The George Elms Trilogy Box Set

by Charlie Gallagher

  ‘Jesus!’ He stepped back, just slightly. No matter how many times he saw the dead, no matter their state, he always half expected movement.

  The cloth inner also had a zip. Shaun tugged this open and Bobby Leonard’s dead eyes were revealed against his waxy skin. There was obvious trauma to the skull; it was severely misshapen and the hair matted with dried blood. The lower jaw was missing and it was obvious that the neck was broken — the head hung unnaturally low. Shaun pulled the tray out further, far enough to get two poles locked out from underneath that acted as a stand. The paramedics had cut Bobby’s clothes in their futile efforts to keep him alive and Shaun took in his near-naked form. His leather hat lay on his chest. Shaun focused on what he was looking for. His attention moved to Bobby’s head, which was turned sideways, left ear uppermost. Shaun checked it and it was clear. He had stuffed some blue gloves in his pocket from the boot of the car, he pulled them on and reached in, getting his palm under Bobby’s right cheek. He lifted the head but couldn’t turn it around, a likely combination of the muscles starting to stiffen and the damage to the neck. He had to make do, feeling until his fingers pushed into the right ear. Sure enough, he felt something solid. It took a couple of seconds for him to work it free. It was a clear, rubber earpiece. The same type as he had been left for his own use. His search moved down Bobby’s body. Shaun searched the shredded shirt. He found a metal clip on the inside, just below a buttonhole, Shaun was sure it would have held the microphone. The rest of it could be anywhere. He continued down, patting each of Bobby’s jean pockets. He stopped at the rear pocket, there was a lump and he pulled it clear — the remains of a small, white power pack. It was largely broken up but he could see it was switched to “ON.” Shaun scooped up as much of the plastic pieces as he could and stuffed everything in the front of his hooded top, checking that the smoking porter had stayed out of sight.

  ‘Is there a problem?’

  Shaun was startled. A man stood in front of him. Shaun had missed his approach. He was tall, broad and in a shirt and tie. His top button was undone and the tie hung low in an untidy knot. His hands were pushed into the pockets of a brown jacket that hung open. He smacked of detective. Shaun recognised him from somewhere.

  ‘No problem,’ Shaun said. He patted Bobby’s shins, the last part of his search.

  ‘I wasn’t expecting anyone else?’ The detective was clearly unimpressed and did nothing to hide it.

  ‘I didn’t call up. I was called out as the negotiator. I was talking to Bobby, here, until he jumped.’

  ‘I think he’s done talking now.’

  ‘I know. I had a good rapport with him too. This is something I do sometimes, you know? I like to come and see them when they are finally at peace. A little bit of closure.’

  ‘And searching him. Does that help too?’

  Shaun shrugged. ‘It needs to be done, right? I thought I would. Two birds, one stone an’ all that — seeing as I was here anyway. I thought it might be appreciated, it being a Sunday afternoon.’

  ‘You’re Shaun Carter then?’

  ‘That’s right.’

  ‘Well, at least that’s answered my question about where you’d got to. Seems talking to you became a priority during my journey over here. I’ve had some rather panicked senior officers wanting to know just why the hell they were being called out on a Sunday afternoon.’

  ‘Called out? Why would they call people out?’

  The man shrugged. ‘I’m just the duty DS. The late weekend cover. I’d only just got my coat off and I get turned out to poke a body with a stick. I was on my way, stick in hand and then Major Crime call me and tell me they’re making it their business. Seems they’ve been called at home and told to get their own poking sticks and to make their way out.’

  ‘Major Crime?’

  ‘That’s right. Which means I’ve suddenly got a load of actions they want doing and ideally before they get here. Seems someone has come up with an alternative story to sad-man-jumps-from-height-to-end-it-all. One that involves murder.’

  ‘Murder? He wasn’t murdered. Unless you think I gave him a little shove — because there wasn’t anyone else up there with him.’

  ‘Unlawfully killed then. And no, I don’t think you gave him a little shove. Not in front of that live audience.’

  ‘Unlawfully killed? How did someone reach that conclusion?’

  The DS cocked his head slightly to one side, his eyes held Shaun’s for just a second longer than was comfortable. He shrugged again. ‘Like I said, I’m just the bloke who’s holding the fort. I need to get an account from you of what was said up there. I will warn you though mate . . . I know how they work. You’ll be asked to give them the exact same account all over again when they get here.’

  ‘Yeah, I’ve worked with Major Crime before, too.’

  ‘Right then. I appreciate that the search is done but I’ll have another quick look, if you don’t mind — just so I can assure them it’s been done and there’s no knives or bullets stuck any place they shouldn’t be. Then we can have a chat. There’s a coffee place just in the entrance of the hospital upstairs. That sound okay?’

  ‘Sounds fine, yeah.’

  Shaun watched as the DS got to work, he pulled the bag open wider and gazed down at Bobby Leonard. ‘We really are just a bag of bones, aren’t we?’ he said.

  ‘We are,’ Shaun replied.

  ‘Largely broken ones in this poor fella’s case. Well, he made his choice.’

  ‘He did.’

  The DS pulled a notebook from his pocket and readied his pen. ‘For cause of death, what do you reckon? Gravity?’

  * * *

  The coffee shop was busy. It was indeed right by the entrance, and there was a steady stream of staff, inpatients and their visitors bustling through automatic doors that never rested. Shaun had always hated hospitals, but today his dislike of his surroundings was fuelled by his desperation to get away, to get on with finding his family. The DS sat down opposite him and fussed with his coffee. Shaun would need some information from the DS but he would have to be careful how he went about getting it. His next step had to be finding Bobby Leonard’s family. Someone was controlling Bobby’s every move at the last and it had all been for him. Every sentence he said must have been uttered into his ear, every move described in detail — including the final move: jumping from one hundred feet to certain death. And Shaun had to assume they’d heard every word he’d said to Bobby.

  ‘So . . .’ the DS began.

  Shaun snapped out of his thoughts.

  The DS smiled at him warmly. ‘What’s going on then?’

  ‘Going on?’

  ‘I mean, I don’t really care to be honest. Major Crime are on their way, they’re too full of their own self-importance to question why the sergeant of a town beat team lost a jumper and then followed him to the hospital to search his body. They probably won’t even realise that’s what you did. And if they did they’ll definitely accept that you wanted closure and were trying to help. That’s almost plausible. But I’m interested.’

  ‘Who says that’s not the truth?’ Shaun bit back, it was a reaction to someone caught out with the sudden question and he knew it.

  ‘I used to be a damned good detective, before they tied me to a desk and left me dealing with the irrelevant. A big part of being a good detective is following those first instincts and dismissing the almost plausible early. At least until it’s the only explanation left.’

  ‘I don’t get your point.’

  ‘You’re a trained negotiator, deployed as and when you’re needed. Your day job is running a town centre team. Nothing that has happened to you or that you have seen today should have lifted an eyebrow. How many ODs have you bagged up from the town’s public toilets? Men and women you knew well, I’d bet. And yet here you are, chasing the ambulance so you could get here first to search poor old Bobby in there and then a bag of nerves under some light questioning.’

  ‘I’m hardly a bag of—’


  ‘What were you looking for?’

  Shaun sat back. He shook his head. ‘This is ridiculous.’ He was stalling for time — floundering — and he was pretty sure that they both knew it.

  The DS had sat back too. He was smiling again.

  ‘I don’t think you said your name.’ Shaun huffed.

  ‘I didn’t. And, like I said, I’m just some desk sergeant. Someone else is on their way to take over. No one cares about my opinion and they sure as hell won’t ask for it. I’m just interested. But you don’t want to talk about it, and that’s fine.’

  ‘I came here to make my peace. Bobby really opened up to me. I’ve met him a couple of times. We got on well. He talked about his health, his family. I felt like I really got to know him, but I couldn’t save him. I really thought I could help.’

  ‘Maybe you did.’

  ‘How so?’

  ‘He’s at peace now, is he not? I’ve dealt with my own fair share of suicidal people. Some of them genuinely want to die, right? We turn up and we can prevent it, we talk them down, tell them they’ve got everything to live for and everything’s going to be okay. It’s not always, though, is it Shaun? And then we just hand them over to some medical professional of some sort who might recommend a pot of pills to take the edge off their misery. Maybe today was the best outcome.’

  ‘Not for his family.’

  ‘Not in the short term, no. Today’s a tough, tough day. But the rest of their life is easier, right?’

  ‘You have a very unique outlook on life.’

  ‘You might say it comes from a very unique life experience. You don’t get this cynical standing in the sunshine.’

  ‘I know you from somewhere.’

  ‘I get that a lot. I’m George Elms.’ He got to his feet and held out his hand.

  ‘George Elms? The George Elms?’ Shaun stayed seated and stared up.

  ‘I get that a lot too. I’m done with you then, mate. I’ve seen the report from the last conversation you had with our Bobby on Shakespeare Cliff. Diagnosed early-onset dementia, a bit of a drinking problem, murdered daughter — it’s all on there. So today he talked about the same subjects — maybe forgot that he already had — and then jumped. You had no pre-warning and there was no opportunity to get him safely away from the edge. That sound okay?’

  ‘That’s about it, yeah.’

  ‘Perfect. A standard suicide.’

  ‘Standard . . . yeah.’ George had stood but remained still. The pause was awkward. Shaun stumbled on. ‘I err, I heard you resigned — you know, after all that happened.’

  George pulled a small, bound notebook out of his pocket and scribbled on the top page. He tore it out and pushed it towards Shaun. ‘My number if you think of anything more you want to add to my report. I suggest you do it quick, though . . . I’ve been told I can resign at any time.’

  Chapter 9

  George Elms had a small office in the training wing of Langthorne House police station. It was a large building, one of the biggest police stations in the county, and in his fifteen-year career George reckoned he had worked in just about every part of it. He’d spent time at other stations too, smaller ones with just a response team based there and he preferred them if he was honest. The bigger stations had any number of office type workers and senior ranks who worked a standard working week: Monday to Friday, eight ’til four. These were George’s working hours now too, since his enforced move away from actual policing. It meant that he no longer benefitted either from days off in the week or the late or night shift hours where senior management would leave you alone. Every weekend shift, however, had to have cover from a detective sergeant and this was getting more and more difficult to secure with the government cuts increasingly strangling resources and options. So George had been called in. Though he was pretty sure he’d been the last resort, it was nice to be sat in his office on a Sunday afternoon where he could finish his report in peace and quiet.

  ‘George Elms!’ a voice boomed out. George hadn’t heard it for a long time. It was unmistakable.

  ‘Major John Whittaker!’ George stood up behind his desk. He referenced the man’s title from his army days.

  ‘I think it’s Chief Inspector Whittaker these days, George, old friend.’

  George extended his hand, Whittaker took it up with vigour.

  ‘I thought you always preferred Major, sir. Chief Inspector?’

  ‘I know, I know. I was quite happy, George, bobbing along at inspector rank. It’s the wife, you know. We went along to some tosh soiree with the upper echelons mincing about in their dress uniforms and her indoors gets talking to the other wives. She hears about this business of moving up a rank or two in your twilight years to bang up the pension. Sure as eggs is eggs, she sees it fit for me to do the same. Pretty much had it sorted by the end of the evening — she’d even spoken to the right people.’

  ‘Well, I suppose that does make sense, right?’

  ‘It does not, George Elms, I can tell you. I had a lovely little number up there at HQ. I was in a lovely office, with a desk and one of those machines that makes coffee from a pod at the push of a button. One button! That was pretty much all I was responsible for. Nobody bothered me, nobody needed me. I mean, I had a role to fill. Just no one knew what it was and I sure as hell wasn’t going to tell them!’

  ‘Well, why would you?’

  ‘Quite. So this promotion idea comes up and bugger me if they don’t get me to start working for a living! Most unacceptable for a man of my stature and advanced years wouldn’t you say, old friend?’

  ‘Scandalous, sir. I wonder how you’ll cope.’

  ‘Eighteen months until retirement George. That’s how I will cope. We’re just back from Cyprus. I was posted out there in my fighting days, see. Beautiful part of the world. Looking for a nice villa or two out there. That’s how I’ll cope.’

  ‘Two? You going into the rental market then, sir?’

  ‘Rental! Pah! No chance friend, I can’t be bothered with all that nonsense. I figured I should look at two, just in case the wife wants to move out there too!’

  Both men shared laughter. CI Whittaker’s laugh was from his very depths, the sort that could rattle windows.

  ‘So, what on earth are you doing here then, sir? I mean, you’re always very welcome of course.’

  ‘I would like to think so. Although I notice you’ve done nothing to make the wets since I’ve been here.’

  George held his smile. ‘Wets? You army boys have your own language. I only do tea. How do you take it?’

  George turned to his own tea facilities on a low desk under the only window.

  ‘Black these days, George. Can’t touch the dairy anymore. Intolerance apparently. Who would have thought it? All these years dealing with foreign invaders and street shits and the only lasting intolerance I develop is to the tit of a cow.’ Whittaker bellowed laughter again. George couldn’t help but join in, it was infectious.

  ‘So I’ll ask again . . . why are you here?’

  ‘Well, this is me now, see? I’m the chief inspector overseeing Major Crime. I’m going to need an inspector soon actually, maybe two. That sort of thing float your boat George?’

  George shook his head, ‘I don’t think promotion is for me, sir. Although I would like to see the looks on some faces when you suggested it. I’m being very much kept out of the way.’

  ‘Of course, I heard all about that business. It was all very nasty down here for a while, George. Terrible business. But this is an organisation with a perverse knack of promoting the trouble makers. You never know.’

  ‘You might be right. I hear there’s a vacant inspector’s job looking after a coffee machine at HQ?’

  Whittaker bellowed again. ‘That’s the George I remember! Imagine my surprise this afternoon when I get a call making me aware of a potential kidnap and murder and I get told the DS running the show is none other than my old friend George Elms! I had heard you had retired of course, but no on
e was really sure.’

  ‘Very nearly. The chief constable offered it to me himself. He promised me the full pension and said I could walk into the sunset.’

  ‘Why wouldn’t you do that?’

  ‘A good question! I had some time off before, sir. You might have heard about it. It wasn’t so good for my health. My wife and daughter have gone off on their own for the time being and I was left in a situation where I could sit at home and potentially self-destruct, or I could stick to all I’ve ever really known until I get some sort of direction back. It’s not a great plan, granted.’

  ‘The wife? Gone? Christ, man, after all you’ve been through.’

  ‘Yeah, I know, but that was the reason to be honest and I certainly don’t hold it against her. It might even be the right decision — for now at least. I still hold out hope.’

  ‘Charley — that’s your kid right?’

  ‘That’s her. She’s nearly nine.’

  ‘Nine, is it? Do you still see her a lot?’

  ‘No, actually. We talk on the phone. One thing I know about Sarah . . . when she does something, she does it properly. She’s disappeared if I’m honest, I don’t even know what part of the country they’re in. You might even move next door to them in Cyprus!’

  ‘Imagine that! You could find her, though, right? I don’t know anyone better at all that lark, George.’

  ‘I could, yeah. I did once. It didn’t end so well. The problem with finding someone who doesn’t want to be found is that they don’t want to be found. It’s not a great starting point for any sort of relationship. I was kinda hoping on an invite one day. I’ve spent the last few years fucking up, sir. I figured that the only thing I hadn’t tried was doing nothing.’

  ‘So that’s your plan.’

  George shrugged. ‘For now.’

  ‘Well, that’s all the small talk I’ve got in me now, George, I didn’t get called in on a Sunday to come and listen to your sorry state of affairs. What is going on with this whole thing today?’

  George chuckled as he finished the drinks. ‘I don’t know too much really, sir. I’m the duty DS and I get a call to go out to a jumper before I even get my coat off. Standard procedure I know . . . a DS will always get sent to a suicide. While I’m on my way, I get an update that two people have been pulled out of a building after being snatched off the street in Canterbury at gunpoint and someone has made a link between the two. Seems the woman and boy are related to our jumper. Someone’s put two and two together and come up with a bona fide conspiracy theory.’