Though needing to discuss the breaking news with the team, she made the decision to return the call to the press office.
‘Connie Seabourne,’ announced the jolly voice at the end of the line.
Chapter 12
‘DRUGS NOT AN ISSUE According to murder squad detective investigating recent killings …’ was the headline in the local paper.
‘Have you spoken to anyone without my knowledge?’ asked Connie.
Charley frowned. ‘No. The last time I spoke to Danny Ray I told him to liaise with you.’ Charley raised her eyes to the ceiling as she slumped back in her chair. ‘That article must have been after he spoke to me…’
Connie nodded her head. ‘He’s persistent, you’ve got to give him that.’
Charley put her hand to her forehead and covered her eyes. ‘Hold on,’ she said. ‘If my memory serves me right, he said at the time that, if I didn’t give him something, he’d write the piece anyway and insinuated he wouldn’t do me any favours. I guess this article is payback.’
‘Well, he didn’t get anything from me,’ said Connie. ‘But he has got pictures of the inner scenes somehow and, surprisingly enough, he’s managed to come up with a fair yarn.’
‘What can I say? I’ve not spoken to him and if he’s hoping for a response, he’s going to be very disappointed.’
‘You don’t think anyone else on the team has spoken to him?’
Charley shook her head. ‘No, they wouldn’t, not without my approval.’ Would they, she wondered? ‘Look, once I have something I can share with the media, I’ll do so via the correct channels. I’m calling a meeting now. You might want to be there.’ There was a smile in her voice.
‘Why is that?’ Connie said, coyly.
Charley put the phone down…
A whoop went up in the incident room when Charley announced the information the forensic officer had imparted earlier.
‘It appears that we are looking for just one killer lurking in our community,’ she told them.
A few moments later Annie Glover burst into the incident room, a slip of paper in her hand. ‘Solomon Myers’ DNA sample is an exact match for the sample found in the condom at the side of the body of Stewart Johnson.’
Charley gestured to those assembled to be silent. All eyes were upon the SIO. ‘OK. So, we’ve linked him to the murder scene, but remember, that doesn’t make him a killer.’
A strategy meeting to discuss the arrest of Solomon Myers and the availability of adequate POLSA search teams was called, and as she talked to those involved she counted off the actions that needed to be a priority on her fingers. ‘Number one, his home address. Number two, the buildings at Gibson’s Horticultural and the vehicles he has use of, will all need searching. We will be working outwards, which will also include the area we all know as Peggy-in-the-Woods. This is going to require a number of officers, but it’s necessary for us to do this thoroughly and as quickly as possible. Think response, arrest and detention; vulnerability, potential for violence, fitness for detention, fitness for interview, custody record.’
‘I wonder if he’ll come quietly,’ said Wilkie.
‘Who knows, but we need to look at the possibility that he may be violent, the risks involved and how we deal with an injury to the prisoner – self-inflicted or otherwise – and, of course, to our officers. I want him arrested on suspicion of murder and, that done, taken to Huddersfield Custody Suite. Once he’s in custody, the searches can begin.’ She looked at her watch. ‘We’ve got approximately sixteen hours to prepare. Seven o’clock tomorrow morning I want him cuffed.’
The paperwork, authorisations and agreements for the logistics of a pre-planned operation, all took time. Detailed risk assessment, and a working strategy addressing the risks associated with the suspect, were required. The arrest would be led by Sergeant Mike Blake and DC Wilkie Connor. All personnel on the ground would require protective clothing. Charley knew that the destination was out of the public eye, so the decision was taken that the arrest could go ahead without it being general knowledge: not having to co-ordinate involvement without outside parties made security for the operation tighter.
Charley looked extremely tired and her eyes were hazy when the meetings were finally over, the arrest packages completed and the participants briefed. It was late into the night when she finished the notifications to those she needed to make aware. She sat behind her desk, alone in her office, with only her desk lamp for light. The others long gone, she cleared her desk in order to enjoy the takeaway she’d ordered. She was in no mood for company. The meal tasted as good as it smelled. She would have sworn it was home cooked, if only her taste buds could remember what that was like. When she’d finished, she leaned back in her chair, her fingers idly playing with a string of paper clips she’d hooked together. All was quiet and still. Resting back in her chair, she closed her eyes.
She hadn’t realised that she had fallen asleep until her watch alarm woke her. Mike was standing at the door before she was fully awake; he looked tense as he gestured to her that it was time to go. She didn’t stop to speak to those in the office; they knew the drill. As she ran down the steps to take the last minute briefing downstairs in the Void, she was fully aware that the team would already be anxiously waiting, eager to get on with the task in hand. She took a quick check of the station clock which told her time was indeed of the essence.
‘Game on,’ Wilkie said the moment he clapped eyes on her, his face brimming with excitement. She could feel the adrenalin galloping through her veins as she stepped up onto a box Ricky-Lee had dragged towards her. The Void, where the police cars, motorbikes and vans were kept, was a huge chamber. She stood up on her makeshift platform, in front of one hundred officers, and her voice bounced off the walls, enabling all to hear her instructions.
Winnie watched the fleet of operational vehicles disappear out of the compound from different levels in the police building. There were no blue flashing lights, no urgency about them, just a unified convoy on a tactical pursuit. With a big sigh she pulled a duster from beneath her apron strings. ‘God be with you,’ she said, before commencing the polishing of the windowsill in Charley’s office.
Through the windscreen, Charley saw that Gibson Horticultural’s two huge iron gates were open, which suggested to her that someone might already be there. She drove the car at a crawl, wincing at every noise the vehicle made and that might alert Solomon Myers to their presence. Her car crunched to a stop and then there was silence. Charley adjusted her rear-view mirror to see a unit park up at the entrance, confirming to her that nothing could enter or leave without her permission. She waited for the radio to announce the arrival of DC Wilkie Connor and his team, travelling on foot through the woods towards the only other possible exit, the rear of the polytunnel. Once they were in position, the signal was given for the officers to alight from the vehicles, each with a job to do. As quietly as they could, designated officers headed towards the reception shed; others followed her and DS Mike Blake to the area where they had last seen Solomon working.
The noise of a radio blaring out suggested Solomon Myers was currently in the polytunnel, just as anticipated. Soft-footed, they honed in on the source of the sound of running water and a yard brush sweeping the concrete floor.
Wilkie and his team could now be seen walking towards them from the rear of the tunnel. Neither Solomon nor Mr Gibson were anywhere to be seen. However, there was a ten-foot-high stack of blue plastic barrels which formed a square at the centre of the tunnel and there was no mistaking that someone was working behind them. Charley pointed to the barrels and Wilkie pointed to the opposite end, but before they could initiate the surprise move, the barrel wall suddenly came tumbling down and the officers could do nothing more than run for cover. The police-dog handler held Bruno on a short leash.
‘Do you want me to let him go?’ he yelled. Such was the noise of the barrels being thrown in a frenzy that it muffled any response.
‘Armed police, get
down on the ground,’ came the call.
Solomon made an attempt to flee in the direction of the woods.
‘Armed police, get down on the ground!’
Still Solomon ignored them.
Bruno was on a short leash and his handler was having difficulty holding him back. Straining and barking, the dog was keen to do what he was trained for.
Solomon swung out his upper arm towards an officer who was near enough to grab at him and his colleague made use of his pepper spray as they struggled to clamp the handcuffs to one of Solomon’s arms. Four officers were now about him, but each lost the fight for supremacy over the madman. The police dog was released and immediately attached himself to Myers. The pepper spray had failed to subdue him and he managed to attack the dog with a flailing leg, which the dog promptly bit into. As his head was gripped by another officer in a headlock, Solomon still had strength to lift the officer off the ground. His teeth were bared and an almighty howl came from deep within his body as he continued to fight with the strength of a bullock being taken to the floor for branding.
Charley shouted out, with authority. ‘Solomon, calm down. You’re being arrested on suspicion of murder whether you like it or not.’
But still he fought on, this time attacking the police-dog handler and rendering him unconscious. Without his handler being able to call the dog off for a second time, it bit into Solomon’s arm. Another officer activated his Taser and warned Solomon, who continued to attack the dog. The Taser hit Solomon in the back and finally, to everyone’s relief, he fell motionless to the ground.
Bruno went to lay his paw on the handler’s back as he lay, face down and unmoving on the ground. There was blood on the dog’s bared teeth. Once Solomon was down, leg restraints were quickly put to use to fasten his legs together and prevent him injuring himself or anyone else further. Once handcuffed, he was unceremoniously hoisted to his feet. Paramedics worked quickly and expertly attending to the prisoner’s wounds, and it was decided he needed hospital treatment. The dog handler was taken away in an ambulance for tests, although he was now conscious again and able to speak to Charley before he left on a stretcher. Charley’s sigh of relief was heartfelt. Never before had she feared for an officer’s life when he was under her command.
‘Well done, everyone,’ she said. ‘I’ll see you back at the nick for the debrief.’
While the teams prepared for the next phase, Charley went over to where Wilkie Connor stood with Mr Gibson. The old man looked every inch his seventy-nine years. His pallor was grey, his skin clammy; he leaned heavily against the door frame. Charley reassured him, explaining what they had found at the recent murder scene and the necessity for Solomon’s arrest. She told him what would happen to Solomon next.
‘By ’eck lass, I’m in shock. I still can’t believe he would do something like that, not murder, not Solomon. Could it be that it was an accident?’
Charley shook her head and took the mug of tea that Annie Glover offered her. They had taken the old man inside and were now sitting round the table in Mr Gibson’s kitchen. ‘It wasn’t an accident that’s for sure, it was a deliberate act. Just like the disposal of the bodies.’
‘It doesn’t make sense. Don’t you see what I’m trying to tell you? He’s not bright enough for premeditated murder. He wouldn’t know how or what to do, unless somebody instructed him. He’s like a robot. He does what he’s told, nothing more … And I should know – he’s worked for me for long enough.’ Mr Gibson was saddened. ‘I hope your officer’s all right – and the dog,’ he said.
‘Will you come down to the station and make a witness statement?’
‘Whatever you need,’ he said.
‘We need Solomon Myers’ record of employment and any other background information you can help us with, to be honest.’
‘The vehicle?’ Gibson said. ‘Your sergeant, he said it would have to be taken away?’
‘Yes, the pick-up truck will be going on a low loader to be put under intense scrutiny by Forensics.’
Mr Gibson stood and hobbled to an old tin cupboard that was fitted to the wall. He unlocked it. ‘I’ve got spare keys. You don’t need to go to the expense of a carrier.’
‘That’s extremely kind, Mr Gibson,’ she said, ‘but we need to ensure that nothing is lost in transit.’
He slumped back in his chair. ‘Of course. I never thought. I guess you’ll hope for something in the tread of the tyres and the undercarriage…’
‘We can’t afford to miss anything.’
‘I understand. I wasn’t trying to…’
‘I know you weren’t.’
‘When will this be in the papers? I’m sorry to sound so cold, but the business…’
‘At this moment in time there has been no need to share anything with the media, but it won’t be long before word gets out. I will be updating the victims’ next of kin on Solomon’s arrest as soon as he has been processed down at the station, and there will be a subsequent press release.’
Solomon Myers didn’t appear to be in any discomfort from his wounds. He arrived at the custody suite handcuffed to two officers. His boots were scuffed and dusty, his bloodied trousers crumpled, the shirt he wore looked as if it hadn’t been washed in an age. His face was the only thing about him that was clean, no doubt due to the fact it had been washed to alleviate the effects of the pepper spray.
The arresting officers emptied his pockets and placed the contents onto the custody suite counter in front of the uniformed sergeant.
Keys for the vehicle lay next to another, larger bunch, possibly from his workplace. A Yale and a mortice-lock key were attached to a metal keyring shaped like a house, which suggested they belonged to his home address. Finally, there was a black fold-over wallet, containing a single ten-pound note.
If looks could kill, then Solomon had just slaughtered everyone around him.
The custody sergeant spoke to Solomon and explained to him that if he behaved himself, the handcuffs would be removed. He offered him the chance to give him the name of a solicitor, so he could contact them to ask them to attend at the police station with a view to representing him. ‘In the event you tell me you don’t have a solicitor in mind, or that you don’t want a solicitor, we will contact one for you. Do you understand?’
The prisoner’s face was devoid of all emotion. His jowls hung down and his slack mouth was in a perpetual sneer, making him appear menacing. The blotches of red on his nose and cheeks made those surrounding him look ghostly white by comparison.
The sergeant continued. ‘When you’ve been arrested on suspicion of murder, you need legal support.’
Solomon Myers offered no response.
‘OK,’ said the custody sergeant. ‘Let’s try again. What’s your name?’
‘Solomon.’
‘Any middle names?’
‘No.’
‘Last name.’
‘Myers.’
There was no rush for further details – at least he was responding – however, the sergeant soon began to realise that perhaps Myers didn’t fully understand what was happening.
‘I think we need to have him assessed to see if he needs a responsible adult alongside, don’t you?’
Wilkie was in agreement.
‘We’ll wait until the duty solicitor arrives and discuss it further.’
The sergeant felt it safe to take off the handcuffs. Solomon looked from one officer to the other and instantly lifted his stiff, straight arms so they could be removed. He rubbed his wrists together and a slight smile turned to a broad grin, then a little titter to a laugh. Solomon threw his head back and laughed some more. The officers looked at each other, both at the ready to restrain him again should it be necessary. With their hands on his elbows, they led Solomon to the cells, and there removed his footwear and clothing. He was given the standard issue prisoner clothing to replace his own.
At first, as the door closed and locked behind Solomon, there was silence from within the cell. But wh
en the officers walked away, they heard the soft, hicupping sobs of Solomon crying.
Charley was in the incident room being updated on the information that had been collated regarding the arrest. ‘I’m more than aware that, due to his reluctance at being arrested, there was a delay in seizing his clothing, and therefore we may have lost vital evidence. But you never know. We may still get something that links him to our victims. We can only hope,’ said Charley.
Charley was mindful of all the plates she had to keep spinning. The brief post-arrest briefing was structured, but arduous nevertheless. Logistically, the pick-up truck was the easiest to deal with as it was a straight lift onto the low loader and away, but the searches were more complicated and required careful consideration. The scene was being subjected to a systematic search: Charley wondered if there was within its boundaries a murder scene.
‘We are in possession of the keys Solomon Myers had on his person when he was arrested. These include those for his home address, given to us as Flat 23, Red Brick House, Meltham; his workplace and the truck he’s been using. The latter needs to go to the allocated teams at the scene. His clothing and footwear need to go to Forensics,’ said Mike.
‘We’ll need soil samples from every location to see if there is a match with those identified by Forensics. Mr Gibson told us that Solomon was proactive with the jet wash. The machine is still in situ, so perhaps that’s the place that holds the secrets, if there are any to find,’ she said.
Payback Page 16
