Lies That Blind

by Tony Hutchinson

  The call for a review has been backed by the family’s local MP, Harvey Slattery.

  An inquest has been opened and adjourned, but a full inquest has yet to be held.

  Eastern Police have remained tight-lipped about the investigation. A spokesman said today they could not comment until after the inquest, but that their investigation was complete and a report had been forwarded to the coroner.

  Sam finished the article and took a fresh cup of tea from Joyce. She promised Fred she would get the CCTV checked.

  ‘See that in this morning’s paper,’ Fred said. ‘Patients paying £30 to have a conversation on the computer with a doctor.’

  ‘Skype,’ Sam said.

  ‘Whatever it’s called it’s bloody ridiculous. All because you can’t get in to see a doctor. Health service is a damn disgrace and all the immigration doesn’t help.’

  Sam didn’t have time to listen to another ‘state of the nation’ speech. She got enough of those from Ed

  Her mind was now on Megan Redwood.

  Why does she want a review? What does she know that we don’t?

  Whatever else was going on Sam knew that this would land on her desk.

  The piece was written by Darius Simpson. He owed her a favour, especially after the double page spread on the serial rapist. He must know something. He’s asking for a review on the family’s behalf. She recalled the initial incident and knew that it was Mick Wright’s case.

  Sam said her goodbyes and left with the copy of The Post.

  Back on the street she pondered the headline. She could get Megan’s address from Darius. No point in tipping off Wright by getting it from the coroner’s file.

  She conjured up an image of Wright, full of pompous self-importance and disrespect for an old man who had served his country. The strength of her anger surprised her.

  ‘Leave it with me Fred,’ Sam said to herself.

  Ed and the other negotiators sat in silence in the cramped room, eight eyes staring at the wall-mounted clock, everyone wondering whether its batteries were running low.

  Ed was thankful he didn’t have to deliver the food to the house. That had been handled by two firearms officers who approached the front door and left the burgers and cokes on the step.

  Ed had kept Zac talking on the phone, told him when it was safe to collect the food.

  The time for the next call was 20 minutes after the delivery.

  Charles Edwards stood up, slipped the fingers of each hand through the handles of four mugs and took them outside. Keeping the small space clinical and clean was vital.

  It was time.

  Jenny watched Ed.

  Jules was stood by the boards.

  Charles was back, pen hovering over the notepad.

  Ed called the mobile.

  ‘How was your food Zac?’

  ‘Cold.’

  Jules Merson raised her eyebrows.

  ‘Sorry about that, but we had to go into the town centre to collect it and then bring it to you.’

  Thumbs up from Jenny.

  They heard the slurping sound of the last remnants of the coke being sucked through a straw, then a big intake of breath.

  ‘Will Lucy be alright?’

  ‘I don’t know Zac. Is she with you?’

  ‘I don’t know where she is!’ Zac screamed.

  The negotiators jumped and pulled the headphones away from their ears at the sudden, piercing volume.

  As they all readjusted them, they heard his sobs.

  ‘Zac?’ Ed said.

  Each word that followed was punctuated by a wet, hitched breath.

  ‘Is she not at her mam’s?’

  Lucy’s mother hadn’t seen her today. An officer was with Jean Spragg, firstly, to see if her daughter turned up and more importantly, to stop Jean Spragg storming to the scene and screaming abuse at the man she despised.

  Jean had been beaten up every Friday or Saturday of her married life. It was always one of those nights, never both. Every Thursday she would wonder how bad it would be, which night it would happen. She always hoped for Friday. That meant she could enjoy the rest of the weekend with Lucy. Saturdays were never as good if she hadn’t been assaulted on Friday. Being spared on Friday only meant she knew what was coming. Sooner or later.

  The beatings finally stopped once he developed cirrhosis of the liver. He died an agonising death, although as far as Jean was concerned his last breath came too soon and not slowly enough.

  She didn’t want Lucy to suffer the same cycle of abuse.

  Jean had given the officer Lucy’s mobile number but it had gone straight to answerphone.

  ‘She’s not there Zac,’ Ed said now. ‘Her mam’s not seen her.’

  Ed waited.

  The thin hand on the clock inched through seven seconds that felt like seventy.

  ‘Lying cow.’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Jean. Never liked me. Couldn’t lie straight in bed. She’ll have seen Lucy.’

  ‘We’ll go back and check again.’ Ed let his words sink in, allow Zac time to realise that Ed believed him.

  ‘Zac, we think there may be other people injured. We would like to go and check on them. Would that be okay…’

  Ed didn’t finish the sentence but listened to Zac Williams wail like a hundred mourners at a funeral.

  Eventually Zac spoke.

  ‘I see any fucker come into this street and I’ll shoot.’

  Chapter 9

  The sensible thing for Sam to do was to go home and rest. Dick Donaldson was right. But she couldn’t, not yet. Ed was at the scene and she had staff working in the Intelligence Cell.

  She walked into the command vehicle.

  ‘Can’t keep away Sam?’ Donaldson asked.

  ‘Something like that. I just thought I’d pop in. How’s it going?

  ‘He’s talking. Don’t know if there’s anyone else in the house. Can’t trace his girlfriend.’

  ‘What does he want?’ Sam asked.

  ‘No idea yet.’

  Donaldson ran his fingers threw his wispy, ginger hair, the overhead light highlighting the freckles on his hand.

  ‘Why the hell is he dressed as a white rabbit?’ he said.

  Sam leaned slightly to her left, put her hand on the table and crossed her right foot over her left. The live feed on the screen behind Dick showed two males laid in the middle of the road, another in a garden.

  Sam’s eyes held on Paul and she involuntarily breathed deep.

  Why didn’t you just go home Paul?

  What did Ed always say to the young detectives?

  ‘Women will pull you further than dynamite will blow you’.

  She shook her head, top teeth biting her bottom lip. Paul Adams was dead because he was cheating. She cursed his stupidity. Why did men do it?

  Sam had met Paul’s wife Erica once at a retirement party. She was nice.

  Why hadn’t she been enough? Sam suspected plenty of men cheated not just for the sex. For some, the boost to their ego and the thrill of deceit was like a drug. Rarely, Sam reckoned, did love lead them astray.

  Visiting Paul’s wife wouldn’t be easy but she couldn’t leave it to others. One of the couple’s friends, a serving detective, was sitting with Erica now but it was only right Sam answered the hard question, the elephant in the room question.

  ‘What was he doing there?’

  Once the affair came out, there was every chance Erica would accuse Sam of knowing about it all along or worse still, engineering his work so he could see the other woman.

  And whatever Sam thought of Paul and his choices, the girl he was seeing must have felt something for him, even if it was only lust. Her shock, grief maybe, would be no less real. He had walked out of her house and been killed. Sam would have to visit her too.

  Sam blinked and considered Donaldson’s question.

  ‘Normally I would say to conceal his identity. But where’s he going? This will only end up one of two ways. He gives himself
up or he’s shot.’

  ‘Let’s hope it’s the first Sam.’

  She stood up straight, eyes firmly fixed on the screen.

  ‘Unless he’s sending a message to somebody?’

  Sam needed a cigarette and Donaldson was right. There was nothing she could do here.

  ‘On my way home I’ll call in and see Jean Spragg. I know her from old. Dealt with a couple of domestics back in the day.’

  She left the command vehicle and got into her Audi.

  She loved the car but maybe it was time for a change.

  Fifteen minutes later a young PC opened the front door of Jean Spragg’s house.

  Jean had received a phone call telling her to expect DCI Parker and she leapt to her feet as soon as she saw Sam.

  ‘Oh no,’ she wailed. ‘You being here can mean only one thing.’

  She fell backwards onto the brown corduroy armchair.

  The heat from the gas fire, overpowering the tiny living room, punched Sam in the gut.

  She unbuttoned her coat and sat in the only vacant chair. The young PC stood.

  ‘It’s not like that Jean.’

  Sam tried to get comfortable in the chair but the springs had long lost their mojo.

  ‘I’ve popped round because we know each other, nothing more, although naturally we are keen to trace Lucy.’

  Jean looked up, rubbed her eyes. ‘I don’t know where she is and there’s no answer from her mobile.’

  ‘Does Zac have a mobile?’ Sam said.

  ‘Seriously?’ Jean gave Sam her best village idiot look. ‘Who doesn’t have a mobile these days?’

  ‘Don’t suppose you know the number?’

  ‘You suppose right.’

  Sam looked at her, a Jean she’d not seen before and it was nothing to do with the shooting.

  She’d lost weight and the lines around her eyes seemed to have lessened but it was the striking clothes and make-up that grabbed Sam’s attention: red jumper, black pencil skirt, bright red lipstick, heavy, black mascara.

  She would never have been able to dress like that when Bobby Spragg was alive and she wouldn’t have been able to wear those new mules for long. They’d have been taken off her the first time she did something wrong.

  ‘Anything you can tell us Jean, anything that might help us?’

  ‘I don’t know. I haven’t seen her today. I hoped she might pop into the pub later.’ She shook her head. ‘Fat chance. I haven’t met her in the pub for ages, not without that bastard in tow anyway. I was going out with some of the lasses tonight.’

  Sam smiled inside, pleased that Jean was at last able to go out with friends.

  Jean leaned forward, stomach touching her thighs and started heaving. Her back was shaking and then the coughing began, coughing that started in the mules.

  Sam watched.

  I need to give up smoking.

  The coughing fit had barely finished before Jean fumbled in a fake leopard skin print handbag for her cigarettes. ‘Want one?’ she said to Sam, holding out the packet.

  ‘I’ll have one of mine if you don’t mind,’ Sam said, as Jean’s red lips puckered around the filter.

  ‘I don’t know anything Sam. I never liked that Zac Williams. Not much better than our lad.’

  Jean turned her head away and imitated spitting on the purple carpet.

  ‘Hopefully the devil’s making his afterlife a nightmare.’

  She grinned.

  Sam saw the two front teeth that he’d knocked out years ago had been replaced, something else new, bought no doubt after his death.

  They inhaled and exhaled, cigarette smoke making the room even more oppressive. The young PC carefully opened the door and took a small backward step into the hall.

  ‘I kept telling Lucy to leave him. That he wasn’t right for her.’ Jean leaned forward in the chair.

  ‘She’s a good-looking girl with a good head on her shoulders Sam. She can do better than that bastard.’

  Jean drew on her cigarette before continuing.

  ‘The lads used to flock around her when she was in the pub you know, not that she gets out these days.’

  ‘I can imagine,’ Sam said. ‘Did she take any of them up on it?’

  Jean sat back in the chair, pushed smoke through her puffed cheeks towards the yellowing ceiling.

  ‘She’s not like that, Sam… She wouldn’t go behind his back.’

  It was Sam’s turn to lean forward.

  Conscious of the movement, Jean looked away from the ceiling and met Sam’s eyes.

  ‘This isn’t the time to be taking the moral high ground Jean. We need to find Lucy.’

  Sam left the words hanging, stared at Jean.

  ‘If you know anything?’

  Jean took a deep breath, tapped the cigarette over the ashtray.

  ‘There was one lad. Marcus. Nice lad. Posh really. She’d seen him a few times.’

  ‘How? I thought she never got out.’

  ‘You can always get out Sam, even if it’s only now and then. You just need to be a bit more creative in your lies. Hide clothes somewhere.’

  ‘Surname?’

  ‘I can’t remember. Tall lad. Fit.’

  She saw Sam’s expression.

  ‘Not like that!’ Jean said.

  She laughed, a throaty laugh that some would call dirty.

  ‘You know. As in played sport fit, not I fancy him fit.’

  ‘Anything else?’ Sam said.

  ‘Drove a very nice car. Dropped her off here once. I met him. Like I said, nice lad.’

  ‘What kind of car?’

  ‘Sporty thing, soft top, two door. Sports car. Bright blue. Really bright…more of an electric blue I suppose.’

  Sam’s face was impassive as she recalled the street and relived the helicopter feed…Paul and the child outside Zac Williams’ house, and the bright blue Porsche Boxster parked further up the street.

  ‘What about sending him a drink that’s laced with sleeping pills?’ Dick Donaldson said.

  He was standing in the doorway of the negotiators’ room.

  Charles was writing his notes, Ed and Jenny preparing for the next call.

  ‘Might work, but if it goes tits-up,’ Ed said, ‘and we don’t know yet if there’s anybody else in the house, we put them in danger.’

  Ed paused, rubbed his eyes, looked at the clock.

  ‘Let’s see if we can talk him out first, he said. ‘Try using his kid as an angle. Do we know his name?’

  ‘Elwood.’

  The negotiator’s eyes locked on Donaldson’s.

  ‘Sorry?’ Ed said.

  ‘New one on me too.’

  Donaldson told them officers had contacted the mother of Zac Williams’ child. Both she and the boy were safe. Elwood went to nursery, loved playing with his toy cars.

  ‘Get into his head if you can Ed.’

  Ed nodded, picked up the phone. Donaldson closed the door.

  Ed looked at his fellow negotiators. ‘Show time.’

  The phone rang twice.

  ‘Zac, it’s Ed. Can we talk about how we got here?’

  Silence.

  ‘Zac somebody’s been to see Elwood.’

  The response was immediate.

  ‘How is he?’

  Thumbs up from Jenny.

  Charles shuffled himself straight, adjusted his hard-backed ‘Black n Red’ A4 size notebook.

  ‘All he wants to do is play with his toy cars apparently,’ Ed said.

  ‘Yeah he loves them.’

  Thumbs up again from Jenny.

  Williams seemed keen to talk about his son.

  ‘Four-years-old. Bet those years flew by.’

  ‘Yeah they did.’

  ‘Only seems two minutes ago they were in nappies.’

  Zac laughed. ‘Yeah.’

  Ed resisted asking how often Williams saw the boy.

  If the contact between them was minimal, he could get angry again. Every sentence, every word, had the potential
to inflame the situation.

  ‘What do you like doing with him?’ Ed said instead.

  ‘He loves football. We go to the park. I just got him a radio-controlled car; he loves that.’

  ‘I bet he does. I love them.’

  Williams laughed again.

  Charles’ pen was a blur across the page, Jules was writing on the whiteboard – filling up the, ‘What do we know column’.

  ‘What does he call you? Dad, daddy, fatha?’

  ‘Daddy, but I’m sure that’ll change when he gets to proper school.’

  ‘Probably.’

  ‘Can you bring him here?’ Williams asked.

  Ed was ready for the question, had anticipated it from the moment Dick Donaldson suggested using the Elwood angle.

  Various case studies highlighted bringing a family member to the scene was a huge no-no. If the shooter wanted to go out in a blaze of glory, they often wanted to do it in front of a loved one.

  ‘This is no place for a child Zac. People injured in the street, police officers with guns, you in there. What we could do...’ Ed paused, let Williams anticipate the rest of the sentence.

  ‘What we could do is fix up a meet once this has been sorted and we’re all away from here.’

  Another immediate response, aggressive this time.

  ‘You’re lying.’

  Ed kept his own voice calm.

  ‘What benefit do I get from lying?’

  ‘Well how do I know you’re not? I’ve never met you. What have you ever done for me?’

  Jules waved her hand at Ed, pointed at the board once she had his attention. More specifically she pointed at the ‘What have we done for subject’ column and ran her hand up and down it.

  Ed nodded at her.

  ‘You’re right we’ve never met, we don’t know each other, but in the short time we’ve been talking I’ve done quite a lot for you Zac.’

  Ed focused on the boards.

  ‘I got you a phone in there so we could talk instead of shouting out of windows.’

  Ed paused.

  ‘You wanted two burgers and coke. I got you them. I didn’t lie when I said I had to ask someone, but you got your burgers and coke. Am I right?’

  The aggression had ebbed.

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘I asked if we could look at the injured child. You agreed. I didn’t look at anybody else, did I?’