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

by David Evans

  Strong nodded.

  “She has to speak to him. It’ll be far worse if he finds out from someone else.”

  “You’re right. He’s a smart lad. He’ll work it out for himself eventually.”

  Stainmore rubbed her eyes with thumb and forefinger.

  “Come on Kelly,” Strong said. “Leave that for today. Get yourself off home.”

  She gave the suggestion a second’s thought then turned back and powered down her computer. “Okay,” she said. “It’s been a long day.”

  * * *

  Souter rushed up the stairs to the Maternity Unit, pushed open the door and breathlessly approached the two women who were sitting behind the reception desk engrossed in the contents of a computer monitor.

  “Alison Souter,” he said. “I got a call …”

  “Yes love,” said one of the two who was dressed in a blue gingham uniform. “I’ll just fetch Debbie for you. She’s our senior midwife who’s been looking after Alison.” She stood. “If you’d like to follow me, I’ll take you through to the office.”

  Souter sat in a chair opposite a desk in a small office off the corridor that led to the room where he’d last seen Alison. Debbie, or Senior Midwife Berry as her name badge proclaimed, sat down opposite. Souter saw the wedding ring on her finger and wondered if she’d considered what her married name would be beforehand.

  “Mr Souter, I thought we should have a little chat before we go in to see your wife,” she began.

  “What’s wrong? It’s something serious, isn’t it?”

  The midwife opened a file in front of her. “You know we admitted Alison because she has a condition called pre-eclampsia, which is quite common but it does need monitoring.” She ran a finger down a page from the file. “We’re becoming more concerned that the medication isn’t as successful in keeping her blood pressure under control as it should be.”

  Souter’s stomach turned over. “What are you saying?”

  “I’m saying that the longer we go without bringing her blood pressure under control heightens the risk of fitting and consequently increasing the risk to both mother and baby.” She looked directly at Souter. “We might need to intervene at some point. I’m hoping you might reinforce this when you speak to Alison.”

  Souter was puzzled. “Does she not accept what you’re saying?”

  “Oh, I think she understands well enough. I just thought, if you were fully aware …”

  Souter nodded. “Can I see her now?”

  “Of course.” She stood and led Souter down the corridor to the side room where Alison was dozing, wired to monitors that beeped regularly.

  He walked in and stopped. She looked different, certainly from this morning, but even from when he called in for half-an-hour this afternoon. Her face looked puffy and swollen and her hands, lying on the covers, looked bloated too. He walked forward and sat down quietly on the chair by her bed. Taking hold of her hand, he kissed it, his eyes moist. As he did so, she opened her eyes and smiled.

  “Hello you,” she said in a voice just above a whisper. She didn’t seem to notice him wiping away a tear.

  He stood and kissed her on the lips. “Hey,” he said. “What’s all this lying around in bed.”

  She gave a chuckle. “I’m just tired.”

  He sat back down. “I’ve just left the girls.”

  “How are they?”

  “Oh, you know, all enthusiastic – especially Susan.”

  “Is she still helping on your cold case?”

  It was Souter’s turn to give a little laugh. “You make it sound like Waking the Dead,” he said referring to the popular TV series.

  “She enjoys working with you.”

  “I know.”

  “Anyway, how are you feeling?”

  “Much the same.”

  “How’s the head?”

  “Still throbbing,” she responded.

  They were quiet for a few minutes before Souter spoke. “You know they’re concerned about you,” he said, as a statement rather than a question.

  “I’ll be fine,” she said. “We’ll be fine, me and the bump.” She gently patted her stomach.

  Souter kissed her hand again. “You know they may need to help you along?”

  “But I’m only 36 weeks. We’ve got some time to go yet.”

  “But if something …”

  “I want this to be natural,” she said.

  “I know you do, love. But if …”

  “It’ll be okay,” she interrupted and closed her eyes. “I’m really tired.”

  Souter sat there, studying the woman who’d first entered his life only two years ago. Over that period she’d become his soulmate and just last month, his wife. He thought back to that dreadful day in September when he thought he’d lost her. The same day he’d found out about … well, the bump, as they both referred to the being growing inside her. And the sheer elation when she’d finally managed to call him five days later. He looked at her now and the thought struck him that, having been through all she had, he couldn’t lose her now.

  47

  Saturday 23rd February 2002

  Susan drew her car to a halt outside the brick-built terraced house and switched off. They were on a quiet road just off Southfield Lane. Looking across to Sammy, she asked, “This is the right address?”

  “According to what I discovered, this was the last known address of Paul Nichols.”

  “Okay, but let’s go carefully,” Susan said, opening the door.

  The front door to number 26 was opened by a short elderly lady with white hair and glasses. Susan would put her in her mid-seventies.

  “Mrs Nichols?” Sammy said.

  The old woman looked confused. “Oh no, love,” she said. “The Nichols moved out … oh, let me see … must be five years ago now.”

  “We’re sorry to bother you,” Susan responded, “but you wouldn’t know where they moved to?”

  She adjusted her glasses as she thought for a second. “Just a minute,” she said before disappearing inside.

  Susan and Sammy looked at each other, eyebrows raised.

  “I knew I had something,” the woman said as she reappeared at the door with a piece of paper in her hand. “Here we are. They moved to Middlestown.” She held out the sheet to Susan.

  Susan took the paper and noted down the address in the next conurbation about a mile away. “Did you ever hear of any family they had? A son perhaps?”

  “Not that I ever heard of,” she said.

  Susan thanked the woman, handed the paper back to her and walked to the car with Sammy.

  A short time later the pair opened a gate leading to a bungalow in a group that was designed for older people, with various handrails alongside paths and ramps instead of steps. Her knock on the door this time was answered by a tall man with a bald domed-shaped head, dressed in a cardigan and baggy trousers.

  “Mr Nichols?” Susan enquired.

  “Sorry, love,” the man replied. “The Nichols were the previous tenants. I never actually met them but I had a few items of post arrive after we moved in.”

  “You don’t happen to know where they moved to?”

  “From talking to the neighbours, I think Mrs Nichols died about a year ago. She were the carer for her husband. I think he’d got dementia and is in a home now. That’s if he’s still alive, of course.”

  “You don’t happen to know which one?”

  The man shook his head. “Sorry,” he said.

  At that point a grey-haired woman appeared behind him. “Wasn’t it that home in Ossett,” she said, glancing at the man. “But I think I’d heard that he died not long after he went in.”

  Susan looked to Sammy, disappointment on her face.

  “You don’t happen to know if they had any family, do you? A son perhaps?” Sammy asked.

  The woman frowned. “I’m sorry but I just don’t know.” She looked to the man but he shook his head. “Sorry not to be able to help more,” the woman added.
/>   “No, that’s great. Thanks.” Susan felt deflated. “Sorry to have bothered you.”

  Back in the car, Sammy looked at Susan. “Well that’s it then. I don’t think it’s worth wasting any more time on this. I think we have to speak to Colin now.”

  “Agreed,” said Susan. She paused for a moment, staring off into space.

  Sammy looked at her. “Everything okay, Suz?”

  She snapped out of her thoughts. “We need to get to the hospital,” she said and started the engine.

  * * *

  The staff midwife listened in to Alison’s stomach with the Doppler. This was the regular routine between readings from the CTG machine

  “Is everything okay?” Souter struggled to keep the concern from his voice.

  “It’s fine,” she said. “We just want to keep a close watch.”

  Alison opened her eyes for a moment and looked across at him. “Don’t panic, Bob.”

  Panic? Panic? Souter’s mind flicked to the situation he found himself in last September. Sitting in Chandler’s office at the Post, he thought he’d lost Alison. And then, to compound matters, he’d discovered she was pregnant.

  “I can’t help it,” he said. “Not after last year.”

  “It’ll be okay.” Alison closed her eyes again.

  “I’ll be back later,” the midwife said and walked out of the room.

  Souter studied Alison. Despite what the midwife was telling him, he wasn’t happy with her appearance. She certainly looked bloated in the face and she’d mentioned the headaches constantly.

  The door opened and Susan’s face appeared. “Everything alright?” she asked.

  Sammy was close behind. “Hi,” she greeted. “Susan insisted we come.”

  Susan turned to her friend. “No, it wasn’t like that. I just wanted to see how Alison was.”

  Souter’s unease increased. Susan was trying to hide her concern, he was sure. He knew Susan was prone to ‘feelings’ that sometimes couldn’t be logically explained. She’d once spoken of hearing her mother asking her to keep an eye on her father. Nothing unusual in that, apart from the fact that this was months after her mother had succumbed to cancer. A short time later, Susan became aware of her father displaying symptoms of early dementia. About eighteen months ago, her ‘encounters’ with two schoolgirls missing for over ten years led to the discovery of their bodies. And most notably, her insistence that Alison was safe when he thought all was lost last September.

  He stood and approached Susan. “What is it?” he whispered. “What have you felt?”

  “I just wanted to come,” she answered.

  “We wanted to bring you up to speed with our attempts to track down the other boy who’d discovered Claire Hobson’s body,” Sammy quickly interrupted.

  “You’re not still wasting time on that? It’s not your article.” Souter stopped, aware he’d probably sounded rude. “Sorry, Susan. I know you’re working on this for your coursework. It’s just not a top priority for me at the moment.”

  Susan touched his arm. “I know. And that’s why we’re doing a bit of background work so you’ll be able to pick it up when you’re ready.”

  Sammy explained, “We’ve tracked down his parents’ last known addresses but unfortunately, we think they’ve both passed on and none of the neighbours knew anything about their son. So, the thing is, with what we’ve discovered, and the fact that this Paul Nichols seems to have disappeared, we think …” She looked at Susan, as if for reassurance. “We think we should take this information to Colin now.”

  Alison groaned at that point. “For God’s sake Bob, speak to him about it,” she said.

  Souter turned and looked at her lying in the bed and smiled. “You’re right,” he said. “As usual.”

  48

  Sunday 24th February 2002

  “Hello, ladies. This is an unexpected surprise,” Strong welcomed the girls on his doorstep. “Come in, come in.”

  Susan and Sammy stepped into the hallway out of the steady drizzle that had been falling all morning. The aroma of a joint roasting in the oven wafted out to greet them.

  Laura appeared at the door to the kitchen, drying her hands on a towel. “Hello you two. I haven’t seen you in ages. No Bob?”

  “He’s at the hospital,” Susan answered.

  “Hospital? Is everything okay?” Laura asked. “Here, let me take these.” She held out a hand as the girls slipped out of their damp coats. Taking them, she hung them on pegs in the cupboard.

  “He’s with Alison,” Sammy added.

  “Bloody Hell, she’s in hospital?” Strong exclaimed. “I didn’t know that.” He looked from Susan to Sammy. “There again, when she brought Charlotte to meet me in Leeds on Tuesday I did wonder if she was coping well. She seemed uncomfortable sitting.” He led the way into the living room and indicated for the pair to sit down. “And the last time I saw Bob … actually, it was the night before, we had a pint together, everything seemed fine.”

  Laura followed the women into the room, concern evident on her face. “What’s actually wrong, do they know?”

  Susan sat on the settee. “They’re concerned about her blood pressure,” she answered.

  “Pre-eclampsia apparently,” Susan said, sitting beside Sammy.

  “When did this happen?” Strong asked.

  Susan looked to Sammy. “On Wednesday, wasn’t it?”

  “That’s right,” Sammy agreed. “It was her last day at work and she didn’t feel well, so I helped her over to the Maternity Unit and they kept her in, there and then.”

  “I’ll give Bob a call when we’re done here,” Strong said.

  “Pre-eclampsia’s quite common,” Laura added. “Can I get you a drink? Tea, coffee or a glass of wine?”

  “A tea would be good, thanks,” Susan answered.

  “Could I have a coffee, please,” Sammy said.

  “No problem.” Laura looked to her husband. “And you’ll stay for some lunch. There’s plenty to go round.”

  “Of course,” Strong added with a smile. “No Graham or Amanda to eat us out of house and home this weekend.”

  “Aw, that’s really kind of you,” Susan responded, “It smells delicious but we’ll need to get back to the hospital and see how Alison’s doing.”

  “Well, the offer’s there.” Laura repeated.

  Strong waited until his wife had left the room. “Now, what was it you wanted to talk about?” Susan had called him earlier and said they had something important to share with him.

  Susan leaned forward and hesitated for a second. “You remember when all that business occurred last year?” she began. “Lofthouse?” Strong nodded. “And how you were annoyed that Bob hadn’t kept you informed of all he knew quickly enough?”

  “You could say that,” Strong said with some irony.

  “Well, you know Bob’s been working on a story about the unsolved murder of Claire Hobson?”

  “We spoke about it when we met. He said he was writing an article to focus on the effects of the case as well as appeal for new information.” A thought struck Strong. “Are you working on this with him, Susan?”

  “I’m using it as part of my course work this term – at least I hope I am.”

  “Well if I know you two, I’m sure you’re very much involved.”

  This drew a grin from Sammy. “The thing is,” she said, “we’ve uncovered some new information.”

  “Now why doesn’t this surprise me,” Strong quipped as he walked over to a unit next to the TV and opened a drawer. He picked out a pen and some paper before returning to an easy chair, readying himself to take notes.

  Susan proceeded to tell their story, interrupted on occasion by Sammy, of how they’d spoken to Claire’s parents and that Bob had spoken to her brother by phone and they had met Charlotte, her sister. But they’d also been able to track down and make contact with Kenny Green, one of the two boys who’d made the grim discovery.

  Strong jotted down the important points
.

  Laura returned part way through with a tray with some mugs and a packet of biscuits, setting it down on the coffee table in front of the women. “Excuse me a minute, I just need to carry on with preparing lunch,” she said and disappeared again.

  Susan continued with her narrative, telling him what Kenny had said about what his friend, Paul Nichols, had discovered at the murder scene.

  Strong paused and looked up from his notes. “And you say Paul never made this known to the detectives at the time?”

  “Kenny says he didn’t,” Susan replied. “But your records would show that though, wouldn’t they?”

  “I’ll check that.” Strong looked from one woman to the other. “But there’s something else, I can tell.”

  Sammy took up the tale. “I was the one who tracked down Kenny’s whereabouts and I’ve been trying to do the same for Paul Nichols.” Strong leaned back as she paused for a second. “But there’s something strange about that.”

  “How do you mean?”

  “Well, I know he has a criminal record from around the age of about thirteen and he spent some time in Young Offenders Institutions …”

  Strong was surprised at what he was hearing. This could be one of his own team briefing him.

  “… but after he was released in 1990 when he was eighteen,” Sammy went on, “he just seems to have disappeared. I can find no trace of him.”

  Strong puffed his cheeks. “Probably moved away. It wouldn’t surprise me if he wanted a fresh start.”

  “But I can’t find any trace,” Sammy persisted. “No record of anything for him anywhere; no death recorded, nothing.”

  “We’ve followed his parents’ progress from one address to another, then eventually nursing homes,” Susan added. “But no one ever mentions a son.”

  “He could have moved away, emigrated I suppose?” Susan thought out loud.

  Sammy looked to her. “Not with his record,” she said.

  “Unless he’s adopted a false identity.”

  “Look, I think you might be getting ahead of yourselves here.” Strong indicated the notes he’d taken. “I’ll look into this and see what I can find out.”