“Look, I have to go. I’ll talk to you about it later and fill in the gaps.”
Jason finished the call and Phil remained silent while Jason splashed water on his face to cool himself down, huffing and muttering inaudibly to himself. After a few moments, the faint squeak of the washroom door pierced the air and Phil peered through the hinge of the cubicle door to make sure he’d gone.
What did he mean ‘nothing will lead back to us’? Who had he been talking to?
Questions ran through Phil’s head and his gut told him the call was in connection with the Fletcher case. He had to find out what Jason was up to, his career and mental stability depended on it. The only question now was, what was he going to do next?
Chapter Thirteen
Rain lashed at Phil’s face as he left the office and entered the car park at the end of his shift. Apart from the visit to Grace’s school, he had mostly been assigned to desk duty since the Fletcher case and the feeling of freedom from the cold open air was a welcomed one. He’d never been good with sitting in one place for any length of time and it only served to increase his nervous energy as it found no outlet for release. Turning up his collar against the crosswind, he jogged over to his car, activating the central locking on his key fob as he ran. Once inside, he closed the door and sat for a while thinking about the meeting with Mick, and Jason’s covert phone call. He watched the raindrops as they hit the bonnet and bounced until they became obscured by the moisture from his wet coat forming a layer of mist on the cold windscreen.
He checked his phone for any message from Katherine but there were no notifications. It was rare she sent messages these days and he clicked on her name to read the old text conversations they had exchanged prior to her losing their baby. Life was different back then, he was in line for promotion to Detective Sergeant about to exchange contracts on an old Victorian house full of character on Muswell Hill where they planned to raise their son. Only a few short texts asking him to call at the local shop for provisions were ever sent now and nostalgia hit him hard.
A yellow light flashed across his windscreen distracting him from his phone and he realised it had come from Jason’s car. Sinking down into his seat, he struggled to peer through the misted windows as he watched the outline of him hurry through the pelting rain to his car and jump inside.
He’s finishing early.
Phil remembered the rota on the staff room wall and Jason wasn’t meant to finish for at least another hour. He slid down further into his seat, turning the ignition on and activating the air conditioning to clear the windows as Jason’s car passed by at a quick pace. Once Jason had left the car park he opened up the app on his phone to see if the marker on the tracking device had moved and he hoped the coordinates would reveal the identity of the mystery witness.
He recalled the search he and Jason did at the Fletcher’s house. Every inch of the house had been swept for evidence including the attic, greenhouse and garden shed, even the dogs didn’t give off any alerts. The discrepancies had haunted him ever since, robbing him of sleep as his mind refused to come to terms with the obvious discovery of the shed floor being recently lifted. How did he miss the freshly splintered wood on the boards where they had been prised up? Even an untrained eye would have spotted they had been lifted. The evidence simply didn’t fit with his level of experience and attention to detail.
He glanced up to see if his windscreen had cleared enough for him to set off, and through the haze he noticed a figure lurking by the exit. Youths wearing hoodies always caught his eye. He knew it was a stereotype and was often wrong, but his knee jerk feeling when seeing someone wearing a hoodie and sportswear was always of them being a troublemaker. The man’s build indicated he was in his mid-twenties and the hood had been pulled well over his head to shield his cigarette from the rain as he stood, shoulders hunched, looking in Phil’s direction. Satisfied he had enough visibility through the windscreen, he put the car into gear and activated the central locking as a precaution. Transfixed by the young man, but wary he may be one of his previous arrests who had a grudge, he headed for the exit keeping note of any sudden movements. But as he drew level and tried to get a clearer view of the man’s face, he turned away.
Phil cruised towards home, using the travel time to refocus his thoughts and attempt to gain some clarity, and by the time he pulled onto his small driveway he had managed to calm his tension. Katherine was cooking dinner when he stepped inside and the waft of winter vegetables from the casserole portrayed a normal functioning home. They used to always have a takeaway on a Friday but since starting the fertility treatments she had focused more on healthy eating, working out meal plans and buying organic vegetables. Despite her not being the best of cooks, Phil didn’t grumble. The amount of money they saved on eating out was substantial and with a hefty loan to pay off and no promotion, the savings were much needed.
“That smells good,” he said, greeting her with a kiss on her cheek as she stirred the casserole.
“Perfect timing, it’s ready to serve.”
Phil sat at the perfectly laid, black smoked glass table in the dining room as she served him a steaming plateful of casserole over a dollop of mash potato, and they sat in silence for a few minutes while they ate.
“How are you feeling today?”
Phil started the conversation off. He knew if he focused on her then it would flow far more easily than if he mentioned anything about his day.
“I’m good. A little tired and had a nap this afternoon but nothing to worry about.”
“Well, that’s a good sign. It means your body’s adjusting,” Phil replied, trying to keep the conversation flowing while he quickly popped to the fridge for a beer.
She didn’t reply, just managed a faint smile when Phil returned to the table. He popped the cap off the bottle and took a large swig, savouring the ice cold beer as it poured over his throat and into his stomach. Katherine stopped eating and glared at him.
“Don’t drink from the bottle at the table, get a glass,” she snapped, then slammed her cutlery down and headed for the kitchen.
“There.”
She placed the glass on a coaster in front of his plate and continued to eat her dinner in silence. Not wanting to start yet another argument, Phil obediently poured the remainder of his beer into the glass.
“We may not be living in Muswell Hill yet but we don’t have to behave so uncouth,” she added, intent on provoking a reaction.
He bristled. Her moods had been unpredictable since the previous pregnancy when they lost their son. Lately, she had become more and more like his mother, expecting perfection and high standards all the time along with constant criticism. He finished off the last of the meal in silence, muttered a brief ‘thank you’ then disappeared to his small office down the hallway, stacking his plate in the dishwasher on the way. He knew she never followed him there, it was his safe haven whenever one of her black moods descended and he breathed a heavy sigh as he sat down in front of his computer. Half of him felt relief at Katherine’s coldness as it gave him the excuse to be alone with his thoughts and to check on Jason’s whereabouts. Pushing the button on the computer tower with his toe, he wiggled the mouse and waited for the login screen to appear, then went straight to his inbox. The email he had hoped for had been delivered and he eagerly opened it, leaning forward to inspect the list of places the tracker had been located along with the time and date. He studied it, typing in the locations into Google Earth to give him a visual view of everywhere Jason had been.
“What’s he doing there?” he muttered to himself, squinting as he zoomed in on a location in Bethnal Green.
It appeared to be some sort of warehouse from the visual search, a small industrial estate comprising of a large dull green coloured unit. Puzzled at what it was and what kind of business was operating there, he jotted down the coordinates in a small notepad and continued to move down the list of places. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary, with Jason only visiting a couple of sm
all shops in the area then parking up near Primo Amore, a popular Italian restaurant situated in Mayfair, frequently used by the higher ranking officers.
A creak on the floor outside the door broke his concentration and after a brief pause there was a gentle tap on the door.
“Yes?” he called out, quickly closing his computer screen and stuffing the notepad and list into the bottom of his filing cabinet.
“It’s late, are you coming to bed?”
The sharpness had gone from Katherine’s voice, replaced by a softer almost childlike tone and Phil happily opened the door.
“I’m sorry I was sharp with you earlier,” she said, her features taking on a faint sadness. “I’m just getting a bit stressed about the dinner at your mums next week and seeing Claire.”
Phil stepped out of his office and wrapped her in his arms. The resentment he had felt earlier dissolved and the old feelings he had for her before everything went wrong came flooding back.
“I’ll just make sure the house is secure and I’ll be straight up,” he whispered, and she made her way upstairs, disappearing into the bedroom.
Aware he’d left his computer open, he shot back inside the office, logged out then locked his filing cabinet. Katherine wasn’t one to snoop but he didn’t want to run the risk of anyone, not even his wife, knowing he was tracking a fellow officer. Tomorrow, he planned to make an excuse to get away from the house and pay a discreet visit to the unit he had tracked Jason to. Maybe it was nothing but his obsessive nature combined with his gut feeling Jason was up to something was now firmly embedded into watching every move he made.
It turned into another long night, with his mind refusing to switch off and magnifying every detail of his worries. Katherine had fallen asleep in his arms and he had found it almost impossible not to fidget and disrupt her rest and he took the first opportunity to leave the bedroom and pace the house. His wandering took him back to his office and he nonchalantly switched on his computer to see if the tracker had picked up any more of Jason’s activities. The mild aching from lack of sleep shot from his body as the report displayed on his screen and he tapped the locations into Google Earth for a visual image of where the tracker had logged. During his several hours of insomnia the tracker had clocked up over a hundred miles, pausing for just under an hour near Broxbourne.
“What the hell’s he doing there?”
Phil zoomed in and turned the direction of the camera around three-hundred-and-sixty degrees but all there appeared to be was heavy, dense woodland. His mind ran riot, creating all kinds of scenarios from affairs through to serious criminal activity, even murder. He ran his fingers through the sides of his short black hair and pressed the heels of his palms against his temples in an attempt to silence his thoughts.
This isn’t how a detective thinks. I need to stay objective.
Tapping at his computer mouse, he zoomed out a little until he found a nearby road, then switched over to pedestrian mode and followed it. There, on his right, lay a small off road track only wide enough for a single car. Angling the camera at the entrance, he clicked to move it forward but to his frustration the footage simply went blurred for a moment then bounced back to the start.
“Where does the track lead to?”
He knew it ran close to the edge of Lee Valley Regional Park and for the first time in months the corners of his lips curled upwards as a possibility entered his head and tickled his almost forgotten sense of humour.
“So, you’re on a dirt track, by the side of a forest, in the early hours of the morning?”
He chuckled.
“I bet the dirty bastard’s dogging. His wife wouldn’t be too pleased if she found out.”
He leant back in his chair, interlocked his fingers and cradled them behind his head as a slightly victorious feeling swept over him. Jason had been squeezing him for ages, using the Fletcher case as leverage to promote himself up the ranks. If his suspicions were right, then the tables would turn in his favour but the tracker only located Jason’s whereabouts, it didn’t document his activity. Frustration gripped him as he tried to think of a way he would be able to leave Katherine without arousing suspicion.
Chapter Fourteen
A heavy clunk and the cell lit up followed along with the sound of the morning buzzer and Tom lay motionless on his single bed staring at the grubby off-white ceiling. He’d been awake for hours and insomnia had become part of his routine for the past three months since his arrest. He winced as he turned onto his side to get up. The pain in his back and sides relentless after the beating three weeks ago. Child murderers were always targeted and innocent until proven guilty meant nothing inside these four walls. He sat on the edge of his bed and held his face in his hands as the prospect of another day in isolation filled him with dread. Mind-bending, endless days and nights with nothing but his own thoughts for company had distorted his mind as it churned over what had happened to Grace. Was she still alive?
The grey area of not knowing and the frustration of not being able to search for her was driving him insane. Why did they take her? Why Grace? He had asked these questions over and over till his brain physically ached, hashing over a mental list of anyone whom he may have crossed or offended. He thought back to his place of work at the planning department, mentally checking off every member of staff he had managed. Maybe someone wasn’t happy with the pay rise he had set out? He scrutinised every member of staff in turn, even his most trusted colleagues but failed to find any motives.
His thoughts had travelled from colleagues to planning applications which had been rejected and one case sprang to the forefront. An old dilapidated estate in Deptford which an investor wanted to regenerate and make into private luxury flats had been rejected several times. It had been a contentious subject at the time with protests by angry residents over the lack of social housing taking place outside the planning department and Town Hall. He recalled being approached one day as he headed to the tube station after work and offered a bag full of cash. The man looked foreign and spoke with a heavy accent but he wasn’t able to distinguish from what country he had originated. Rushing to catch his train and avoid the pouring rain, he quickly dismissed the incident from his mind. Attempts at bribery were a common occurrence during an investor’s market but now the meeting kept niggling at his thoughts. Every night, he listened to the relentless shouting and banging from the other inmates as he wracked his brain for the name of the investor but try as he may, it eluded him. All he remembered was that it had been a company and they had only communicated in writing.
The trial was set to start in five days’ time and his QC would be arriving to go through his defence straight after breakfast. But despite the importance of the final meeting, the prospect of Julie’s visit later on in the day gave him even more of a feeling of dread. The way she carried herself whenever she entered the prison as if visiting him was an insult to her image and the underlying tone of her voice implying he was in some way to blame. Her visits had been sparse and, despite his loneliness and craving for some connection with the outside world, Julie offered only guilt instead of comfort.
The guards would soon arrive to escort him down to the breakfast area and he quickly got himself ready. He had no appetite, instead, a feeling of nausea sat firmly in his stomach replacing where his hunger should be. His hands felt cold and clammy as he sat on his single bed and listened to the usual hubbub emanating from the corridors and echoing along the grey painted walls. Footsteps and heavy cell doors opening, steel against steel clanking as each inmate was freed to make their way to the breakfast area. Soon, a large shadow appeared before him and the outline of an officer wearing uniform peered at him.
“Stand back,” the officer commanded as he unlocked the door to Tom’s cell.
He knew the drill by now. He knew it so well he had difficulty remembering what his usual morning routine had been even after such a relatively short space of time.
“Hurry up,” the officer snapped and Tom instantly o
beyed, following the officer along the corridor past the row of cells and down the wrought iron metal staircase.
Since his beating, Tom had been escorted at all times and had even taken his exercise in a segregated area for inmates considered to be in danger. Walking around a compound with paedophiles and rapists made his flesh crawl and the thought he had been categorised with the same people he abhorred twisted his insides. The canteen was nearly full by the time he entered and the officer pointed him over to a table well away from the known ringleaders who frequently administered vigilante justice. He tried not to give anyone any eye contact as he picked up a tray and passively joined the queue for food, remaining polite and thanking the other prisoners as they slopped a large spoonful of gloop which was intended to be porridge into his plastic bowl.
Moving away, he made his way to the table and took a seat with his back to the wall so he would be able to see any trouble approaching. Aware of other inmates at the table, he deliberately kept his distance and focused on trying to eat until another man took the seat directly opposite. Tom tried to concentrate on his chewing but with plenty of other seats vacant for the man to take, a hard lump formed in his throat.
“You’re Tom Dalton, aren’t you?” the man said in a hushed tone.
Tom’s eyes flicked up from his bowl to look at the man and he braced himself for any sudden movements as he carefully nodded his confirmation. He didn’t appear aggressive, in fact, Tom’s first impression was one of quite a gentle, unassuming character.
“My name’s Anthony,” the man continued. “Tony for short.”
Tom managed a faint smile. The knot in his throat eased and so as not to invite any further conversation he lowered his eyes back down and continued to finish off the remains of his stodgy porridge.
“You’re in for the same as me,” Tony said in a cautious tone. “You’ve been fitted up as well.”
The Death of Me Page 8
