Scream Blue Murder

by Tony J. Forder

Melissa dipped her head. ‘Do we have to decide something like that right now?’

  I nodded. ‘Yes. I know you’re tired, Melissa. So am I. But we simply can’t delay any longer. Things are happening out there, and we’re no closer to making any firm decisions as to what we do next. We have to find that time. And we have to do it as soon as we can.’

  Melissa turned her head to gaze out of the window by our booth. The sky was low and a little overcast, but the sun was pushing its way through and already starting to warm the day. Another humid one lay in store. She sighed, looking as weary as I felt. The huge weight of responsibility caused her shoulders to sag, and she gave a single nod of resignation.

  It was still too early for the library, so once we had outstayed our welcome at AJ’s, we paid up and left. Barbara was busy serving, but I left our waitress a tip. Decent enough to show our appreciation for her attitude and service, not too big to stick in the mind. We drove for a few minutes, before I located a large DIY store on an industrial estate on the edge of town and parked up again. This was better than a side street outside someone’s home. No one would bother us, no one would consider it odd for us to be there; anyone who spotted us would probably assume we were waiting for someone inside the store. We were safe here. Relatively so.

  Except from the kid.

  First she had to take a leak. She’d had one at the diner, but clearly one was not enough. Melissa took her into the store and asked to use the staff toilet. They were reluctant, she told me afterwards, but the kid’s howls of protest had won the day. It seemed being little, loud and obnoxious had its merits. Prior to taking Charlie, Melissa had reached over and grabbed the keys from the BMW’s ignition.

  ‘I’m not in the mood to take chances,’ she said.

  I didn’t blame her for thinking the worst. In her place I would have done exactly the same thing. A short while after their return, the kid was back on to the subject of her father. No sooner had Melissa talked her out of that, than she started to complain about being bored.

  Her voice drove steel-tipped spikes into my brain. I had lived through it before with my own child, yet there is something about the incessant complaining that drives even the sanest people crazy. I was already most of the way there, so it was easy to tip me over the edge. In a flurry of arms and legs and grunts of disapproval, I got out to stretch my muscles, leaving the two of them to it for a few minutes. I went and sat on a small wooden fence that enveloped the site, watching the traffic hustle by.

  Did any of those drivers have my kind of worries today? I wondered, glancing back at the car. For a moment I considered walking away. Just standing up, heading off down the street, and never looking back. Separately we were sad cases, together we were a liability. But the thought of that murdering cop and what he might have in store for Melissa and the kid reined me in. That and the fact that, as I had mentioned to Melissa shortly before falling asleep that morning, she was the only one who could get me out of trouble with the Dawson family. I wasn’t sure which of these I gave greater weight to, and didn’t dwell on it for too long, either. I was going back to the car, and that was all that mattered at that moment.

  TEN

  Hendricks hated taking shit, and he particularly hated taking shit from fellow cops. Jurisdictional pissing contests were a fact of life in law enforcement, with all agencies constantly craving their own slice of major case pie. Under normal circumstances, anything related to Ray Dawson would fall within his own purview at the NCA, but not when it came to murder. That was local CID or murder squads all the way. There was a place for him here somewhere, though. He was determined not to be shoved aside.

  Having endured scepticism if not outright suspicion from even his own boss, it came as no surprise to Hendricks when the more senior detectives who arrived on the scene tried poking holes in his story. He was certain they were not looking hard at him for actually carrying out the hit on Dawson, but they were sharp enough to consider his presence to be more than coincidental. Not that this bothered him too much. He had NCA credentials and the support from his immediate superior. It didn’t matter what the cops thought. Only that they kept out of his way. A tough ask when it was their investigation, not his.

  Throughout the events unfolding around him and the time passing, Hendricks never strayed far from his own car. It wasn’t that he was considering fleeing the scene, more that he felt more comfortable being in the best possible place should he choose to do so. He was leaning back against the Mondeo’s bonnet when Detective Chief Inspector Randall from Taunton CID walked across to chat with him.

  ‘I don’t suppose you’ll be losing sleep at having one less villain around, eh?’ he said. Randall was the Senior Investigating Officer. Tall and slim and built for a decent suit, the detective fidgeted with the knot of his tie as he spoke. His voice was deep and cracked from recent overuse. Hendricks suspected the DCI had a good nose for sniffing out bullshit. Which meant he had to be on his own game. At all times.

  ‘Not so’s you’d notice,’ he admitted. Hendricks continued to slouch against the Mondeo, affecting a casual pose. ‘Ray Dawson was the worst kind of garbage, believe me. But it won’t be long before someone else takes his place. Down the years it’s come to feel like an extended game of whack-a-mole.’

  Randall nodded. ‘True enough. You think this could be a turf war?’

  ‘Dawson had a habit of crushing those sort of efforts early on. I was thinking more of his brother, Chris.’

  ‘I have some vague recollection of seeing Dawson’s name at some point, but I know little about him or his business. I guess if you lot are involved then he must be up to his neck in some serious shit. Well, was.’

  ‘The man was a poisonous bastard, that’s for sure. Chris is even worse. My guess is he’ll look to expand their empire.’

  ‘Which won’t go down well with other villains.’

  ‘Right. People smuggling, knocking shops, drugs. You name it, they do it. But people just like the Dawson family also want their share of the action. If it goes the way I think it will, bodies will be piling up on the streets.’

  Randall winced. ‘So, in some ways, then, tonight’s murder didn’t do you any favours after all.’

  Hendricks spread his hands. ‘Well, when you put it like that…’

  ‘You must be feeling a bit put out. In many ways, Dawson is your target, but you don’t get to investigate his murder. That must seem a bit unfair to you.’

  ‘It is what it is. Those are the rules, and it’s hardly the first time something like this has happened. We do our level best at the NCA to prevent them from operating, and when they are out of the picture we move on to the next. No matter how that is achieved.’

  ‘You’re a better man than me,’ Randall said. ‘I’d be thoroughly cheesed off, especially if, as you say, his murder actually makes your job harder in the long run.’

  Hendricks was trying to play it cool, but he saw an opening of sorts. ‘Don’t get me wrong,’ he said. ‘I’m as keen as anyone to find out who did this, even if it’s only to see where it leaves me and my team.’

  ‘Well, we can have a chat later about how and when we keep the NCA informed. For now, though, please, stick around.’

  With Dawson’s body now on its way to the mortuary in nearby Yeovil, the crime scene still being examined in minute detail by dozens of officers and CSI technicians, Hendricks looked on as Mike Lynch’s Saab was hauled up onto a transporter, ready for relocation to the closest forensics yard. As he watched the mundane task, he thought about how to handle things from this point on. He wasn’t fooled by Randall. The DCI’s last words were more instruction than invitation, Hendricks thought. But it played into his own hands. He needed to remain involved, liaising with the investigation team, pathologist and the CSI crew. At least until the first lead on the whereabouts of Lynch, Dawson’s kid or her nanny came through. But as the man responsible for Dawson’s murder, he also knew he had a lot of shit to tidy up.

  Not for the first time he a
sked himself if he had covered all the bases. The gun would not be found, of that he was confident. So far none of the detectives had summoned up the nerve to request a check of his clothing or a GSR swab. There was no legal imperative as he was not known to have been involved in the shooting or to have been anywhere close to it when it occurred. Hendricks didn’t see any of these locals having the balls to even suggest it. Even if they did, he could refuse. The gunpowder residue bothered him. He’d washed his hands with some bottled water, had swapped out his suit jacket for official NCA attire that he carried in the boot of his car. But it would require only one person to take their suspicions further for his situation to worsen considerably.

  Mike Lynch’s abandoned car and the absence of Charlotte Dawson and her nanny, Melissa Anderson, lent credence to the theory that Lynch was the man they were hunting down. But Hendricks was convinced that Randall was putting two and two together and arriving at something approximating the correct answer. As yet there had been no formal interview. It would come, though. And he needed to be prepared.

  ‘So listen, I have a favour to ask,’ he said to Randall. ‘You know the score. Behind the scenes, calls at a high level will be made. One way or another I’m sure the NCA will be asked to consult on this murder, simply because we know so much more than you do about the Dawson family and their entire enterprise. I’d appreciate it if we could arrange something between us now, rather than wait for it to trickle its way down through various channels.’

  The DCI met his gaze. He took a moment. Nodded once. ‘I’ll discuss it with my team. We’ve kept the media at bay so far by insisting they remain behind the barriers we’ve erected further up the road. But they’ll have their turn. This is a major enquiry, and we have to make sure we run this by the book because the scrutiny will be tremendous.’

  ‘And you think my request is out of order?’

  ‘No. I think it’s perfectly reasonable that we would ask the NCA for advice on someone like Ray Dawson. And his family, for that matter. But, and don’t get me wrong, as the person who discovered the victim, we haven’t even cleared you as a suspect yet.’

  Hendricks kept himself in check. No eye flicker. No nerve pulse in the cheek. He knew the tell-tale signs every bit as much as Randall did, so it was important not to reveal any unwarranted anxiety. However, some was entirely justified.

  ‘Of course. I accept that. But we both know it’s just a matter of ticking boxes, right? Whilst you haven’t formally cleared me, you’re not actually treating me as a suspect. At least, I would hope not.’

  ‘No, not at all.’ Randall gave a relaxed grin. ‘Trouble is, coincidental or not, you are our only witness, of sorts. I need to run it by my team, and at least one rank higher, before I can sanction sharing information with you. You understand that, I’m sure.’

  ‘Of course. Just let me know the score when you can.’

  As Randall walked away, Hendricks closed his eyes and tried to capture the conversation in his mind’s eye. Had the DCI demonstrated any genuine suspicion? He was an experienced detective, so he was almost certainly proficient in playing the same games Hendricks himself was familiar with. Time would tell, he supposed.

  As the transporter disappeared into the distance, a chatter went up around the scene. One of the cops, a uniformed sergeant by the name of Shaw, sauntered across to him and gave him the news that Mike Lynch’s bank card had been used at a motel off the A303. Hendricks had to choke that down and fight off the urge to jump in his car and speed away.

  ‘Are you heading off over there?’ he asked the sergeant.

  Shaw shook his head. ‘Let’s wait and see if they’re still there. If it’s even him. Way I see it, he’d have to be pretty dumb to use his card just hours after killing anyone, let alone someone as high profile as Ray Dawson.’

  Hendricks had no choice but to agree. ‘Okay. Keep me up to speed, yes?’

  Shaw gave a shrug. ‘I’m sure somebody will, officer.’

  Putting a red flag against Lynch’s credit and debit cards was a standard move, but still Hendricks was surprised they had given the order so quickly. They had also been swift to deal with the media and keep them at a real distance. He realised now that he could not underestimate this team. To do so would be a huge mistake.

  Mulling it over, something occurred to him. He used his work phone to first access and then sign in to his NCA account. He pulled up a specific database to run Lynch’s family information. It took a few minutes, but eventually he discovered the man’s wife and daughter exiting the country, bound for the USA. No release valve for Lynch there. The net was still loose, but tightening all the while. When he was done with the phone, Hendricks crossed his arms and leaned back against his car once again. There was nothing for him to do now but wait.

  Thirty minutes later, DCI Randall broke away from the group encamped within a portable crime scene control room and jogged across to him.

  ‘Bad news,’ he said, his face a picture of regret. ‘A night porter confirmed Lynch booked the room. But when armed officers breached it, they found it empty. Dawson’s vehicle is not in the car park, either.’

  ‘Damn!’ Hendricks tried to portray anything but the elation he felt. ‘Were the child and the nanny still with him?’

  ‘The porter never saw them. However, three cups were found to have been used.’

  ‘That’s interesting.’

  ‘Isn’t it just.’

  Hendricks shook his head. ‘So he somehow managed to smuggle the woman and girl into the place and then back out again. Without either of them apparently kicking up a fuss. Now that is worth some further consideration.’

  ‘You bet it will be. Oh, and I’ve had a word with the team. This Lynch character is clearly our number one suspect, so we don’t have a problem with you tagging along. For the time being, anyway.’

  ‘That’s great news. Thank you. It’s much appreciated.’

  The DCI shrugged. ‘Well, like you said, the order will come down from on high at some point. And, to be honest, your perspective might come in handy.’

  With that he was gone again, dashing back to the long and narrow mobile building.

  *

  Hendricks became more agitated as the night wore on. Further discussions with Randall had been benign, but those with others in the investigation team began to feel more like interrogations. He knew he was being paranoid, but then the trump card against him was a car containing three people, two of whom may well be able to identify him as the man who shot and killed Ray Dawson. And that car was getting further and further away.

  Dawn was still no more than a promise when he noticed a new vehicle roll up onto the scene. He watched with interest as a suit exited the dark, plain saloon, spoke a few words to a female uniform, who then pointed in his direction. The newcomer reached him with one hand extended, the other holding up a NCA warrant card.

  ‘SI Hendricks. I’m Nutton,’ the man introduced himself. ‘I’ve been sent to provide you with some assistance.’

  Hendricks bit down on a rush of anger. It was hard not to take immediate offence. Sure, Robin Dwyer may well have suspected something to be amiss, but could not have known for certain. Dispatching someone out here to hold his hand, perhaps even to report back on him, was clearly an unspoken rebuke.

  ‘I wasn’t expecting anyone,’ Hendricks managed to say, though he barely opened his mouth to do so. ‘I mean, I wasn’t told to expect anyone.’

  Nutton shrugged. ‘What can I say? You’re lead Investigator, of course. I’m just here to back you up and help out in any way I can.’

  Hendricks nodded. Realised the man still had his hand out. A swift, reluctant shake later, Hendricks turned on his heels and stepped across to his own vehicle. Door open he paused. Every nerve end was screaming at him to get the hell out of there. For all anyone knew he had legitimately stumbled upon a murder scene, but that wasn’t how it felt at that precise moment. The wagons were circling around him, but it seemed very much as if they were penn
ing him in rather than fending others off.

  ‘No offence, Nutton, but I don’t see any need for two of us to be out here. This is a police investigation, after all. If the NCA get any purchase here, it will be as a spare wheel. They’ll allow us to tag along once some pressure from above is applied, but as a silent partner only. Two bodies on that sort of detail seems like overkill to me.’

  ‘No offence taken. Manager Dwyer made some calls and it was thought that, given you discovered the crime scene, the detectives in charge might want to keep you at arm’s length. I’m here really to try and grease the gears if at all possible. Dwyer said to call him if you had any issues, but that he would be tied up in meetings for most of the day.’

  Pursing his lips, Hendricks saw the sense in Dwyer making that call. It wasn’t necessarily a slight, rather a sound strategic move. Having done so he had then gone to ground. Making himself unavailable was another wily ploy on Dwyer’s part. There really was no option but to accept the situation and move on.

  Which raised a further problem for him – as if he needed more. It was always going to be hard enough trying to both keep up with and ahead of the local cops. Having a partner now made it virtually impossible. Hendricks nodded to himself. He was going to have to shake Nutton at some stage. All he needed now was the right opportunity.

  *

  The lay-by was crammed with vehicles and people. The portable control room took up much of the available space, yet spread around it were seven liveried police vehicles, and four unmarked cars. In the mix, uniformed officers, suited detectives, and forensic investigators clad all in white scurried back and forth like worker bees.

  Rhino looked down the hillside at the scene through a pair of binoculars whilst thumbing a number on his phone. ‘We’re on site, boss,’ he said when his call was answered. ‘Not close, but we can see what’s going on. Not near enough to hear anything, though.’

  He listened to Chris Dawson’s response, then replied, ‘Yeah, we’re starting to figure out the main players. None of them have left the scene so far. No one getting too excited, either. All pretty routine. Any word from your man?’