her to a computer terminal at a standing desk in the back corner of the store.

  ‘Are you on Vodafone?’

  ‘I’m in a bit of a hurry,’ replied Dixon, stifling a sigh.

  ‘Sorry. Force of habit.’ She typed in the IMEI number. ‘Here it is. It was only the day before yesterday.’ She sat back on her bar stool. ‘Actually, should I be giving you this information without a search warrant?’

  ‘Have you been watching the news lately?’

  ‘Yes.’

  Dixon raised his eyebrows.

  ‘The girls?’ she asked.

  He nodded.

  ‘Sonia Lamm. Golden Fleece, Kingfisher Marina. That’s a boat then, presumably?’

  ‘Is it on a contract?’

  ‘Yes. D’you need the details?’

  ‘How much is it?’

  ‘Fifty pounds a month for two years.’

  ‘Does it give the name of who it’s for?’

  ‘Er . . .’ Dixon watched her eyes scanning the screen. ‘Here it is. Alesha Daniels. That’s one of them, isn’t it?’ She looked up, but he was already halfway to the door.

  ‘Well?’

  ‘Sonia bought it for Alesha,’ replied Dixon, jumping in the driver’s seat. ‘The day before yesterday.’ He threw the evidence bag on the back seat and started the engine.

  ‘So?’ Jane shook her head. ‘She’s bought Alesha a new phone for when she gets back. What does that tell us?’ she asked.

  ‘Oh, come on, Jane. When Alesha gets back, then you go and buy the phone, and sign up for the contract. Do you really do that before you know she’s coming back at all? It’s fifty quid a month.’

  ‘Maybe she was planning to keep it for herself if—?’

  ‘Bollocks.’

  ‘Just be careful, that’s all I’m saying. You’ve got no evidence and you’re gonna look a right dickhead if you go wading in there accusing the bloody grandmother of being in on it.’

  Dixon accelerated on the long straight out of Bridgwater.

  ‘Where are you going now?’

  ‘Burnham.’

  ‘You’ll have to drop me at Express Park. I’ve got things to do.’

  ‘Make sure they send a Family Liaison officer over to Worston Lane, will you,’ said Dixon, pulling in on the edge of the roundabout at the entrance to Express Park.

  Jane looked at police centre, a couple of hundred yards away along the service road
. ‘Is that it?’

  ‘The exercise will do you good.’

  ‘Cheeky sod.’

  ‘Tell no one where I’m going with this. All right?’

  ‘No bloody fear. You can tell ’em yourself.’

  Richard Page was standing on the garden path outside Tanya’s flat with his mobile phone clamped to his ear when Dixon arrived in Worston Lane.

  ‘What’s going on?’ he asked, winding down the window.

  ‘She won’t let me in.’

  ‘Who won’t?’

  ‘The mother.’

  Dixon smiled. ‘Come with me,’ he said, climbing out of his Land Rover.

  ‘You again?’ Sonia was leaning on the front door. She had her hand on the frame, blocking the way.

  ‘Me again.’

  ‘She’s out of it again, so there’s no point coming in.’

  Dixon fixed Sonia with his best stare and waited.

  ‘Oh, for fuck’s sake.’ She stepped back. ‘If you must.’

  ‘This is Richard, Sonia, he’s a Family Liaison officer and it’s important he stays here all day in case Tanya wakes up. All right?’

  ‘It’s a waste of time.’

  ‘Well, it’s his not yours so let’s not worry about that.’

  Sonia frowned.

  Dixon was standing in the lounge looking down at Tanya asleep on the sofa. ‘Does methadone usually have this effect on her?’ he asked.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘When were you going to tell us that Kevin stole the iPhone you bought for Alesha?’

  ‘How d’you . . .’ Sonia hesitated. ‘I didn’t want to get him in trouble.’

  ‘He’s dead, Sonia,’ said Dixon.

  ‘Yes, but—’

  ‘It’s a nice gift for a ten year old, isn’t it?’

  ‘She’s always wanted one to go with her iPad. I was going to give it her when she got back.’ Sonia lit a cigarette. ‘You are going to find her, aren’t you?’

  ‘Yes, Sonia. I am.’ Dixon loosened his tie and puffed out his cheeks. ‘Sorry, have you got anything sweet, a biscuit or something. I’m diabetic, you see, and my blood sugar’s dropping . . .’

  ‘There’ll be something in the kitchen,’ said Sonia.

  Dixon followed her into the hall and watched in the reflection of a glazed kitchen cabinet as she reached into a Tesco carrier sitting on the worktop. She slid her hand down the side of a stack of Heinz baked beans and took out a packet of sweets.

  ‘Will these do?’ she said, handing them to Dixon. He was leaning on the door frame. ‘They’re coated in sugar.’

  ‘Thank you.’ He ripped open the packet and stuffed a handful in his mouth, breathing deeply through his nose as he chewed.

  ‘Better?’

  ‘It’ll take a minute or two.’

  ‘D’you want to sit down?’

  ‘No, thank you.’ His breathing slowed as he walked into the kitchen, straightening his tie in the reflection from the same glazed kitchen cupboard. He glanced around the kitchen, noticing the washing up bowl back in the sink. He winced, wondering if Sonia had bleached it first.

  ‘Can I see Alesha’s room again, please?’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Just for a second.’

  Sonia sighed, then opened the door, watching Dixon carefully as he looked around the room. He opened the drawers and the wardrobe, even looking under the bed.

  ‘Where’s her iPad?’ he asked.

  Sonia frowned. ‘It must be at her father’s.’

  Dixon nodded. ‘Thank you, Sonia,’ he said. ‘I’ll leave you to it.’

  He was halfway down the steps when Page caught up with him.

  ‘Are you all right, Sir?’

  ‘Fine, thanks.’

  ‘But, you were having a hypo—?’

  ‘Was I?’ Dixon grinned. ‘Whatever gave you that idea?’

  ‘Where the hell have you been?’

  Dixon winced. He had thought he’d avoided Potter, but Chard must have pointed him out to her as he crept in at the back of the Incident Room.

  ‘You were supposed to be at the reconstruction.’ She threw her reading glasses on to the workstation in front of her. Again.

  I hope they’re a cheap pair.

  ‘I got sidetracked, Ma’am. Did anything come of it?’

  ‘A couple of sightings of the white van again. Both of them out on the A39 though.’

  ‘Anything else?’

  ‘We’ve narrowed the search down to thirty-seven vans and we’re tracing them now. That’s just the south west, though. If we come up with nothing then we’ll have to take it national and that’s three hundred and twelve to track down. Nothing has changed hands recently according to DVLA and one’s not been reported stolen either. Apart from that, no.’

  ‘What about Buckler?’

  ‘Still nothing.’ Potter frowned. ‘You were going to tell me where you were?’

  ‘Was I, Ma’am?’

  ‘I saw Jane earlier and she dodged the question too.’

  ‘She’s well trained, Ma’am.’

  Potter sighed. ‘You’re up to something.’

  ‘Just give me a few hours.’

  ‘What d’you need?’

  ‘Dave Harding.’

  ‘Be my guest,’ muttered Potter, gesturing towards Harding’s workstation, his head popping up from behind his computer at the mention of his name.

  ‘Yes, Sir.’

  Dixon leaned over and dropped a piece of paper on to his keyboard. ‘I need mobile phone tracking on this number and traffic cameras on this registration. It’s a silver Nissan Micra.’

  ‘All cameras?’

  ‘Just the number plate recognition for the time being. That’ll be quicker won’t it?’

  Harding nodded. ‘Whose is it?’

  ‘D’you need to know?’

  ‘Not really.’ Harding shrugged his shoulders.

  ‘When can you let me have it by?’

  ‘Give me a few hours.’

  Dixon nodded. ‘Thanks.’

  ‘Where will you be?’

  ‘Downstairs.’

  ‘There you are,’ said Jane, as Dixon walked past the canteen a few minutes later. ‘Have you eaten?’

  ‘I won’t need to eat for the rest of the day after all that bloody sugar.’

  ‘What sugar?’

  ‘Don’t ask.’

  ‘Coffee then?’

  ‘Is there an FLO with Alesha’s father?’

  ‘I think so.’

  ‘Find out what Alesha’s favourite meal is, will you?’

  ‘That’s easy.’ Jane smiled. ‘Beans on toast.’

  Chapter Nineteen

  Dixon spent the rest of the afternoon catching up with the call logs and witness statements on the system, not an easy task when there were already more than 400 logged. He made up his mind whether to read the whole statement or just scroll straight down to the end from the first few paragraphs. He even applied the same technique to the statements that had been flagged as high priority, most of them sightings of the white van here, there and everywhere. Some members of the public had even emailed in photographs and video footage.

  He was leaning back in his chair, rubbing his eyes when he heard someone sit down on the chair at the vacant workstation in front of him.

  ‘Thought I’d find you down here, Sir,’ said Harding, smiling.

  ‘How’d you get on?’

  ‘I’ve got her on the—’

  ‘Her?’

  ‘I looked it up. Sorry. Shouldn’t I have done?’

  ‘Just don’t tell anyone. Yet.’

  ‘Anyway, I’ve got her leaving Burnham on the ANPR cameras. That’s no problem. And here she is arriving in Bridgwater. She comes right past here, presumably going home.’ Harding handed Dixon a photograph. ‘Same routine every day.’

  ‘She feeds her dog.’

  ‘Then something odd happens.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘She heads south out of Bridgwater, here she is on t
he camera at the motorway roundabout at junction twenty-four, but she doesn’t show up on another traffic camera for an hour and a half. And that’s at junction twenty-three. It takes her an hour and a half to go one junction north.’

  ‘What does the mobile positioning say?’

  ‘I checked that. She’s picked up on the Vodafone mast at junction twenty-four, and the O2 mast at Huntworth, but she can’t be on the motorway, can she? She stays in the vicinity for the whole time, but where does she go?’

  ‘When does this start?’

  ‘I checked that too.’ Harding smiled. ‘First time is Sunday morning. Then it’s twice a day since. First thing in the morning and then late afternoon.’

  ‘And she stays an hour and a half each time?’

  ‘There or thereabouts. Then it’s back to Burnham.’

  ‘Well done, Dave.’

  ‘What happens now?’

  ‘Just keep it under your hat for the time being, will you?’ Dixon stood up and was rummaging in his pockets for his car keys. ‘What time’s she getting to junction twenty-four each day?’

  ‘Between five and five thirty.’

  Dixon looked at his watch. ‘Bags of time.’

  ‘You haven’t said where we’re going.’

  ‘Don’t know yet,’ replied Dixon, pulling into the lay-by at the entrance to the industrial park. He parked behind the bushes, screening his Land Rover from the road. ‘Keep an eye out for a silver Micra.’

  ‘Not Sonia?’ Jane rolled her eyes.

  ‘Did you bring a hat?’

  ‘What for?’

  ‘You’re going to need something to eat.’

  ‘Oh, come on!’

  ‘Did you notice what was missing when we were in Alesha’s bedroom yesterday?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Her iPad. Sonia tried to spin me some crap about it being at Ryan’s, but we know that’s not true.’

  ‘So, where is it?’

  ‘Alesha’s got it. It’s the first thing a ten year old kid’s going to want.’

  ‘Where?’

  ‘That’s what we’re going to find out, isn’t it? Every day between five and five thirty, after she’s fed her dog, Sonia heads out of town this way and disappears.’

  ‘And you think she’s going to see Alesha?’

  ‘This time she’ll have a carrier bag full of sweets and baked beans. I faked a hypo to get a look in the kitchen at Tanya’s.’