The George Elms Trilogy Box Set

by Charlie Gallagher

  ‘Louise! Did you come all the way back just to see me? You shouldn’t have bothered.’ Stan’s voice was hoarse. To be expected. Hopefully Stan’s throat was just swollen and not damaged.

  ‘Don’t be silly, Dad. When I heard you were in here I couldn’t stay away, could I?’ Louise chuckled; it was nervous and awkward but Stan didn’t seem to notice.

  ‘What’s all this about then, Louise? What am I doing in here and where’s your mother? How come you can make it from all the way over in Italy and she can’t pop up from home?’ Stan was still smiling, waiting for the reasonable explanation. Like maybe she was out getting the teas in. Louise chuckled again. She made eyes at George.

  ‘Well, you know she’d be here if she could, Dad. She’d love to be here.’

  Stan’s face suddenly creased in confusion. ‘Is she not here?’

  ‘No, Dad, but the police are here. They need to talk to you. We all need to know what happened, you see. What went on. This is Inspector George Elms. You’ve met him, Dad, but you might not remember.’

  Stan peered over at George. George stepped forward, he didn’t want to, but he had no choice. ‘Hey, Stan. I’m glad to see you’re awake. You gave us all a bit of a scare there.’

  ‘A scare? What are you talking about? What happened to me, Louise? Why are the police here?’

  ‘They need to talk to you, Dad. I’m going to let them talk to you. I’ll be right outside. I’ll come back in when they are done. I’ll get us a drink, okay?’ Louise moved out of the room. She was quick on her feet, her head down, her hand over her mouth. George could tell she was breaking down. He stepped out after her.

  ‘Louise! Are you okay?’

  ‘No, not really, George. I’m sorry. I can’t talk to him. I can’t tell him about Mum, about what happened. Can you do it, George? Can you tell him — please!’

  She turned away. She didn’t wait for an answer and then she was gone. George stepped back into the room. ‘I’ll leave you to it, sir.’ Paul Bearn had been stood in the corner. ‘I don’t want to add to the confusion.’

  It was just George and Stan now. Stan shuffled in the bed. He grimaced and struggled to sit up a little straighter. George walked over to him and stretched his arms out to help. Stan shooed him away.

  ‘I can manage. What’s going on here? Why isn’t anyone talking to me?’

  ‘I’m here to talk to you, Stan. Your daughter is a little upset. I think she’s had a long day. Like I said, you had us all worried.’

  ‘Well, I’m fine now. What happened to me anyway? You’re police, right? Why the bloody hell are the police here? And where’s Janice?’

  ‘Stanley, you called us. To your home address in the early hours of Sunday morning. A couple of days ago, now. You had intruders at your home. They were there to steal from you. You put up a good fight. Do you remember any of what happened, Stan? Does any of this ring any bells with you?’

  ‘Intruders? No! Is Janice okay? Is she injured too?’

  ‘You weren’t injured as part of the robbery. Your wife, though, Stan . . . I’m so sorry. She suffered a gunshot wound and there was nothing that could be done for her.’

  Stan’s head twitched suddenly, like the information was stuck on the way in. ‘She’s not here? My Janice?’

  ‘Stan, she died on Sunday morning. You were with her. She died in your arms. We’re doing all we can to find the people that did this. You can really help us . . .’ George trailed off. He had given bad news any number of times; it was never easy. But it had never been this hard. He could see the man in front of him changing again. He was already confused from oxygen starvation and his mind was processing the information slowly. George could see it sinking in; he could see the colour draining.

  ‘My Janice . . . she’s . . . gone?’

  George was right up close to Stan now. He fidgeted in the bed, his hand rose to his neck where an angry red slit ran through his leathery skin. It was already turning blue with the bruising. His expression was pained as he swallowed too. It was obviously causing him pain.

  ‘I’m so sorry, Stan.’

  ‘My neck is so sore, Inspector. I did this, didn’t I?’

  George pursed his lips and nodded. ‘Are you remembering? What happened?’

  ‘Not really. But I remember this pain. That’s why I did it, isn’t it?’

  ‘Grief, Stan . . . it can overpower any of us.’ George took hold of Stan’s hand, as he had done forty-eight hours before. Stan’s watery eyes lifted to meet his. ‘Stan, the people that did this . . . we think they knew you. Or at least they know who you are. Well, enough to know your name and that you might have something of value at your house. Do you have any idea who might have that information and might be linked to criminality? Or maybe vulnerable to information being extorted? I know it’s hard to think right now but I need your help, Stan, if I’m going to catch these bastards.’

  Stan stared out beyond George and his eyes appeared unfocussed. George thought he had lost him. He let go of his hand and stepped away. He looked over at the door, considering if now would be a good time to get Louise back in the room. The news would sink in over the next few hours and they’d be back to square one, but at least they still had him. ‘I’ll go get Louise, okay, Stan? You think over what I said. I’ll talk to you again later.’ George moved towards the door. He was overwhelmed with tiredness — emotionally drained.

  ‘Joseph,’ Stan said.

  George stopped at the door. ‘Sorry, Stan?’

  ‘Joseph. This will be about Joseph. My son.’

  ‘Your son?’

  ‘Yes. Did you talk to him yet? We don’t talk so much, Inspector. We haven’t talked since . . . well, since he made clear that he’d chosen his path.’

  ‘No . . . I mean we haven’t had a chance yet . . . we can’t seem to locate him, Stan. What path is that?’

  Stan sniffed. His voice came back weaker. ‘He’s a bad man, George. Me and his mother fell out about it a lot. She still helps him — I know she does. But some people you shouldn’t help, no matter what they are to you.’

  George was leaning on the door when it was pulled suddenly open and it made him jump. Louise bustled back in. Her dad was in tears, his hands covering his face. She locked eyes with George and mouthed a thank you. George smiled back. She walked over to Stan and they embraced in a deep hug. Paul looked to move back into the room but George stood in his way.

  ‘Louise, we need to get back to work. Are you going to be okay from here?’

  ‘Yes. I’ve been told I can stay here. They’ll be keeping Dad in for the night at least. Tomorrow I’ll get something sorted for us both.’

  ‘Very good. You have my number. But I do expect to come and talk to you both again tomorrow.’

  Louise nodded. She was leaking her own tears. She went back into an embrace with her dad. George walked away and Paul caught up.

  ‘I take it we’re not going to get much out of him tonight, George.’

  ‘He’s already said more in the last five minutes than he has over the last two days, Paul. We need to get to the house and do a quick search. I need to find the details of their son.’

  ‘Whose son?’

  ‘The Wingmores’. It would appear they may have a criminal for a son.’

  ‘And you think he’s the link.’

  ‘I don’t know, Paul. But it took our Stan to be confused and emotional to even admit his existence. There has to be a reason he didn’t tell us about him. Then he tried to take his own life. I know he’s mourning, but I didn’t have him pegged as the type.’

  ‘Did he give you a name? For the son?’

  ‘Joseph. That’s all he said. We could assume Wingmore for a surname, but you know me and assumptions.’

  ‘Yeah, I think I do. I think it means another long night.’

  George gritted his teeth. ‘You don’t have to come along, Paul. I can handle this. It’s not like I’ve got a family to get home to.’

  Chapter 24

 
; It was just before 9 p.m. when George pulled into the rear yard of the police station. He and Paul Bearn had found a search team at the Wingmore house who had been happy to talk about their finds. It hadn’t taken long at all. Even so, they cut tired figures as they crossed the dark expanse to the side door. The lift was waiting for them. George sighed as he leant back on the glass.

  ‘You could have retired, George,’ Paul said. ‘Walked away.’

  ‘I’d miss it too much,’ George said. They both chuckled. The doors parted just two floors up and they walked into the Major Crime office. The main part of the room was in darkness, the meeting room lit brightly in contrast. George could see Whittaker pacing the floor. He looked much the same as when the job had first come in. He could see DS Melanie Richards and DS Jason Carter too, sat at the table with Emily Ryker. Melanie looked like she was making notes. Ryker made a shh gesture at George as he walked in and she pointed at the odd-shaped phone that was in the middle of the table. George recognised it immediately as the conference phone. It looked like a squashed star. A voice emitted from it. John Whittaker stopped to hover over it.

  ‘Well, be sure to give me an update after you speak to George. I will be on the phone until late now anyway. I have a number of calls to make before I get to stand down from this incident. If it goes straight to voicemail then please keep trying, John. I want us to talk again.’

  ‘Understood, sir. As soon as George gets here we will see what we know collectively and I’ll be able to call you with a summary.’

  ‘Good to hear. Speak soon.’ Whittaker pressed the button with gusto to end the call. He expelled air and glanced over at George. ‘Superintendent Ian Jackson,’ he said, gesturing at the phone. ‘He’s very interested, as you can imagine.’

  George could imagine. Major Crime was his baby. It had been his career to this point at just about every rank. The Chief Constable himself tended to use Jackson to oversee anything that might threaten the reputation of the force. This was clearly something in that category. ‘We’d better not mess this up then, sir.’ George offered.

  ‘That is precisely what he was just saying. Only I think he used the phrase coherent response.’

  ‘Same thing, right?’

  ‘Exactly. And our response has been good, people. I think we’ve made good headway. The coherent bit might have been missing but that’s inevitable with such a fast-moving investigation. The idea of this get-together is to talk about what we all know so then we can all know what we all know. Does that make sense?’

  ‘Not really, sir,’ Emily offered.

  ‘No, I suppose it doesn’t. I think I’m more tired than I thought.’

  ‘We know what you mean!’ Emily said.

  ‘Well, good. So I’ll start.’ Whittaker positioned himself in front of the timeline. It was far busier than the last time George had seen it. ‘So, shots fired here, at the beginning of our timeline at around 11 a.m. Sunday morning. Numerous reports. We also have an RTC and patrols are deployed. We now know that a vehicle was being pursued by a dark-coloured van and shots were fired between the two. The crashed vehicle is still with forensics but it has a number of bullet holes and also pellets from what we believe to be a shotgun. So, two different types of gun. The car then comes to a rather sudden stop on London Road, Dover, just outside of the Lucky Inn Chinese restaurant. There is limited CCTV from a premises on the other side of the road that gives a long distance view. The van is then seen to stop on the other side of the road and a person alights from the passenger seat. He is described by witnesses as a male carrying a long-barrelled firearm. Our missing female then gets out of the passenger side of the crashed car and she goes out of view when she walks around to the pavement. Again from witnesses, we know that she got hold of her baby and made off from the scene on foot. The CCTV then shows the armed man approach the vehicle and he appears to fire into the crashed car, through the passenger window. Shortly after this, the van comes back into shot — we can only assume it went around the one-way system — and it stops right by the crashed car. Two people are seen to exit this van and they drag someone from the car and throw them into the back.’

  ‘So it’s a kidnapping? I thought he died at the scene?’ George said.

  ‘So did we — initially.’ Whittaker pointed at a name written on the timeline. ‘Oliver Adams is the deceased from this scene. Witness accounts tell that he was walking past, he was on the pavement — going about his daily business. He was carrying shopping bags and lives nearby. The car crash happened close to him and he went to the aid of the occupants. He was seen talking to the female just before she ran away. It is thought that he was in the crossfire when the gunman attempted to stop her from fleeing.’

  ‘Poor bastard.’

  ‘Quite. And of course we know there was to be a poor bastard number two. We’ll come onto him. So, our woman and baby run into a supermarket car park a few streets over and she is pursued on foot. More shots are fired and a uniform patrol are drawn into the action. They find a healthy baby girl on the bonnet of their car and no sign of the mother. The woman — and we presume the gunman — have continued on foot down a path that leads alongside the river. And here is poor bastard number two, as promised.’

  ‘Stephen Maddocks?’ George said.

  ‘The very same.’

  ‘I still can’t believe it. He’s a bit simple, he’s got a fascination with all things police. A bit of a timewaster, but harmless enough. He probably heard the sirens, he would have come out to see what was going on.’

  ‘That sounds like our man. Whatever his reason for being there, it would appear that Mr Maddocks does his best to help. Certainly he is local to that area and he is seen to walk back towards his house with a female. So we assume he was on the river path and she would have been very distressed. They are followed back to his home address where Stephen is shot dead. The female has again managed to escape on foot. Blood and forensics suggest that she made it out of the back way. And let me tell you, she has done very well. The back yard is entirely enclosed by an eight-foot wall. It seems fear can put a real spring in your step.’

  ‘It would do too. She probably saw Maddocks get blown away right in front of her. You would run, wouldn’t you?’

  ‘Yes, you would. And that is the last we see of our girl on that day. We have other possible sightings and they are still being processed and looked into. But the next confirmed sighting is the following day when a female makes contact, stating that she is with our missing girl and wishes to bring her into the police station. This is arranged and the vehicle she is travelling in is ambushed en route. Rather impressively, our girl manages to get away, again on foot. And we’ve heard nothing since. One can hardly blame her for not wanting to make herself known again.’

  ‘And nothing came from the leak?’ Mel Richards directed her question at George.

  ‘No. I mean, there is still work that can be done around that, but nothing immediately. An FCR call-taker received an advance payment and was told to call a number with any information about the missing girl. He did as he was asked. We don’t know how he came to be targeted, but I do think it was a case of him being targeted, rather than him being involved. I don’t think for a second that he knows who paid him the money.’

  ‘So the trail went a little cold,’ Whittaker continued. ‘But George, here, has an update that links a job he has been working — and gives us all a lot more work to do. George?’

  ‘Well, yes, you will all know there was a shooting in the early hours of Sunday morning. Stanley and Janice Wingmore, up in Elham, were visited by some unwelcome guests who tricked them into opening their front door. They then demanded money and, when it wasn’t forthcoming, they shot Mrs Wingmore dead. Source information tells us that Stanley Wingmore, at least, was known to the gang in some way and they also went there with the belief that there was a large amount of money at the location.’

  ‘Is there?’

  ‘Paul and I are just back from there. The search team are cu
rrently doing what they do best. Forensics have been through the house, too. I will arrange for a cash dog to sweep it if necessary. One hundred grand is the figure. That’s a lot of paper to hide.’

  ‘Is it a big place?’

  ‘It’s a big estate. There are outbuildings that haven’t been touched. I can’t say it isn’t there.’

  ‘A hundred grand though? Where does that come from?’

  ‘I don’t know. It’s either a lifetime of farming, or a crooked son.’

  ‘Go on?’ Whittaker leant in.

  ‘I spent some time with Stan. He’s taken it hard — so hard that he tried to hang himself in his barn. Paul saved his life, but his brain was starved of oxygen long enough to cause some damage. He’s lost his short-term memory and some of his caution.’

  ‘His caution?’

  ‘Yes, he told me about his son — straight off the bat when he came to. He didn’t mention him at all the first time around.’

  ‘So you think he was hiding something?’

  ‘There’s no question he was hiding something, it’s just whether it is relevant or not.’

  ‘It has to be relevant, doesn’t it?’

  ‘I think so. They’ve found a load of documentation. Some of it relates to a Joseph Wingmore. There’s also correspondence with a Joseph Cooper.’

  ‘Same person?’

  ‘We shall see. We’ll be giving the house back to Mr Wingmore tomorrow when he and his daughter come back from the hospital. They will have some questions to answer too. I also happen to know a very good intelligence officer who has made a career of getting to the bottom of this sort of thing.’

  Emily sat back in her chair, her arms folded. ‘Sure. But in the morning, George.’

  ‘Oh yes, Emily,’ Whittaker cut in. ‘We are most definitely done for the day. I will be back in around seven. Is there anything more to share, George?’

  ‘No, sir. I think that’s about it. I want to revisit Stan. Like I said, he’ll be discharged tomorrow. Hopefully the timing will work out and we will clear the scene in time for him to go home.’