by L M Krier
He needed a lively workout. But first, he enjoyed working with the eager youngsters who all adored Trev and hung onto his every word with slavish devotion. Except for young Flip. He had eyes only for Ted, and the way his face lit up whenever he saw his hero arrive, especially when he wasn’t expecting him, always lifted Ted’s spirits.
Flip knew he had to concentrate on the session and not talk to Ted. But his eyes kept drifting to him while Trev was talking. Trev was reinforcing a lesson he and Ted often taught. No matter how good their self-defence skills were, it was always safer to avoid putting them to the test. It was even more vital for them to understand that, with the sharp increase in knife crime. Ted had the advantage of being able to show them his own impressive scar from a confrontation with a trained soldier wielding a knife.
As soon as the session ended, Flip raced over to Ted, breathless and enthusiastic, wanting to tell him about a new throw he’d learned in the judo classes his foster mother was paying for him to attend. Ted patiently let him try the move out on him a few times, not making any attempt to avoid being thrown, correcting Flip’s technique until he’d almost perfected it.
The senior members of the judo club were starting to file in now, ready to get started. Flip’s foster mother came over to retrieve him so they could clear the mat.
‘Thank you for that, inspector. You’re always so very kind and patient with Philip. That’s why he looks up to you so much. He talks about you more than anything else.
‘Right, come on now, Philip, time we were going home and leaving the inspector to his own training.’
The boy looked disappointed but said, ‘Yes, mum,’ willingly enough, and went off to get changed.
She saw Ted’s querying look and smiled. ‘Yes, the adoption has gone through. Philip is now officially our son.’
A vigorous judo session was exactly what Ted needed. Bernard, their coach, knew better than to pair him off with anyone other than Trev. Even so he had to step in at one point to remind him to tone it down a bit.
It felt good, after a long leisurely shower and a tasty supper, to be relaxing, feet up, watching some long and complicated film which Trev had chosen for them. It wasn’t really holding Ted’s full attention. It was just moving wallpaper for him. He even nodded off at one point, jolting awake to find himself even more confused.
‘I thought he was dead. Didn’t the sniper shoot him?’
‘Ted, you’re hopeless. The shooter missed the killing shot, and the baddy had a bulletproof jacket on. He was only winged.’
‘At that range? With that calibre of weapon?’ Ted scoffed.
He decided he needed another cup of tea before he went to bed. Trev was enjoying a glass of red wine so Ted rose quietly and went to the kitchen, Adam trotting behind him, faithful as any dog.
It was a nice night. Cold but dry, with stars readily visible, even with the light pollution. He took his mug of tea out onto the patio for a breath of fresh air, shutting the door firmly on Adam. If he let him out at this time of night he risked him playing silly beggars and not wanting to come back in.
Ted cocked his head as he heard the sirens. Fire appliances again. Three this time, by the sound of it. Somewhere down in the direction of the A6, he thought. This time they were closely followed by the sound of police vehicles. He got his mobile phone out, dialled the station and asked for the Duty Officer. He’d no idea who was on the relief rota, with Irene away on holiday and Roly still off sick.
‘Inspector Patel,’ a voice he didn’t recognise told him.
‘Evening, inspector, this is DCI Darling. I heard the sirens and wondered what was going on.’
‘Evening, sir,’ the man kept it formal as he didn’t know Ted well. ‘An empty building on fire – disused garage premises, according to early reports – just off Wellington Road South. Fire appliances in attendance and we’ve sent officers for traffic control as it’s close to a busy junction. No further information as yet, but it’s quite a blaze, by all accounts. I imagine there could have been old traces of petrol, oil, paint, perhaps, and goodness knows what else on the premises.’
William Warren was wide awake and staring at the ceiling of his prison cell. For once, it wasn’t the loud snoring and occasional farting of his cell mate which was the problem. He was smiling to himself. Humming his refrain so quietly under his breath that his sleeping companion wouldn’t hear him. Warren was always careful not to do anything to rock the boat or tarnish his image as the model prisoner who never caused any trouble.
He had good reason to smile. It was all going beautifully. It couldn’t have worked out any better. He only wished he could have achieved all of this a long time ago.
But the stars were only just coming into alignment. And in a way which exceeded his wildest dreams.
Things were working out perfectly. He just had to be patient for a little longer.
Chapter Nine
Ted was attending the morning Uniform briefing downstairs, leaving Jo to carry on with their own team one. Ted wasn’t one of the breed of CID officers who had forgotten their own time in Uniform and thought they were above the ‘Woodentops’. He knew he could do with their help with his current cases. He knew too that no-one was better placed to get the on-the-ground information which he vitally needed with both.
Things had started well upstairs with their newest member, DS Martha McGuire. She’d arrived on time, just, breathless and full of apology, having dropped her small daughter off at school. But she’d barely had time to be introduced to everyone before her phone rang. A call from her daughter’s school.
Jo, the father of six children, had been understanding and allowed her to take it. Shortly after she’d arrived at school, the little girl had started vomiting and crying for her mummy. Martha’s husband, another police officer, was on a shout and couldn’t be contacted. Her mother-in-law, who was on standby for childcare emergencies, had had to take her car in for repair when it had started to show a steering wobble every time she braked. She could look after her granddaughter for the day, that was no problem. But she had no way of going to collect her.
‘It’s fine, Martha, happens to all of us from time to time. Go and see to your daughter and get back when you can. I’ll explain to the boss what’s happened.’
She needed no second bidding, already grabbing her coat and handbag, flushed in the face and gabbling a stream of apologies as she raced for the door.
Downstairs, Kevin Turner was addressing his officers. Ted was standing next to him, waiting for his turn to speak to them.
‘More burglaries up Offerton, especially along Hillcrest Road. Attempted car thefts back on the increase there again, too. So anyone out that way, keep your eyes open, see what you can spot. Talk to your sources. See if anyone knows anything.’
‘Has your place been done yet, sir?’ one of the older officers sitting near the front asked Ted. Most of them knew he lived in Offerton.
‘I’ve nothing worth nicking,’ Ted replied, getting a ripple of mirth. ‘I daren’t even take my service vehicle home with me. I know what it’s getting like up there. If they didn’t try to steal it they’d key it.’
‘Moving on,’ Kevin continued. ‘As you all know, because you’ve been first in line on the scene of them all, the Chief Inspector currently has someone dumping body parts all round our patch, as well as an arson case. Or is it two, now?’
‘I called at the scene on the way in. Too early to tell for sure but the Watch Commander I spoke to is fairly happy there’s a resemblance to the one last week. I should get confirmation later today, with any luck.
‘And those cases are why I’m here. There’s an outside chance that the person dumping the parts could be someone who does tree surgery, landscape gardening, that sort of thing. The Professor has confirmed the parts have been amputated using a chainsaw. I can’t see someone walking through a park carrying a limb in a black bin bag without being noticed. So can you all please ask around if anyone’s seen anything of note. Like a ve
hicle belonging to some sort of outfit that might do pruning trees. Anything at all like that.’
A stockily-built older sergeant in the front row, arms folded across his chest, hands in his armpits, put in, ‘I’ve got a chainsaw in the garden shed, guv. Does that make me a suspect?’
It raised a few muted laughs. They all knew the DCI well enough to know he could take a joke.
‘Fair point, sarge,’ Ted conceded. ‘We’re getting a list of the contractors the council uses for parks and open spaces, but it’s still an angle worth considering.
‘The same goes with the first arson. There’s nowhere to park very close to the first target building and the fire was started with a petrol/diesel mix. So someone would have had to carry a container of some sort to the site. There’s just a possibility someone may have seen something. So again, could you all please ask around.’
‘I’m not one of you clever detectives, guv, but if I was the arsonist, I wouldn’t be seen carrying a jerry can of fuel. I’d put the can in something like a shopping bag to carry it.’
Kevin Turner looked at the sergeant. Eric Morgan. A reliable officer, with a good few years’ service under his belt and a reputation for blunt speaking.
‘Just for that, Sergeant Morgan,’ he told him with mock severity, ‘you win today’s prize. I was about to say we’ve been asked to provide someone to make up numbers up in CID. To show them how proper policing should be done. So you’re it.’
That raised a few more laughs. There was a lot of friendly banter within the nick between CID and Uniform. It wasn’t always like that in other stations. But everyone knew Ted was a big believer in equality and wouldn’t allow any hint of a them and us culture.
‘We’d be glad to have you on board, sarge,’ Ted told him. ‘Now, coming back to our body parts. We don’t yet have a positive ID. But this man is our most likely lead so far. Bartholomew Ignatius Byrne. Worked at the biscuit factory and had a council flat in Heaton Chapel, but he’s not been seen in months. He had bad burns scarring to one hand, a foot and a lower leg, which are the parts of our body which haven’t yet come to light. Our victim also had the fingers of one hand removed with tree loppers pre-mortem, as well as their genitals removed with a similar implement. I’m still waiting to hear if that was done while they were still alive.’
A few of the male officers shifted in their seats. Crossed and recrossed their legs at that piece of information.
‘We’re waiting on DNA confirmation, but this could be our victim,’ Ted finished up, pointing to the photo of Byrne he’d pinned up. ‘By any chance at all, do any of you happen to recognise him from the photo, which is admittedly not a good one? Or from his distinctive name.’ He repeated it for emphasis. ‘Bartholomew Ignatius Byrne. I doubt there are two of those in Stockport.’
‘I live up that way but the name and the face don’t mean anything to me. From the name, I’m guessing he was a left-footer. So we probably need to start looking at Catholic pubs and clubs, which isn’t my scene.’
‘Another reason we picked you, Eric,’ Kevin Turner told the sergeant, lapsing into informality now he’d had his little joke. ‘Heaton Chapel’s your stamping ground, so maybe some of your contacts may know him or know of him. So for now, we’ll let you go and join your new high-flying friends upstairs. Us humble types will go on doing all the donkey work while you grab the glory.’
The shift members gave the sergeant a round of applause as he stood up and went to follow Ted upstairs to start his secondment.
‘Load of daft buggers,’ Morgan chuckled. ‘Happy to help, Ted, in any way I can. I don’t know this man Byrne, but I’m sure I can find someone who does.’
He’d known Ted a long time. Enough to be on first-name terms when they were alone. But Ted knew he’d be formal as soon as they joined the rest of the team.
‘We’re hot-desking a bit at the moment, so just grab a place wherever you can find one for now,’ Ted told him as they walked into the main office. Some of the team had gone straight out after the briefing but Amelie was there and Martha McGuire had just got back, looking hot and flustered. She hurried over to Ted as soon as he appeared.
‘DS McGuire, sir. I’m so sorry about earlier on. My little girl was ill and ...’
‘It’s fine, don’t worry about it. Superintendent Baker speaks highly of you and I respect his judgement. Everyone, most of you know Sergeant Eric Morgan, except probably Amelie and Martha. He’s helping out for a bit. Our Mr Byrne lived on his patch, so he should be a great help to us in finding out more about him. We might, of course, find that he’s still alive and well somewhere, but then at least we can rule him out of being our victim.’
Morgan looked round the room and singled out Amelie, who was on her feet, papers in her hand.
‘If you’re brewing up any time soon, Emily, love, mine’s a tea, with two sugars. And leave the bag in. I like a proper brew.’
She visibly bristled as she retorted, ‘I’m a DC, not the tea girl, Eric. And it’s Amelie, not Emily.’
Morgan’s grin was wolfish as he replied. He’d got just the reaction he was hoping for.
‘And I’m a sergeant, love, even if I’m not a clever detective like you. So you need to address me as sarge, at the very least.’
Bright red spots appeared on her cheeks and she opened her mouth to bite back. Ted decided it was time to step in. He knew the sergeant was just messing about with a newcomer but they had plenty of work to be getting on with.
His voice was quieter than usual as he spoke, ensuring everyone had to pay attention to hear him. An old trick which he always found useful.
‘All right, everyone. Please remember. We’re original Animal Farm rules here. All police officers are equal and none are more equal than others. We have a lot of work to do and two cases to solve. So let’s please settle down and get on with the job.
‘Amelie, you work with Sergeant Morgan on finding out more about Mr Byrne, please. You’re new to the area. He has the local knowledge. In particular we need to find out more about that photo found at the lock-up, and who the little girl in it is.’
At least Eric Morgan held the door of the office open to allow Amelie to go out in front of him. He grinned across at Ted and gave him a cheeky wink. He was obviously going to enjoy himself. But Ted knew he would also do a good job and show Amelie the ins and out of routine police work better than anyone else could, while he was at it.
‘Jo, where are we at with the original file on the arson Warren was sent down for?’ Ted asked him.
‘On its way from the archives and should be on your desk later today, boss. At some point are you going to go and talk to Warren?’
‘I’ll read the file first, before I decide. We know it can’t be him. He has the best alibi of all. But he might at least tell us who he’s talked to about his fire-lighting methods. I did have an idea though. One I’d need to run past a few people first, starting with Jim Baker, before I take it further.
‘You remember that homeless friend of mine? Martin Wellman. Got sent down for criminal damage and assault at the hospital when they wanted to discharge him from there. He’s in the same prison as Warren, and doing anything he can not to get his sentence reduced. He doesn’t want to be back outside and on the streets again, which he knows will happen to him eventually, one way or another.
‘I’ll need to talk to him, of course, and to someone with the right authority at the prison, although one of the assistant governors has helped us before. He was a big help with the Sorrento case, before you joined us, Jo. Anyway, I was going to ask if there’s any way we can get Martin near to Warren. Try to suss him out a bit. Get a feel for what, if any, involvement, he has in the current cases. Assuming last night’s one was also an arson.’
‘There’s something else we perhaps need to consider, boss. Something which occurred to me. And to Jezza, too. She came to me with it when I’d already been thinking it. Great minds think alike, and all that.
‘Warren was sent down for
a case which happened up near Preston. These copycat arsons, if that’s what they are, are happening here in Stockport. Presumably there’s a reason for the change of location.’
‘And presumably you have a theory?’
‘You personally have had a bit of publicity of late. Mostly, but not entirely, centred around you working on historical cases. Would it be too far-fetched to at least consider that whoever the arsonist this time is, they might have picked this area because of you? Because they want you to look into that original conviction?’
Eric Morgan had taken an area car for him and Amelie to go up to Heaton Chapel to start trying to find out more about Byrne.
‘Does no harm for them to see a proper copper at work from time to time,’ he told her with a grin. She was still quiet and prickly in his company. Not yet sure when she was being made fun of or not.
His first port of call was a café, as he said he hadn’t had his morning cuppa. He was clearly well known in there as he was greeted on first name terms by the woman behind the counter.
‘Morning, Brenda, love. This is Emily. She’s new round here so I’m giving her the guided tour. What are you having, Emily?’
‘My name’s Amelie, Derek.’
He gave a shout of laughter. ‘That’s a good one. Well played. So what do you want?’
‘A cappuccino?’ she asked dubiously, looking around to see what was available.
‘And a frothy coffee for the young lady. On my tab. Do you know this bloke, Bren?
He held out an enlargement of the photo they had of Byrne.
‘That could be bloody anyone. What’s ’is name?’
‘Bartholomew Ignatius Byrne.’
‘Give over,’ she scoffed. ‘No one’s called that.’
She squinted more closely at the photo. ‘Looks like Bernie, that does. That’s what everyone calls him. Not surprised, if his real name’s such a mouthful. If it is Bernie, he’s been in here a good few times but I’ve not seen him for ages.’