FORGOTTEN VICTIM an absolutely gripping crime mystery with a massive twist (Detective Rachel King Thrillers Book 4)

by HELEN H. DURRANT

“Serious case, is it? Only I get a bit twitchy answering questions,” Tunstall said.

  “No need. Think of this as more a friendly chat,” Jonny said. “You might be able to help me with something. Will you tell me about the night you were attacked by those blokes in town? The time you ended up in hospital with the broken arm?”

  Tunstall’s eyes narrowed. “Why d’you need to know about that? It was a while ago, over three years. What bearing can it have on anything now?”

  “Please, Mr Tunstall, indulge me. Tell me what happened.”

  “Well, it was unprovoked. We all left the pub at closing time. I was on my way back towards my house and they set about me for no reason. There were three of them, I stood no chance. I ended up on the pavement semi-conscious. Spent two days laid up in hospital and I couldn’t work for a while. It put me right off going out for ages.”

  “It was a nasty attack. The police arrested the men who’d assaulted you, but you wouldn’t press charges, and that’s what puzzled me. Will you tell me why?”

  Tunstall shook his head. “Leave me alone. I don’t like being interrogated like this. If you don’t mind, I don’t want to answer any more of your questions.”

  “It’s hardly an interrogation, Mr Tunstall,” Jonny protested. “I’m just after a few answers.” He paused, giving the man time to think. “You must have lost money, having to take time off work. Did they threaten you, say they’d hurt you again if you didn’t do as you were told?”

  “No, I never saw them again after the attack. I described them to the police, and they were picked up. I identified them from photographs.”

  “You’re quite sure it was them?” Jonny asked.

  “Yes, I know who attacked me. I don’t understand. Why ask me about all that now?”

  “I’m curious as to why you let them get away with it, that’s all.”

  “Have they attacked someone else?”

  “They are involved in our current enquiries. Anything you tell me could help us.”

  Tunstall looked troubled. “My wife always said it would come back to haunt me. She was dead set against it from the start.”

  “Dead set against what, Mr Tunstall?”

  He was silent for a while. “I was warned off, told not to say anything, and I was paid to keep quiet. They said I must act confused and drop all charges.”

  “You were paid? How much?”

  “Five thousand pounds. For a man in my position, it was too good to refuse.”

  Jonny was surprised. He’d not reckoned with that one. “Who paid you? One of your attackers?”

  “I don’t know, but I reckon it must have been. I got a letter stuck through my door with instructions to drop all charges and I’d get paid. They kept their word, too. Within hours of sorting things with the police, the five grand was shoved through my letterbox.”

  “Do you still have the instructions or the packaging the cash was wrapped in?” asked Jonny.

  “Of course I haven’t. It was three years ago,” Tunstall said. “I pocketed the cash and the wrapping went straight in the bin.”

  “Shame. They might have helped identify who paid you and where the money came from.”

  “They must have withdrawn it from the bank. The notes were new. I did jot down some of the serial numbers,” he said, surprising Jonny. “I’m a bit of nerd that way, car number plates, that sort of thing. The notes were fifties, all sequential. I think I still have them at home in a notebook. Do you want me to drop it off at the station later?”

  Jonny could barely believe his luck. “Yes, please — the station in Ancoats. Mark it for the attention of DC Farrell.”

  Chapter Thirty-eight

  Dr Jason Fox and his team had done a great job with the tunnel. “We’ve lit the entire length of it,” he told Rachel and Elwyn, “and removed all the debris that was blocking it, so it’s a lot easier to navigate now.”

  “Where does it lead?” asked Elwyn

  “Number forty-five, Redhill Terrace, Ancoats — well, to a flagstone in the cellar to be precise,” Jason said.

  The address wasn’t known to them. “When we get back, see if there’s a connection to anyone involved in this case,” Rachel told Elwyn. “Is that where the old brickyard was years ago?”

  “Not quite. The brickyard was further on,” Jason said. “Someone deliberately chose to put an exit point there — an empty house, a back yard with high walls and a good size cellar. The way into the tunnel was lined with concrete and covered with a stone slab. Easy to miss unless you knew about it.”

  “And this was done within the last three years?” Elwyn asked.

  “It’s difficult to say, but I would think so.”

  Rachel was trying to weigh up the significance of what Jason had told them. There had to be a good reason to build the exit in that house in particular.

  “Are there people living in the house?” she asked.

  “No, thankfully. It would have hindered our investigation, and can you imagine the surprise when one of my forensic team popped up in the middle of the cellar?”

  Rachel didn’t know what to make of it. “Did you find anything else down there?”

  “We’ve bagged everything we picked up and we’ll go through it at the lab. Interestingly, among the litter were several chocolate bar and sandwich wrappers, along with an assortment of soft drink cans. The sandwiches had rotted away but the expiry dates on the wrappers were still visible. Guess when they were?” Jason smiled.

  “The week in question? The time Wellburn was killed?”

  “Yes. Someone was down here, for whatever reason, just at the time your victim was murdered. There is no doubt about it.”

  That meant the tunnel was significant. “This has to be Sherwin’s work,” Rachel said. “He must have used the tunnel to get his drugs in and out of the mill without being seen.”

  “Not recently, he didn’t,” Elwyn said. “The mill end was bricked up, with Wellburn’s body behind it. And we still haven’t determined how long Sherwin’s been dealing.”

  But Rachel was insistent. “Sherwin must have used the tunnel. It’s the only scenario that makes any sense. Things got tricky at the mill end, Wellburn was killed and Sherwin had to stop, find another way.”

  “And Wellburn?” Elwyn said. “He was shot with the same gun as Sherwin. No, Rachel, I think we’re looking for someone else, another member of this gang we haven’t reckoned with yet. Perhaps the one in that balaclava.”

  “We’ll find out who’s lived in the house over the past few years, see if that gives us something to go on,” she said.

  “Is it far?” Elwyn asked.

  “No, a five-minute walk tops,” Jason told him.

  Elwyn looked at Rachel. “Shall we?”

  “You shouldn’t have any trouble,” Jason said. “The tunnel’s been swept, and the lights are on. You can’t get lost. Some of my people are at the other end, they’ll help you out.”

  “Weird, don’t you think?” Rachel said. “Sherwin, or one of the gang, must have used this tunnel to avoid being seen. But I still don’t understand. They’ve not been shy about using the main gates recently, so what’s changed?”

  * * *

  A short walk later, they climbed the ladder into the house. Rachel looked around at the empty cellar and then went outside into the yard. The house was in a terrace and the yard was small. There wasn’t much to see. “The surrounding walls are higher than usual and there’s no gate,” she noted.

  “There’s houses on the other side of that wall.” Elwyn pointed. “That’s why.”

  “Where’re the dustbins?” Rachel asked.

  Elwyn shrugged. “They’re usually kept at the front, by the door.”

  Rachel walked through the house and out the front door. “So, an old cobbled backstreet in Ancoats. It goes nowhere.”

  Elwyn nodded at the bollards at one end that blocked off access to the main road. “There are no houses on the other side of the road, just a brick wall to keep people of
f the spare land behind it.”

  “No way out other than the front door,” Rachel noted. “This street is short — what are there, a dozen houses? It’s the sort of place where everyone knows what goes on. A word with the neighbours might be useful. People round here have long memories.”

  “They’re all out, or not answering the door,” Jason told her. “Except for an elderly man at the end and he’s hard of hearing.”

  Nevertheless, Rachel intended to get Amy, Jonny and a couple of uniforms on it later. “We’ll have a word with Mathew Shawcross, see if he knows anything about the layout of the tunnel.”

  “We did find something else,” Jason told them. “I’ll show you on the way back. There’s graffiti on the tunnel wall about halfway down — the names ‘Rita’ and ‘Gav’ inscribed in a heart and written in chalk.”

  That could only be Rita Pearce and their victim, Gavin Wellburn. Wellburn must be the other man Siddall had alluded to.

  “Dylan Healey might be more willing to talk now that Sherwin’s dead. He’s been kicking around the mill for years. He might know something,” Elwyn said.

  “We’ll bring him in,” Rachel said.

  * * *

  Back at the station, Jonny was waiting for Rachel. “I’ve got something, ma’am. Do you recall that Siddall told us about a fight that ended with Gavin Wellburn and his chums being brought in?”

  Rachel had forgotten about that. The incident was now just a small note, buried amidst all the others on the board.

  “I don’t know why but it bothered me, so I went and spoke to the victim, one Eric Tunstall. It turns out he was paid not to press charges,” Jonny told her.

  That made it far more interesting. “Siddall said nothing about that. Does Tunstall know who paid him the money?” Rachel asked.

  “Afraid not, but the notes were fifties and new. The serial numbers were sequential. He noted them and brought them in for me on his way back to work after his lunch break.”

  Jonny reached for a notebook on his desk. “It’s not all of them. At the time he’d no idea it would prove to be important, but look.” He pointed. “The gap there, there’s five notes missing. I’ve checked them against the serial numbers on the notes found in Wellburn’s teeth, and I think they’re a match.”

  “We don’t have the complete numbers of the notes Jude found, just the odd few from scraps,” Rachel reminded him.

  “It’s too much of a coincidence. Look, here.” He showed her. “The partials we’ve deciphered and those Eric Tunstall, the bloke injured that night, gave us.”

  Jonny was right. That meant that whoever had paid off Tunstall must have had a hand in the murder of Wellburn. “We need another chat with Andy Siddall. He was there that night. He can tell us what this is all about.”

  “Five thousand,” Elwyn said. “It’s a lot of money. Where did it come from?”

  “I’ve been on to the bank, and they should have an answer for us later. With the notes being new and sequential, they reckon they can trace who drew that money out,” Jonny said.

  Chapter Thirty-nine

  Rachel’s mobile rang. It was Jed. “I’ll take this in my office.” She went in and closed the door. “Is it important? I’m working.”

  “I thought you should know, your plan is working, Alan’s moving out. He’s got a removal firm in this morning and they’re packing up his stuff. Apparently, it’s going into storage until he and his lady move into the new house.”

  Alan had said nothing to Rachel, which was odd. All she could think of was that it was down to him having a guilty conscience about the whole thing. Ordinarily he would never sell to anyone, and particularly not Jed, but being with Belinda had changed him. The woman must have some influence, Rachel decided.

  He was down to see to the girls today, including getting tea. “He’ll be moving in with Belinda, then. I’ll give him a ring. I hope he’s not forgotten that it’s his turn to feed the girls tonight. Since he decided to get hitched, he’s not been the same, suddenly he’s forgotten his responsibilities.”

  “I can give them dinner, if you don’t object.”

  “They need feeding properly, Jed, not on takeaways, and there’s Mia’s stuff to sort for tomorrow. She’s got netball and needs her kit. Knowing that girl, I bet it’s still in the washing basket.”

  “None of that is beyond me, Rachel. I do look after myself pretty well, you know. And I’ve been thinking. How would you feel if I moved in with you until the legal stuff with Alan is sorted? I’d be on hand to cope with the girls, leaving you free to work. I did spend that time with them on Anglesey, it’s not as if we’re strangers.”

  Rachel’s first thought was to refuse outright. Jed and her, under the same roof? She couldn’t see it working. On the other hand, having him seeing to meals and the girls instead of Alan would take a weight off her shoulders. Megan was due to move out anytime and that would leave Mia alone. Alan was bound to be busy during the coming weeks. Rachel was tempted, but then she brought herself up short — this was Jed talking about moving in. “You’d hate it. They’re a demanding pair. Give them an inch and they’ll be running rings around you.”

  “I realise I’ve got no experience of parenting, Rachel, but how hard can it be? What d’you say?”

  Did she have much choice? Jed was determined and Alan was under some spell Belinda had woven around him. There was no let up in the current case and Rachel could do without the added problem of the kids. She smiled. He’d no idea! But when she boiled it down, what harm could it do? It would be good practice for when the baby came. “Okay, you can have the spare room at the back of the house. You’re making the tea tonight, from scratch. And make sure Mia has a clean school shirt and PE kit for tomorrow.”

  “I won’t let you down,” he said. “When will you be home?”

  “I’ve no idea. Put something by and I’ll eat later.”

  There was a knock on her office door. Elwyn wanted her. “Got to go,” she said to Jed. “Don’t destroy my kitchen and keep the food simple.”

  Rachel beckoned to Elwyn. “Sorry, a little domestic stuff to sort.”

  “We’ve got a problem. Siddall has discharged himself. He’s not at home and no one’s seen him.”

  Rachel groaned — this was all they needed. “What about the uniforms watching him?”

  “Apparently Siddall put on a set of scrubs and got out while they were talking to a nurse.”

  “Bloody useless. The man’s in danger.”

  “He’s likely to go to Rita Pearce. The pair are close, and she could well be sheltering him.”

  “Mathew Shawcross, Dylan Healey and now Rita Pearce. We need to speak to them all, Elwyn. We’re going to be here until the death tonight.”

  Chapter Forty

  Rita Pearce stood behind the bar at the Spinners Arms, sick with fear. Her husband, Ray, had just thrown Dylan Healey, known locally as ‘Spider,’ out on to the street. The lad had gone headfirst on to the pavement, scraping his face on the tarmac and rolling into the gutter.

  “Bloody liability, that kid. Don’t let him back in,” Ray roared at his wife. “You saw what he was doing?”

  Trembling, Rita shook her head. She was waiting for the pain of his fist, or for him to grab her arm and shake her until she fell. But he’d been drinking and wasn’t so steady on his feet.

  “Smoking bloody weed in my pub, that’s what! Silly bitch! You turn a blind eye far too often. We get caught with the likes of him doing as they please in here and we’re finished.”

  “Sorry, Ray.” Her voice shook. “I was busy.”

  “Busy doing bugger all. I should knock your bloody head off.”

  “You lay a finger on her, Ray Pearce, and I’ll sort you once and for all.”

  The voice came from the doorway. Rita looked up, startled. It was Andy Siddall. He shouldn’t be here — he wasn’t well enough. “No, Andy, please. Don’t take him on.” Normally, Siddall could handle himself but in his weakened state, Ray might do him irrepa
rable damage. “What are you doing out of hospital?” she asked.

  “I’m okay. Don’t you worry about me.” He looked at Ray. “Back off, or I’ll flatten you.”

  “Brave words. I’d like to see you try,” Ray sneered. “You won’t touch me, you’re too bloody yellow. I know you of old, remember?”

  Siddall moved closer, thrust his face forward. “You’re not so tough yourself these days, Ray. You drink too much and you’re flabby. Want to risk it?”

  Rita saw her husband back off a couple of paces, saw the rage in his dark eyes. Ray wouldn’t take insults like this lying down.

  “Get out of my pub. Come in here again and I’ll kill you.”

  “Rita,” Siddall called to her. “You don’t have to stay here with him. Get your stuff and we’ll leave together.”

  Ray Pearce slammed his fist on the bar. “She’s going nowhere with you, or anyone else.”

  Rita watched, hardly daring to breath, as Andy Siddall advanced to within an inch of Ray’s face. “That’s up to her. Now back off or you’ll come off worst.”

  Rita couldn’t take any more. Ray was likely to snap at any second. If he did, he wouldn’t hold back. Just as Ray Pearce raised his fist to punch Siddall, Rita darted between the two men. Ray lashed out, his fist connected with her stomach and she fell to the floor.

  “Happy now?” Ray sneered. He raised a booted foot and kicked her. “Get up, woman. C’mon. Work to do.”

  His voice reached Rita from a distance. She gasped for breath. The pain in her side was excruciating. She tried to raise herself up but sank to the floor again. Her head was swimming, she couldn’t think. The last thing she saw was Andy’s concerned face, and then she lost consciousness.

  “Get an ambulance!” Siddall screamed. “You’ve bloody knocked her out.”

  * * *

  Rachel and Elwyn arrived at the pub to see Ray Pearce rooted to the spot, staring down at his wife who was lying on the floor. The place was empty. Anyone who’d been drinking there had left. Andy Siddall was bent over Rita, trying to wake her. She lay, still and silent, and didn’t respond.