by Jack Slater
‘The first one, yes. The second, not yet. I’ve been interviewing Jonas Hanson.’
‘Then you’d better go and do so now, Detective Sergeant.’ He eyes hardened. ‘And you know my feelings on direct action in a case involving a relative.’
‘I do, sir. Is that all, sir?’
‘Carry on, Detective Sergeant.’ Silverstone looked down at the pad in front of him and began writing.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
‘I’ve just heard back from North Yorkshire, boss,’ Jane told him when he returned to the squad room. ‘We knew Hanson was raised in Northallerton. His parents are dead. Road accident when he was a teenager. Their car went off the road one night on the way back from a trip to the cinema. The car appeared to have run out of power steering fluid. Hanson had had a problem with his dad ever since he was young, according to his grandparents at the time. He was an only child. At least an only surviving one. He had a sister about three years younger, died when she was two and a half. Drowned in a paddling pool.’ She paused to let the significance of that settle in.
‘Any evidence it wasn’t an accident?’
‘Which one, boss?’
‘Either.’
She shook her head. ‘Nothing provable. They rode him hard over the parents’ deaths, but nothing came of it. In the end, they had to be put down as accidental.’
‘Anything else we should know about?’
‘As a teen, he was caught in the girls’ changing rooms on more than one occasion. Told the teachers it was a bet the first time; the other, he said he was pushed in there by his mates. Maybe an incorrect term. Apparently, he didn’t have many mates. Bit of a loner, by all accounts.’
This was sounding more and more promising as she went on. Nothing directly evidential yet, though. ‘Are we leading up to anything useful here?’ he asked.
‘Does pulling a girl’s knickers down at the top of the stairs in school count?’
Pete nodded slowly. ‘Yeah.’
‘Claimed he’d tripped, reached out automatically and this girl was immediately in front of him.’
Pete raised an eyebrow.
‘Yeah, the school staff didn’t believe him either. Nor did the local police. He only just avoided prosecution that time. He was suspected when the same girl’s house got burgled a few weeks later, but there was nothing proven. He was supposedly at home, in bed, when it happened. His parents made a statement to that effect. But two days later he was admitted to the local hospital with a broken arm. Reckoned he’d fallen out of a tree.’
‘Yeah, right.’
Jane nodded. ‘But again, no-one would say otherwise. His first actual conviction was for burglary when he was seventeen. He was caught red-handed by the house owner. They reckoned he was after the wife’s jewellery, but he didn’t have anything on him. He got six months’ probation.’
Pete shook his head in disgust. ‘Makes you wonder why we bother sometimes, doesn’t it? When you’ve got a clear history like that and a strong likelihood of reoffending.’
‘Which he fulfilled. It was a few months later that his parents died. He was just a couple of weeks over eighteen, so he was free to do as he pleased, more or less. Insurance gave him the house. He was suspected, soon after, of peeping, but wasn’t actually caught so that might have been just local rumour. A few more burglaries in the town and the surrounding villages followed, but again, nothing proven. And that’s all they’ve got on him. They did mention they’d been asked by County Durham police about a couple of rapes in Eaglescliffe, which isn’t far from Northallerton, but again, nothing proven. He hadn’t exactly got an alibi for either, but there was no forensic evidence to connect him.’
‘It sounds like that’s where he developed his MO though. Nip into the next county so he’s not connected to the crime.’
She nodded. ‘I just wish we could use any of it.’
‘Yes. Keep working with what we’ve got though. We might come up with something. I’ve got to have a word with Mark Bridgman, then nip home.’
‘For half a day’s kip, by the look of you,’ Jane responded.
‘I wish I had the chance.’
Mark wasn’t in the squad room, so Pete phoned him to report the latest contact from Steve Southam. Then he left the office and headed downstairs. At the bottom, he was lifting his ID card to the reader that would allow him into the back corridor when a voice called him from the front desk.
He turned. ‘George. How’s it going?’
‘Not bad. Here, got a package for you.’ He raised a small, paper-wrapped package, about five inches square.
Pete’s stomach sank. He felt suddenly faint. He swallowed. Tried to speak but couldn’t. Clearing his throat, he stepped forward. ‘What’s this, then?’
‘Don’t know, mate. Postmark says Taunton.’
Pete took the package with trembling fingers. He trudged back up to the squad room. He knew he had to open it. In Mark’s absence, it was down to him and it was far too late to hold off for forensics. Gloves would help, but its exterior had already been handled by several people.
The last thing in the world he wanted to know was what was inside it, but what choice did he have?
As he stepped back into the squad room Jane looked up, saw him and dropped her pen, staring. Dick saw her reaction, glanced across and froze.
‘What is it?’ Jane asked as he neared their desks.
‘A package. From Taunton. Southam said last night he was going to send one.’
‘He called you last night?’
‘Yes.’ Pete didn’t want to think about what had happened during that call and certainly didn’t want to talk about it, but he knew he was going to have to. ‘He threatened to hurt Tommy if we kept after him.’
‘And you reckon this is the result.’ She nodded to the small square package in his hand.
He nodded and headed straight for Colin Underhill’s office. Colin saw him coming and waved him in. With the door closed behind him, Pete put the package on the senior man’s desk and pushed it towards him.
Colin looked up at him. ‘What’s this?’
‘It just arrived downstairs.’ Pete briefly explained the history behind it. ‘Mark’s out and about or it’d be his responsibility. As it is…’ He shrugged. ‘We can’t… I mean I can’t leave it unopened in case it does contain what Southam threatened.’
‘So you want my agreement to open it.’
Pete tipped his head.
‘Well, you’ve already handled it, along with George and Uncle Tom Cobbley in the post office.’ He reached into his desk drawer and took out a pair of scissors. ‘Here. Carefully.’
Pete compressed his lips. Carefully went without saying. He pulled on a pair of gloves, took the scissors and slid the tip of one blade into a corner of the wrapping. Cutting carefully along one edge, he went along another edge and a third, making a flap that he could fold back and pull the box out through. It was of heavy-grade brown card, like two open-topped boxes, top to top within each other. Pete cut the tape holding it closed at either side, put down the scissors and looked at Colin.
The DI nodded.
Jaw clenched, Pete slid the top off. Inside was a wad of crumpled toilet paper. Tension crackling through his every muscle, he withdrew the paper. He hadn’t realised he was holding his breath until it whooshed out of him.
Under the wad was another, similar one. And between them lay a single, small piece of paper, folded across the middle. He took it out, holding it by the very edges, saw there was nothing underneath it and carefully unfolded it.
In red block capitals, were the words: “Whatever you thought was in here, you’re not that lucky. There’s another box at home for you.” ‘Shit,’ he breathed. ‘I can’t have Louise or, worse still, Annie finding that and opening it.’
‘What time’s your post?’
Pete checked his watch. ‘Anytime now for letters. Parcels, another hour or so and one like this won’t got through the letterbox.’
‘We’ll
give it forty minutes, then go and see.’
Pete paused for just an instant as he absorbed the senior man’s response. ‘Right.’
‘You didn’t expect me to let you go on your own, did you?’
Pete tipped his head. ‘Hadn’t thought that far, to be honest. I just know I’ve got to pick it up before anyone else sees it, whether they leave it or put a card through to go and collect it.’
‘Go on, I’ll give you a shout in a bit,’ the senior man said, thrusting his chin at the door.
Pete turned without responding and left the small office.
‘North Yorks have been on,’ Dick told him as he returned to his desk. ‘Best they can do on the forensics is getting them in tomorrow morning.’
‘Another twenty-four hours?’
Dick nodded. ‘They understand the urgency, but they’ve got a lot else on, apparently.’
‘Shit. That means Bob getting permission from the DCI to hold him for the extra time.’
‘Well, he can’t refuse, surely,’ Jane said. ‘The bloke’s the definition of a flight risk. Plus, he’s a danger to the public.’
‘Allegedly.’
‘OK, but…’
‘All we’ve got so far is circumstantial,’ Pete reminded her. ‘Apart from that one statement from a dead woman.’
‘Yeah, but there’s a hell of a lot of it.’
‘Don’t tell I,’ Pete quoted.
Jane grunted. ‘It makes you wonder how arse-holes like that get jobs at all, never mind senior ones.’
‘Trying to figure that out will drive you round the bend,’ Dick told her.
‘I think the word you want is nepotism,’ Jill said from the far corner of their cluster of desks.
‘You make that sound dirty,’ Dick said with a grin.
‘It is.’
‘But it doesn’t help our case,’ Pete said. ‘We need something that does. And pronto.’
‘We could do with knowing what vehicles he’s owned in the past, to see if we can match any of them with witness statements,’ Jane said.
‘The DVLA don’t hold that kind of thing, though,’ Pete pointed out.
‘Sally might know,’ Ben said. ‘Not necessarily licence plates – who would – but makes and models.’
Pete nodded. ‘Give her a call.’
Ben picked up his phone and dialled. They all waited with bated breath until he finally spoke. ‘Sal, its Ben. Quick question: can you remember what cars or vans your dad owned over the years? I know he had that white Astra van when we were seeing each other, but what else has he had?’ A pause. ‘We’re trying to figure out where he might have been in the past, to see if he might be in any of those places now.’
Good thinking, Pete thought. They hadn’t yet told her of his arrest and didn’t want to until they could also tell her she’d be safe from retribution from him for allowing – or even causing – his current situation.
‘OK, thanks, Sal. We’ll let you know as soon as we have any firm news. Bye.’
He put the phone down and looked up at Jill and Jane opposite him, then across to Dick and Pete. As his gaze roamed around the group, his lips twitched and spread slowly into a smile.
‘Well, come on, then,’ Jane said impatiently.
‘He’s not had many vehicles over the years. Basically, wears them out and sends them for scrap before he gets a new one and even then, he doesn’t buy new. Always second-hand.’
‘Get on with it, Ben,’ Pete told him.
‘OK. He had a white Astra van from 2005 to 2009. Replaced that with the green Peugeot. Before that, Sal remembers him having a VW van. Like a camper but without the windows. It was pale blue, she said. And the only one she remembers him having before that, was a Transit. A white one.’
A groan passed around the team.
‘Great. The most common and unidentifiable vehicle on the roads,’ Jill observed.
‘Except his had a red lightning stripe along the sides,’ Ben said with a grin.
‘And when did he get that?’ Pete asked.
‘Don’t know. Before she can remember, so prior to ’94, at least. And he’d got rid of it by ’96, so he’d have had it for a while. Probably got it around 1990, judging by his other ones.’
‘When did he meet his wife?’ Jane asked. ‘Ex-wife, I mean.’
‘Don’t know. I can ask her.’
‘Do that,’ Pete said.
Ben picked up his phone again. ‘Why didn’t we think of this before?’ he asked as he dialled.
‘Because we were focussing on what we already had,’ Dick told him.
‘Still,’ Pete said. ‘We should have. Can’t afford to get too locked in on one option in this game.’
‘Mrs… Mary, its Ben Myers. Yes, that’s right. I’ve just been talking to her. We were trying to figure out what vehicles Jonas has had over the years. We got back to the Transit. Do you remember what he had before that?’ He pulled a wry face at Jill. ‘No, I understand that, but anything you can recall might help.’ He paused again. ‘OK, thanks for that. I’ll talk to you soon.’
As he put the phone down, he looked across at Pete. ‘She doesn’t know much. She’s not into cars and that. Not interested at all. But she does remember what he had when they first started seeing each other, back in 1984. It was before he started on the building. He was working in some factory down by the river. Hadn’t been in Exeter long. It was a dark blue estate car that you could fold the back seats down flat in. A biggish VW.’
‘Passat,’ Dick said.
‘Bless you,’ Jane retorted.
‘She said he’d had it a while. Must have brought it down from Yorkshire. He changed it a couple of years later, got his first van. Another Transit, but “shit brown,” she called it.’
‘Well, at least it wasn’t white,’ Dick said.
‘But we haven’t got any of the registrations,’ Pete pointed out.
‘Two partials,’ Ben said. ‘The Passat was YAP something. And the van after it was OWL.’
‘Well, that’s not local,’ Dick said. ‘Oxfordshire, wasn’t it?’
‘Why would you even know that?’ Jill asked.
‘Because I’m old,’ Dick told her. ‘I know most things. Don’t necessarily remember them, mind, but this brain’s full of stuff.’
‘Wisdom, knowledge is not always, Obi-wan,’ Jane said with mock-solemnity.
‘Old, I may be, but at least I’ve got there, young ‘un. You might not.’
She raised an eyebrow. ‘Are you threatening a police officer, Mr Feeney?’
‘He isn’t, but I will,’ Pete broke in, ‘if you don’t stop buggering about and get us something useful.’
Jane threw him a salute. ‘Aye-aye, cap’n.’ She picked up her phone. ‘Passat estate from Yorkshire, partial reg YAP, changed ownership around… What? 1982?’
‘About that,’ Ben agreed.
‘Right, that’s mine. You get the shitty brown Transit, Spike. We’ll alternate up the list. Dick, you can check his locations against his vehicles and then against any witness statements.’
‘Oi,’ Pete said. ‘Who’s the sergeant here?’
‘Me, in your absence. And I’m guessing you’re about to be absent?’ She nodded over his shoulder. Colin was coming down the middle of the squad room towards them.
‘What about me?’ asked Jill. ‘Don’t I get to play?’
‘You get to help Dick,’ Jane retorted.
Pete checked his watch and stood up. ‘Whoever does what, play nice while we’re out. And let our beloved lord and master know what you’ve found as soon as you find it. He can include in his press interview.’
*
They were early.
The post van had not yet arrived in the street when Pete pulled into his drive, Colin Underhill beside him.
They went in, Pete pausing to pick up a couple of envelopes from the doormat. He checked them. One was obviously advertising, the other had a bank logo on the outside. He ripped it open, knowing as he did so what
it would be. Heading through to the lounge, he dropped both in the bin and turned to Colin.
‘Cup of tea?’ the senior man suggested.
Pete grunted. It was disconcerting to be on the other end of standard procedure for dealing with victims and their relatives. Calm them. Give them something useful to do, to take their minds off what they were inevitably focussed on. He headed for the kitchen nevertheless and flicked the kettle on.
With the tea made, they leaned against the worktops, mugs in hand.
‘Any news on Dave?’ Colin asked.
‘He’s stable,’ Pete said, guessing that Colin already knew the answer. ‘It took them a while with his anti-coagulants, but they’ve fixed him up, I’m told. Haven’t been to see him yet, but I don’t suppose he’s awake anyway, after all they were doing to him last night.’
‘I’ll go later. Give him your best.’
‘Ta.’
‘Mark was out all bloody night, you know. And his crew. Didn’t do any good, mind.’
Pete grunted. He knew - in both respects.
‘If that box was posted in Taunton, it wouldn’t have, though, would it?’ Colin continued.
Still, Pete didn’t respond apart from a shrug and a sip of his tea.
‘How’d he get up there without triggering an ANPR camera, though?’
‘We didn’t know what vehicle he was in,’ Pete pointed out. ‘Still don’t, as far as I know.’
‘We should do soon, unless the owner’s away on holiday or something.’
‘Wouldn’t that be our bloody luck?’
A knock sounded at the front door. Pete pushed away from the worktop and headed through, mug still in hand. He set it on the table in the hall before opening the door to the blue-shirted figure beyond.
‘Parcel for you,’ the postman said, handing it over.
‘Thanks.’ Pete returned his nod and closed the door, turning back to Colin, his tea forgotten, hands trembling as he held the small wrapped box, similar in size and shape to the one he’d received at the station.
‘Where’s it from?’ Colin asked.
Pete glanced down, his mind a blank, emotions swirling. ‘Post mark’s Taunton again, but that’s just the sorting office it went through, isn’t it? And there’s not as many of those as there used to be.’