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

by David Evans

  The youth scuttled past Davidson and disappeared out the door.

  “What’s got into you, Patrick?” Brannigan asked, trying to sound calm.

  Davidson slapped a newspaper on the counter. “This. Have you seen it?”

  Brannigan picked it up and began to read the main story. ‘Police investigating the rape and murder of 14-year-old Claire Hobson are keen to speak to an ex-army soldier who was driving for a Leeds taxi firm at the time and is likely to be in his mid-fifties now,’ he read. Putting the paper down, he looked up at his former colleague. “Don’t look at me, I had nothing to do with what happened to that girl,” he said.

  “Description fits you to a tee.”

  Realisation dawned on Brannigan. “And you, Patrick.”

  “Don’t give me that shite! That’s you and that incident in the park toilets. That’s what’s brought this on. And I tell you, when they come knocking on your door … and they will, you’d better not make any connections to me. After what happened in 1978, there are some seriously heavy people would love to get hold of me.”

  “Was it you, Patrick?”

  Davidson stabbed a finger at Brannigan. “Don’t you dare get any ideas, George. You don’t know me,” he said, spun on his heel and left.

  “I think I do, Patrick,” Brannigan said quietly. “I think I do.”

  * * *

  Andy Barrett was sitting in Interview Room Two on the second floor of Wood Street Police Station, biting the skin to the side of his nails. Strong and Ormerod had visited the site in Morley and told him he was required to accompany them. He had gone pale when the officers had arrived for the third time to speak to him. They were waiting for a duty solicitor to turn up before they conducted a formal interview. In the meantime, the man nervously fidgeted in his seat.

  Finally, the solicitor arrived and after allowing them a few minutes together, Strong and Ormerod entered the room. After the formalities for the tape, Strong took up the questioning. “Mr Barrett, I had hoped things wouldn’t come to this,” he said. “We have given you every opportunity to tell us the truth when we’d spoken to you before.” He looked to Ormerod who gave a reaction confirming what Strong had just said.

  “I don’t understand,” Barrett said. “Why am I here?”

  Strong opened a manila folder he’d brought with him. “We are investigating the murder of Marcus Weaver. Previously,” he continued, “we’d asked you for your whereabouts for the evening of Wednesday 13th February last, specifically between the hours of seven-thirty and eight-thirty. You claim that you were at home with your wife, Felicity.”

  “That’s right,” Barrett responded.

  “And this is Felicity who seems to have disappeared and is uncontactable. So there is no corroboration to this statement.”

  “But it’s true,” he persisted.

  “The last time we spoke, we showed you sketches of two men who had been seen in the vicinity of the toilet block in Wakefield park at the time in question.” Strong produced the sketches from the file. “This man here,” he pointed to the younger of the two images. “He bears a striking resemblance to yourself, does he not?”

  Barrett shrugged. “A lot of people my age look like that.”

  Strong paused a beat. “Do you know what VIPER is, Mr Barrett?”

  The man looked to the solicitor, puzzled, then back to Strong. “A snake, why?”

  “VIPER stands for Video Identification Parade Electronic Recording,” Strong stated. “It’s a system that’s being developed here in Wakefield which will mean the old style of identity parades can be carried out in front of a computer screen.” He looked to Ormerod. “Much more cost effective and convenient.”

  “I’ve heard some talk of that,” Ormerod confirmed.

  “Unfortunately, I don’t think it’ll be ready until next year. A pity really, because it would have saved us some money. But now we’ll just have to organise a traditional identity parade here at the station.” Strong looked across at his DC. “Do you think we’ll have any trouble selecting some men who look like Mr Barrett for the parade, DC Ormerod?”

  “No, I don’t think so, guv. After all, as Mr Barrett has told us, quite a lot of young men look like him.”

  The solicitor spoke for the first time. “Inspector, this is all very interesting but, as I understand it, you have put these matters to my client before and he’s told you on previous occasions exactly what he’s told you today.”

  “And we also showed you these stills, obtained from CCTV footage of a vehicle in the vicinity of the park on the night in question.” Strong placed photographs on the table in front of them. “We think the passenger in that car looks a lot like you.”

  The solicitor picked up one of the photos. “Not very good quality,” he commented. “I doubt very much that any identification would be possible from these. And the car … a dark BMW? There are thousands like these on the roads.”

  Strong leaned back on his chair and paused a moment. Eventually, he pushed himself forward and spoke again. “Mr Barrett, you remember that when DC Ormerod visited your office on Thursday last, he asked if you, along with some other work colleagues, would be prepared to give your fingerprints, to eliminate them from any we might find on the door to the store which had been forced to facilitate the theft?”

  Barrett slowly nodded.

  “Would it surprise you to know that we found a match for some of the prints taken?”

  “You mean somebody working in the site offices has a record?”

  “No, Mr Barrett, not exactly. You see, your prints were a match for those found on a disturbed cistern lid in the toilets where we found Mr Weaver’s body.” The solicitor was about to interrupt when Strong held up a finger. “We can also confirm that the operatives from Wakefield District Council who clean those toilets had done so earlier that day and all covers were in position.”

  The colour drained from Barrett’s cheeks and he stared at Strong like a rabbit caught in headlights.

  The solicitor leaned forward. “Inspector, I think I need to consult with my client,” he said. “In private,”

  “Of course,” Strong said, making the announcement for the tape and switching off the recording. Both he and Ormerod stood and left the room.

  Within fifteen minutes, the interview had recommenced.

  “So, Mr Barrett, what have you got to tell us?” Strong asked.

  Barrett looked down to the floor. “I have nothing further to add,” he said.

  “You can’t seriously tell me that the evidence we have which puts you at the scene of a murder at the time that murder was carried out doesn’t warrant a meaningful response from you?” Strong was shocked. He had at the very least suspected that the man would explain more about the incident. “Are you telling us that you were acting alone in this?” he went on.

  “No comment.”

  “Was Mr Brannigan involved?”

  “No comment.”

  Strong paused a moment and glanced at the solicitor who seemed embarrassed by the turn of events. “Are you frightened of Mr Brannigan in some way?” he asked.

  A pause, then, “No comment.”

  Strong let out a breath. “You do realise that we will have no alternative but to charge you with the murder of Mr Weaver?”

  This time Barrett remained silent.

  Strong looked at his watch. “Well we do have time, but for now we’ll be keeping you in custody pending further questioning.”

  Barrett seemed resigned as Strong ended the recording and arranged for him to be taken down to the cells.

  “What do you reckon to that?” Strong asked Ormerod once they were on their way up to the CID Office.

  “I think he’s scared of Brannigan, assuming he was the other man spotted by our sketcher.”

  67

  Tuesday 5th March 2002

  “There’s a young lady down here to see you, Colin,” Bill Sidebotham announced.

  “Intriguing, Bill. Did she say what it’s about?” Strong
was reviewing some paperwork in his office when his desk phone rang.

  “She’s the missus of that guy you have in custody, Andy Barrett.”

  “Felicity?”

  “If you say so.”

  “Be right down.”

  On his way past, Strong looked in to the CID Office and searched out Luke Ormerod.

  “Looking for me, guv?” he asked.

  “Yes, Luke. Guess who’s turned up downstairs? The elusive Felicity Barrett.”

  Ormerod got to his feet. “So he didn’t do away with her as well then?”

  “Apparently not.”

  Felicity Barrett was sitting on a hard plastic chair in reception. She stood as Strong approached. Flicking a hand through long dark hair, she appeared a confident young woman, neatly dressed in an unbuttoned coat revealing a figure-flattering red dress to the knee with matching red court shoes.

  “Mrs Barrett, is it?” Strong asked, holding out a hand.

  She shook it lightly. “Yes. I understand you have my husband here.”

  “Come through,” he said. “By the way, this is my colleague DC Luke Ormerod.”

  Strong led them to the ‘soft interview’ room, set aside for difficult sexual assault cases and interviewing children. He thought it would be a better environment for their questioning.

  Declining the offer of a drink, Felicity was keen to talk. “This is all my fault,” she began, as she sat awkwardly on the edge of one of the sofas.

  Strong and Ormerod were each sitting in one of the armchairs either side.

  “First of all, Mrs Barrett,” Strong began, “I understand from your husband that you had … how can we put it, taken a break from your marriage. Would that be correct?”

  She looked down and nodded.

  “We were trying to contact you but Andy said he didn’t know where you were.”

  “I didn’t tell him. It’s been a difficult time.”

  “Of course, with your cousin, Mark. I’m sorry, you have my sympathy.”

  She looked up. “I understand you’ve found who was responsible?”

  Strong nodded. “Apparently somebody who was in the same class as Andy at secondary school.”

  “Who was that?”

  “We believe it was a man by the name of William Pollock.”

  A faint quiver of the lip. “That weirdo. They called him Billy the Fish.”

  “Yes we know. He was found dead a week ago. Drug overdose, we suspect.”

  “Doesn’t surprise me.”

  Strong eased back in his chair, an arm draped over the back of it. “But we’re investigating the murder of Marcus Weaver in the park toilets on 13th February, which is why we are holding your husband.”

  Her eyes filled with tears. “Oh God.”

  Ormerod leaned over and handed her some tissues from the box on the low table in front of them.

  “We were asking Mr Barrett to confirm his whereabouts on that evening and he repeated that he was at home with you, Mrs Barrett. However, we couldn’t contact you to corroborate that. But since then, we have discovered evidence which links your husband to the murder scene on that evening. So far, he’s refused to explain that or give an account of where he actually was.”

  Felicity finished dabbing her eyes then spoke. “As I said, this is all my fault.”

  “Can you explain that statement?” Strong asked.

  Felicity outlined her plan to extort money from her step-father, George Brannigan under the pretext that she’d been kidnapped and that it was supposed to be some sort of ransom payment.

  “And your husband knew nothing of this?”

  “Not until after.”

  Ormerod took up the questioning. “But you roped in your cousin, Mark Thompson to help you, didn’t you?”

  Again tears appeared. “I didn’t know what would happen to him. But that was nothing to do with what we did. That was just some nutter he went to school with. Wasn’t it?”

  “So that’s why you were seen coming and going from Mark’s flat in town?” Ormerod persisted.

  “I suppose so. I stayed there to keep a low profile. Just until George paid the money.”

  “But something went wrong, didn’t it?” Strong took up the questioning again.

  She nodded. “The first I knew was when Mark came in to say something had gone down in the park. Then the papers next day.”

  “So what happened next?”

  “Mark said he’d try Plan B.”

  “Which was?”

  “He had some little mate who could help him with the money transfer.”

  “Little mate?”

  “Yes, his next-door neighbour. Little Danny, he called him.”

  Strong looked surprised. “Danny King, you mean? He was involved?”

  “Mark never told me the details but Danny ended up with the money and delivered it to him.”

  “So the successful transfer happened the day after Weaver died in the toilets?”

  “Yes.”

  “What happened then?”

  “Mark called Andy and he came and picked me up where I’d been dropped off.”

  “But didn’t Andy recognise Mark’s voice?”

  “He disguised it.”

  “So when did Andy know the truth?”

  “I told him when we got to Whitby, the day after I found out about Mark.”

  “What was his reaction?”

  “He said we had to give it back. The money was tainted. George had already been round several times and then Aunty June said he’d been round her house on the Friday looking for Mark. He was obviously on to us. I actually thought he’d … but from what you’ve said, he hadn’t.”

  “Did Andy tell you what had gone on in the toilets?”

  “He didn’t actually see what happened. He was standing on the toilet in one of the cubicles. They were supposed to leave the money in one of the cisterns.”

  “But he told you another man had appeared?”

  “Yes.”

  “Did he tell you how they left him?”

  “No. Only that George said it was an accident and they left him so he could be found.”

  Strong and Ormerod exchanged glances.

  “And after Whitby?” Strong continued.

  Felicity went on to tell how she decided to take off and stay with a friend in Manchester.

  “So Mr Brannigan was still searching for you?”

  “Yes”

  “When was the last time you saw him?”

  “He came to see me last week.”

  “He tracked you down?”

  “I don’t suppose it was too difficult, he’d been in the army you know? Probably used his mate, Patrick.”

  “Patrick?”

  “Davidson, yes. Creep. They’d served in Ulster together. Some sort of bond they had, he reckoned.”

  “Do you know where this Mr Davidson lives?”

  She shook her head. “No. I only ever saw him a couple of times when Mum and I were with George. She always felt uncomfortable when he showed up.”

  68

  Strong’s mobile rang as he walked along the corridor towards his office.

  “Strong,” he answered.

  “DI Strong, I have some information for you.” It was the same familiar voice of ACC Mellor’s contact at the MOD he’d spoken to on Friday.

  “Just let me close the door,” Strong responded as he entered his office. Settled in his chair, he was ready to speak. “So what have you got for me?”

  Strong noted down all he was told. One name didn’t surprise him but the background to a second name did. Both had left the Green Howards in 1979, one in April and the other in June and both had similar distinguishing marks – the regimental crest tattooed on their left forearms. One other item of note related to the second man. The caller also outlined what linked these two men and some brief background to an incident in their careers the year before. That information, he was told, was in strictest confidence.

  When the man finished, Strong thank
ed him and pressed the red button on his phone. He sat there stunned. A deep breath as he re-read the notes he’d just taken.

  About to search out Luke Ormerod, his desk phone rang.

  “Yes,” he said.

  “A woman for you, Colin,” the desk sergeant announced.

  “DI Strong,” he announced once the call had been put through.

  “Mr Strong, it’s Mrs Monk here, Annabel.”

  “Yes Annabel, what can I do for you?”

  “I’m worried …”

  “What about?”

  “It’s Gary. He’s gone out and I’m afraid he’ll do something stupid.”

  “What makes you say that?”

  “It’s all this business with that shirt and what’s been in the papers. It’s obvious the man you’re after killed that poor girl.”

  Strong stayed silent.

  “Gary thinks he knows who it is and he’s gone off to find them.”

  Now alarmed, Strong responded, “Who? Who does he think it is?”

  She sniffed and there was a pause as if she was wiping her nose. “Some bloke who runs a scrap business in Huddersfield, that’s all he told me.”

  “And how long ago did he leave?”

  “Just before I rang you. I tried to reason with him, told him to leave it to your people, but he wouldn’t listen. He was very wound up.”

  “Okay, thanks Annabel. I’ll get people over there now.”

  “There is one other thing …”

  “Yes.”

  “I’ve remembered something else about my … attacker.”

  “Anything you can tell us would be helpful.”

  A loud intake of breath down the phone line. “He had a piece of his ear missing. His left one, near the lobe.”

  Strong’s heart rate increased and he could feel the tension build in his body. “A missing ear lobe?”

  “Well, near there.”

  “Thanks Annabel. I’ll be in touch.”

  “But please …” she added, before Strong could end the call, “… look after Gary.”

  “I’ll do my very best.”

  Strong grabbed his coat as he left the office and hurried down to the CID Room. Sweeping those officers present, he called out. “Luke, John, Kelly … with me please.”

  DS Stainmore, DC’s Ormerod and Darby exchanged glances then grabbed their coats and followed their boss out of the room and down the stairs.