by Chris Simms
‘I think we need to find this man, sir.’
His DCI squinted at the sheets Sean was holding up. ‘Explain.’
By the time Sean had reached the image of the man waiting to get off the bus, toolbox in his hand, excitement was making Ransford’s eyes glitter. ‘Get Inspector Troughton in here,’ he barked at Sean as he grabbed his phone and punched in a number. ‘Tina? I need you in my office, now. I think, at fucking last, we have a face!’
It had been agreed that the man’s image should be immediately released to the press, along with an appeal for information from the public.
Images of his face hit online news sites at eleven forty-six. By one o’clock, they’d received dozens of calls naming a variety of people. Five different people had all identified a man known around the area to the east of the city centre as Dutch Pete.
Detectives were sent to interview each caller face-to-face and, by two thirty they were looking for a man believed to be based in, or near to, Droylsden. No one seemed to know exactly how he earned a living: three of the callers were under the impression he did odd jobs, probably for cash. Another thought he might be a gardener. The last caller often saw him in a local convenience store, but had never actually spoken to him.
The owner of the convenience store was then visited. He confirmed that Dutch Pete often called in to buy items such as bread, milk and – every now and again – cans of Polish beer called Tyskie. A panic button had been attached to the side of his till: all the shop owner had to do was press it the next time Dutch Pete appeared.
A surveillance van with four officers had been parked at the rear of the building. Two would enter through the shop’s back door, two from the front.
Meanwhile, arrangements were being made for every scrap of CCTV to be rechecked to see if he cropped up in the vicinity of any other victim shortly before their deaths. The lead CCTV analyst estimated there was dozens of hours of footage, from a total of sixty-seven different cameras, including those on public transport. The job was huge.
‘So,’ Magda held up her coffee. ‘To you, DC Blake.’
Sean tapped the rim of his wax cup against hers. ‘Cheers.’
‘It now feels you’re part of this team?’
He looked around the canteen. Empty. ‘Getting there.’
She grinned. ‘This is a big plus for you, Sean.’
‘Maybe. But not everyone looked pleased back in there. I didn’t see DS Fuller smiling.’
‘DS Fuller is little more than an ape. He just happens to have a police badge.’
Sean checked the doors; Magda hadn’t even bothered to lower her voice. They were still alone.
‘You need to not be pushed around, Sean, with people like him.’
If he’d been gliding pleasantly along, her comment was like a stick through his spokes. ‘Thanks.’
She frowned. ‘It’s nothing.’
‘That was sarcastic.’ His head was shaking as he started to lift his drink.
‘You do not actually agree?’
He put his cup back down. ‘It’s not that easy.’
‘Why not?’
‘He’s a detective sergeant, for a start.’
‘And?’
‘And I’m a detective constable. That makes him senior to me.’
‘No reason to be letting him—’
He raised a finger. It was like getting a lecture off his mum. ‘You’re not the one who’s new. I haven’t been here two minutes.’
‘That’s why you have to be firm! It must be from the very start.’
‘Yeah, right.’ He crossed his arms and looked towards the corridor. It was very tempting to just walk away. Leave her to lecture an empty room. ‘You talk to me like I don’t know how to handle bullies.’
‘Do you?’
For a moment, he pondered whether to tell her about his school years. Or about the recent face-off with DC Morris. ‘I’ve never met anyone like me who doesn’t.’
‘What do you mean, like me?’
‘People who – as kids or teenagers – had a parent to care for. We’re different. Anything different at school and you get bullied.’
She frowned. ‘But why—’
‘The other night, in the Oddfellow’s Arms, you asked me if it was the sort of place I go to with my friends. Magda, I don’t have that type of friend. I’ve been to a pub, perhaps, a dozen times? I can’t stand the places, if I’m honest. I hate watching people getting pissed. Being so … not giving a shit. Why would I ever do that? I’ve got Mum to look out for.’
‘It is like you are the parent. For her!’
He nodded. ‘That’s about right. Not so much now, but until I was sixteen or so, it definitely was. I’d hurry straight home from school, sort out tea, clean up, do my homework, help her to bed, then go to sleep myself. I didn’t do what my classmates did. I didn’t hang around outside the local shops. Or in the park. I didn’t spend hours playing computer games or uploading selfies. The times I did get to myself, I mostly spent at the police cadets. That makes you very sensible, or very boring. Either way, you’re a target.’
‘I get it. The ones who’d pick on you. How …?’
‘I couldn’t do much. Not until …’ He flexed his shoulders. ‘Once I’d filled out, then I could.’
‘How?’
‘I learned to box. As the poster at the gym said, kids who box don’t get bullied. Simple.’
She smiled. ‘Will you thump Fuller?’
‘Yeah, and get kicked back into uniform. When it’s right, I’ll sort things out with him.’
She leaned back, the traces of her smile still on her face. ‘You are like that cowboy with the mask. The Lone Ranger.’
‘More Romanian kids’ telly?’
‘What?’ She laughed. ‘You didn’t watch the Lone Ranger?’
‘Sorry,’ he grinned, shaking his head. ‘My parents might have. Were you here when Fuller first arrived?’
‘He was here first. I was the one who was new. Add to that, I’m female and – to people like him – foreign. That makes me a ticked box on a quota form.’
Guiltily, he recalled his first impressions of her. The curious hairstyle and stout build. Her accent. When she’d appeared at his desk, he’d hoped she would say her welcome and move on. Like an idiot, he had prejudged her. ‘Did you have any kind of confrontation with him?’
‘He made a couple of comments, testing the water. I did not bow to him. Now …’ She shrugged.
Sean studied her. No one gave her any shit. She obviously wasn’t part of the main group of – mostly male – detectives, but he got the impression that was as much her choice as theirs. ‘The situation with Mark Wheeler. I know that’s why Fuller’s going for me; the two of them obviously got on.’
‘And Mark will get better. And when he does, the truth of what happened in that garden will come out.’
‘You believe that I tried to help him? That I didn’t freeze?’
‘Yes. Even more so now.’
‘Thanks.’ He ran a finger across the cup’s ridged surface, composing his words as he did. ‘And I will, you know, push back. Next time Fuller says anything snide.’
‘It’s important.’ She gestured toward the modest pile of free newspapers at the counter. ‘Now you are showing yourself to be good, he cannot play his tricks.’
Sean sat forward. ‘What was that with the paper? I didn’t get it.’
Magda shifted uncomfortably. ‘Just silly rumours.’
‘What rumours?’
‘The connection to your mother, I think.’
‘My mother?’
‘Sean, there are many officers whose mum or dad were also in the police. When those officers move up – get a position like this – there are always whispers.’
Fuller’s words were coming back. It wasn’t what you knew. ‘That’s why they’d left the paper open on the story about the cabinet minister? He reckons I got this job through my mum?’
‘Whispers: that’s what people like him
feed on.’
He felt like marching straight into the incident room and up to Fuller’s desk. All the work I did on my aidship. The years I spent before that in the cadets. All that effort. ‘The prick.’
‘He is insecure, Sean. That’s why he jumps at the chance to attack others.’
But Sean was now thinking about his application to join the team. Who had so eagerly cajoled him every step of the process? Mum.
FORTY-ONE
It was weird to be getting home at a normal time. He was still pushing the front door open when she called from the telly room. ‘How exciting is this?’
He smiled at her choice of words. The thrill of the chase once the quarry had been sighted. ‘You saw the later press conference, then?’
‘Of course. Been glued to the telly since you rang.’
He was loosening his tie as he entered the front room.
‘Here. I got it with the zapper.’ She directed the remote at the screen, brought up the list of recordings and selected the news. The suspect’s image from the bus’ CCTV footage filled the screen. ‘That’s definitely who I saw.’
‘Seems he’s an EU national, possibly over here doing casual labour.’
‘Don’t say it: Polish plumber?’
‘Dutch. Or that’s his nickname. Dutch Pete.’
‘And they think he lives in the Droylsden area?’
‘That’s what a couple of callers reckoned.’
She turned to look briefly at the curtains. ‘Not that far away.’
‘No.’
She shivered her shoulders. ‘So, come on then, spill! How did it play out?’
He kicked off his shoes and jumped sideways onto the sofa, ankles over one armrest, back of his head on the other.
‘Sean! How many times … you’ll break the bloody thing doing that. Well?’
Gazing up at the ceiling, he said, ‘It was all fine. I’d already been reviewing what we had on Pamela Flood.’
‘Has he been spotted in any other footage?’
‘Not yet. But there’s tons of it to be checked. The CCTV analysts will be working through the night.’
‘Pity: I was half expecting you’d have found him. It would fit with my theory.’
‘Which theory is that?’
She removed a TV listings magazine from the coffee table beside her armchair. He noticed it was open on the crossword page. Beneath it were her photocopies of Pamela Flood’s phone transcripts.
‘I said to shred those! Mum – bloody hell.’
‘I will. Soon as you’ve seen this. The bit everyone focused on was Cahill’s threat to kill her, yes?’
‘Yes.’
She ran a finger down to the bottom of the transcript. ‘But that occurs late in the call. She hung up on him almost immediately.’
‘Yeah. I followed her route, today. She was probably right outside her house by that point.’
‘Go back earlier in the call, when she would have been still on the bus. Look at what she said; the actual words. She practically tells everyone in earshot that she lives alone.’
He beckoned. ‘Let’s have a look.’
She reached over to hand him the sheets. Certain parts of her conversation had been highlighted in yellow.
Yeah, and it’s my fucking flat! Who paid the rent? Who paid for the gas and electric? Bollocks. You never did.
Quite happy there without you, cheers.
Quite happy.
I’m not like you, I can handle being on my own.
‘See what I mean?’ Janet asked. ‘If this Dutch Pete person is hearing all that, he only had to then follow her home. Once he knew where she lives, he creeps back when it suits him.’
Sean sat up. He considered what he knew about the other victims. They had certainly all been using their phones. Exactly what had they talked about? If Dutch Pete had also been on the bus, or tram, or train, sitting close by …
His mounting sense of excitement was suddenly snuffed out.
‘I just realized something. Heather Knight didn’t use public transport; she drove a company vehicle.’
‘But didn’t it break down?’
‘Yes, but she called a cab on the firm’s account. She was picked up and taken back to the office.’
‘And her journey home after that?’
‘A lift home with a colleague.’
‘Really?’
‘Yup, I went over her timeline, looking for anything odd. I can have another check tomorrow, but …’
Janet looked despondent. ‘I had such a good feeling about that, too.’
‘Anyway,’ Sean said, lying back. ‘Julie Roe. I took the stills from the footage of her and showed them to Ransford. You should have seen how eager he was to call a press conference. Shows how much pressure he was under.’
‘Oh, it’s hideous. And so much bloody information is coming in that needs to be sifted through.’
Sean’s eyes settled on the man’s face that filled their TV screen. ‘Huge number of calls, but five quickly named that one bloke.’
‘I’m so pleased for you, Sean. This is the start you deserved. Not what happened in that back garden.’
He sighed. ‘It was your spot, not mine.’
She flicked her fingers.
‘And I got to the bottom of this thing with the hostile detective.’
‘Mmm?’
‘The one who’s been having a go at me. He made a hint using a newspaper story.’
‘Good for you. Though I doubt it matters much now.’ She pointed the remote at the telly and it switched back to the evening’s schedule. ‘There’s that documentary about Judi Dench, later. I love Judi Dench.’
Sean watched her with a bemused expression. How come she was acting so odd? ‘The newspaper story I mentioned. In the canteen?’
‘Oh yes, that. You weren’t quite sure why they’d left the paper open on a certain page. I think I’ll record it since it doesn’t finish until midnight. No way I’ll last that late.’
He watched her fiddling with the buttons. The sudden switch in enthusiasm: from him to some programme on the telly. ‘DS Fuller,’ he continued, ‘that’s the name of the detective with the attitude. He reckons I only got on the team because of you.’
‘Me! How ridiculous. This stupid remote. I don’t want a series link!’
‘Obviously, there are loads of officers with family members who also served.’
‘Quite right. Don’t react. Ignore him. It’s your best option.’
He tilted his head back to study the ceiling once more. Magda had said Fuller jumped at any opportunity to belittle others. But she hadn’t said he’d manufactured the chance. It had presented itself and he’d taken it. He looked back at his mum. ‘You didn’t put a word in for me anywhere, did you?’
When she didn’t look at him, he knew. Perhaps it was something he knew already. But this was confirmation.
She couldn’t meet his eyes. ‘No, I did not.’
‘Mum.’ He doubled over to place his head in his hands. No wonder Fuller and his sidekicks had it in for him. He dug his fingernails into his scalp. What she had done meant he could never be properly accepted by people like Fuller. All he’d ever receive was their scorn. ‘Mum.’
‘What are you trying to imply here? That I—’
‘Don’t.’ He looked up. She shimmered beyond his tears of rage. ‘Don’t lie! Jesus Christ. No wonder. No wonder! That’s why they’ve been treating me like a fucking leper.’
‘Sean, you just said, if every appointment was judged on family history, no one would—’
He waved a hand. Everything made sense: even Inspector Troughton’s knowing smirk on their initial meeting, when he’d asked if it was Sean’s first stint since making detective constable. ‘How did you do it? You must have called someone. Or was it face-to-face? A quiet word, off the record.’ He wiped at his eyes. ‘Someone senior enough: the one you worked with years back. Was it him? Was it that fucking assistant chief constable?’
She placed
the remote on the armrest. ‘We had a brief chat, that was all.’
‘A brief chat!’ He rose to his feet and glared down at her. ‘A brief chat!’ He wanted to topple her armchair over, leave her sprawling there on the floor. ‘It’s always you, isn’t it? Fucking meddling. You said I should do the aidship as soon as I could. When did you have your brief chat with that ACC? Before I’d even finished it? Could you wait that long?’
She kept her eyes at the level of his knees. ‘No one just goes off the formal application. Not in any job. They always make other enquiries.’
‘That’s not the same!’ He retook his seat to force eye contact. ‘Ransford had his hands tied. Because of you, he didn’t get to pick the new detectives for his own team. No, actually, he did get to pick one. Someone with the right qualities, the experience, the ability to fit in. He got one of his choices. And then he also got me.’
‘Now you’re being ridiculous, Sean. You have every necessary qualification and more. You’ve been in the cadets since you were—’
‘Another of your suggestions. Fuck, it’s always been you pulling the strings.’ He lifted his elbows and jiggled his arms up and down. ‘Off I fucking go again.’
‘I will not have this discussion if you’re going to be stupid. I will not.’
‘You know, I couldn’t figure how I got the nod. I know of three other constables who finished their aidships way before me. Yet none of them were offered a place in the SCU. Now I know why.’
‘Candidates are chosen on all sorts of considerations. It’s not a simple queue system, Sean.’
‘Really? So none of those guys will feel like they were leap-frogged?’
She struggled to sit up. ‘Do you know how often I was passed over for positions that were tailor-made for me? You think I wanted to never make it past a uniformed sergeant for my career? Do you? It’s a competition, Sean. And you use whatever edge you can—’
‘I’ve had enough. I am sick of this.’ He got back to his feet.
She leaned to the side, trying to search out his face. ‘What do you mean?’
He looked around the room as if he’d never seen it before. Not properly. ‘You were right the other night.’ His words were calm and cold.
‘Pardon?’
‘You do hobble me.’ He walked towards the door.
