‘Did he work on the docks as well?’
Kerry shook her head. ‘No. I don’t know what he did. He used to come round at all sorts of crazy times. Mum didn’t like it, but she never said anything. I think they were both scared of him. Mum was anyway.’
‘Did he live close to you?’
‘I don’t know. Look, I really don’t know much about him. He gave me the creeps. I wasn’t interested. I had better things to do. Danny was around a lot more than me.’ She turned away and started to set the table.
Rae left Kerry and went in search of Danny. She found him in his bedroom, packing his saxophone away.
‘What can you tell me about Tonto Leary, Danny? I need to know everything I can about him.’
Danny started talking immediately, his eyes averted.
‘He’s taller than dad. He works out so he’s got big muscles. He’s got a blotchy face and a bald head and he always looks angry. He always wears jeans and big work boots. He scares people. He swears a lot, even more than Dad did.’
‘Fine, Danny. That’s all very helpful. Do you know where he worked?’
The boy shook his head. ‘No.’
‘He didn’t talk about work with your dad?’
‘I never listened. I thought he was horrible. I didn’t want to be there. I used to read in my room.’ Danny stopped talking but, just as Rae was about to ask another question, he added, ‘He used to have dust on his boots if he came to see Dad straight from work. Whitish dust. Once, Kerry got the Hoover out after he’d gone ’cause it was all over the carpet.’
* * *
‘Charlie, do you remember why Liam left the army? Were you aware of a problem of some kind?’ Rae had her hands in the washing up bowl, while Charlie wiped a damp saucepan with a dishtowel. The teenagers were in the lounge, watching TV.
‘I never knew the details, just that something had happened that the authorities weren’t best pleased about. I guessed he’d got thrown out, but thought it better not to pry. I wanted to stay in contact with the youngsters, and if I’d gone at it like a bull in a china shop, Liam would have cut contact. It was me that found them the house down here and sorted the first few months’ rent. It meant they were close enough for me to build a relationship with Kerry and Danny. They both needed someone, but for different reasons. You’ll have spotted that.’
‘Well, yes. It’s hard to miss Kerry’s anger issues, and my boss spotted Danny’s Asperger’s when she first met him. It’s fairly mild, though, isn’t it? That’s what she thought.’
‘It just makes him a bit vulnerable. In some ways it’s been good because Kerry’s always had to look after him, and it’s kept her feet on the ground. She’s got a heart of gold, really, but she keeps it hidden away under that brash exterior. She started to come to her senses a week or two ago, though. I think it was when she fell through that big window in town. It scared her, I expect. I think she’s started doing more work at school, so maybe the penny’s dropped at last.’
‘By the way, thanks for those old postcards. My boss is going through them. He called me earlier and said they’d helped to narrow down the search for the villa and I was to let you know.’
Chapter 32: Feeling Sick
Tuesday Afternoon
Simon Osman locked up his premises early. Outside, he glanced around nervously and hastened away in the direction of the police station. They had phoned to tell him that his car was ready for collection following its forensic examination, and Simon was sick with anxiety. They wouldn’t have found traces of Andrea’s presence in his car because he’d told the police the truth. He really hadn’t used his car after leaving the wine bar the previous week. What he didn’t say was that he’d led Andrea into a trap, and she’d been bundled into a waiting van as they passed some overgrown shrubbery close to his house. His job had been to get her out of the wine bar and into a quiet backstreet, and it had proved far easier than he’d expected. In fact, when he thought about it, Andrea had made most of the decisions herself. Weird. No, what made his stomach queasy was that he’d only just come to fully realise the implications of what had happened to her — and to the other recent victims. Had control been lost somewhere? Could the others be trusted now they had four murders under their belts? He’d never considered such an outcome, even as recently as a couple of weeks ago. What had really gone on and, even more worrying, did they trust him?
He remembered introducing Andrea to Bill. Bill had been wary at first, in case she was a plant. Simon knew that wasn’t the case. Andrea just loved mixing with wealthy, influential people. It seemed to do wonders for her ego. She also had some pretty strong views on the immigrant problem, which meant she was useful in all sorts of ways. Added to which, she was a party girl who loved a good time. That’s probably why she’d never made promotion above the rank of DC. From what he could tell, she didn’t really work hard enough for anything more senior. Nevertheless, he’d always found her a useful contact to have in his dealings with the anti-immigrant group, and her inside knowledge had sometimes proved invaluable. Bill must have been similarly pleased with the information she gave him. Then, having supplied Bill with this very useful contact, he’d been side-lined. He knew that on several occasions, Bill had taken her away to the villa in Spain, and he assumed the relationship had become physical. Still, whatever the relationship, it had obviously soured of late. And the violence of the past two weeks was of real concern. What did it mean for the future? More importantly, what did it mean for his future?
He reached the police station and approached the reception desk, his heart pounding. He never reached the desk. The ginger-haired detective, the quiet one, suddenly appeared at his side.
‘Good afternoon, Mr Osman. I can take you round to the car park to collect your car. Nothing’s been done to it apart from a forensic sweep of the interior. That’s all being analysed now, back at the labs.’
‘You won’t find anything. I meant what I said. I didn’t give her a lift last week.’ Osman could feel his heart thumping faster. Just stick to the script, he told himself. Don’t say anything else.
‘Well, it’ll all come out in the wash,’ the detective said. ‘Not that there’s anyone doing the washing. It’s all totally automated these days. Any DNA traces get matched up against the database and eliminated. If what you say is true, there’s no need to worry, is there? Unless, of course, you’ve had any criminals in your car and they’re on the database. That could be a bit of a problem, couldn’t it?’ The detective walked back into the building.
Simon’s heart nearly stopped beating. Christ. Who had ridden in his car during the past month or so? He tried to think back, but his brain was whirring. He didn’t think that anyone had been who could get him into trouble. He forced himself to walk on towards his car, even more worried than before. He suspected that Bill was trying to manipulate him, just as he’d manipulated Andrea Ford. Andrea hadn’t fully realised just what she’d got into. At first, she’d joined what she’d thought was a loose-knit group of anti-immigrant activists, trying to turn back the tide of multi-cultural influences. She had ended up becoming entangled in something far darker and more sinister. It was uncannily similar to his own situation.
Maybe he should just drive home, calm down and try to think things through. He needed a way out of this mess.
* * *
Back in the police station, Barry walked into the Operation Shadow incident room and made his way to the corner desk. Sophie was there with a technical support team.
‘He’s moving,’ said one. ‘Out of the car park and towards the town centre.’
‘No surprise really’, Sophie said. ‘His house is in that direction. I don’t think he’ll do anything rash today.’
‘If he’s got any sense, he’ll be extra careful over the next few days, ma’am. He must realise he’s a top suspect, surely?’ Barry was being his usual pragmatic self.
‘Of course, Barry. But he might not be involved in the nasty stuff. If he’s just a fringe player, he
might panic. What I still don’t understand is why we can’t find anything on this Tonto Leary character. Surely he’s got to be local, from what the Fenners kids tell us, and from the encounter with Lydia in Dorchester? And didn’t George Warrander recognise the description and put him in Dorchester last weekend? We’ve got a name, a description, even some ideas about where he might work, but no one of that name seems to exist. Might it be an alias?’
‘Well, it’s happened before, ma’am. Maybe we need to concentrate on the information Rae supplied rather than the name. White powder on his boots? What could that mean?’
‘I asked her to double check with the two youngsters,’ Sophie said. ‘White powder could mean a lot of things. Flour mill, cement works, plastering work. Even farm work, if it was insecticide or fertiliser powder. This area is full of workers who come into contact with white dust. Think of the quarries.’
Barry looked at her. ‘That could be it, ma’am. A quarry worker. South Dorset is riddled with the things, right from Swanage in the east to along here at Portland. The powder would be grittier than other kinds of dust. Didn’t the girl say it was bitty? I’ll phone Rae to check.’
Sophie merely nodded, looking preoccupied. It was a few moments before she spoke. ‘The other thing that bothers me is the fact that none of the people we’ve been tracking is a boat owner, or even shows any interest in boats. Yet we’re pretty sure from the forensic report on Andrea’s injuries, and the fact that she was found on the shoreline, that a boat was involved. And it wasn’t hers. Hers hasn’t been moved from its berth for weeks. So there’s someone else who has a boat, and used it that night last week. And that someone is a violent psychopath, judging by what he did to her. It ties in neatly with the arson on the Fenners’ house. So why can’t we find him? It’s so bloody frustrating.’
Barry didn’t reply. He felt the same. Who was this Leary, and what was driving him?
* * *
Simon Osman poured himself a glass of scotch, sank into his favourite chair and closed his eyes. There really was no easy way out. If he broke rank and told the cops what he knew, he might pick up a lighter sentence, or even get off, but Leary would never forgive, or forget. He’d come looking for him once he got out of jail, and he dreaded to think what he might do. It would only work if he could get a new identity, and how easy would that be? But then if he didn’t go to the cops, things might get worse and worse, and the whole thing would end up falling apart. And what then? He opened his eyes and took another gulp of whisky. He knew very well what would happen. He was a liability. He knew far too much. He’d end up going headfirst into the sea, like Andrea, with a couple of broken fingers, if not worse. Whichever way he looked at it, the prospect was dark.
He finished the glass of whisky, and a terrible thought struck him. What if someone was already planning to do away with him? What if they too realised that the writing was on the wall? Unlike him, they came from a background where violence was often the first option rather than the very last. They might already be debating the right time to do it.
Now he knew what he had to do. Strike the best deal he could with the police and tell them what they wanted to know. But he’d need to stay one step ahead of those thugs, and time it just right. He might well end up having to move away from the area, but he’d always been canny with his money, and his several bank accounts would see him through. After all, what use would his small accountancy business be to him once he was dead?
* * *
Late in the evening as the team were drifting away from the incident room, Sophie’s mobile phone rang. Wondering who this unknown caller might be, she walked away from the noise and clatter of the main room and went into her office. At a nod from her, Barry followed.
‘Where are you?’ she asked.
She listened.
‘But we can put you in a safe location, under protection,’ she said, shaking her head slightly. ‘I can understand your reasoning, but you’ll still be at risk.’
She listened on, toying with a stray wisp of hair, a look of exasperation on her face.
‘Well, okay. I guess I have to accept it, don’t I? But I’m not particularly happy about it. I have your mobile number, so I can contact you for anything important. Please ring me in the morning, say about seven? I want to know that at least you’re still safe. What name have you used to check in? Rodney Burgess? I suppose it’s as good as any. Look, call me at any time if you feel threatened. But call 999 first. Okay? Is that clear?’ The call ended.
She turned to Barry. ‘That was bloody Simon Osman. He’s done a runner and is holed up in a hotel somewhere, convinced that the baddies won’t find him. He wants to talk but is trying to do some kind of deal with me before he’ll open up. He’s been watching far too many cop shows on the telly, if you ask me.’
‘Did he say where he was?’
‘No. He just said he’d left his car in the driveway and sneaked out across his back fence and down that house’s drive to the street parallel to his.’
‘So he got away with it?’
‘It would appear so, but it won’t take them long to find him.’ She counted on her fingers. ‘He hasn’t taken the car, so he’ll have gone by train. He’s only five minutes from the station, after all. The service to Bristol is a bit hit-and-miss in the evenings, so I think he’ll have taken the Waterloo train, but he’ll have got off somewhere a bit more local than London. That would mean Poole, Bournemouth, Southampton or Winchester. I’m betting Winchester, because it takes him that bit further away from Weymouth. He won’t want a taxi because the driver might remember him and be able to give a description, so he’ll get a bus or walk. Buses in the evening are a bit erratic, so he’ll have walked to wherever he’s staying. So his hotel is within ten minutes’ walk of Winchester station. Maybe five. Wanna bet on it?’
Barry grinned. ‘You must be joking.’
Chapter 33: Feeding Fears
Wednesday Morning
‘Hey, Barry, am I brilliant or what?’ Sophie walked into the almost deserted incident room at seven thirty the next morning. Her second in command, having only just arrived himself, snapped awake.
‘You’re joking. You don’t mean you got it exactly right?’
She grinned happily. ‘Spot on, though I got one of the reasons wrong. He chose Winchester because he remembered it from when he was a boy. His grandparents lived there, apparently. He was totally spooked when I told him where I thought he was. I’m going across to collect him once we’ve had our briefing. Want to come?’
‘You don’t think he’s at risk in the meantime? Shouldn’t one of us go now?’
Sophie shook her head. ‘I’ve been in touch with Jack Dunning in Southampton. He’s arranging for a couple of local Hampshire officers to be on hand until we get there.’
‘I’m sure I’ll hear all about it from Gwen later when she calls. She might even volunteer to go herself if she’s not too busy. I haven’t seen her for days with all this going on.’
Sophie couldn’t help but laugh at Barry’s mournful expression. ‘Life’s so tough in the modern police service, isn’t it, Barry? Weren’t you warned at Hendon that romance and police work don’t mix? And here you are, both of you hard-working detective sergeants, struggling to hold all that passion in check. My heart bleeds.’ She ignored his scowl. ‘By the way, I heard on the grapevine that a trace of DNA has put Liam Fenners inside the Quigley house at some time. I don’t know the full details, but Dave Nash will be emailing them to me a bit later. Some of the guys in that gang will be getting jittery, surely? You can’t just go bumping people off like that without causing others to wonder if they’re next in line.’
‘Should we put a bit of pressure on the other one, Luke Boulden?’ Barry suggested.
‘Well, it might be worth it. Let’s think about the pros and cons before we act. And we’ll need to bring Lydia in on it if we do.’
Rae arrived, carrying a laptop. ‘I may have something. That CCTV footage from the pub in Dorchester
, when Lydia ran into that gang? Well, you were right. Someone did get up and leave just after Lydia and Jimmy. You can just make him out.’
She opened the machine and ran the slightly grainy footage. It showed the confrontation between Lydia and the person they thought was probably Tonto Leary, then the arrival of Jimmy Melsom. The group of men drifted away a few minutes later, and then the footage showed Lydia and Jimmy talking to the bar staff. As soon as they left, a middle-aged man who’d been sitting at a side table reading a newspaper stood up and followed them outside.
‘Can we do a screen grab of his head and shoulders?’ Sophie asked. ‘My guess is that he’s about six foot tall, maybe slightly less, and of average build. Look at the way he stands so he’s never facing the camera. Clever. And he’s watchful as he leaves. Do you see how he pauses at the doorway and checks to see what’s going on outside?’
‘It could just be coincidence, ma’am, but when I saw it, I felt the same as you. Do you see that there’s an empty glass on the table? He must have gone to the bar to get a drink earlier. I had a look at the bar camera and found this.’
This camera was focussed on the cash-till area, and the footage was clear. The man was probably in his late forties, with cropped hair and a wary expression. He bought a double scotch and retreated to the table shown in the other film. Once he’d moved away from the bar, the image was blurry, but he could still be seen. He sat reading his newspaper, showing no apparent interest when the group of a dozen or so men noisily arrived and ordered their lagers. When Lydia came in, he glanced up briefly but quickly returned to his paper.
‘We need to find out who he is,’ Sophie said. ‘It might be entirely innocent of course, but we have to know. Maybe someone who lives around here might put a name to the face.’
The door to the incident room opened, and George Warrander walked in.
SHADOW CRIMES a gripping crime thriller full of twists Page 17