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

by David Evans

  “What about Paul? Did you stay friends?”

  “We went on to the same class at school but it was never the same. He changed; started getting into trouble.”

  “How do you mean?”

  “Shoplifting and that. Then he was caught having broken in to some old dear’s place and nicking money. I steered clear. I didn’t want to follow him down that route. I heard he did some time in the young offenders after that. I’ve no idea where he is now.”

  “Sorry Kenny,” Sammy said. “Can I take you back to when you found the body – you said Paul bent down next to Claire.”

  The man dropped his eyes. “That’s right.”

  “Did he touch her?”

  He looked up sharply. “God, no. It wasn’t like that.”

  “But there is something else, isn’t there,” she persisted.

  “Look, it isn’t important.”

  “Anything, no matter how insignificant could be important, Kenny.”

  Abigail squeezed his arm as tears appeared in his eyes once again. Finally, he answered, “It was a button. A tunic button.”

  “Go on,” Susan encouraged.

  “I told him he should have given it to the police.”

  Abigail was open mouthed. “You’ve never mentioned this to me,” she said.

  He looked at his wife. “I’ve never mentioned it to anyone before,” he said. Turning back to Susan, he went on, “Paul, apart from his interest in railways, was also interested in the army. He collected things about that too.”

  “And this tunic button was an army one?”

  “Yes. I remember it because it was the same as the name of a Deltic class engine – 55008 was the number, The Green Howards.”

  44

  Friday 22nd February 2002

  Souter woke with a start as the door crashed open. A sharp pain shot through him as he raised his head.

  “Morning, Alison,” the domestic called out as she wheeled the catering trolley into the side room.

  “Oh God,” Souter mumbled, rubbing his neck. He’d spent the night in a chair leant forward onto the bed where Alison had slept.

  She looked across and smiled at him. “Excuse my husband,” she said, watching the woman in the green uniform put a plate onto the mobile table over the bed, “He’s had a rough night.”

  “You can say that again,” he said.

  “You been here all night?” the woman asked. “You should have climbed in,” she had a broad grin on her face, “A lot of them do. Tea or coffee, Alison?”

  “Tea please.”

  The woman looked at Souter. “Would you like a drink as well?”

  “You’re a star. Can I have a coffee?”

  Once the domestic had left with the breakfast trolley, Alison turned to Souter. “Get yourself back home, Bob, and freshen up. Then get into work.”

  “But you’re in here.”

  “Being looked after,” she insisted. “Best place I can be. It’s got to be boring for you.”

  “But you’re on your own.”

  “That’s what they want, so I’m being rested – keep my blood pressure under control.”

  The door burst open again.

  “Hey, how are you?” Sammy asked, leading the way, Susan close behind.

  “Have you been here all night, Bob?” Susan followed up.

  Souter looked at Alison. “Is it that obvious.”

  “You look like shit,” Sammy quipped.

  Alison laughed. “That’s just what I was telling him.”

  Souter surrendered. “Okay, okay, I get the picture.” He stood and stretched his legs. “Are you two here for a bit?”

  Sammy looked at her watch. “I just called in on my way to the office. About fifteen minutes, maybe.”

  “I’m in no rush,” Susan said.

  “Right. I’ll go home and have a shower, fresh clothes and be back.”

  “Look, I’ll be fine,” Alison protested. “You go back to the Post. I’m sure you’ve got plenty of work on.”

  “I’m sure he has,” Susan said.

  Souter leaned down and kissed his wife. “I’ll see you later.”

  “So, what have they said?” Sammy asked, sitting in the chair Souter had vacated.

  As he opened the door to leave, Susan sidled up to him.

  “What are we working on then?” she asked.

  He paused a minute then walked out into the corridor. “We … are not working on anything at the moment.”

  Susan dropped her voice. “But there’s the Hobson article still being developed. I need to keep working on it for my project.”

  Souter sighed. “Well I spoke on the phone to Claire’s older brother down in London, just before I got the news about Alison. My shorthand notes are in my notepad on my desk. I’ll have a read through that. The next thing I was going to do was call the sister, Charlotte. Mrs Hobson had given me numbers for both.”

  “Listen, don’t do that,” Susan insisted. “It might be best if I speak to her. There’s something you need to know first.”

  * * *

  Strong climbed the stairs to the first floor deep in thought. As he passed the CID room, DC Newell came out.

  “Ah Trevor, did you manage to speak to that hairdresser yesterday?”

  “There was no one home when I called. Luke and I were going to try again this morning,” he answered.

  Strong automatically glanced at his watch. “And too early to see if she’s turned up at the salon?” he said, almost to himself. “What about the electoral roll? See if anyone else is registered at that address.”

  “On it,” he said and returned to his desk.

  Before Strong could open his office door, quickening footsteps came up from behind.

  “Could I have a word, sir,” a young male voice asked.

  Strong turned to see an agitated PC Gary Monk standing in the corridor. “You’d best come in, Gary,” he said and opened the door.

  Monk puffed his way past and stood, waiting for Strong to close the door.

  “What’s going on?” he asked as soon as the door closed. “Sir,” he added quickly.

  Strong walked round his desk and sat in his chair. “Take a seat,” he said.

  Monk stiffened. “I’d rather stand.”

  “Gary please,” Strong went on. “Sit down.”

  Slowly the young man did as asked.

  “What can I do for you?”

  “I want to know why you’ve been round to my house upsetting my mum.”

  “Your mum misses your dad. I mean, it’s been barely two years.” Strong leaned forward onto his desk. “As she was talking to me about him, I could see how much she loved him. Just talking about him got her emotional. And I understand that. My own dad misses my mum every day. She died just before he was due to retire. Look, I’m sorry if just speaking about him caused upset but your mother was keen to.”

  “But the shirt, what was all that about?”

  “One of the SOCOs is conducting research into the length of time DNA is present on clothing and when your mother showed me your dad’s shirt in the potting shed and how it was his favourite for gardening and it was last worn just before he died, I thought it would help for a two-year test.”

  Monk shook his head as if he found the answer hard to believe. “And what about conducting the home interview again?”

  “That was what we were asked to do …”

  “Look sir,” Monk interrupted, “I’ve spoken to HR and they told me they had all they needed for my recruitment. There was no lost paperwork. I’m sorry, I realise you’re a DI but there’s something else here, isn’t there?”

  “HR are not the most efficient department, Gary. I was asked by a senior officer to follow this up. When DS Stainmore and myself had reason to be out your way, I said we’d do it. Now, if they’re saying they have the paperwork from your original home interview then they’ve wasted our time too. But this is news to me. I’ll certainly pass it up the line.”

  Monk didn’t loo
k entirely convinced.

  Strong leaned back in his chair. “But generally … how’s it going, Gary? Are you enjoying things so far?”

  Monk appeared to relax slightly. “It’s okay, sir,” he answered. “Off to a dramatic start last week with that murder.”

  Strong nodded. “That was unusual. It won’t be like that often. Mostly mundane stuff you’ll be frustrated with.” He stood up. “But won’t someone be missing you?”

  Monk also got to his feet. “Er, yes. I’m on refs. I best get back downstairs.”

  “You take care,” Strong said before Monk departed.

  He sat back down at his desk and mulled over the conversation. It hadn’t taken much for young Gary to work out something didn’t add up. It sounded as though his mother hadn’t told him about his biological father. How much longer she’d be able to keep that from him, or even if she’d want to, he didn’t know. In any event, he’d need to let Flynn know about it.

  But he had other matters to deal with. Flipping open his notebook, he thumbed back to notes he’d taken when he spoke to Mark’s mother. Yes, there it was – Mrs Thompson’s sister Veronica and her daughter by her late husband - Felicity, married to someone by the name of Andy. She never said her married name. But Veronica had been married to George Brannigan for ten years and obviously helped to bring up Felicity. What was it she’d said? ‘It was Felicity I felt sorry for.’ Exactly what did she mean by that?

  * * *

  “But we can’t let on to Charlotte we know about her involvement with Weaver.” Susan was insistent.

  She was standing by Souter’s workstation on the newsroom floor. The area was quiet, no sign of Janey Clarke at the next desk.

  “I can see that,” Souter agreed. “But it will need careful handling. From what Sammy told you, she was a bit fragile with having to speak to Colin.” He thought for a second. “I wonder if he knows she’s Claire’s sister?”

  “He probably does.”

  “Not necessarily.”

  “Anyway, I think it’s best if I call her. You know, a female voice.”

  Reluctantly, he picked up his notebook from the desk and flicked over to the page he wanted. He passed the opened book to Susan. “Okay,” he said, “but I’m listening in.”

  A few minutes later, Susan had dialled Charlotte’s mobile number on Souter’s desk landline.

  After three rings, Charlotte gave a guarded answer. “Hello?”

  “Good morning,” Susan began. “Am I speaking to Charlotte Watkins?”

  “Who wants to know?”

  When Susan explained who she was and her connection to the newspaper, Charlotte almost ended the call. It was only Susan’s assurance that she’d been given the number by Charlotte’s mother and that it was she who had contacted the paper to draft an article about her sister’s murder that persuaded Charlotte to stay on the line. Susan imagined the woman’s fear that the call was to probe her involvement with Marcus Weaver. She went on to explain the two main thrusts of the article. “So,” she said, “I’d like to talk to you about your sister and the affects it had on you. Would it be better if we met up somewhere?”

  “Yes. Yes, that would be better,” Charlotte said. “It’s just I’m at work and …”

  “No, I quite understand.”

  When Susan replaced the receiver, the two women had arranged to meet after work at a pub in Leeds not far from where Charlotte worked.

  * * *

  Sammy walked down the stairs to the New Claims Section, pausing in the doorway just in time to see Charlotte pressing the button on her mobile phone to end a call, her eyes moist. She watched the woman stare into space for a second or two before standing up and walking towards her.

  “Is everything alright?” Sammy asked in a quiet voice.

  “Oh, it’s you, Sammy,” she said, dabbing her eyes with a tissue. “It’s just …” She walked out to the stair lobby and stood looking out over the Leeds cityscape.

  Sammy stood behind her. “Not something to do with … you know, the other day?”

  “No. This is something else.”

  “Alison said you had a good meeting with Colin on Tuesday.”

  “Yes, he’s a nice man.” Charlotte turned back to face Sammy. “How is Alison?”

  “You know she’s in hospital?”

  Charlotte nodded. “One of the women from upstairs told me.”

  “She’s got high blood pressure and they’ve admitted her so they could monitor it.”

  Charlotte gave a thin smile. “It’s quite common. I’m sure she’ll be okay.”

  Sammy put a hand on her arm. “Is there anything else bothering you?”

  Charlotte shook her head. “No, it’s fine … just journalists, you know …”

  Sammy cocked her head towards the office door. “Was that the Post?”

  Charlotte’s mouth fell open.

  Sammy cast a glance through the vision panel on the stair doors. The last thing she wanted was for someone else to overhear their conversation. “Look, I know about your sister.”

  “Oh God.” The woman began to pace around the landing.

  “It’s okay, Charlotte,” Sammy said. “Who was it who spoke to you?”

  “A woman. Susan Brown, she said her name was.”

  “Susan’s a good friend of mine.”

  Charlotte put a hand to her mouth.

  Sammy tried to reassure her. “I know she’s been asked to write an article about what happened to your sister.”

  Charlotte was dismissive. “We know what happened to her.”

  “But not who was responsible. And if it jogs memories …”

  “I know, I know.” Her shoulders slumped.

  “So how has it been left?”

  “We’ve arranged to meet up in the White Swan at half five.”

  “Look, say if …” Sammy broke off as one of Charlotte’s colleagues came through the doors from the office and out through the double doors to the stairs, a brief smile to the pair.

  “If you want me to come with you …”

  Charlotte brightened. “You know about all the rest, you may as well hear this,” she said.

  45

  “So, Mr Barrett,” Strong began, “We’re looking to have a chat with your wife but, unfortunately we haven’t been able to catch up with her.”

  Strong and Ormerod had tracked Andy Barrett down to a site in Rothwell where he was working. A call to June Thompson, Mark’s mother, confirmed he had a cousin by the name of Felicity who was married to Andy Barrett who worked for a local construction company. Just routine enquiries, he had told her when she wondered why he was asking about them.

  In his office, with the door shut, he leaned against the sloping work surface, a pile of drawings spread out on top. “She’s away at the moment,” he responded.

  “What? On holiday or …”

  “She’s just having a break.”

  “Can you tell us where because we do need to speak to her.”

  Andy turned away and gazed out of the window as another concrete delivery wagon pulled in through the site gates, its barrel slowly revolving. “I don’t know where she is.”

  Strong and Ormerod exchanged glances. “Isn’t that a bit unusual? She goes off and you don’t know where.”

  Barrett turned to face the detectives and they could see the anguish on his face. He raised his voice in answer. “Look, she’s left me, okay?”

  Strong took a breath. “I’m sorry to hear that, Mr Barrett.”

  He wiped a hand over his face. “She’ll be back. I’m just not sure when,” he said.

  “In which case, we’ll have to ask you some questions.” Strong looked closely at some of the drawings sellotaped to the office wall. “You’re an engineer, is that right?”

  “Yes.”

  “Interesting job.” Strong had moved on to a group of photographs on a cork pinboard. “Is this a model of what you’re building here?”

  Barrett was at his shoulder. “That’s right. The a
rchitect produced that to help the client get a feel for the project.”

  Strong faced Barrett. “When exactly did you last see Felicity?”

  Barrett walked round his desk and sat in his chair. “We had a short break at the beginning of the week. We went to Whitby. She left on her own on Tuesday. She didn’t say where she was going.” He nervously juggled a pencil between the fingers of his right hand.

  Strong pressed on. “Does she, or indeed did you, know a Mark Thompson?”

  Barrett dropped the pencil and bent down to pick it up off the floor. “Yes to both,” he said. “He’s her cousin.”

  Strong nodded. “And would you know when she last saw her cousin?”

  Hesitation from the man. “I’ve really no idea.”

  “Are you sure?”

  He shook his head. “I don’t know. Why?”

  Strong folded his arms. “You do know what’s happened to Mark Thompson?”

  “It’s dreadful,” Barrett answered, dropping his head.

  “What about you? When did you last see him?”

  “I can’t really remember. It must have been before Christmas though.”

  “And your wife, Felicity, does she know about Mr Thompson?”

  He looked up at Strong. “Yes. That was one of the reasons she wanted us to go to Whitby. Get a break, a change of air.”

  Strong turned to Ormerod who’d been taking notes. “I’d have thought she’d have wanted to be around her family at a time like this, wouldn’t you Luke?”

  “Undoubtedly,” Chambers added.

  “Was Felicity not close to her aunt, Mr Barrett?” Strong asked.

  “Well, yes. I mean they didn’t live in each other’s pockets but they were in touch.”

  Strong walked over to the window and watched for a second as the driver of the concrete wagon hosed down the delivery chute. Turning round, he asked, “What about George Brannigan? How well do you know him?”

  The question appeared to flummox Barrett. A look of alarm flashed over his face. “He … he’s Felicity’s step-dad,” he struggled to say.

  “We know that. I just wondered how well you knew him?”

  He shrugged his shoulders. “Not that well. He came to our wedding, of course.”