Tainted: A DI Colin Strong Investigation (The Wakefield Series Book 4)

by David Evans

  The door closed and Felicity could only sit and stare at it. After a few seconds, she went to the window and looked out. Andy appeared down the path and turned left, heading into town. Before he disappeared from view, she saw him take his mobile phone from his pocket, check the screen and put it away again.

  She took in the room where they were staying. God, it was no better than the grotty flat they were renting in Wakefield. Surely she could do better than this. She smiled to herself at that thought; not the subject particularly but the fact that she had only included herself in it. She saw the bag on the floor and unzipped it. The notes were all there, used and untraceable. Maybe that could describe her too. Certainly she felt used. And now, could she be untraceable?

  * * *

  It was ten to one when Strong caught sight of the woman he’d suspected of having been in the park with Marcus Weaver. He was sure Weaver had been liaising with a woman that night, despite the site’s reputation. And now, walking into the café on Commercial Street in central Leeds, an attractive woman in her early thirties with dark curly hair framing an oval face, was the one he hoped could provide some answers.

  He stood, recognising Alison who had just walked in with her. It was Alison who had called him that morning with the news that she worked with someone who had some information regarding the murder enquiry he was conducting. And that had followed on from his conversation the previous night with Souter.

  “Colin,” Alison greeted. “Not seen you since the wedding. It’s good to see you.”

  They kissed each other on the cheek.

  “You too, Alison,” he said. “Everything alright with you and, what does Bob call it, ‘the bump’?”

  She gave a laugh. “All good, but I’ll be glad when it’s all over. Anyway,” she turned to the woman who had walked in with her. “This is my colleague, Charlotte Watkins. I think she needs to talk to you.”

  Strong held out his hand which Charlotte shook before sitting down at the table.

  “Can I get you ladies a drink?” Strong offered.

  Five minutes later, Strong was seated opposite Charlotte, with Alison sitting uncomfortably alongside her.

  “Thanks for coming.” He looked from one woman to the other and back again. “I understand you have some information relevant to the case I’m investigating.” Charlotte was about to speak but Strong held up a hand. “I’m also aware that your situation, shall we say, may be a bit difficult for you. However, I can assure you that anything you say to me will be treated in the strictest confidence.”

  Charlotte looked tense. “You’re right,” she said, glancing towards Alison for a second. “This has been difficult.”

  “So in your own words, if you can tell me what happened on Wednesday?”

  In a quiet voice, and regularly pausing to look around to make sure no one could overhear her, Charlotte began to recount what had happened on that fateful night nearly a week ago in the car park near the toilet block.

  When she thought she’d completed her tale, she looked across at Strong and asked, “Will all this come out?”

  “As I’ve said, I’ll treat this as strictly confidential, Charlotte. But I will need a formal statement from you. Then it would depend on whatever happens with any potential court case.”

  The woman sighed and dropped her head. “He’s going to find out, isn’t he?” She looked up at Strong. “Steven, my husband, Steve, he’ll know.”

  “Like I said, I will try and keep this confidential,” he reassured. “From what you’ve told me, you can’t provide any identification of whoever was there that night anyway.” He looked down at the notes he’d taken. “Two silhouetted figures, one taller and slimmer than the other and you think one of them had a torch. No indication of age, build, or anything like that?”

  She shook her head. “It was foggy and there was no real light to speak of, just two shadowy figures. Oh, but I think there was someone walking their dog, it shot in front of me as I was leaving the park. I had to brake sharply.”

  Strong nodded. “Yes, we know about the dog walker. It was him who found Mr Weaver.” Strong began to notice a concerned expression on Alison’s face but continued the conversation with Charlotte. “So how long were you and Mr Weaver seeing each other?”

  Alison shifted in her seat, physical discomfort obvious.

  “It began just before Christmas,” Charlotte answered, “At a Christmas lunch.”

  “Was that the office one?” Alison joined in. “Sorry, didn’t mean to interrupt.”

  “Are you sure you’re alright?” Strong asked as he watched Alison twisting her wedding ring on her finger. That like the rest of her hands appeared swollen.

  “I’m fine, honestly,” she insisted.

  Strong didn’t believe her but resumed his conversation with Charlotte. “Have you met in the park before?”

  “Twice, yes.”

  “And did you see anyone else hanging around on any previous occasion?”

  “No, but we’d parked further away.”

  “Okay, Charlotte, thanks for coming forward. It was important you did that. I don’t see there’s much you’ve been able to tell us that wasn’t already known but I will need a formal statement, just to keep things in order. Can you give me a mobile number I can contact you on?”

  Charlotte picked up a paper napkin and wrote a number on a corner. She nervously passed it across.

  Strong looked at it and folded it away in his pocket. “I’ll get someone to call you and arrange to sign something off. We’ll be discreet, and provided there’s nothing else that you’ve omitted to tell us, then that could be the end of the matter.”

  Charlotte looked alarmed. “No. I’ve told you everything.”

  Alison took hold of her hand. “It’s all right, Charlotte. Colin is only covering everything; it’s his job.”

  Strong got to his feet. “Thanks for talking to me,” he said, “You’ve done the right thing.” He offered his hand once again, which Charlotte shook, lightly. Then, after kissing Alison on the cheek, he left the café and disappeared into the lunchtime crowd.

  Alison turned to Charlotte. “Well done. You had to speak up.”

  “I’m just so worried Steve will find out.” She covered her face with her hands. “Oh God, what a mess.” She looked to Alison. “Why did I do it?”

  “Listen, don’t worry about it. We all do things we regret. Look on this as a narrow escape. I’m sure Colin will do all he can to keep your situation quiet.”

  “Thanks, Alison. I don’t know how I’d have coped without you, and Sammy.”

  “Right, that reminds me, we’ll need to get back.” Alison looked at her watch and smiled. “It’ll take me a bit longer than normal.”

  35

  Strong made it back to Wood Street for half past two. The first person he saw as he walked up the stairs was Kelly Stainmore heading downwards. “Ah, Kelly,” he said. “I’ll want you to do something for me.”

  She turned round and followed her boss back to his office. On the way she told him that Sam Kirkland had something interesting for him. “And the DCI has been like the Scarlet Pimpernel,” she quipped as a final shot.

  Back in his office, door closed, he recounted his meeting with Charlotte Watkins. “So some time in the next day or so, I’d like you to get a formal statement from her. This is her mobile.” He produced the folded napkin with the number written on it. “And I promised we’d be discreet.”

  “So nothing of any use for us then?”

  “Basically confirmed what we already know and not able to provide any helpful descriptions – certainly nothing to improve on the sketchy ones we’ve got from Mr Pearson, our toilet visitor.”

  Stainmore screwed up her nose. “How can anyone …”

  “Don’t go there, Kelly. Anyway, you said Sam has something. And where is Hemingford?”

  “Good question, guv. Not seen him all day.” Stainmore turned and opened the door.

  Strong stood up and followed her ou
t into the CID office. They walked over to Kirkland’s desk where he was sitting studying his computer screen.

  “I hear you’ve got something, Sam?” Strong asked.

  Kirkland looked up from the screen. “Not sure, guv.” He tapped a few keys and turned his screen towards the DI. “This is Friday night and I’ve picked up this car, a BMW, travelling down Townley Road. As you can see …” He indicated the clock timer in the corner of the screen. “It’s timed at 20:07. It appears again travelling in the opposite direction at 20:24.”

  “So what’s raised your hackles on that?”

  More tapping and fresh images appear. “Well this was the day before, on the Thursday. You can see it appears at 19:48; and then is seen again in the opposite direction at 20:29.”

  “Is it someone who lives on Lupset?”

  “Not sure. The quality isn’t good enough to get a number plate. But it’s this that got my interest …” Again, Kirkland called up different footage. “This is on Waterton Road which cuts across the estate. Look here.” He pointed to a dark BMW driving slowly past. “This is timed at 20:04 one way; in the opposite direction …” He ran fast forward. “20:12. Then again one way … 20:16 and the other … 20:20.”

  “Hold on, Sam.” Strong said. “Run that back again.” Kirkland did. “What’s that?” Strong pointed to the screen. An image of a young lad on a bike passed across.

  “Oh, he appears several times that night,” Kirkland said.

  Strong looked over to where Luke Ormerod normally sat. “Is Luke around?” Several of the detectives sitting at their desks looked over and shrugged.

  “Gone for a piss, guv,” DC John Darby offered.

  “Thanks for that, John,” Strong responded in ironic tones.

  “By the way, that’s your phone, Kelly,” Derby said to Stainmore.

  “Excuse me, guv,” she said and walked over to her desk.

  “Anyway, there’s something else,” Kirkland went on. This time he called up another camera. “This is from Wednesday night. On Horbury Road, look.” He pointed to a similar dark coloured BMW driving slowly past the camera. “Timed at 19:44. Then again, it appears in the opposite direction at 20:21. There also seems to be two people in it this time.”

  “And what are you thinking?”

  “Well, this is around the right time for Weaver’s attack and it’s near to the other entrance to the park.”

  “Seems a bit of a leap, Sam. Can we get a number from this footage?”

  Kirkland made a face. “They’re not that good.”

  “So we can’t be sure it’s the same vehicle.”

  Luke Ormerod approached the group. “Looking for me, guv?” he asked.

  “Yes, Luke. When we attended the Thompson murder scene on Saturday, there was some kid on a bike riding around, do you remember?”

  Ormerod thought for a moment then shook his head. “Can’t say as I do. There were a lot of people milling around. Why? Something up?”

  “It might not even be the same character. It’s just I’m sure I remembered seeing this kid about twelve nosing around, baseball cap back to front. And on Sam’s CCTV footage from Thursday night, a similar figure appears.”

  “Thursday night?” A puzzled expression appeared on Ormerod’s face. “Why are we looking at Thursday night?”

  “I’m not really sure, Luke.” He turned to Kirkland again. “So why are you looking at Thursday night, Sam?”

  “Just covering all bases.”

  Strong snapped his fingers. “Luke, can you check and see what vehicles are registered to George Brannigan?”

  “On it.”

  Stainmore walked over as Ormerod sat down at his desk and picked up the phone. “That was the bank,” she said. “Someone used Mark Thompson’s card on Sunday.”

  “Where?”

  Stainmore handed the post-it note she’d written the details on to Strong. “An off-licence on Agbrigg Road.”

  “Right,” Strong said. “I’ll come with you.”

  “I just need to wait for a copy of the transaction slip. The bank said they’d fax it through within the next ten minutes.”

  * * *

  Andy felt he had to do something. He couldn’t stand all this hiding away; his logical mind couldn’t handle that. Sooner or later Brannigan would find them. They’d have to return. Felicity couldn’t see that, or didn’t want to. No, it was down to him to do something.

  Before he knew it, he found himself by the swing bridge over the River Esk in the centre of Whitby. Crossing onto the bridge, he looked over towards the North Sea. A gale was blowing in and rain had started. In the distance, he could see waves crashing over the breakwater. What the Hell was he doing here on a freezing cold day in February? If Felicity couldn’t see sense, it would fall to him to sort it.

  On the other side of the river, an inviting pub called to him. He walked on, went inside, ordered a pint and sat down at a table in the corner. It was quiet, only an old man sitting at another table on his own near the log fire. That was giving off a warm glow. After a sip of his beer, he pulled out his mobile phone and dialled a number.

  “I was wondering what had happened to you,” Brannigan answered.

  “I think we need to talk.” Andy turned his beer glass on its mat.

  “So talk. Where are you?”

  “That’s not important. But I’m trying to persuade Felicity to see reason.”

  “So she was involved. I thought so. And she has my money?”

  Andy’s eyes took in the room; the old man had his head down and the barman had disappeared. “She sees it as part payback for how you treated her mother.”

  “What!” Brannigan snapped.

  “Look, I’m not voicing an opinion one way or another, George.” Andy spoke in a calm voice. “I’m just trying to sort this.”

  “You can sort it by returning my money. And for the record, I loved Veronica. I never hurt her.” There was a pause. “Did she tell you how her mother died?”

  “She said she suffered from a brain tumour.”

  “That was only half the story. Her tumour caused her to react in all sorts of odd ways. Veronica told me that would happen when she was first diagnosed.” Brannigan sighed. “Five years she had it before … Well, some of the things Felicity saw weren’t quite what she thought.”

  “She says you raised your hands.”

  “Like I say, she saw what she wanted to see.” Another pause. “I gave that girl everything when she came with her mother to live with me, and this is what she thinks … how she repays me.”

  Andy took a swig of his pint and glanced over as the door opened and two elderly men walked in, coats buttoned up tight and scarves wrapped around their necks. The wind whistled in behind them as they closed the door. Before they got to the bar, the barman was pulling the first pint for them. The old man at the other table looked over to them and held up his empty glass.

  “She knows about Mark,” he said.

  “Not surprised, it’s been all over the papers.”

  “She thinks you had something to do with it.”

  Brannigan gave a snort.

  “Well did you?”

  “What do you take me for? Of course I didn’t.”

  Andy took a breath before he said, “I saw what you were capable of on Wednesday night.”

  “You didn’t see anything.”

  The two newcomers walked over to their friend and sat down with three fresh pints before mumbling something about the state of the weather.

  “I need to have something to persuade her to come back,” Andy said.

  “Well try this, I might just tell the police that it was you who did for that bloke in the toilets. After all, the evidence will be there to prove you were at the scene.”

  “What are you on about?”

  “Think about it – I was wearing gloves. Who lifted the cistern cover? Hmm?”

  “You can’t …”

  “Obviously, I wouldn’t want to but I just thought you might want
to consider that.”

  Andy was quiet for a second. “If I did persuade her, there would be no repercussions would there?”

  “Just bring back my thirty grand.”

  Andy thought it best not to mention that the total had already been depleted. “I can only try,” he said before ending the call.

  36

  Agbrigg Road was a multi-cultural area of Wakefield. On one corner, a mosque; on another a Chinese take-away; yet another a European food store. At the far end stood the Duke of York pub. The off-licence they sought was about half way along the street.

  Strong pulled the Mondeo to a halt kerbside and he and Stainmore got out. As they entered the shop, a couple of youths who looked no more than sixteen dashed out, one carrying a plastic carrier bag with bottles, the other unwrapping a packet of twenty cigarettes. Stainmore gave Strong a knowing look.

  Behind the counter a skinny man in his early twenties sat on a stool reading the sports page of a newspaper. He glanced up, his expression registering the fact that two police officers had entered.

  At the far end, a male dressed in jeans and a tracksuit top put a six pack of lager back on the shelf and walked out.

  Strong approached the assistant. “Something I said,” he quipped, indicating the door swing shut behind the departed customer.

  “How can I help?” the man asked, folding up his paper.

  Strong introduced himself and Stainmore, unnecessarily showing the man his warrant card. “Were you working here on Sunday?”

  “Yeah. Something wrong?”

  Stainmore unfolded the fax sheet she’d brought with her. “Do you remember a transaction at two seventeen on Sunday afternoon in the sum of thirty-two pounds and eighteen pence, Brian?” she asked, making a point of studying his name badge.

  “Not a bloody clue,” Brian responded.

  “You should do. This was by credit card,” Stainmore responded. “And I can’t imagine you’d have many of these in here. Mostly cash, I’d have said.”

  “We’d like to see your records of transactions for Sunday, Brian,” Strong added.

  “Won’t you need a warrant for that?” Brian folded his arms.