by David Hodges
‘Strange that the local authority haven’t done something about this place before now,’ he commented. ‘Bit of an eyesore – and those vehicles must be worth a fair bit.’
Kate shrugged again. ‘Larry Wadman is still the legal owner,’ she replied. ‘I suppose they can’t do much in his absence.’
He chuckled. ‘Bit of a problem all round, our Twister, isn’t he?’
She treated him to a cold stare. ‘I’d describe him as much more than a bit of a problem, Doctor Norton,’ she retorted.
He clapped her on the shoulder. ‘Sorry, Kate, I didn’t mean to be insensitive, just thinking aloud. Let’s take a look in the cellar, shall we?’
Kate’s stomach churned. The cellar was the last place she wanted to visit. She remembered how she had found Hayden trussed to a chair down there – his face covered in blood after a beating from Twister – and then how she had had to confront the killer in the blacked out hallway as she’d tried to get the injured detective out of the house.
The chair hadn’t been removed either, the sticky tape used to tie up the detective still attached to it in places.
‘This where your fiancé was held then?’ Norton queried, peering at the chair.
Kate didn’t answer and he grunted, flicking one of the lengths of tape with his fingers. ‘Strong stuff by the look of it. How did you free him?’
‘I cut it with a scalpel from the mortuary,’ she replied.
An army of shadows encircled them in the light of their torches and Kate edged back towards the rickety staircase leading up to the hallway. ‘I – I can’t stay down here, Doctor Norton,’ she said. ‘I must get some air.’
He wasn’t far behind her either and, out in the lengthening shadows of the street, he studied her over the bonnet of the CID car. ‘Made a lasting impression on you, that place, hasn’t it?’ he said, quickly climbing into the front passenger seat when he saw Naomi Betjeman and an army of colleagues heading their way at a trot.
She slid behind the wheel and started the engine, pulling away just in time. ‘A recurring nightmare actually,’ she said. ‘I’ll be glad to see it pulled down.’
SOCO were still working at Pauline Cross’s house when they pulled up in front of the place, to be greeted by another army of press reporters and photographers. Norton pushed through them without preamble, again shielding his face from the flash-cameras – not a man who enjoyed publicity, Kate thought with a grin – but he had to wait for her to show her warrant card to the constable on the front door before they were allowed inside. Even then, it was made very plain by the crime-scene manager that their presence was resented and they were specifically denied access to the room where Eugene Taylor had died.
‘We found a built-in cupboard in the rear bedroom,’ the crime scene manager grudgingly revealed. ‘Must have been where your man hid after killing young Taylor. Found some fibres on the door catch where he could have caught part of his clothing. Not much good on their own, though.’
Kate felt her senses swim again as she visualized the killer creeping up behind the young policeman – maybe on the landing itself – then, like a big black spider carting its prey off to its lair, dragging the body into the small bedroom while she wandered about downstairs, unaware of what was happening above her head. She knew she would never forgive herself for what had happened to him – never!
‘Fancy a bite?’ Norton said suddenly, breaking in on her unpleasant reverie.
She stared at him for a moment. ‘Sorry?’
‘Something to eat. My treat after your excellent tour this afternoon.’
She hesitated. ‘Well, I should really be getting back….’
‘So police forces don’t allow their staff meal breaks then?’
She flushed and smiled. ‘We do have a canteen.’
‘Canteen? You must be joking. Come on, I know a little place that will do just fine.’
The little restaurant was in a side-street in Burnham-on-Sea and it was practically empty. Norton ordered a lasagne for each of them, together with a glass of white wine, then sat back in his chair, eyeing her curiously. ‘So, Miss Kate Hamblin,’ he said. ‘What exactly makes you tick?’
‘I beg your pardon?’
He gave a short laugh. ‘Sorry. As a psychologist, I have a natural interest in people and what motivates them.’
‘I thought you were here to help us catch a serial killer.’
He made a grimace. ‘Ouch! You’re right, of course, but it helps me to know a bit about the witness/victim too. I can then see where the killer is coming from.’
She took a sip of her wine and also sat back in her chair, meeting his gaze frankly. ‘So what do you want to know? My bra or knicker size? Whether I had sex last night?’
He laughed again, unfazed by her directness. ‘OK, so I asked for that. Let me start by asking you why you joined the police?’
She pursed her lips reflectively. ‘I suppose I wanted to make a difference.’
‘Have you?’
‘Have I what?’
‘Made a difference.’
‘That’s not for me to say.’
‘And do you enjoy what you do?’
‘Yes, I suppose I do – except this business.’
He nodded. ‘It really bugs you, doesn’t it – the fact that Twister got away?’
‘I just want to finish it.’
‘How do you feel about this psycho?’
‘Revulsion mainly.’
‘Are you frightened of him?’
‘Only a fool wouldn’t be.’
He sighed. ‘Catching him won’t be easy. Psychopaths tend to be very clever people and he is bound to have the measure of the likely police response – may even be ahead of it.’
‘So what do you suggest?’
He frowned. ‘As I said at the briefing, we can only wait to see what moves he makes next.’
‘So you’re saying the ball is in his court?’
‘I’m afraid so. Still, you have got me,’ and he chuckled at his tongue in cheek vanity. ‘Anyway, I see the lasagne is on its way, so I suggest we forget Master Twister and enjoy our meal.’
Kate smiled and leaned back slightly as the waitress deposited the plates of lasagne and garlic bread in front of her, but she was so engrossed in an appraisal of the enormous meal, that she failed to notice that she was being watched from the street outside. Hayden Lewis had gone into Burnham to buy Kate some flowers and, seeing her enjoying a meal with Clement Norton, he was not at all amused.
chapter 11
‘THERE’S BEEN A development.’ Hayden Lewis greeted Kate coldly as she got out of the CID car in the floodlit rear yard of the police station, nodding perfunctorily to Norton as he headed for the back door, then adding when he was out of earshot, ‘Boss has been trying to get hold of you and he’s not best pleased.’
Kate’s jaw dropped and she dived into her pocket. ‘Bloody hell!’ she said, staring at the digital radio she had tugged free of the lining. ‘I turned the damned thing off and forgot to turn it on again.’
Lewis’s face was wooden, his eyes bleak. ‘Was that when you were having your little tête-a-tête with Norton?’ he sniped.
She jumped as if she had been stung, surprised by the unfamiliar hardness of his tone, which was totally out of character for the slightly eccentric and good-natured Hayden she knew and loved.
‘And what do you mean by that?’ she snapped.
He snorted. ‘I was trying to get hold of you, too,’ he said. ‘I thought we might go out somewhere for a quick drink to cheer you up, but then I discovered you were already spoken for.’
She raised her eyes to heaven as the penny dropped. ‘So you saw us in the restaurant?’ she breathed. ‘Hayden, he invited me for a meal as a thank you for showing him the crime scenes, that’s all.’
‘Well, I hope you enjoyed it,’ he replied haughtily, ‘and his company.’
She stared at him, a smile hovering over her lips. ‘You’re jealous,’ she exclaimed. ‘
Hayden Lewis, you’re jealous. How really sweet.’
He snorted, his face reddening. ‘I’m nothing of the sort,’ he retorted. ‘Just disappointed in you.’
Before he could react she had leaned forward and kissed him quickly on the mouth, grinning at the cat-calls from a couple of uniformed policemen making their way to a parked traffic car. ‘You stupid duffer,’ she said. ‘Why would I go after a man who wears mauve-tinted glasses and blue-suede shoes? Come on, Hayden, get real, will you?’
But he was already stalking away from her towards the rear door of the police station in an apparent huff and she soon had a lot more to think about than his hurt feelings anyway.
‘Hamblin, get up here now!’ DI Roscoe had never been a man of tact and diplomacy and he could not have demonstrated this more effectively than he did at that moment, yelling down at her through the open window of the incident commander’s office on the top floor.
Kate blanched. This was all she needed – Roscoe on the warpath – and she headed for the rear door at a rate of knots that would have put an Olympic sprinter to shame.
Norton was already there, a half-smile on his face as he leaned against the radiator, but Roscoe was certainly not smiling and he went for her the moment she pushed through the door. ‘Where the hell have you been, Kate?’ he blazed. ‘I’ve been calling you for an hour.’
‘Slight exaggeration, I think, Inspector,’ Norton drawled, coming off the radiator. ‘And it’s my fault anyway. I took her to dinner.’
Roscoe’s eyes seemed to start from their sockets. ‘Took her to—?’ he choked, unable to finish the sentence. ‘Don’t you both realize that this is a bloody murder inquiry. We don’t do dinner!’
He turned away, shaking his head, his chest heaving as he tried to regain his breath.
‘Sorry, Guv,’ Kate said quietly, automatically dropping the usual ‘Sir’ in favour of the more colloquial CID form of address now she was on the team. ‘It won’t happen again.’
Roscoe swung round and glared at her again. ‘It had better not either, young lady,’ he growled, slightly mollified by her apology. ‘Now get yourself down to the interview room. We pulled in Jennifer Malone’s pimp for questioning two hours ago—’
‘Malone’s pimp?’ Kate echoed, unable to contain herself. ‘But I thought we had decided who we were looking for?’
Roscoe looked like flaring up again at the interruption, but controlled himself with an effort. ‘Guv’nor’s orders,’ he said. ‘It’s all political. We have to go through the motions to keep the press happy – show we are doing something. Mr Ansell also felt the arrest might lull whoever is responsible into a false sense of security. Get anything you can out of him.’
Kate looked nonplussed. ‘But why is it so important for me to do the interview? I’m very happy to do it, of course, but—’
‘How very gracious of you,’ Roscoe said sarcastically. ‘Just get on with it, will you? For some reason, he’ll only talk to you.’
Mystified, Kate headed for the basement, where the station’s two brand new American-style interview-rooms had been constructed the year before. She peered through the one-way observation window of Room Number 2 and studied the thin mousey-haired man sitting behind the interview table, smoking a cigarette. He was older now, but she recognized Del Shaylor straight away. The shifty little eyes and beak-like nose were characteristics that would never change, whatever age he was, and she guessed he would still smell as bad as he always had. But then the little villain’s assets had never had anything to do with looks or personal hygiene. He had been one of Kate’s first snouts when she’d originally joined CID and very little that was going on in the area escaped this one’s sharp eyes and ears. So he was pimping now, was he? Well, well, well….
‘Hello, Del,’ she greeted him as she entered the room, sitting down opposite him.
He grinned, flashing rotten teeth. ‘Hi, Kate. Skipper now, I hear. You done well.’
‘And you’re into pimping now, I understand,’ she retorted. ‘Real bottom of the heap stuff.’
He grinned again. ‘Have to earn a crust like everyone else, Kate,’ he said. ‘Mind you, all me girls is top notch – clean, obligin’ an’—’
‘Expensive,’ she finished for him drily. ‘Now, what have you got for me?’
He threw a quick glance at the tape machine, crouched malevolently in the corner, as if eager to be activated again. ‘That on?’ he queried. ‘I given your lot the nothin’ doin’ already, but what I got to say to you ain’t for tapin’, see?’
She shook her head. ‘Not yet – unless you’ve done something you shouldn’t have,’ she replied. ‘Then it goes back on.’
He nodded and drew more smoke into his lungs before stubbing out the cigarette on the table and leaning forward in his usual dramatic conspiratorial way. ‘I seen the guy what done for Jenny,’ he said suddenly.
Kate felt her senses start to tingle, but she tried to conceal her excitement to keep Shaylor’s price down. There would be a price too, she knew that only too well; she could see it in his eager shitty little face.
‘Go on,’ she encouraged.
‘It’s like this,’ he said. ‘I’m a bit short of funds at the moment an’—’
‘Forget it, Del,’ she snapped. ‘You’ve been nicked on suspicion. I’m your only ticket out of here.’
He scowled. ‘They know I ain’t done it, an’ a ton is what this one’s worth.’
‘I’ll talk to my guv’nor and you might, only might, get fifty.’
He scowled. ‘No deal, girl.’
Kate stood up. ‘Then you stay in here, Del, and we start a vice inquiry and have a chat with the brew about your benefits claims.’
His grin returned, wavered uncertainly, then stayed. ‘OK, OK, seein’ as I’m a good citizen an’ all that – but you will speak to your guv’nor, won’t you?’
Kate sat down. ‘So what have you got to tell me.’
He bent forward again, glancing around him as if the whole world were listening in on their conversation. ‘I was out checkin’ me girls about midnight the night Jenny copped it when I sees this motor drive slowly by an’ pick her up from her patch. A red Volvo, it were – one of them big old ’uns – an’ missin’ a back bumper bar too. Anyway, I writ the number down on a ciggy packet.’
‘What made you do that?’
He fidgeted for a moment and Kate nodded in understanding. ‘Some of your girls been cutting you out of the action, have they, Del?’ she suggested. ‘Doing a bit of business on their own account?’
He forced another smile. ‘Nah, they’re all good girls, Kate. I’m like a bleedin’ father to each an’ every one of ’em.’
Kate sighed her impatience. ‘OK, so you took the number? What was it?’
He made a deprecating gesture with his hands. ‘Dunno. Can’t remember – E4 something. Left the ciggy packet at my stash,’ his grin returned, ‘but I can get it once I got me fifty.’
Kate didn’t bother pursuing the issue; she could easily turn his place over after the interview anyway. ‘And Jenny drove off with this feller?’ she said.
He nodded. ‘Never saw her again. Then Ol’ Bill come round an’ told me she was brown bread. I felt real sick, I can tell you.’
‘I bet you did,’ she replied. ‘It’s always a shock to lose an earner.’
He didn’t seem to hear her. ‘Thing is,’ he added, ‘this geezer had been with Jenny night before. I seen his car outside her flat and he were there most of the night, so it must have cost him a bundle.’
Kate’s eagerness was showing now and she found herself leaning towards him across the table. ‘Did you get a look at the punter?’
To her disappointment, he shook his head with a sour grimace. ‘Nah. Only time I saw him was the night of the murder an’ then it were just a – a what you call it, shape thing in the drivin’ seat—’
‘Silhouette?’
‘Yeah, that’s it – so what about my fifty?’
Kate
gave a thin smile. ‘Ciggy packet, then we’ll see.’
‘That ain’t fair.’
Kate stood up again. ‘Life isn’t fair, Del,’ she replied. ‘But if you’re a very good boy, I’ll drive you to your place myself. Then you can hand me the car number personally.’
It was well past eight when Kate finally drove out of the police station in a marked patrol car, with Jimmy Noble, still grumbling after drawing the short straw, sitting in the back with what Noble called ‘Bridgwater’s own health hazard’ in the shape of Del Shaylor. ‘RHP,’ Kate had explained to the disgruntled bobby when she had broken the news. ‘Rank has privileges.’ And that had gone down like a lead balloon.
Roscoe had been reluctant to release Shaylor so early – even more reluctant to consider making an application on his behalf to the informant’s fund – but Kate’s persuasion had won the day and he had capitulated in the end, although his warning had been clear. ‘Come back with the goods or else.’
It was only a short drive to Bridgwater and within minutes of crossing the town’s boundary, they were pulling up in a seedy district not far from the canal. There were no lights on in Shaylor’s dingy flat and it was only as he fumbled with his keys to the communal front door that it suddenly dawned on the three of them that it was already ajar. Closer inspection with Kate’s torch revealed that the Yale lock had been forced so violently that part of the door frame had splintered.
Noble and Kate exchanged narrowed glances. ‘You’ve got a visitor,’ Noble breathed to the little pimp. ‘Keep close to us.’
Shaylor’s hesitation was understandable. ‘You go in and see first,’ he whined. ‘I ain’t in no hurry.’
Kate smiled grimly. ‘Would you rather wait in the car on your own?’ she queried and abruptly Shaylor changed his mind.
The hallway smelled of stale cabbage and something scurried away from them in the gloom. ‘Nice place you’ve got here,’ Kate said close to his ear and paused by an internal door bearing the number 1.
‘Ain’t no one living in there,’ Shaylor said. ‘It’s empty.’
