by Jay Nadal
Abby nodded.
Amy closed her eyes tight like they had been superglued together. After what seemed an eternity, she nodded her head.
“I thought I recognised him. I remember him now. He came to the care home frequently.”
“On police business?”
Amy nodded. “Yes, it wasn’t uncommon to have regular visits from the police. After all, we had abandoned children there, and women and children who were seeking refuge from aggressive and violent partners. I remember this officer,” she continued, jabbing at the picture, “turning up frequently. I think on one occasion he turned up because one of the younger boys in our care had got into a fight. Then on another occasion, we had to call the police when a violent partner tried to kick down the door to see his girlfriend and baby.”
Amy fell silent, dropped her head back on the pillow, and stared at the ceiling.
“Anything else?” Abby asked.
“No.”
The team gathered around the incident board for a quick catch up.
“We’ve got another link which confirms the Amy had met Golding at some point. She wasn’t sure of the timing of their initial meeting, but she recalls he attended frequently.”
“So, we investigate the care home, Guv?”
“Definitely. We’ve got children in care and we’ve also got women and children who were seeking refuge from abusive relationships. According to Amy, police attendance was a regular thing.”
Scott added further notes to the incident board. “Mike, how did you get on with speaking to the council?”
“I called. They can get a list of former employees and residents although it won’t be easy. Most of it is archived. It sounded like they couldn’t be arsed. They suggested we come down in person and go through the archives.”
“Okay, if I can’t get down there, can you do that for me?”
Mike nodded.
Scott drew lines from Amy to Golding, and then from Golding to Ashman. “We need to find the connection between these three. I know it feels like we’re picking over the same ground and spinning around in circles, but that’s just the way some investigations unfold.”
“What about Anderson, Sir?”
“Cross-reference him. The answer is somewhere within the information we already have.”
“Are we still keeping McCormick in the frame?”
“Definitely, Mike. We have nothing to eliminate him from our investigations. So he stays in the mix. I’m not sure what we’re looking for, but I’m convinced that something will jump out and turn this case on its head.”
41
Scott had been in his office for only five minutes when his mobile rang.
It’s him.
“Baker.” A ripple of apprehension, mixed with perverse excitement coursed through Scott’s veins. He’d not heard from the caller in a while. A fact that worried him.
“Inspector, Inspector. I’ll give you ten out of ten for being a persistent fucker. You won’t give up. How is Ashman these days, still drunk as a skunk?”
“What is it you want? I’m sick of playing games.”
“Games?” he aggressively shouted. “Fuck off, Inspector. I don’t play games. I’m just better at my job than you are. You see, I’ve been trained. And that’s why I’m one step ahead of you.”
Scott sensing he had the opportunity, pushed further. “What did Golding do to you? He was your first victim right?”
His laugh ripped across the phone line like thunder, a low, rumbling boom. He sounded like he had something in his throat, strained, verging on choking, and fake.
“A casualty of war, Inspector. You need to cover your tracks better. The one thing I’ve learnt about you is that you’re a creature of habit. You like your runs to Palace Pier and back. Your favourite coffee shop is Munch. You park in Regency Square car park when you go out for a night. I could go on, but it would only alarm you further.”
Scott could feel the tension build inside as the veins in his neck throbbed. He wanted to grab the man by the throat and hit him so hard he wouldn’t get up.
Hearing him mention those things felt like an invasion of his privacy. As if his life was being played out on a large screen for everyone to see. Each insight hit him like a hammer blow, stealing the air from his lungs like a silent assassin. How could the killer know so much in a short space of time? Was he a lone wolf? Or was he working as part of the team?
“As I’ve said before, this is not your fight. Stay out of my business. You have far too much to lose, and from what I can gather, you’ve already lost a lot.”
Scott stared at his phone for minutes after the call had ended, his heart galloping against his chest wall. They were getting close.
He stood looking out of his office window. His spine tingled with trepidation; the caller was out there watching and waiting.
How in the hell was the man getting around? His ability to slink about without detection bothered Scott until he bristled with annoyance. There had to be more than one accomplice for him to be covering Ashman’s movements, his own movements and all the developments in the case. Could there be a mole, someone passing information? So many questions raced through Scott’s mind. He thought back to all the people he’d met, the officers, and the civilian staff.
Scott knew that every constabulary had corrupt officers. Some would slip up, but many slipped under the radar. Could it be one of them? It was possible. They would know about forensics, surveillance and counter-surveillance tactics, and the police equipment at their disposal.
Whether it was one of their own, or someone external, Scott couldn’t be certain. The only people that had that type of capability were either the security services, or the armed forces. The prospect only added to Scott’s worries.
He made a mental note to chase up the list of employees sent to McCormick’s from the security agency.
Scott froze, his mouth open in shock. With lightning speed, his mind recalled the phone conversation.
The caller hadn’t disguised his voice.
42
With the high-tech unit running speech recognition on Scott’s conversation, Scott and Abby made their way to Ashman’s once again.
Scott felt more optimistic than he had in days, and buoyed by Abby’s optimism, Scott considered the positives. They had a link, albeit nebulous, between Golding, Ashman, Amy and the children’s home. Their next stop would be to see Ashman again before trying Amy. Scott was determined to get what he needed from both despite their fragile states.
“You look like shit,” Scott said.
“Kind of you to say,” Ashman grumbled, scratching his stomach beneath his T-shirt. “I’m fed up with this place.”
“I think this place is fed up with you, too. It’s a mess.” Scott noticed the empty takeaway cartons that littered the table, the beer cans strewn across the floor and the empty crisp packets piling up in the bin.
“You didn’t come here to check up on the place. So what is it?”
“You had some involvement with Golding. Do you remember his partner, Anderson?”
Ashman nodded.
“Well, your name is known to Anderson, and Amy remembers Golding, who vaguely remembers Anderson loitering in the background.”
Ashman shrugged. “So?”
“Amy remembers Golding and Anderson visiting her place of work frequently. So I thought you might shed some light on what connects them all? Amy used to work at a care home for children, and it also served as a refuge for women and their families away from husbands and partners.”
“Was it in Littlehampton?”
Scott caught Abby’s eye and nodded.
Ashman’s shoulders dropped as he stared lost at the floor. “I remember the place, but I don’t remember Amy. I didn’t see any of the staff.”
“Why?”
“There had been rumours on the grapevine about things not being right.”
“Rumours?”
“I’d heard through the grapevine, and it was common k
nowledge in certain circles, that some teenagers, both boys and girls, were being exploited.”
“Exploited?” Abby tensed.
Ashman closed his eyes and gritted his teeth. A shiver raced through his body as his shoulders shook. He took a large gulp of air. “Yes. Exploited. For the benefit of men, who were willing to pay.”
“Prostitution?”
Ashman nodded in Scott’s direction. “There were rumours that a criminal gang was behind it. Back then, everyone was scared. Me included. To say that people turned a blind eye was an understatement.”
“And were the police involved?”
“Oh, yes, the police were involved. Golding came frequently. He would ask a few questions, but never took the allegations seriously. He said it was kids seeking attention.”
“And what did you do?”
Ashman scrunched his eyes, desperate to hide the horrors that haunted him. “Nothing. I was blindsided when I approached the home.”
“I don’t get it,” Scott said. “If you had something, why didn’t you to inform the authorities, or publish it? You’re a journalist for Christ’s sake.”
Ashman buried his head behind his hands, as tears escaped his eyes, and crawled down his cheeks. “I wanted to. Believe me. But I was warned off. I was told in no uncertain terms not to print what I had, and to stop snooping.”
Scott looked perplexed. “Who warned you off?”
The colour drained from Ashman’s face. He looked up at Scott, his eyes peppered with red lines. “Ryan McCormick and Golding.”
43
It was more than crying; it was desolate sobbing that comes from a person drained of all hope. He sobbed into his hands and the tears dripped between his fingers. His breathing was ragged, gasping and unforgiving.
Ashman looked towards Scott, his skin blotched but found zero sympathy there to witness, let alone to comfort him.
Scott glared at Ashman, his anger swirling deep inside him, threatening to explode like Mount Etna. “You did nothing?”
“I know, I know, this is my entire fault. It’s why I lost Janet. No matter how much I tried and strived to be the man that my conscience wanted me to be, I kept failing, and it kept taunting me with my failures.”
Scott didn’t give two shits about Ashman’s self-assessment. He needed answers, and he needed them fast. “McCormick? McCormick was running girls and boys out of that care home?”
Ashman hung his head in shame. “Yes. And back then, the police were complicit.”
“I don’t get it, Ashman. You’ve always come across as a gritty, tenacious, dare I say, aggressive bastard. Why didn’t you publish this piece?”
“It was different back then. You didn’t know who you could confide in or who you could trust. Besides, they stopped me by doing this.” Ashman raised his left hand and pointed to the half-digit.
“McCormick?”
“As good as. It wasn’t him, but I’m sure it was his men. They took me to Ashdown Forest and kicked the living daylights out of me. They cut off my finger, and said next time they wouldn’t be as kind. I was left to die. I was told, they’d find my head in Hertfordshire, my torso in Essex, my legs in Sussex and my arms in Manchester.”
Scott nodded begrudgingly. A veiled threat would be enough to put most people off, leaving them with nothing more than shame and regret.
“McCormick has never been far from my thoughts. Since that day, I’ve wanted to bring him down. I kept scratching away beneath the surface, just hoping to find something, anything. But it’s come at a heavy price.”
“What have you got on him? Is it something we can run with?”
Ashman bent down and stuffed his hand down his sock. He retrieved another USB stick and handed it to Scott. “You’ll find what you need on here.”
Abby rolled her eyes as she stood beside Ashman. “You’ve been carrying this around with you all this time?”
“I figured it was the safest place to keep it.”
Scott updated Meadows as he made his way across town. He had tangible proof that Golding, Amy, Ashman and McCormick were linked. The common denominator between them was a care home in Littlehampton. His mind raced as he tracked back over all the reports, conversations and investigations they had carried out into this case.
His next visit would not be as pleasant. He needed to see McCormick. Meadows added that Quinn wouldn’t be happy. Scott persisted, knowing that from the four, McCormick was the only one not to have come to any harm which only meant one thing.
Meadows asked him to hold fire whilst he sought clearance. Scott agreed, despite knowing he was going to McCormick’s regardless.
“You didn’t tell me he had security staff the size of mountains,” Abby commented.
Having shown their IDs, been patted down and walked through steel gates, they were led into a sizeable lounge. McCormick sat in a horseshoe white leather suite, sipping a glass of red wine.
Two large security guys stood either side of the doorway. Dressed in dark grey suits, with cropped hair, they scanned Scott and Abby. The extra security surprised Scott. He hadn’t bargained for a further sweep with hand-held metal detectors.
McCormick offered Scott the same disgusting, arrogant smile. “I see you brought the cavalry,” McCormick said, offering the smallest of smiles in Abby’s direction, as his eyes wandered up and down her body. “It’s nice to meet you at long last Detective Sergeant Abby Trent. I’ve heard a lot about you. From what I gather, you’re the brains, and he’s the brawn. But, we also have Beauty and the Beast.”
McCormick’s laugh echoed around the cavernous room.
“So, what do I owe this pleasure, Inspector?”
“There have been further developments in our investigations. We’ve come from a meeting with Samuel Ashman.”
McCormick laughed. “Ashman. How is the old shitbag?”
“Under the circumstances, he’s holding up. He told us about an incident that happened many years ago. He was savagely beaten and had part of a finger amputated…to warn him off.”
McCormick frowned, doing his best to look concerned.
“You wouldn’t have had anything to do with it, would you?”
“I don’t have much to do with him to be honest.”
“Well, at the time, he was investigating serious allegations at a care home, and he believes that it may have been connected with you.”
“Allegations?” McCormick’s lips twisted into a sneer as ugly as the man himself.
“He was led to believe that there was a prostitution ring being run from the home. Young boys and girls were being exploited. It’s been suggested that it may have been one of your operations?”
McCormick’s evil smile faded, as his cold steel eyes glared at Scott. “Those are very serious allegations, Inspector. If you’re suggesting I had anything to do this, then our conversation is over. I’ve invited you in here. However, if you continue with that line of questioning, then I’ll contact my legal team. And trust me, Inspector, they will wrap you up in so much red tape, that you’ll think you’re at a bondage party.”
“I’m merely making enquiries, McCormick.”
“Mr McCormick to you.”
“Does the name Golding ring a bell? Darren Golding?”
Scott noticed the slightest twitch in McCormick’s right hand, a tiny micro-muscular movement that many would miss.
“No. What about him?”
“He was killed in the same way as our recent victims. For that reason, we believe his murder is connected. The allegation suggested that Golding was complicit in this prostitution ring and made sure that the police never got involved.”
McCormick remained impassive, opting for silence as his best form of defence.
“Ashman said he was warned off from investigating you and your business operations, by Golding and yourself.”
McCormick’s cold hard stare would strike fear into the bravest of hearts.
“So if there was a prostitution ring I would imagine the police w
ere involved, forms were filled in and some form of action was taken. That being the case, you need to check your records, correct?”
Scott held back from telling McCormick any more details.
McCormick rolled his eyes. “You see, Inspector, I don’t think there are any records. That’s why you’re here, on a fishing trip. You’ve based your visit, on the ramblings of a drunken, washed-up journalist. Do you know how fucking stupid you look?”
“The police were called frequently. But it appears to be Darren Golding who attended on each occasion. He was a bad apple, just like you. How much was he getting paid to keep the police out of your business?”
McCormick straightened up and leant forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “Inspector, you’re fucking wasting my time. I’m not some street rat from the Whitehawk. You’re out of your depth. If you’ve got nothing better to do and you’re not here to arrest me, then turn around and get the fuck off my property, and take your skinny bitch sergeant with you.”
Scott felt movement over his shoulder. He turned, to see the two heavies step in close behind him. Their menacing stares and broad shoulders imposed and threatened.
Despite the show of intimidation, Scott continued to push. “Do you have any idea why someone would want Golding dead after all these years?”
“Inspector, no idea.”
“Perhaps not Golding, but why would someone want to kill the wife of a semi-retired journalist investigating child exploitation. A journalist who’d spent most of his life investigating you.”
McCormick rose from his seat and stiffened. His shoulders pinned back, and his teeth clenched. His usually dark eyes filled with anger. “Don’t you ever come here again and throw shit around like that, do I make myself clear?” he growled, his eyes turning black with a rage so potent it crackled through the space. He threw his wine glass across the room. It shattered into a thousand pieces as it hit the wall.
A distinct chill descended. Scott was hemmed in from the front by McCormick, and the two heavies within inches of Scott’s back. McCormick’s cold fury blazed with dangerous intensity. Abby took a step back, ready to reach for her baton, knowing they were outnumbered.