by G H Mockford
‘I wouldn’t, I promise,’ Georgia said, pouring as much sincerity into her voice as she could.
‘I’d like to believe you, but I can’t put myself and my other guests at risk. Like you, many have no homes of their own. I am simply providing a service. A hostel, if you will.’
‘I’ve seen that film.’
He tutted from the darkness. ‘At your age?’ he asked, his voice more than a little condescending. Then came what sounded like a little chuckle.
‘I’ll go home. I’ll tell my mum and Fraser that I’m sorry. I’ll put up with their crap if it makes you happy.
‘I believe you would, Georgia, I believe you would. But, I have some games lined up, and I’d very much like you to play.’
‘What sort of games?’ Georgia asked, and then cursed herself for asking – for indulging – him. She had to learn to keep her mouth shut.
The light shifted and lowered as he came closer and, she presumed, crouched before her. His breath didn’t smell like last time, but the deodorant he was wearing was potent enough to knock out a bull elephant. She would have tried to move away but she was trapped against the wall.
The touch of his hot hands on her thighs made Georgia jump. His touch burned into her. She’d got so used to the cold that she’d forgotten how icy her body was. The cold she could cope with, it was the wet that bothered her.
And creeps.
‘Please take your hands off me,’ Georgia asked.
He squeezed her tender, teenage flesh one more time but did as she asked. ‘You are young and ripe,’ he said, sniffing. ‘In more ways than one.’ The light shifted suddenly and he backed away, his heavy footfalls echoing in the dark, empty room. ‘I shall arrange for a bath and some clean clothes. Then you can present yourself to me properly.’
‘Present myself?’ Then in a moment of bravery, or anger, she added, ‘Fuck you.’
‘If you insist, my dear Georgia. I was just going to sit and watch you bathe. I’m sure you pale flesh will glimmer like an angel in the darkness.’
‘I’m only sixteen you fucking pervert.’
‘It’s legal.’
‘It would be rape.’
‘And who would you tell? Eh?’
Georgia gave no reply.
‘Now, Georgia, make sure you don’t skip any meals. I’ll see you in the morning.’
The light whirled across the room, and Georgia saw the door and the hallway outside, then it went dark and the door was locked.
Georgia jumped up, rushed forward, found the chair and shoved it towards the exit. Its rumbling wheels drowned out her cry of frustration as she threw herself down onto the floor and wept.
Thirty
FRIDAY 10.01 A.M.
Stephen awoke a little later than usual having turned off his alarm. The trip to the hospital with O.J. had turned out to be more positive than they expected, even if the old man was as grumpy as ever.
Thursday night had been busy again at The Manor and Cliff, Annie and Stephen had been on the lookout for Liam and his cronies. Filip and Alvis had posted themselves near the lounge bar entrance, just in case.
No trouble came.
After the pub had been locked up, Trev joined the three of them for a drink. Once the chef had gone, Cliff asked Stephen, ‘Why were you late yesterday? You were very secretive about it. You’ve not been down those arches again?’
‘No, I went to see my mother.’
Cliff smiled. ‘This is the beginning of something new, something good. Well done, my boy.’
Sensing Cliff’s unsaid concerns, Stephen kept his lips tightly shut about the new information he’d about Edward. He’d every intention of visiting the arches the next day.
It was eleven o’clock by the time Stephen left the house the next morning. Before he’d even crossed the bridge into Lady Bay, he could tell something bad had happened. There was a white tent by the side of the bridge and a scattering of police vehicles in the office car park. Some figures in white suits walked out from under the arches and into the tent. When he got closer, he found the skateboarders were there, held back by crime scene tape and a female PCSO.
Stephen walked through the jumble of vehicles and joined the teenagers. ‘What’s going on?’ he asked, even though he had a feeling he already knew.
‘They’ve found a body,’ Ryan said with more than a little glee in his voice.
The Lieutenant, Edward spoke of? The handsome man that Michael had drawn? It was likely. What were the words Edward had used? ‘He didn’t stand a chance.’
‘Where?’ Stephen asked.
‘It was all over by the time I got here. There were loads of cops here earlier. You’ve missed it all, man. I turned up as the coronary came and took the body away.’
‘Coroner?’ Stephen suggested.
‘I guess. I overheard them talking about it.’
‘To think that body’s been under that ramp, for what? A week?’ Michael said, shaking his head.
‘I’d ask you not to encourage them, sir,’ said the PSCO.
‘Sorry, officer,’ Stephen said. ‘Are you able to tell us anything?’
‘As I’ve told this lot already – no.’
‘Oh come on, Sandra,’ Ryan said, ‘we tell you stuff.’ He turned to his gang of friends and whispered, ‘Mostly lies.’ Again the gathered crowd laughed.
‘Sandra? May I call you Sandra?’ Stephen asked. She nodded. ‘There must be something you can tell us.’
‘See this?’ She turned and pointed over her shoulder at the words written on the back of her hi-vis jacket. ‘It says Police Community Support Officer, not Police Communications…’ she stopped, clearly unable to think of the last two words.
‘I may have some information that might be helpful,’ Stephen said.
‘What kind of information?’
‘Well…’ Stephen began.
‘Wait here. I’ll go and get someone,’ Sandra said. She turned and used her radio to request a DC attend her position.
‘You reckon the tramp killed him, don’t you?’ Ryan said.
Stephen turned and gave the teenager his most withering look. ‘No, I do not, and I’d ask you not to go around saying that.’
The sound of someone approaching from the other side of the tape saved Stephen from getting into a debate with the teenager.
‘What is it, Sandra?’
Stephen knew who it was as soon as he heard the southern accent.
‘This man says he has some information for you,’ Sandra said.
Stephen turned.
It was DC Chambers.
‘Mr Bridges, I thought I told you to keep away,’ she said.
‘Oops, now he’s in trouble,’ said the joker from the back of the crowd.
‘You better come in.’
Chambers held up the tape, but Stephen still had to bend his knees as well as his back to get under it. They walked towards the bridge arches. ‘It seems it’s not just teenage boys who don’t listen very well, Mr Bridges. You were told to keep away.’
‘I know, and I did.’
Chambers put her hands on her hips, pushing back the dark blue, knee-length coat she was wearing. The action exposed the handcuffs she was wearing on her belt and her extendable baton. Stephen wondered if it was a deliberate show of strength. One thing was for sure, if she was trying to intimidate him, she’d failed.
‘Didn’t know CID carried those,’ Stephen said, pointing at both sides of her hips.
‘You never know when they’ll come in handy.’
‘Ever use the baton?’
‘No. Don’t know many constables, uniformed or otherwise, who have.’
‘So why carry it?’
‘Ready for anything.’
The words made Stephen look up. ‘Utrinque paratus. Be prepared. Were you a Scout?’
‘No. Army Cadets. Parachute Regiment.’
Stephen nodded. That explained a lot, and not just the motto.
‘Back to this information. You have an uncan
ny knack of making me wander off topic, Mr Bridges,’ she said, dropping her hands from her hips.
‘Well, I am trying to help. I am one of the good guys.’
‘That remains to be seen,’ she said, all the coolness back and at full power. She stared at him and eventually Stephen got the message and began to speak.
‘I think I might be able to help identify the body, or at least confirm facts about him.’
‘Go on.’
‘I know you told me to keep away, but I did some digging of my own.’ Stephen’s confession was met with an icy glare. ‘I did stop, as you asked, but yesterday I found out something new.’
‘Did you tell the police?’
‘I’m here aren’t I?’
‘That’s not quite the same thing.’ Chambers looked at the watch on her left wrist and added, ‘Come on, tell me what you’ve got to say or I’ll have you for wasting police time.’
Stephen looked into her eyes trying to determine if she meant it or not. ‘As you know, my friend was—’
‘Yes,’ Chambered said impatiently, ‘that’s how we came to meet.’
‘Right,’ Stephen agreed, ‘I’ve since found out that he wasn’t alone that night. He was with your dead body–’ Stephen stopped himself because Chambers flinched and her face went red for a second, like an angry burst of colour. ‘I mean your victim, or at least I expect he was, and a missing girl, called Georgia.’
‘And how do you know this?’
Stephen was about to name the boarders who had helped him, but thought better of it. It sounded like he’d landed himself in hot water and he didn’t want to get them in trouble too. ‘I was at the QMC yesterday, taking that elderly man who got beaten up in the pub for his outpatients’ appointment, and I saw him.’
‘Saw who, Mr Bridges.’
‘Edward, my friend. The one who was attacked.’
‘I know who he is. Go on.’
‘Well, he was clearly disturbed, but he told me what happened.’
‘What do you mean, ‘disturbed’?’
‘He suffers from PTSD. He had a bad experience during the Falklands and retired from the army.’
‘I see,’ she said. Stephen could tell she was now feeling skeptical. ‘Did he mention any names?’
‘Not specifically.’
‘I think you’d better come with me and see my boss.’
‘Why? What have I done?’
‘Relax, Mr Bridges. You’ve done nothing wrong — besides withholding information.’ Then she told him something that explained her earlier reaction. ‘The victim is a colleague of ours.’
Thirty-One
Chambers led Stephen to the white tent he’d seen from the top of the bridge and popped her head inside the flap.
‘I’m over yer,’ echoed a Welsh accent from down the tunnel.
Without another word, Chambers turned and walked towards the voice. A man was standing by the skateboard ramp, presumably where they’d found the body. The Welshman was short and going by the age he appeared to be, must have barely scraped the height regulations the police force used to have back then. He looked like a bad cliché from a 1950’s cop show. Tan, corduroy trousers, a plaid shirt, and a spotted tie decorated, Stephen noticed, with tea stains, and a dogtooth jacket. Judging by the size of the clothes, he’d lost a little weight.
‘Bloody hell, Bryonny. It’s a hell of a thing, isn’t it? Had I known this was going to happen, I’d never have sent him in,’ the Welshman said from behind a thick beard. ‘Rats. I hate them.’
‘DS Rees, I’ve brought someone you need to talk to.’
‘Who’s this? Rees replied as if he’d not heard the constable. He stepped forward to shake Stephen’s hand and ended up standing next to Chambers. She towered over him even though she was wearing flat shoes.
‘I’m Stephen Bridges,’ he said, taking Rees’ small, slightly podgy hand and shaking it.
‘Stephen Bridges,’ the Welshman repeated. ‘Oh, our little private detective. I seem to run into quite a few of those. So, what have you got for us? Solved the crime already, I presume. And why, oh why, didn’t you keep away like the good DC told you to, eh?’ Stephen was about to answer when the detective sergeant carried on. ‘We’ve been checking you out, or at least Chambers has.’
Stephen looked across at her, hoping, he had to admit, for some reaction to the Welshman’s turn of phrase, but there was none. ‘I understand you’ll be cautious. I could be anyone.’
‘Mr Bridges says he’s found the witness who was attacked,’ Chambers said.
‘Edward Atkins?’
‘Yes. He saw him at the QMC,’ Chambers added.
‘He has a bed there now. On the psych ward,’ Stephen added. ‘Talking to him was difficult. He was having an episode.’
‘Yes, we need to talk to him,’ Rees said. ‘The damn hospital let him go before we got the chance last time.’
‘Actually, he discharged himself, Alun,’ Chambers corrected.
‘He bloody packed up and left. That’s gratitude for you. After all we’ve tried to do.’
‘What do you mean?’ Stephen asked, a sudden flash of anger coursing through him.
Before Rees could answer, a CSI in white overalls and a breath mask tucked around his neck joined them. ‘I think we’ve got everything we can, Alun,’ he said, his voice clipped and royal sounding. ‘The scene’s a mess. God knows how many teenagers and other vermin have been traipsing all over the site for the last week. Thank heaven for dog walkers, eh? Quite frankly, I’m amazed the youths didn’t smell him.’
‘Thank you, Barrington,’ Rees replied. ‘I don’t remember there being much of one. Probably masked by all the other smells around here.’
‘Under there,’ Barrington pointed to the raised end of the ramp, ‘it’s cold and dry. If it wasn’t for the rats having a go he might have been there a while yet. The garden waste bags helped of course.’
‘Cheers, Barrington,’ Rees said and jerked his head towards Chambers.
‘I’m sorry,’ the CSI blurted out. ‘For your loss, I mean. He was a talented young DC. A fine drinker too.’
‘He was,’ Rees replied flatly.
‘With your permission, I’ll get the team to pack up.’
‘I’m not the SIO anymore. A team from St Ann’s are on their way. It’s in the hands of EMSOU now.’
‘Oh, Christ. Who’s in charge now?’
‘DI Hamilton.’
Barrington rolled his eyes.
‘Don’t worry,’ Rees added. ‘Bryonny is working liaison with them. Look, just pack up. I’m senior here, I’ll deal with the flack, or Bryonny can. You get yourselves home.’
‘Nice beard. Keeping it?’ the CSI asked, changing the subject.
‘Probably. Depends on the wife.’
‘It suits you. Take care, Alun. Bryonny,’ the CSI said, nodding at each in turn.
‘I’m sorry about that,’ Rees said, turning his attention back to Stephen. ‘Where was I? Oh yes. ‘After all we’ve tried to do.’ Over the last year or so there’s been a rise in attacks on the homeless.’
‘I know,’ Stephen said. ‘Edward was beaten up the day before, too.’
‘What we’ve been keeping quiet is that people have also been going missing. It’s been difficult to know for sure because the homeless are often quite transient anyway.’
‘Hang on. Are you telling me that people are being taken? Kidnapped?’
Rees nodded. ‘My team were tasked with finding out what was going on. We set up an undercover operation. That’s why Chambers told you to keep away. We were worried that whoever was doing this would be scared away by your snooping or you’d expose our undercover officer.’
‘But now it’s murder,’ Stephen said.
Rees nodded. ‘Our colleague was a good copper. It was his idea. I wasn’t keen. If only DCI Carson hadn’t authorized it.’
‘You can’t blame yourself,’ Chambers said.
The Welshman nodded. ‘At least he’d no
wife and family. Small blessings. Telling his mother was hard enough.’
‘DS Rees,’ Stephen said. ‘I think someone else may have been taken. Her name’s Georgia Mellors,’ Stephen said.
‘And what’s your connection to her?’ Rees asked.
‘I saw her on one of the missing persons groups on Facebook. I–’
‘We know what you do, Mr Bridges. You’ve posted comments on our Facebook page. Georgia Mellors. The name’s familiar. We ran her picture but nothing came of it. Then her father asked us to stop after just one week.’
‘He’s been posting his own pictures,’ Chambers added.
‘I’ve spoken to her father,’ Stephen said. ‘We agreed to meet, but he never turned up.’
‘Odd,’ Rees said, almost to himself. ‘Why didn’t you tell us about the girl, say when Chambers came to visit you, or by calling us? You did give him your card, didn’t you, Chambers?
‘Of course, Sarge.’
‘I wasn’t trying to hide anything,’ Stephen began. ‘I thought only Edward had been attacked. All I was attempting to do was find him to make sure he was all right. Then I saw this girl on Facebook and I wanted to let her parents know I’d seen her. I didn’t realize there was anything else going on.’
‘Really?’ the Welshman said. ‘Even when DC Chambers warned you off? You seem a bright man, and nosy. You’ve been searching for your sister for what, ten years? We know all about you, Stephen. You’re intelligent, curious and tenacious. That’s a potent mix that would suggest you have some idea something was going on.’
Stephen hung his head. ‘I don’t care if you don’t believe me, but the police and the homeless don’t exactly have a good relationship. I didn’t think you’d care, and besides, until I saw Edward and then your poor colleague turned up, I didn’t believe anything sinister was going on. Weren’t you concerned that your man hadn’t reported in for a week?’
‘In order to make it believable, he’d to appear to be one of them,’ Chambers said. ‘He didn’t carry a radio, or anything else for that matter. Not even his warrant card.’ She put her hands on her hips, revealing the cuffs and baton again. ‘He reported to a homeless charity in Hockley twice a week. He’d go in, have a meal or a shower, and report to the controller there. He’s missed reporting in before because he would risk blowing his cover. At first we assumed it was a similar situation.’
