Condemned

by R. C. Bridgestock

  Annie paused, and frowned. ‘Shouldn’t we at least go and investigate?’

  Ricky-Lee nodded his head in the direction of the garden chalet which was located at the bottom side of the picnic area. The new, handmade sign indicated that the ramshackle wooden building was the booking office and information centre. ‘If it makes you feel any better, you can mention it to the receptionist.’

  An ancient-looking, large battered banner tied to the fence with frayed rope, displayed the caravan park’s name, and the two detectives followed the arrows down the driveway.

  ‘At least we know we’re at the right place,’ said Annie, with a chuckle.

  Ricky-Lee took his phone out of his pocket, looked at the screen, and put it back.

  ‘How many times are you going to check your phone?’ Annie snapped. ‘Is there something you’re not telling me, I am your girlfriend, after all.’

  However, before he could answer with one of his usual cryptic comments, Annie spotted an Alsatian dog tethered to a picnic table. The rope was wound so tightly round the table legs, that he looked as if he was in danger of choking. Running to the dog’s aid, she immediately went down on her haunches beside him. Whispering comforting words in a soothing voice, she tried to free the animal, but his head was too near the ground with the knot tight on his tether. The dog’s nostrils flared, the whites of his eyes showed. Annie turned to Ricky-Lee, her eyes pleading for help.

  Ricky-Lee instantly dropped to his knees. ‘Let’s untangle you, mate,’ he said softly, taking over from Annie who was struggling with the knot. The dog looked up at his rescuers with red, watery, frightened eyes, but he was losing consciousness. Once Ricky-Lee had untied the dog, he continued to stroke its soft head, and eventually the animal stood on shaky legs, which enabled Annie to pat under his belly. She cringed when she felt his ribs. Her pained eyes went from patches of missing hair on his legs, back to Ricky’s face.

  ‘Hopefully, the owner has only left him here for a few minutes,’ he said.

  Annie took a picture of the dog on her mobile phone. ‘This is disgraceful!’ she muttered, angrily. With her hand under the dog’s jaw, she smiled, and promised she’d return with food and water.

  To the left of the reception chalet was a large house. The downstairs windows had bars on, and the gate was secured with a thick metal chain.

  Annie knocked at the chalet door, and noticed several pairs of mud-splashed wellington boots lay where they had been hurriedly discarded. When no one came to the door she tried the handle, and it slowly opened. ‘Hello’ she said, to announce her arrival. The smell hit her like a punch in the stomach, a rancid mixture of stale sweat and urine. She turned and looked over her shoulder to see Ricky-Lee watching her, from where he sat with his new-found friend by the picnic table. She pinched her nose tightly with two fingers. He acknowledged her with a nod of his head. He appeared relaxed, as though he was taking in the scenery. However, she knew otherwise. He was on alert, she could tell by the way his eyes were actively scanning the area and Annie had an overwhelming feeling that she was safe with him.

  Inside the chalet, Annie observed her surroundings. Instead of a bright, neat, clean office space to greet her, with a desk, computer and a display of brochures for nearby attractions that she would have anticipated at a holiday caravan site, she was presented with a messy, dark living space. In the far corner was a large faded, moth-eaten armchair. Next to the armchair was an aged heater. An old-fashioned boxed TV set stood on spindly wooden legs in the opposite corner. A pile of well-thumbed magazines, and several mugs with mould at various stages growth inside them, sat upon an upturned blue, plastic crate, which served as a table. Annie took a moment to examine the pictures on the walls. Then she saw the hunting photographs and small taxidermy animals. Her stomach turned.

  A dragging noise preceded a shuffling, followed by a loud bang when the door was flung wide against the wall. A lady, dressed in a long black dress, stood in the doorway. On her feet she wore flat Jesus sandals, with worn ankle socks that had holes where her big toes peeped through. Her uncombed, salt-and-pepper hair had been dragged back, and tied in a long plait with an elastic band at the back of her head. She observed Annie from behind spectacles that she pushed up by the bent frame with grubby fingers.

  ‘The likes of you don’t want to stop ’ere,’ she said in a thick Yorkshire accent.

  ‘Oh, we do, we really do,’ said Annie. Taken aback, Annie protested a little too loudly. She shot a surprised look at Ricky-Lee over her shoulder, but instead of coming to her aid, as she had expected him to, he continued to observe from the picnic bench.

  The lady looked from Annie’s right hand, where her interest in Annie obviously lay. She clicked her tongue in disapproval. ‘You’re not married, are you?’ she said.

  Annie swallowed a giggle. ‘With respect, I don’t think that’s any of your business,’ she said, again feeling much stronger for having Ricky-Lee’s presence nearby.

  ‘You didn’t expect someone like me to ’ave morals, did you?’ The woman held up a small, chubby hand and flapped it up and down. She sat down heavily in the chair. ‘Go away!’ she said. ‘I’ve met your kind ’afore and we don’t want the likes of you ’ere.’

  ‘Are you mad?’ said Annie slowly, in one long exhaled breath. ‘You can’t afford to turn paying customers away, not at this time of year, surely?’

  The woman raised her eyes to the ceiling, and averted her gaze with the air of a person who was not for changing her mind. ‘Don’t tell me what I can and cannot do, young lady. I choose who I want to stay here, and I told you ’afore, I don’t want the likes of you!’

  Annie could hear someone outside hurrying towards the building, calling out, but she couldn’t quite make it out the words for the sound of a motorbike’s engine.

  The Alsatian dog greeted the young man with an open mouth, and a lolling tongue, combined with a ferociously wagging tail. The man put two shiny dog bowls down on the ground, and ruffled the Alsatian’s head. Words were exchanged with Ricky-Lee. Annie was too far away to hear, but the conversation looked amicable. Ricky-Lee pointed to the chalet, and the young man put out his hand in a friendly wave, before moving towards the door. ‘I’ll catch you later,’ he called over his shoulder to Ricky-Lee, ‘Thank you.’

  ‘There you are, Gran!’ said the young man as he stepped inside. He looked and sounded relieved. ‘I only left her for two minutes to get Bruno some food and water,’ he said, by way of an explanation, ‘but, then when I looked round the kitchen, she’d vanished.’ Walking slowly and carefully around the crate he put his hand on the chair arm, and gently put the other under the old lady’s armpit, encouraging her to get up. ‘Why don’t you go and find mum, she’ll get you a nice cup of tea and a Kit Kat,’ he said. The old woman smiled up at him adoringly, did as she was told, and got up from the chair. She then turned to Annie and scowled, ‘Harlot,’ she growled, and then she was gone.

  The young man turned to Annie. ‘I’m so sorry,’ he said.

  Annie laughed. ‘Oh, don’t worry, I’ve been called worse, believe me.’

  ‘You see my grandfather died very recently. She’s got vascular dementia, and so has Bruno, his dog, and now they’re both pining for him. We’re doing our best, but this park was Gran and Grandfather’s life, and he wouldn’t let anyone interfere. Not even me to see to his ailing dog. As result, none of us know what the hell we are doing now. I’m Sean Dean, by the way,’ he said, holding out his hand for Annie to shake. His hands were warm and soft, the hands of a healer, not of a manual worker, ‘but you’re not here to hear about our family troubles, are you?’ he said nodding towards Ricky-Lee outside. ‘Ricky-Lee briefed me about your visit,’ Sean said as he pulled his mobile phone out of the back pocket of his jeans. ‘How can I help?’ he said.

  Annie produced her warrant card. ‘I don’t know what he told you, but we believe that you could have suspects staying on your site who we want to interview about murder.’

  ‘My
God, really?’ He pulled a face, and groaned. ‘That’s all we need.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Annie. ‘We have information that tells us that the Dixons are here, and may have been for some time.’

  Silently, Sean scrolled through the database on his phone. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said, after a few minutes, ‘none of our residents go by that name.’ He saw Annie’s questioning look. ‘We’re trying to update things, it’s proving to be a slow process. Maxine, my sister put the historical information on yesterday.’ Again he scrolled through the database. All of a sudden, his face lit up. ‘Hold on, we had a Mr and Mrs Dickinson staying here last season.’ His face fell. ‘Don’t suppose one of your suspects has mobility requirements though, do they?’

  Annie wrinkled her nose, then shook her head. The young man looked crestfallen.

  ‘Take a look at this photograph,’ said Annie, ‘and see if you recognise anyone. It’s a distinct possibility that they haven’t registered in their own names.’

  Annie produce a photograph of the Dixons from a buff folder in her bag.

  Sean frowned. ‘I’d have hoped my grandfather would have checked their details before allowing them to park up on the site,’ he looked sad for a moment, ‘but, we know he had a lot on his mind at the end. I haven’t met all the residents, so I may not be able to help you.’

  Turning the photograph around to face Sean, Annie saw a flicker of recognition in his countenance. He studied the picture with his vivid blue eyes, then looked back at her face.

  ‘I know them, but they’re not called Dixon, that’s Bill and Babs Bennett. They’re renting a pitch and they’ve paid a year in advance.’ Sean opened a map of the site and pointed to the location of their pitch. ‘They have a large American-style motorhome, and they’ve got a motorbike, which they use for getting about.’

  ‘Do they go out often?’ asked Annie.

  ‘Not often, but when they do, they’re often away for a few days at a time. In fact you’ve just missed them.’

  Annie looked confused.

  ‘The motorbike you heard, that was them. I waved to them on my way back here. To be fair they’ve been no trouble to us.’ Sean’s lips turned upwards in a faint smile. ‘I do know Gran has a distinct dislike of them because, according to her, they won the money that they paid for their pitch off Grandfather – on the same night they arrived. Once a gambler always a gambler, eh?’

  * * *

  Sean led the detectives to the house. With Bruno at Ricky-Lee’s feet in the kitchen, and none the worse for his bad experience, the officers spoke to Sean, and then Maureen, his mother, who agreed that they would co-operate fully with the Police. The owners swore that they would not say anything to anyone, and contact the officers when the Dixons returned.

  ‘In the meantime, can you show us the location of the motorhome?’ asked Ricky-Lee.

  And once they had securely recorded the registered details of the Dixons’ vehicles, the detectives followed Sean around the park.

  On the way, Annie pointed to several caravans that she thought would have a good view of the motorhome, in which they could set up surveillance equipment. ‘Any of them empty?’ she asked.

  ‘One five seven is the gardener’s. He uses it when he’s working on site, but he’s on holiday for the next couple of weeks.’

  ‘Could we use it?’

  ‘Yes, of course, but could I ask a favour? If you intend to arrest them, is there any chance you could do it off the site? I hate to ask, but it would hardly be good for business, would it?’

  ‘We’ll ask the boss,’ said Annie.

  ‘My mother and I would be much obliged.’

  Annie took a calling card from her coat pocket. ‘If I give you my personal contact details, will you call me when they get back?’

  Sean nodded his head eagerly. ‘Of course I will. It would be my absolute pleasure.’

  Annie smiled broadly. ‘Thank you. Someone from surveillance will be in touch.’

  ‘If I give you my personal contact details, will you call me…’ Ricky-Lee mocked Annie on their return journey.

  Annie looked coy. ‘He was rather cute though, wasn’t he?’

  Ricky-Lee’s voice sounded deeper than usual. ‘I’m not sure we can trust him,’ he said.

  ‘Bit late now.’ She paused. ‘We told him everything.’

  ‘You mean you told him everything.’

  ‘He said you’d briefed him! What was I to think?’

  ‘I told him we wanted to rent a caravan!’

  ‘There was no point in staying over if it wasn’t necessary,’ she said. ‘Anyway, I think he’s sound.’

  ‘Famous last words,’ Ricky-Lee scoffed.

  Annie looked in her rearview mirror, put the car into second gear, and put her foot down, to give her enough power to pass the lorry. Her face was set. ‘I like him. He seemed genuinely nice,’ she said, a few moments later, after settling back in the inside lane.

  The Beetle was holding its own on the M62, and for that she was grateful. Ricky-Lee was used to comfort, and her car, like the owner, she was reminded, was never quite up to his standards. Well, tough! For most of the two-hour journey Ricky-Lee had slept. ‘Do you think they’re still at it?’ he said, when he woke with a jerk.

  Annie fleetingly turned to him. ‘Robbery?’ she asked.

  He nodded his head, took his phone out of his pocket and looked at the screen.

  ‘In my experience, leopards never really change their spots, so I guess so,’ she replied.

  Ricky-Lee flinched.

  Annie looked pensive, and appeared unaware of his reaction. ‘Now we have the vehicles’ registration numbers we can enter them into the number-plate recognition system, and if we’re lucky, we might get sightings of the vehicles’ movements. We’ll need to flag up the users of the motorhome as having access to weapons as a warning.’

  Ricky-Lee yawned. ‘There might be historical number-plate recognition data recorded that could also be useful to us.’

  * * *

  Charley ushered Annie and Ricky-Lee into her office, and closed the door behind them when they returned, surprised, as she hadn’t expected them to travel to the coast and back in a day.

  ‘That’s very interesting,’ she said, when the detectives updated her. ‘The cold-case team have no reference to their living in a mobile home. I can quite understand Mr Dean not wanting them to be arrested on site if we can avoid it. Nor do we want a lot of people hanging about on the site for surveillance.’

  ‘Sean… Mr Dean promised to contact me when the Dixons return to the site,’ Annie said.

  Charley cocked an eyebrow at Annie. ‘Sean, is it?’ Colour rose in Annie’s cheeks. ‘I take it we can trust him to do the right thing?’

  ‘He seemed like a genuine guy.’

  Ricky-Lee sighed. He got to his feet. ‘I’ll go put the kettle on, shall I?’

  Charley nodded. ‘I’ll liaise with a firearms tactical advisor for advice. He won’t like it when I tell him there could be a motorcycle involved.’

  ‘Sean said that we could use the gardener’s caravan for surveillance if required. I told him that if we needed to they would be in touch,’ said Annie.

  Charley clapped her hands together. ‘Well done, you two. Now, all I need from you is your written report, and then we can get that information on the system.’

  Ricky-Lee looked at his watch. ‘Tonight? It’s late.’

  Charley nodded. ‘Unless you have something else more pressing? It is important everyone knows the vehicles which armed robbers are using, it may just save someone’s life.’

  Chapter 32

  Firearms Tactical Advisor, Acting Chief Inspector Tim Watson was not convinced that they could pull off a raid on the Dixon’s mobile home, purely because of the close proximity of the other residents.

  ‘There is no doubt I’d rather contain them at Primrose Pastures, but the safety of the public has to be our priority. If the Dixons open fire, we could have a major problem on our hands
.’

  ‘Then we are looking at a mobile stop?’

  Tim pulled a face. ‘The mobile stop of a motorbike isn’t easy in an intercepted road block, and the last thing we want is a game of cat-and-mouse on a public road, but, don’t worry, that’s my domain. Inspector Steve Reynolds from North Yorkshire and I will plan for every scenario. What do we say, fail to plan, plan to fail, it was one of Detective Inspector Jack Dylan’s favourite sayings,’ said Tim. ‘He was our boss, back in the day. Have you two met?’

  ‘No, but his reputation of being a hard-nosed detective precedes him.’ Charley grimaced.

  ‘Hard, but fair. He’s saved my skin on a number of times,’ he replied as a knock came at the door, and Charley sat back in her chair, nodding her thanks to Tattie for the coffee and biscuits she’d brought in on a tray.

  ‘Do you know what would be music to my ears right now?’ Tim said when she’d gone. ‘Confirmation of a time of day when the pair use a particular route to a known destination.’

  ‘They known to carry weapons. So it’s highly likely they’ll be in possession of firearms when they’re stopped,’ said Charley. She picked up the plate and offered him a biscuit. Tim accepted one and bit into it with pleasure.

  ‘What a treat,’ he said. ‘Homemade cookies?’

  Charley nodded. ‘You’re privileged,’ she said, ‘and lucky that DC Wilkie Connor is out with DS Mike Blake, otherwise they’d normally be long gone by this time of day.’

  Tim sat back in his chair, smiled and looked nostalgic for a moment. ‘Wilkie Connor. That name’s a blast from the past; he was one of the best firearms officers that I’ve ever worked alongside.’

  Charley was genuinely surprised. ‘He was?’

  ‘He certainly was. Highly commended by the Chief Constable and judges alike for his bravery was Wilkie.’ Tim frowned, and sighed. ‘It was a sad day for us when he had to step down from our team, but his wife’s needs had to come first.’