The George Elms Trilogy Box Set

by Charlie Gallagher

  ‘You’ve had your fun, Henry. You’ve got your captive audience. Now . . . where is she?’

  ‘Who?’ Roberts was beaming, his face showed pure delight.

  ‘Chloe Pope. The girl you tortured and murdered. You can sit there with a big grin on your face all you like, Henry. I don’t really give a damn. Where is she?’

  Roberts sat back. ‘Ah, the police! Black and white.’

  ‘Last chance, Henry. Remember, your deal walks out with me. And your deal was both of the girls.’

  ‘But you found her already! Miss Pope was there too, Inspector.’

  ‘What are you talking about?’

  ‘The remains. You found the remains lying deep in the belly, didn’t you?’ Roberts leant forward. He was so close, George could smell his odour. The guards stepped in close behind him. ‘I didn’t have the time to wait for her to cool that time. Test what you have and you’ll see. They were both in there. Not at the same time, Inspector. Not to start with. One watched. Pick which one you think. That was something, Inspector! Oh the fear! It was accidental. Necessity. But having two! It was so . . . beautiful!’

  George felt a hand on his shoulder. It had a grip. Tight enough to have some control. He was now aware that he had risen up a little, his thighs locked in a squat. The hand pushed him back down into the seat.

  ‘We’re done then.’ Whittaker’s voice drifted over George’s head. He wasn’t focused on anything. He was aware of more speech in a deep baritone. He sensed Roberts was talking to him but he wasn’t listening to the words. Then Roberts stood up in front of him. He was just a wide blur. He was led out of the room. George was vaguely aware of other movement.

  ‘George? It’s done.’

  George shook his head free. It was Whittaker. Everyone else was gone.

  ‘Let’s get out of here shall we, old boy?’

  Chapter 14

  George walked hurriedly to the door. He always got a nervous, excited feeling when he was picking up his daughter. Tonight, though, it felt a little muted. He almost wished he wasn’t seeing her. Not because he didn’t want to — he yearned to spend every available hour with her. He just felt like the day had sucked the joy right out from him. He was still rattled. He just hoped he could move on and forget what the world was capable of for the few hours he was in the company of his daughter.

  ‘Dadddddddddeeeeeeeeeey!’ Charley yanked the door wide open before he had a chance to knock. She barrelled into him. She wanted to hug and bounce at the same time. George swept her up. All his anxiety, all the horrors of the day, every piece of that sealed metal tomb — it was all gone. He held Charley in a tight squeeze and lifted her off her feet.

  ‘How you doing, chicken?’

  ‘Good. You’re late!’

  George checked his watch. ‘Three minutes, Charley! I mean, that’s not bad.’

  ‘Mummy said you would be late.’

  ‘I’m sure she did. And I’m very sorry, Charley. I promise it won’t happen again. Is your mother here?’ George looked into Sarah’s family home. Sarah and Charley were back living in it for a short time, at least until Sarah and her new fella, Ronnie, managed to find a place. George tried not to think about that too much. It was a big former farmhouse in a rural setting on the outskirts of Canterbury.

  ‘She got me ready. She said she couldn’t come and see you. I’ve got everything I need.’ Charley held up a small bag that was hanging across her shoulder. She was wearing a fleece top and had a jacket draped over her arm. Sarah always came to the door for a quick chat — just pleasantries. Sometimes it was awkward, but they were getting on a little better. At least George had thought so.

  ‘She say why?’

  ‘No, Daddy. Can we go? What time does the film start?’

  ‘Yes, honey, don’t worry, we’ve got plenty of time.’ George called into the house: ‘Sarah? SARAH! You in there? Is there any sort of handover with this package?’ George tried to sound jovial. He looked back at his daughter. ‘What about your nanny? Is she here?’

  ‘No. She’s out. Shopping, I think.’

  ‘SARAH?’

  ‘Okay, George! Okay, hang on!’ The stairs were right in front of the door and Sarah’s voice came from the top of them.

  ‘You okay?’ George persisted.

  ‘Yes, of course.’ Sarah didn’t seem to be coming any closer.

  George stepped in. He could see Sarah’s legs. They were trailing down the stairs. She was sitting on the top step. ‘I thought you would come and say hello is all.’

  ‘I don’t have to, do I? She’s nine now, George. I don’t think she likes her mother hanging on her back the whole time.’

  ‘I’m sure she doesn’t. What’s the matter?’

  ‘Nothing, George. I just said that.’ She seemed agitated, and George knew when he was being told half-truths. He certainly knew his wife. He stepped in a little further and pressed the switch in the hall that lit the stairs. Sarah tried turning away. It was too late.

  ‘Where’s the bruise from?’

  ‘Why are you giving me the third degree, George? I’m not one of your criminals. I don’t need to answer your questions.’

  ‘Who did that to you?’ He moved further in. Sarah turned back to face him. Her right eye had a black tinge with a brown smudge lower on her cheek — a black eye, maybe a day or two old, and her nose was red and swollen

  ‘It wasn’t a who, it was a what. I bumped it getting into the car.’

  ‘You did that getting into a car?’ She was lying. Everything about her screamed it: no eye contact; her body turned away from him; she was rubbing at her neck; her head even shook a little as she spoke — a subconscious tick. It was all too common: a mouth saying something that the body contradicted completely.

  ‘Did Ronnie do this to you?’

  ‘Don’t be ridiculous, George.’

  ‘Did Ronnie do this to Mummy, Charley?’

  ‘George!’ Sarah ran down the steps and put her arms around their daughter’s shoulders. ‘Don’t say things like that in front of Charley, please!’

  ‘No. Mummy said she bumped her eye when she was getting in the car.’

  ‘Like I said. It was a freak accident is all,’ Sarah said

  ‘But he does shout a lot.’

  ‘Charley!’ Sarah scolded. ‘That isn’t true. Everyone argues from time to time. But this was nothing to do with him.’

  ‘At you?’ George said. His question was directed to Charley.

  ‘He shouts at everyone!’ Charley said.

  ‘Is he here?’ George said. He was trying to stay calm. He knew he wasn’t managing it very well. He could feel the heat in his cheeks and was aware that his breathing had quickened. He had bunched his fists.

  ‘No, he isn’t here. He’s working late. They’ve got a big project on the go. He’ll be back a bit later. This is nothing to do with him, George. Don’t you go making anything of it. I was in a rush. I caught my face on the car door. I feel like an idiot, okay? I’m very embarrassed — and I had a hunch you might misinterpret things — so I didn’t come down to see you. Now you need to get out to see your film.’

  George didn’t talk anymore to Sarah. He couldn’t. He put Charley in the car and they drove off. Charley was excited. She chatted non-stop. It had only been a few days since he had seen her last but she was full of stories about school, boys and her dancing lessons. These were usually the best times. He would always make sure the first hour or so was time that they could just spend talking together. Today he had planned for them to have a meal first and then a film at the cinema. He should be chatting with her. He should be just as excited. But now his mind was back at the farmhouse. Filled with that bruise and thoughts of another man shouting at his daughter. They made it to the restaurant: TGI Fridays. It was Charley’s favourite and she bounded through the door. They were shown to a table. George got his daughter settled. He left her blowing bubbles in her coke and took a few steps away with his phone in his hand.

  ‘George?
I thought you were out with your daughter tonight?’ Emily Ryker picked up on the first ring. She was George’s intelligence officer, or at least she was assigned to his Major Crime Department. They were very close. Too close at one point before George and Sarah met. That was very much ancient history but George still respected Emily as the finest intelligence officer he knew. If ever he needed answers, she was the woman who could provide them.

  ‘I am,’ George whispered.

  ‘Okaaaay . . .?’

  ‘I know this is a bit out of the blue, and we’ve had a similar conversation already . . .’

  ‘But?’

  ‘But did you ever find out anything about Ronnie Giles?’

  ‘Ronnie Giles. The architect. Your ex-wife’s new partner?’

  ‘She’s not my ex-wife, Ryker.’

  ‘Okay, fine. So your wife’s new partner?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘We did have this conversation. You might remember it? It was the one where I told you that I can only use police systems for crime enquiries. I probably also mentioned that those systems are tracked, so they know what I’m looking at and when. The only thing they don’t know — but they will ask me to explain — is why.’

  ‘I remember that. I get that about police systems. But you’re the best I know at open source research. Facebook, Companies House — all that stuff.’

  ‘What do you need to know, George?’

  ‘I just need to know where he works. That’s all. Nothing incriminating, nothing about his criminal history or past domestic incid—’

  ‘Assuming he has any.’

  ‘Assuming he has any. Can you do that?’

  Emily sighed. ‘When for George?’

  ‘How long is High School Musical 3? I really have no idea!’

  ‘Are you kidding me?’

  ‘I know you’re at home. I know you’re off duty. I’d really appreciate it.’

  ‘Should I dare ask why?’

  George considered this for a second. ‘No. Probably not. I just need to know if I’m right or not.’

  ‘You’re always right, George. Even when you’re not. It’s your worst trait.’

  ‘Thanks for pointing it out.’

  George’s mood improved a little during the meal. Charley’s enthusiasm for life, her innocence and her cheeriness, it captured his heart as usual. He found himself wishing, not for the first time, that Charley would never have to grow up. The film was entirely as expected. An American high school dance troupe winning a competition against all odds with a lot of singing and dancing was never going to be something George could be enthusiastic about, but Charley enjoyed herself and nothing was more important.

  When he dropped Charley back, her nan answered the door.

  ‘Hey, Joan.’

  ‘George. Did she have a good time?’

  ‘I think she did, yeah.’

  ‘She told me you were letting her choose the film. How did that go?’

  ‘As expected.’ They shared a chuckle. Joan was a good woman. They had always gotten on well, even though she’d found herself in the middle of her daughter’s marital issues.

  ‘How’s Sarah?’ George tried to sound casual. Joan’s expression was immediately serious.

  ‘She said that you saw her bruised eye. She said you got upset about it.’

  ‘Of course I did.’

  ‘She banged it on a car door, George. These things happen.’

  George lingered on Joan. She didn’t give a reaction, but she wouldn’t meet his eye. ‘They do, Joan. Do you think that’s what happened?’

  ‘That’s what she told me.’

  ‘That doesn’t answer my question.’

  ‘Well, it should do, George. She told me what happened. She doesn’t lie to me.’

  ‘And Ronnie, did he tell you the same?’

  ‘He wasn’t there when we talked about it. Recently, he’s been working a lot more to be honest. I wonder if he’s been staying there rather than coming back here. I don’t think he’s unhappy, I just think they need their own space.’

  ‘I’m sure they do.’

  ‘Look, George, she’s an adult. She’s always been able to take care of herself and she’s never stood for anyone’s crap. If she wasn’t being treated right she would deal with it. Don’t you think?’

  ‘I suppose, Joan. She dealt with me alright.’

  Joan chuckled again. ‘Well, there you are. It’s nice to see you again, George. We’ll get this little madam to bed for now. See you soon?’

  ‘You will. I’m picking her up again on Saturday. Is Sarah not home? Are they out?’ George gestured past where she stood at the open door.

  ‘She’s in. In the bath, I think. Ronnie’s working late again. They’ve got a big contract on the go at the moment. They’ve all been working late into the night.’

  George walked towards his car. He heard the door pushed shut behind him. He was back on his phone. He dialled the number for Emily Ryker.

  ‘You sure you want this?’ Emily asked, skipping all pleasantries.

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘It wasn’t difficult to find. He’s working for an architects in Canterbury. They’re quite open on their website about who they employ. He’s one of their faces.’

  ‘I’m sure he is.’

  ‘They’re at the University Campus in Canterbury. The Innovation Centre there.’

  ‘I know it.’

  ‘I thought you might. One of the units. I don’t know which one specifically. There’s an accountants, some sort of consultancy and a few other desk-based start-ups. It’ll be busy during the day. The sort of place where you could easily make a scene.’

  ‘Make a scene! What do you think I intend on doing, Ryker?’

  ‘Like I said, I don’t want to know. And you didn’t get any information from me.’

  ‘Understood. And don’t worry, I won’t be going there during the day.’

  The call ended as George got back to his car. The university campus was just a few miles away on the other side of the city. He started the car and made for it.

  The campus was large. The entrance was off a steep hill. There were neat lawns on either side of the road that meandered through the grounds. The pavements on either side were lamp-lit but the grounds beyond were in darkness. The Innovation Centre was separate from the main university buildings. It had its own car park to the back. The main reception looked to be shut up for the night and only one of the units showed any lights. George couldn’t see anyone moving inside as he swept past. He parked close to it. He could see four other cars, well spread out. Each had a layer of moisture on their windscreens as if they had been there a while. There was movement now, from inside the lit unit. A man stood leaning over a desk. George watched as he straightened up, removed his glasses and rubbed his hands through his hair. He looked tired. His collar hung open. George had met the man briefly and only once, but it was definitely Ronnie. He couldn’t see anyone else in there. He had to be working late on his own. Each unit had its own rear door access that led straight out into the car park. He could see it was hanging open slightly. It was a warm evening for the time of year.

  As George moved to the door, Ronnie’s attention had remained downwards, but then he moved suddenly away from his desk and towards the back of the office. George could see a number of desks. They were all higher than in a standard office and with stools in front of them rather than office chairs. The computers were more like large-screen televisions that were at different angles on stands jutting out of the desks. Ronnie had been bent over one. Now he was pouring out a drink from a coffee pot. George hadn’t really thought about what he would say. He’d intended on thinking it through first but he was here now and this was his chance. He stepped quietly inside.

  The room was lit harshly by strip lighting. Ronnie still had his back to George who watched him put a mug of coffee on the desk. His sigh turned into a deep yawn as he opened the drawer and pulled out a sachet of sugar. When he leant back on the des
k, George’s eye was drawn to the knuckles on his right hand. They looked red; the middle one seemed a little misshapen, even swollen. He then swung around quickly. ‘What the—’

  George reacted instinctively. He caught Ronnie half turn. He took hold of his right shoulder and pushed him back so he was facing the coffee machine. He grabbed his right hand and forced it downwards. George’s knee was the same height as the drawer. He shoved it as hard as he could. The drawer slammed shut on Ronnie’s hand and he screamed out in pain. The drawer bounced back out and George lifted his foot this time. He kicked it back shut as hard as he could. Ronnie dropped to his knees and screamed again. George took hold of the drawer. He slammed it again into his hand. Ronnie tried to snatch it out. George caught him by the wrist. He pushed it back and held it. He slammed the drawer again with his knee. And again. George finally let go. Ronnie fell to the ground, took up a foetal position and brought his right hand up to his face. His fingers were at different angles, his knuckles flushed white. He screamed again.

  George grabbed him by the hair. ‘Shut the fuck up!’ He wrenched Ronnie’s head backwards so that he could look into his eyes. Ronnie was sweating, his face wore a shocked expression. ‘George? What the hell are you doing?’ His face was red, his eyes watery.

  ‘The next time you lay a hand on my wife or child, I won’t stop until I break something you can’t fix. Do I make myself clear?’ George hissed through gritted teeth. He still had hold of Ronnie’s hair. He felt him nod. George’s jaw was locked so tight he could hardly speak. ‘Now put your hand back in the drawer.’ The drawer had bounced back open. It was just above Ronnie’s head. He looked up at it.

  ‘Please! Please, George! No more!’

  ‘Put your hand back in the fucking drawer, Ronnie.’

  ‘I’m sorry, okay. I’m sorry. It escalated! It won’t happen again. I get the message, yeah?’

  ‘PUT. . . YOUR . . . HAND. . .’ George spoke slowly. He steadied himself. He knew he was losing control. He took a moment. ‘Put your hand back in the drawer.’ His voice came back quieter but with no less menace.