by Faith Martin
‘You’re not going to believe this,’ he said, eyes glowing with satisfaction.
* * *
One hour before Hillary Greene was summoned to Rollo’s office, Teddy Bear walked into the park and found one particular bench under a large cedar tree, just as Larry Spence had described it.
Less than five minutes later, Larry himself came strolling along and casually took the seat beside him. ‘Pity there isn’t a pond,’ he muttered laconically. ‘We could have fed some ducks.’
Teddy Bear smiled thinly and glanced around. There were the usual number of students scattered around, skiving off their studies, and the almost obligatory old geezer sitting on the bench further down the path, reading the Oxford Times. All were ignoring them.
Teddy Bear took no notice as two more students, a lanky lad and an equally lanky girl, lay out on the grass a little bit away from them and instantly got out their mobile phones. The sight of youths messing about with mobile phones was so commonplace as to be invisible. But mobile phones had cameras in them, and not all the young people in Oxford’s parks were students. Some of them were excited constables, let out of uniform and given a ‘fun’ assignment.
Teddy Bear, unaware of having been followed for the last half-hour, reached into a jacket pocket and withdrew a small gold item and passed it across to Spence.
Casually turning to roll onto one arm, the lanky female student propped up her phone and took photographs.
‘This the ring then?’ Larry Spence said, rather redundantly, as he took the item from his client and looked at it curiously. He’d never seen ancient jewellery before, and didn’t know whether to be impressed or not. It was rather crude, by modern jewellery standards and design, the actual loop of the ring itself a little uneven in thickness, and it had a distinct dent in it, making it far from circular. Perhaps at some point, a farmer had driven over it with a plough or something. The beaten gold top disc was also chunky and uneven, but it had been carved at some point with some design that meant nothing to him.
But it was reassuringly heavy, and the colour of the metal was undeniably lovely — a rich buttery gold. Some punter obsessed with Saxons, or Britons, or whoever the hell had made this, was going to pay a fortune for it, he was sure.
‘Very nice,’ Larry said, grinning obligingly for the lanky young man who took his photograph while pretending to take a selfie.
‘Can you get a good price for it?’ Teddy Bear asked flatly.
‘Oh yes. Much better than that loser Simon Newley would ever have got for it,’ he boasted. ‘Whoever topped him did you a favour, I reckon.’
Teddy Bear shrugged. But then just had to ask, ‘How are the cops coming with that, by the way? Last time we spoke, you seemed to think they had you in the frame for it.’
‘What? Oh, yeah.’ Larry laughed. ‘I told you — that DI Farrell’s got no chance of pinning it on me. ’Specially now they’ve got the station hotshot in on it.’
‘What?’ Teddy Bear asked sharply. ‘What do you mean?’
Oxford’s premiere crook looked at his client and grinned. ‘I’ve got eyes and ears in his investigation, right? First thing I did. I’m no mug. And it seems that they’ve got someone else working the case with him now. And she could be a problem,’ he added more thoughtfully.
‘Who?’
‘Former DI called Hillary Greene. Whereas Farrell couldn’t find his own backside in a blackout, she’s a different proposition all together.’
Teddy Bear went very still. ‘Good, is she?’
‘One of the best, so my source reckons. When she was a regular DI she had a solve rate second to none. They always gave her murder cases too, whenever they came up. Now, apparently, she’s retired, but working on cold cases. And lo and behold, the same thing! She’s closed more unsolved murders than you’ve had hot dinners.’
Teddy Bear said nothing.
Larry Spence pocketed the gold ring with a sense of immense satisfaction. If this soppy client of his had more of this good stuff stashed away, he was on to a real winner. ‘Well, best be off. Got to see a man about a dog, and all of that.’
Teddy Bear vaguely smiled, then watched as Larry Spence walked away.
Over on the grass, the female constable said quietly to her colleague, ‘The target doesn’t look very happy!’
‘Nope,’ her companion agreed. ‘But I can tell you who is going to be happy. Our guv’nor. He’s been longing to get something on Larry Spence for months! And here we’ve got him receiving dodgy goods! Let’s send him our photos and make his day!’
* * *
A little while after this, Hillary listened keenly as DI Farrell filled her in on what had been happening and looked at the uploaded photos on his mobile.
‘You think we can get a warrant to search for any safety deposit box the target may have now?’ she asked Rollo, who nodded.
‘I’ve already got that underway,’ the superintendent said happily. ‘So what next?’
‘We bring the target in and question him,’ DI Farrell said at once.
Hillary frowned. ‘That might be a bit premature. We don’t want to spook—’
She wasn’t allowed to finish the sentence however. Already Robin Farrell was talking over her. ‘We need to get him to roll over on Spence. This is the first real evidence we’ve got of criminal activity on his part. I know it’s not a murder rap yet, but it’s something to hold him on. And if we get him for fencing, it’ll give us probable cause to start poking around in other things as well. Once the smaller sharks scent blood in the water, they’ll start to turn on him! All we need is one greedy lieutenant of his scenting an opportunity and all sorts of stuff might come pouring out of the woodwork. If the boss goes away for life, career opportunities open up for everyone else.’
‘Actually, unless we can prove that the gold ring in the photos is part of the undeclared treasure trove, you don’t have anything on him,’ Hillary pointed out gently. She knew a detective who had blinkers on when she saw one. And although she understood what it felt like to have tunnel vision when it came to nabbing a particular nemesis, she couldn’t let Robin Farrell’s burning need to see Larry Spence behind bars scupper her investigation.
‘All the more reason to bring your target in,’ Farrell persisted stubbornly. ‘The superintendent tells me you have no forensics on your cold case, no witness, and nothing tying your suspect to Beck’s death. But the Newley/Kirklees case is still current. We know Spence killed them in order to expand his empire, and if we can break the target with these photos, I’ll finally have a thread that I can pull on! If we make the target a deal if he rolls on Spence, we can kill two birds with one stone.’
‘Hold on,’ Hillary said firmly. ‘I’m not offering the killer of Michael Beck any damned deal! And we don’t know that Spence did kill Newley and Kirklees.’
Robin Farrell looked at her impatiently, then turned to Rollo Sale. ‘We both know that my open and current case takes priority. I’m going to recommend to my super that we pull in the target and put the squeeze on. The only question is — do you want in on it or not?’
Hillary too turned to look at Rollo Sale. But even as she did so, she knew his hands were tied. One sympathetic glance from him confirmed it.
She sighed heavily. ‘OK. But I want to be the one to bring the target in.’ She didn’t trust the gung-ho Farrell not to blow what might be a rather delicate undertaking.
Robin, having got his way on the major issue, was happy to agree to the minor one, and shrugged. ‘Fine. But I’ll tag along. You don’t have the authority to make an actual arrest, right?’
Silently Hillary cursed the fact that he was right. ‘Fine, but only as a backup. I’ll do the talking.’
‘Suits me,’ Robin agreed happily. To him, Hillary’s suspect was small fry.
‘And I want to take Gareth Proctor with me,’ she added.
At this Rollo shot her a quick, surprised look. ‘Do you think that’s wise? After the shock he had yesterday . . .’
Hillary held her superintendent’s gaze firmly. ‘He needs to get back on the horse, sir,’ she said.
Also, she thought pensively, he needed to make his mind up whether or not his job meant anything to him anymore. And if being thrust into the heart of the action just when the Beck case was heating up didn’t help him make up his mind, then nothing would!
She left the now ebullient Robin Farrell in Rollo’s office and walked to the community office. Claire was rummaging in the biscuit tin. Gareth was staring morosely at his computer screen.
‘Gareth, we need to bring someone in for questioning. Get your coat.’
Claire looked up, glanced at Hillary’s set face, and returned her concentration to acquiring a custard cream.
Without a word, Gareth rose and followed her out.
Outside the superintendent’s office she introduced him to DI Robin Farrell who noted the former soldier’s physical injuries with a quick interested glance and briskly shook his hand. They decided to go in DI Farrell’s car, which was a newer, roomier, and more reliable car than Puff.
All three of them made the journey to the target’s residence in a rather strained silence.
* * *
When Teddy Bear opened the door and saw Hillary Greene and Gareth Proctor, he smiled automatically and stepped aside to let them in.
They’d agreed on the drive over that Robin would stay in the car, unless called on for help. In her bag, Hillary’s mobile phone was on, and she’d dialled Robin’s number before approaching the door, leaving the line open. Now he could listen in on how things progressed.
‘Hello again,’ Teddy Bear said amiably. ‘Please, come in. How are things going? Are you making any progress on Michael’s case?’
‘Yes, sir, I believe we are,’ Hillary said. ‘In fact, we’d like you to come with us to Kidlington to answer some further questions, if you wouldn’t mind?’
At that point, Hillary fully expected him to agree. Oh, he might demur, might be a little difficult, but she could see no reason why he would refuse. As far as he knew, things might have taken a rather ominous turn, but he had no reason to worry too much yet. The reasonable, logical course of action was for him to go with them, answer their questions carefully and see if they could gauge the lay of the land.
And if her suspect hadn’t just got back from hearing from one of the city’s top crooks just how good Hillary Greene was at catching killers, that was probably what he’d have done.
Instead, Teddy Bear panicked. It wasn’t totally out of character for him, because he was never as confident on the inside as the image he liked to project to the world. And rash action wasn’t new to him either. Killing those that threatened him, in the form of Simon Newley and Lionel Kirklees, proved that. And yet it had definitely taken a toll on his nerves. After a decade of feeling safe and comfortable, the events of the last six months had shaken him.
And now this! The tension ratcheted up, and a nervous voice at the back of his mind screamed at him that his luck had run out at last, and that if he wanted to avoid jail time — and he did, the very thought of it terrified him — then it was time to run!
If he’d had time to think, to swallow down his intense fear, to make some sort of a rational plan, then the killer of Michael Beck might have acted differently than he did.
Instead, he acted instinctively.
He smiled, said mildly, ‘Of course. Anything I can do to help. Just let me get my phone,’ and walked away to a sideboard, where he pulled open a drawer and reached inside. When he turned around, however, he didn’t have a mobile phone in his hand, but a taser.
Hillary recognized it at once, and yelled, ‘Weapon!’ at the top of her lungs. At this, Gareth reacted instantly, leaping towards the target. The target turned and at that point Gareth’s weak leg buckled suddenly beneath him with the abrupt pressure being put on it, and he felt himself lurch sideways and slightly forward.
Hillary, seeing his peril, instinctively went to his aid and stepped forward, putting herself between him and the man with the taser, thus making herself the most obvious and most immediate danger.
At which point, Kevin Philpott turned the taser in her direction, and fired it.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Hillary’s world became an instant jumble of shock, pain and weirdness. She thought she heard a buzzing sound. Thought she could smell burning. But the most distressing thing was that she totally lost control of her body. She could feel herself jerking, and realized she was on the floor.
She thought she was making some sort of a sound, but didn’t know what it was. She couldn’t seem to think in a straight line. Thoughts passed through her mind too quickly for her to grasp them. But she was aware of a sense of urgency.
Danger.
Someone was in danger. Herself. Someone else?
For no discernible reason, the galley of the Mollern flashed into and out of her mind.
Then she heard other sounds. Swearing. Male voices. Something bumped into her painfully, bruising her ribs. But she couldn’t curl up to protect herself. Her limbs were splayed. And through one eye, she got a really good close-up, side-on view of her right hand. It was lying on a carpet, palm uppermost, and her knuckles were doing an odd little jig, up and down against the floor.
What the hell?
Then she heard a hard sharp sound, like a gunshot. But it wasn’t a gunshot. Or at least, she didn’t think so. What was it? She was sure she’d heard it before, not so long ago . . . Then she was back in her office, and Gareth Proctor, looking good and mad, was standing there, having just opened the door so hard and fast it . . .
Gareth. Gareth was in danger, not her. That was right, wasn’t it?
Something or someone landed beside her heavily, with a groan and a thump. And then someone was leaning over who or whatever had joined her on the floor.
Yes. Floor. She was lying on the floor.
She tried to turn her head, but couldn’t. But her peripheral vision was all right, and she could see that, lying a little way down from her, was Kevin Philpott, one side of his cheek squished to the carpet. The chubby man was writhing, swearing, and then crying, big fat tears running down his face.
She should help him.
No.
Hillary blinked. Her teeth chattered.
But the male voices she could hear were beginning to make sense now.
One of them said, ‘My cuffs are in my back pocket . . .’
A moment — or was it much later? — the same voice said, ‘We need an ambulance for your guv’nor.’
Ambulance? That meant someone was hurt. Hillary knew she needed to get up. She must help. Obviously a police officer was down . . . Who . . . Robin Farrell?
Or . . . what had she just been thinking? She sighed.
Slowly, her hand stopped dancing its weird tattoo against the floor and her teeth stopped chattering. At some point, the sweating, frightened face of Kevin Philpott disappeared, just yanked upwards and out of her view.
She tried to move, and found, to her relief, that she could.
‘Don’t try and move, ma’am,’ she recognized Gareth Proctor’s voice now. ‘You’ve been hit with a taser, but you’re going to be all right. A paramedic is on the way. Everything’s all right. We’ve got the suspect in custody. Everything’s fine.’
Hillary nodded. Her head actually moved. And she could think again. More or less.
So that’s what it’s like to be hit by a taser, Hillary thought blearily.
All in all, she concluded, it was not a particularly edifying experience.
* * *
The paramedics arrived a few minutes later, by which time Hillary had persuaded Gareth that she could move far enough to allow her to prop her back up against a chair. Sh
e was still sitting on the floor, but she felt a bit more dignified now that she was sitting, rather than lying.
Also, the shakes had stopped, and her mind felt clearer. The paramedics, a young girl with a soft smile and silky hair, and an older man with a cheerful personality that could be either reassuring or annoying, depending on your own state of mind, did their thing with kind but brisk efficiency.
Hillary let them get on with taking her blood pressure, listening to her heart and all the rest of it, and patiently answering their questions. She answered ‘No’ to having double vision, shortness of breath, chest pain or any numbness in her extremities.
She was being only fifty per cent truthful however. She did have pins and needles in her hands, and her chest did hurt. But her chest felt sore, as opposed to sharp pains, and she was convinced that it was due to the taser strike rather than anything more serious. And the pins and needles would wear off with time. She hoped.
Luckily, they had been able to remove the taser wires without too much trouble, and Hillary had watched as Gareth sombrely put them and the rest of the weapon into an evidence bag.
Gareth had, at some point, reported back to Rollo, because he’d sent Claire out to the scene. She arrived just as the paramedics were packing up their equipment.
‘Hello, guv, you’ve been having fun I hear,’ she said with that false cheerfulness that worried people often adopted, and sensibly watched the proceedings without getting in the way. ‘The superintendent wants you to get checked out at A&E.’
‘That’s not necessary,’ Hillary said firmly, turning to get her knees under her, then using her arms — which still felt decidedly weak and made of jelly — to lever herself properly into the chair.
The paramedics watched this with interested, professional eyes. ‘As you can see, I’m fine,’ she insisted.
‘Boss’s orders,’ Claire argued.
‘A&E are busy enough without me adding to the backlog,’ Hillary said flatly. ‘If I start to feel worse rather than better, I can always change my mind,’ she added, her eyes on the paramedics.
In the end, they agreed that her vital signs were fine, she’d received no head injury when she’d ended up on the floor, but that if she started to get a bad headache, chest pains, severe nausea, double vision or dizziness she must get herself to the John Radcliffe right away.
