Flesh and Blood (A DI Amy Winter Thriller)

by Caroline Mitchell

  Amy bit her tongue. She needed to keep her on side. There was an undercurrent of darkness in her nature that unsettled her.

  As Amy left the coffee shop, she wondered what had just gone on. Suspicion was cast on their male victims, which seemed justified since the discovery of another Blackpool victim. Had he discharged himself from hospital anonymously because he was involved in something unspeakable? And was the group of teenagers now fighting back? Had Carla come to the same conclusion? Was that why she had kept her investigations to herself? In the back of Amy’s mind, a clock ticked mercilessly on. Time was running out. They had just days to reach the teenagers before they were moved on – or somebody ended up dead.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  Donovan stared through the car window as they turned off the motorway. Steve was humming to Fleetwood Mac as he drove. He liked that they could travel in companionable silence. He wondered if returning to Clacton had been a mistake. Was it really for Carla’s sake? Even during his last case, he had persuaded Amy to visit Southend to speak to a witness. Why was he so compelled to return to his old stomping grounds? The uncomfortable sense of unfinished business tugged on his periphery. But it wouldn’t be settled today. Today they were on their way to Leicestershire to see Mr Anonymous, the man who checked himself out of Blackpool hospital after suffering a head injury. His real name was John McCafferty, and despite his Irish surname he had been born and bred in the UK. He was also on the sex offenders register. Steve had been thrilled with his discovery. Leads were coming in thick and fast. But McCafferty would hardly be keen to impart what he knew, given he’d land himself in prison if he admitted to breaching the register. Donovan wouldn’t give him any choice. Lives were at stake. Nobody liked dealing with nonces, but this could lead to wrapping up the case.

  ‘We call him the wanker,’ DC Chowdhury said, as Donovan and Steve asked about his history. They were sitting in the offices of the Public Protection Unit, at Chowdhury’s desk. A half-dozen officers worked with heads down, some on the phone, some typing reports, each one carrying the weary expression of someone buried in work. Each had a caseload of offenders to monitor and set visits to make. During each visit, they would check the offender’s phones and computers, should they have access to them, as well as obtain the latest updates on their work and relationships. Some had restrictions on where they could live, shop, visit and who they could talk to.

  ‘That’s an affectionate term.’ Steve laughed. ‘Fond of him, are you?’

  ‘It’s what he does.’ Chowdhury smiled. ‘Wanks in public places in the hope he’ll be seen.’

  ‘An exhibitionist then,’ Donovan replied, his gaze flicking around the room.

  ‘He started off hanging around secondary schools, trying to talk to the girls on the way in. Earned himself a black eye from the father of a thirteen-year-old after he took her to the cinema and got his “lad” out in the car on the way home.’

  ‘But it didn’t stop him,’ Donovan said.

  Chowdhury shook his head. ‘He’d park up outside schools, calling girls over so they could see him having a wank. Now he masturbates in his garden in the hope he’ll be seen. A bit of a shock for the new neighbours when they moved in next door.’

  ‘I can imagine,’ Donovan replied. ‘And he’s not said anything about his latest adventure?’

  ‘He’s walking on thin ice as it is. He won’t risk breaching his order. And there’s no point in trying to appeal to his better side. He doesn’t have one.’ Chowdhury turned down the volume on his desk phone as it began to ring. Like the phones in CID, the unanswered call would do a round robin, diverting to another officer’s phone until someone picked it up.

  ‘So, what do you think he was up to?’

  ‘The next step,’ Chowdhury said. ‘We cleared him to go on holiday as he had to run it by us first. We notified local officers, but you can’t watch them twenty-four seven. My guess is that he was back to his old tricks. Someone’s caught him out and given him what for.’

  ‘But he’s not admitted to anything?’

  Chowdhury shook his head. ‘We’ve interviewed him about breaching the register, but we didn’t have any proof. He said he went to the beach, had too much to drink and someone hit him from behind. I didn’t know about the injury until you got in touch.’

  ‘And what was his explanation for that?’

  ‘He said he was disorientated and confused. I rang the local neighbourhood policing team, but they said there had been no sexual assaults reported that night. At least, nothing that he could have been involved in.’

  ‘That call should have been forwarded to us.’ Donovan frowned.

  ‘Well, hopefully you’ll have more luck with him than me. From what you’ve told me, the old bastard is lucky to be alive.’

  Steve grinned. ‘Maybe it’ll teach him a lesson.’

  But Chowdhury did not look hopeful. ‘He’s in the interview room. I’ll bring you over.’

  McCafferty had also given a witness statement with regards to his alleged mugging, and this was the line of enquiry that Donovan was going to follow. A voluntary interview would suffice, unless they gained further information in interview, although Donovan planned to throw some strong challenges in.

  McCafferty was a rotund man who looked beyond his fifty-two years. He regarded Donovan and Steve impassively as they entered. It was a drab box room, devoid of windows and filled with second-hand air. A depressing place for a depressing topic of conversation. Not that Donovan expected to get much out of McCafferty today. He did his best to hide his disdain for the man before him, knowing some emotional leakages were bound to seep out. It was why he could never bring himself to work in public protection. Such a job was better suited to people without children of their own to relate to.

  ‘I’m DCI Donovan, and this is . . .’

  ‘I know who you are.’ McCafferty threaded his fingers together before resting them on his stomach. His short-sleeved polo shirt stretched over his expansive waistline, stained from the remnants of his last meal. Something with ketchup, by the look of it. His cheeks were pink and flushed, his face scowling in belligerence. ‘I’ve told Chowdhury what happened to me, and I dare say he’s relayed it to you. So, if we can get this moving, I’d like to go home.’

  Uneasy silence stretched between them as Donovan glared at the man before him. He was not going to be rushed through an interview. Not by McCafferty, not by anyone. Steve shuffled his paperwork and was about to speak before Donovan silenced him with a look.

  ‘Well, say something, man,’ McCafferty said eventually.

  But Donovan did not acknowledge him. He was leading this interview and would speak when it suited him. Folding his arms, he leaned back into his chair. ‘Who arranged your trip to Blackpool?’

  McCafferty sighed, obviously seeing that he wasn’t going to get his own way. ‘I did. I’ve got a receipt on Booking dot com.’

  ‘What was your purpose for travel?’

  ‘A holiday. It’s Blackpool. I fancied a trip.’

  ‘Yet you barely left your room the whole time you were there.’ Donovan had already spoken to the owner of the bed and breakfast where he had stayed. He had been described as a quiet man who kept to himself.

  ‘Is there a law against it?’

  Donovan ignored his question. ‘Who did you meet on the night you were assaulted?’

  ‘Nobody.’ But the arrogance in his voice faded as he stared at the floor.

  ‘Someone gave you a hell of a head injury.’

  ‘From behind. I was walking on the beach minding my own business, when – bam!’ He smacked his fist against his palm. ‘Someone whacked me over the head.’

  ‘Bad, isn’t it? When you can’t walk down the beach without getting mugged,’ Steve said, an encouraging smile on his face.

  ‘I think so.’

  ‘Yet you didn’t see fit to report it to the police?’ Donovan said.

  McCafferty shrugged, his double chin pressing down as he hung his he
ad. ‘No point. You lot have it in for me.’

  ‘Why were you assaulted, do you think?’ Steve replied. ‘In your statement you said that you were mugged.’

  ‘That’s right.’

  ‘What did they take?’ Steve fired another question.

  ‘My wallet, of course. What do you think they took?’

  ‘Yet you’re seen on CCTV taking out your wallet to settle up your bill the next day. How do you account for that?’ Donovan glared at McCafferty as he challenged his account.

  McCafferty shifted in his chair. ‘I . . . I had a spare wallet in my room.’

  ‘Where did you get that?’

  ‘I brought it with me. I don’t take all my cash and cards when I go out, in case something like this happens.’

  ‘And you’ll have a record of having cancelled your stolen cards with the bank?’ Donovan fired back.

  ‘I . . . I . . .’ McCafferty reddened. ‘I haven’t got around to it yet.’

  ‘I see.’ Donovan could see why McCafferty received a black eye. Had he been the thirteen-year-old’s father, he might not have stopped there. ‘Walk me through what happened, step by step.’

  ‘Jesus. You have it there.’ McCafferty prodded the paperwork with a stubby finger. ‘Read it out loud, if you like, I’m not going through it all again!’

  Donovan gave Steve the nod, and he read out the account. ‘It says here you went to the pub for the first time three nights after you arrived in Blackpool, is that right?’

  McCafferty nodded, his lips tightly sealed in a thin white line.

  ‘You said you were in the pub until closing time, and you’d had several pints.’

  Again, a nod of the head.

  ‘Yet we have you going to the pub at eight through the front double doors, then leaving through the back entrance at nine.’

  McCafferty’s fingers tightened around each other, his knuckles white. He took a breath, then hesitated before deciding to speak. ‘I thought it was later. I can’t remember the exact times.’

  ‘But you only had two pints. Hardly enough to make you drunk, was it?’

  McCafferty swallowed hard. ‘I had a couple of tins in my room earlier in the day.’

  ‘Where did you go then?’

  ‘For a stroll on the beach, just like I said.’

  ‘You were taken to the hospital after midnight. How long was your stroll?’

  ‘I can’t remember. Someone hit me from behind. I passed out.’

  ‘I’m not surprised, the knock you took to the head.’ Donovan took the statement from Steve, turning it over as if expecting something new to jump out. ‘There’s no mention of you going for a swim.’

  ‘The tide came in. I was groggy when I was found. I was lying on the sand.’

  ‘On the sand or in the sand?’ Donovan leaned forward in his chair.

  ‘On it, of course!’

  ‘So why were your pockets full of the stuff?’

  McCafferty sighed. ‘It must have washed over me with the waves.’

  ‘Did someone drag you into the water?’

  McCafferty blew out of cheeks in disgust. ‘How do I know? I was spark out!’

  ‘Why did you refuse to provide your details in hospital?’

  ‘I’d had enough by then. They stitched me up, and I discharged myself.’

  Donovan picked up the statement and began to tear it up. It was a copy, but McCafferty wasn’t to know that.

  McCafferty’s mouth dropped open.

  ‘How about you tell me the truth? You went there with the sole intention of having sex with someone underage. Someone in pigtails who would call you Daddy and sit on your lap.’ Donovan’s face soured. The words disgusted him as he verbalised them. ‘Did her pimp come after you when you refused to pay up?’

  ‘Fuck you.’ McCafferty’s hands curled into fists. His arrogance had grown to aggression, and Donovan knew he had touched a nerve.

  ‘Because you like them young, don’t you? She must have been something special for you to have travelled all that way.’

  ‘I don’t have to listen to this shit,’ McCafferty roared, pushing back his chair.

  ‘Steady on.’ Steve rose alongside him. ‘We’ll be writing up a report. How’s this going to look for you?’

  McCafferty scowled in Steve’s direction, a sheen of sweat breaking out on his skin. ‘Well, it’s him, making all these accusations. I’m sick of it.’

  Pulling back his shirt sleeve, Donovan checked his watch. He wouldn’t get anything more from McCafferty now. ‘I’m done here.’ He turned to Steve. ‘I’ll meet you out the front when you’ve finished up.’

  As he closed the door behind him, Donovan only hoped his game-playing would pay off. It was a tactic long used in police circles. Bad cop was exiting the building. Now it was time for the good cop to get him to open up.

  ‘Any joy?’ Twenty minutes had passed since Donovan left them to it. Just enough time for him to have a catch-up with Chowdhury followed by a wander outside.

  Steve was smiling, which was hopeful.

  ‘Got some stuff off the record. Had to butter him up first. It turned my stomach, but it did the trick.’

  ‘Should I ask?’

  ‘The usual. I called you a tosser and sympathised with him.’

  Donovan smiled. ‘He’s the tosser from what I’ve heard.’

  ‘I sympathised with him about that and all.’ Steve pulled a face. ‘I’m just glad we weren’t on tape.’

  Donovan was not entirely familiar with how Steve worked, and he wasn’t sure if he wanted to know. ‘He could have been recording you. Best not to compromise yourself.’

  ‘It’s fine. We went along the lines that his interests weren’t breaking any laws if he wasn’t physically hurting anyone.’

  Donovan’s frown deepened as his unease grew. This method of policing would have to be addressed in the car on the way home.

  ‘Boss,’ Steve said, catching his wary expression. ‘My daughter is probably the same age as the girl McCafferty went to meet. You think I didn’t want to punch his lights out?’ He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. ‘I don’t for a second sympathise with that bastard, but I’ll do what it takes to help those kids.’

  ‘What did you get?’ Donovan relaxed, happy in the knowledge they had the same train of thought.

  ‘He went to Blackpool to meet someone for sex, he didn’t pick them up off the streets.’

  ‘Young?’ Donovan turned and they both walked in the direction of the car park.

  Steve nodded. ‘Although he wouldn’t admit to it. I’d say she was early teens.’

  ‘How did he arrange it?’

  ‘There’s no way he was telling me that. Chowdhury’s already seized his phone and iPad. My guess is that McCafferty has something stashed away. I reckon it was set up online. He made a comment about being ripped off, so he must have paid up front for it.’

  ‘Why? Couldn’t he have arranged for it locally?’

  ‘Nah,’ Steve said. ‘Too close for comfort. He was scared of getting caught. Again, that’s what I picked up between the lines.’

  ‘Sounds about right. What about the overdose? Did you ask him about that?’

  ‘Yeah, but he denied taking anything. Just said that he was hit from behind. He froze up when I mentioned the assault, twigged I was asking too many questions. At least we got that much from him.’

  ‘And you’ve told Chowdhury?’

  ‘He’s putting it on the intel system now.’

  ‘Good man.’ Donovan slapped him on the back. ‘I owe you a pint.’

  ‘I don’t have sympathy for the victims,’ Steve said. ‘They got what they deserved. But McCafferty’s a big bloke. Who do you think is bringing them down?’

  ‘The biggest bloke can be toppled if you hit him from behind,’ Donovan pondered. ‘It’s a decent lead, and it helps focus the investigation. It won’t be long before we get a result.’

  ‘I hope so,’ Steve said. ‘We need to find those kids before
they’re moved on again.’

  Donovan agreed with the sentiment, but he had one more job to do. There was somebody else living in Leicestershire that he had to see. ‘I’ve got a quick PJ. We’ll find a pub, you can grab yourself some lunch. I shouldn’t be long.’ Steve registered his surprise before agreeing with a nod. Donovan guessed what he was thinking – that it was doubtful he had a personal job in this neck of the woods. But he had someone important to see – and he needed to do it alone.

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  Today, Donovan felt that he was getting somewhere under his own steam. For once, he wasn’t part of a double act with Amy or having to justify his actions on TV. He was picking up where Carla left off. She would have wanted that. Her diary had left him feeling awkward about what to say to her husband. It wasn’t as if he had done anything wrong. But if something happened to Amy and he’d found her diary declaring her admiration for another man . . . He frowned at the thought. He would reach out to Shaun when the dust settled. Tell him that Carla’s allegiance was primarily to her family, not him. Nobody should live their life feeling like second best.

  He opened the black metal gate, dismissing thoughts of Shaun as he walked up the flower-lined drive. His visit was expected. It was one Carla had made before she died. Donovan had been careful to hide the entry in her diary where she mentioned the visit. The proverbial bull in a china shop, Amy did not always tread lightly when she was hungry for answers and this visit needed kid gloves. Tasha had been upset to hear of Carla’s death, but appreciated Donovan taking up where Carla had left off in the quest to find her daughter.

  Tasha opened the door before he’d had a chance to ring the doorbell. Her hair was fine and wispy, a regrowth from the chemotherapy she’d had last year. Life was one big wheel of fortune, and from what he’d heard, Tasha hadn’t had many lucky spins. As well as battling cancer, her daughter had disappeared. Their phone call had enlightened Donovan, but today he’d asked to meet in the flesh. He guessed Tasha to be her early thirties, as she’d had April when she was just a teen.