Condemned

by R. C. Bridgestock

  ‘Sorry we missed the briefing ma’am. We’d a bit of business to take care of.’ Ben’s eyes were bright, his round face sporting shiny, red, chubby cheeks. He groaned as he made himself comfortable in a visitor’s chair next to Terry. ‘Cold weather does nothing for my knackered knee,’ he said, rubbing it hard. He had a rasp to his voice, but his face carried a charismatic smirk that could have given any would-be Don Juan a run for his money.

  Straight-faced, Charley leant down to retrieve the Racing Post from her bin, unwound it, and opened it up on the desk in front of her. Her eyes moved from the marked pages to the men’s faces, then to the clock on the wall behind them. She cocked her head to one side, purposefully. ‘That wouldn’t have anything to do with the 2.30 at Wolverhampton, or the 8.10 at Leicester last night would it?’

  The seconds ticked away loudly as she waited for an answer. Ben and Terry turned to each other for back-up, their bodies tense. Charley’s remark had caught the old-timers off guard. The men stared blankly at each other for a moment. Once upon a time, a challenge by the ex-army supervisors of the day would have resulted in the threat of violence. Nowadays, retired from the Force and back working as civilian employees they were mostly left to their own devices. With no pressure to run around, break into places, find out the big secret or catch the villains, they were never properly challenged. Which could be why they were no nearer catching the Dixons than they had been in the beginning.

  ‘Okay, gents. I don’t want to fall out, but let’s get one thing straight. I won’t tolerate anything other than professionalism in my team. I don’t have time to play games. This Incident Room isn’t a betting office. What you do in your own time is up to you, but if it starts affecting any of my team, or casts a shadow over the murder enquiry, then beware. Understood?’

  ‘I can explain…’ Ben started.

  ‘Don’t bother. I expect a hundred per cent commitment from you, while we work together, as I do from any of my team. And the only form that I want Ricky-Lee studying right now, is that of suspects.’

  Charley’s smile was fixed. ‘Right, let’s start over, shall we? No further tossing it off and testing my patience in future, and we’ll get along just fine. Oh, and don’t ever be late for a briefing again. Agreed?’

  The two detectives appeared to have the sense to accept the reprimand gracefully, and were no doubt thankful that that was all it was.

  The hot drinks that Wilkie brought into the office at that moment helped Ben and Terry to compose themselves. Charley felt the glance that came her way from Wilkie as she took her hot drink from the detective’s hand, and she proffered a softly spoken thank-you to him, with a gentle smile. She knew she had to gain the old-timers’ respect if she was going to get them on side, and she hoped that she had at least given them food for thought. ‘You can’t fool them who’ve fooled others,’ her Dad used to say, and she knew that was undeniably true.

  With that, Charley dropped her reprimanding tone. Her change of attitude didn’t go unnoticed by her companions. ‘I’ll get straight to the point. I need your help to put Brad and Brittany Dixon in, or out, of the murder enquiry as quickly as possible. I understand that they are wanted, and that your team has evidence in respect of outstanding, unsolved armed robberies?’

  Guilt and relief were written all over the faces that looked back at her from across the desk. They knew she had them on the back foot. They knew she meant business. Playing it with a straight bat was the best way forward Ben decided, and then he hoped she’d let sleeping dogs lie.

  ‘The two are wanted for interview in respect of two cold-case armed robberies, ma’am. Brad Dixon has been caught on CCTV on both occasions. Once, when he lifted his balaclava in a shop raid, and on another occasion he is seen discarding a tab-end prior to going into a store which they raided. We managed to get DNA from that cigarette butt. These two crimes are part of a series of six robberies that the Dixons are thought to be linked to by the identification of clothing, and also from words spoken, but, as yet, the pair haven’t admitted responsibility.’

  ‘Have they been previously interviewed about these crimes?’

  Ben nodded. ‘Yes, they were questioned in prison when serving time for the other offences and they were having none of it, but back then we didn’t have the evidence that we have now. That’s why we are presently trying to locate them.’

  ‘So, you don’t know where they are?’ Charley asked.

  Ben dropped his eyes to the floor. ‘No, we don’t know.’

  Charley heard herself tut and corrected herself immediately.

  Terry went on hurriedly, speaking for the first time. ‘The suggestion is they are in Spain.’ He lowered his voice, and nudged his partner. ‘Glad they’ve gone somewhere warm. Me and him are hoping to get a trip out there once they’re traced and detained,’ he grinned.

  Ben appeared more subdued. ‘They’re circulated as wanted with all the necessary precautions, ma’am.’ he said.

  Charley sat back. ‘Tell me, what enquiries have we done in the UK?’

  ‘What do you mean?’ said Terry.

  ‘Well, for starters, do we know for certain that they’ve left the UK?’

  The men looked at each other. ‘Well, er, the suggestion is yes, but we don’t know for certain, we’ve only just had the case allocated to us,’ said Terry.

  His words were met with a frown from Charley. ‘Three months to be exact, according to my notes.’ Charley paused. Both men studiously avoided eye contact with the SIO. ‘With a view to tracing them, what lines of enquiry have you exhausted so far?’

  Ben looked up; he tapped the palm of his hand with his index finger. ‘We’ve liaised with National Crime Agency, and in turn we’ve been told that they have liaised with their colleagues in Spain.’

  Sitting upright Charley took a deep breath, followed by a sigh.

  When no more information appeared to be forthcoming, Charley continued. ‘Okay. Look, I’m concerned that my team don’t waste time making lines of enquiry that have already been completed. Is there anything on file linking the pair to Crownest, do you know?’

  Ben shook his head. ‘No, to our knowledge there isn’t.’

  There was a pause, and Charley appeared to be thinking. ‘Can you let the HOLMES sergeant have all the relevant documents concerning the Dixons, so that we can at least link them to our database?’

  Ben nodded. ‘Not a problem, when do you want them?’

  Charley picked up the Racing Post between her finger and thumb and placed it in her tray. Collecting the rest of the paperwork on her desk into a pile, she looked at the men, with a tight-lipped smile. ‘No rush, this afternoon will do. By tomorrow, I want to know more about Brittany and baby-faced Brad than their own mothers do.’

  Wilkie Connor was waiting for Ben and Terry in the main office. Ricky-Lee was nowhere to be seen. The detective leaned back and spoke to them out of the corner of his mouth as they passed. ‘How did it go?’ he said. ‘At least the boss can’t send you back to uniform any more.’

  Ben’s face was paler than when he arrived. ‘Still a sackable offence, going out of the Force area without permission, to go to the races, or not, in works’ time, especially with exhibits in the boot of the car.’

  Wilkie cringed. ‘You didn’t? You idiots!’

  Terry frowned. ‘I’d like to know how she knew where we were, Ricky-Lee was hardly likely to tell her.’

  ‘Hey, don’t look at me. I didn’t know he’d had a bet on the horses until he told me this morning that he thought he was in for a windfall.’ Wilkie’s eyes looked towards the SIO’s office. ‘He saw her clock him with his ear piece in during the briefing, and he apparently missed the last race of his “Round Robin”, but there is no way she could’ve known for sure what he was listening to.’

  Ben was defiant. ‘I don’t care how she knew. Some bosses would have wiped the floor with us. Fair play to her. We deserved a kick up the backside, and that’s what we got. Let’s get going and get the inform
ation she wants before she changes her mind.’

  * * *

  Rumours that the Dixons had absconded to Spain weren’t enough for Charley. A bullet found in the male victim’s skull, matched by the ballistics team with those left at the scene of other robberies that the pair had been linked to would be a great result and a positive step forward. She could only hope that this sort of information was forthcoming soon.

  With the appearance of DS Mike Blake in the Incident Room, she plucked her car keys from her drawer, grabbed her jacket from the back of her chair and marched out of the office. ‘Don’t take y’coat off, we’re off to Raglan’s Estate Agency to see if they can shed some light on the Dixons and Crownest.’

  ‘What, right now?’ Mike’s voice was unbelieving, but Charley’s command was not up for discussion.

  ‘That’s what I said didn’t I?’ Charley briskly entered the corridor. Mike dodged the closing door and followed closely behind.

  The SIO thought out loud as she walked, ‘They must have something that will assist us with the investigation, contact details, last known address, bank details etcetera, and by the way, Mike, let me know in the future if you talk to the Divisional Commander about an ongoing murder investigation, will you?’

  ‘Sorry boss, I passed Bobbie in the corridor and he asked what the rush was about. I didn’t… I wouldn’t…’

  ‘Understood. Oh, and please don’t use Divisional Commander Stokes’s first name; you might have known him a long time, but remember the chain of command. It’s there for a reason.’

  It wasn’t often that Charley used the front of the police station, with its great glass doors headed by the Force’s crest, to access or exit the building. She preferred the back entrance, which was nearer the car park. At the officers’ approach the front doors glided silently open and, before she knew it, she was on the pavement outside and heading towards the town centre.

  Marty, the desk sergeant in charge of manning Reception, watched their exit on the monitor in the back office, his colleague Marie-Clare at his side. By her stance Charley looked to him like she was on a mission. ‘What did I tell her? Keep yer head down, but no. She’s a law unto herself our Charley,’ he said, with a slight shake of his head and a worried look upon his face. ‘Just like our Kristine, once she’s got the bit between her teeth there’s no stopping ’em. Allus been the same, even as kids.’

  * * *

  There was no need for a ride in a car, as Raglan’s Estate Agents was a small, local, family-run business on the corner of the High Street at its junction with Peel Street, less than a hundred yards from the police station. How the estate agents had survived several recessions was a mystery to some.

  Miss Finch, the receptionist was a small young woman with long dark hair, a sunny complexion and manner to match. ‘Is there any particular property that you might be interested in?’ she said, sweetly as the officers stepped inside the offices.

  Silently Charley showed her warrant card which didn’t seem to impress. ‘Crownest,’ Charley said. ‘I’m DI Charley Mann, and this is Detective Sergeant Mike Blake, Peel Street, CID.’

  ‘I’m sorry that property is sold,’ the young woman said in a dismissive tone. ‘Any others that I can interest you in?’

  Seconds later an elderly gentleman appeared in the doorway at the back of the office. Small in stature with a slight stoop, he was dressed in a dog-eared suit, an ill-fitting shirt and paisley tie. Charley had a thing about shirts and ties. She liked to see a crisp collar fit properly, but the man’s shirt looked old and frayed. It was a few sizes too big, making his long, thin neck look scraggy. He addressed the detectives as he offered his hand. ‘Jonathan Raglan, proprietor of this establishment,’ he said. ‘How can I help you?’

  ‘How about you tell us all you know about Crownest and the Dixons?’ said Charley, noting that his hand was trembling in hers as she reached out to grasp it.

  Chapter 15

  The estate agent’s file on Crownest sat on the corner of a dusty mahogany desk which was covered with well-worn red leather and positioned in the centre of Mr Raglan’s small office, with the visitors’ seating arrangements to one side. Raglan shuffled around his desk, sat down heavily in his chair, put his round spectacles on his vein-threaded bulbous nose, and peered sternly across the desk at the detectives. ‘Sit,’ he said curtly, as he pointed to two ladder-backed chairs.

  The faded, reused file with curled edges that he slid across the desk appeared to have been subjected to strong, direct sunlight at one time. One thing that was certain was that it was a large file and Raglan was frugal. After briefly flicking through the dossier, Raglan settled to study the handwritten note at the top. Charley’s eyes wandered to the dust motes that could be seen dancing in the grey light pouring through the yellowed window. The old transistor radio in the corner of the room played quiet, classical music. Raglan repeatedly took deep breaths, and sighed heavily.

  As if someone had flicked a switch, the winter sun was suddenly gone, and Charley’s attention turned to the dark wooden shelves that lined the office walls, while the room took on a different mood. The bookshelves held old leather-bound volumes. She turned towards Mr Raglan and wondered if the estate agent had read them all. He probably hadn’t had the time, despite his years, considering how long it was taking him to read the summary on the file.

  As Charley proceeded to further explain the reason for their visit, leaving out the extraneous material not related to the estate agent’s need-to-know status. The lifting of Raglan’s head revealed a slight tic on the right side of his neck, which not only disturbed Charley, but which she also found distracting. A moment later, as if he wasn’t able to keep it in a normal position, his head dropped, as if a puppeteer had loosened a string.

  Charley raised her shoulders at Mike’s questioning gaze.

  ‘I’ve met Mr Thomas from JT Developments,’ she said, after a moment or two.

  Raglan’s eyes turned upwards to meet hers, over the top of his glasses.

  ‘And?’ he said, in a drawl.

  ‘He was upset about the delay of the demolition. Due to our ongoing investigations.’

  Raglan raised his bushy eyebrows. ‘Is it any wonder that he’s frustrated, really?’ he said gruffly. ‘The delay of a building project would test the most agreeable businessman, time’s money y’know.’ The estate agent grunted and continued to stare in Charley’s direction. ‘What else do you want to know?’ Confusion flickered in his eyes. ‘That Raglans will be selling the new homes?’

  The insight into the background of the angry man that owned JT Developments was interesting to Charley.

  ‘What of the people who took up residence at Crownest before JT Developments took ownership?’ Charley said calmly, making herself more comfortable in the uncomfortable chair by crossing her legs at the knees, letting Raglan know she was in no rush to leave.

  Mr Raglan looked uncomfortable. ‘A man and his wife were renting it, but it didn’t work out.’

  ‘We’re talking about a Brad and Brittany Dixon,’ said Charley, aware of his discomfort.

  Raglan looked surprised. ‘Yes,’ he said curtly. ‘I see that those are the names that are recorded in this file.’ There was a pause. The detectives took a breath. This was the extra beat which the seasoned interviewer uses, to see if it brings further revelations from the interviewee. ‘It was rather awkward, if not somewhat embarrassing,’ Raglan continued quietly. ‘The Dixons, to all intents and purposes, were supposed to be buying the property before JT Developments took over the ownership. However, references were not forthcoming in a reasonable time, so at the request of the owner to “hurry the sale along”, and indeed try to secure the sale, they agreed to rent the property to the would-be buyers, Brad and Brittany Dixon. The couple signed a rental agreement, paid a bond, and at the same time submitted a further cheque for the rental of the property, whilst the sale was ongoing.’

  ‘Could you give us the name of the owners?’

  Mr Ragl
an appeared flustered. He sifted through the papers to find the owners details in the file, to no avail. ‘I can’t bring their name to mind… It’ll come to me,’ he said, eventually.

  ‘Was the house habitable?’ said Mike.

  Mr Raglan gave a slow closing of the eyes, and a slight nod of the head. ‘They told us that they weren’t bothered about the state of the place. They intended to live in a couple of the rooms, and when the purchase of the house had been completed, they intended to start renovating it back to its former glory. We had no reason to disbelieve them.’ He took a deep breath and a sigh escaped his lips. ‘After a few weeks however, I was surprised to learn that their cheques had been returned to us from the bank.’

  ‘The cheques bounced?’ said Mike.

  Raglan raised a shoulder, silent and slightly sullen. ‘Yes. That’s what happened.’

  The two detectives looked at each other, both with the same thought, how could the seasoned estate agent really be so naive?

  Mike was the first to ask the question on both their lips, ‘What did you do?’

  ‘Miss Finch tried to contact them – she had been dealing with them. Unsuccessful, I personally visited the house. I was quite determined to get the matter sorted as soon as possible.’ Raglan’s head bobbed up and down, and quickly he placed his hand on his neck to stop the uncontrollable tic, ‘but they didn’t answer the door.’

  ‘Didn’t you contact the police?’

  Raglan’s head swung from side to side. ‘No, no, it wasn’t a matter for your officers. However, a bad business decision on our part, and I promise you we didn’t give up easily.’ With a clenched fist he weakly banged on the desk. ‘I wasn’t going to be beaten by those two scoundrels.’