Driving Dead

by Stephen G Collier

  Prentice went on. ‘Now, as far as I can remember at this point, we staggered out of the pub entrance, colliding with a woman with blonde hair. She looked hot. Short skirt, lovely legs, I seem to remember. I apologised to her in a pissed sort of way, while Clive dragged me from her.’

  ‘Way out of your class,’ Stevens commented. ‘Didn’t want to get you into any trouble.’

  ‘And a lot of help you were. You got just as pissed as me. Neither of us knew what we were doing half the night.’

  ‘The club was dark with a few spinning lights. But it was packed, both of us finding it difficult to get to the bar through the gaggle of scantily dressed women. Eventually we went back to the pub, because it was too busy and you couldn’t hold a decent conversation, let alone order a drink.’

  ‘I told Clive that the woman I’d bumped into earlier was sitting on her own at the end of the bar. So, I decided to go and chat her up.’

  ‘I did advise him against it,’ Stevens said.

  ‘Yeah, but you bet me a fiver that I wouldn’t leave with her.’

  ‘Lost my bet then, you could say.’

  ‘Unfortunately, I can’t remember much after that, until I found myself in the street.’

  ‘So, what happened then?’ Jake asked, who by this time had taken a chair at an empty desk. Some other officers had also entered the crew-room and were listening to Prentice’s story.

  ‘It was when I went to move my arms to pull my coat round me, that I realised I couldn’t move them. I was cold. My head was pounding, like the beat base at a rave. I looked around to see if I could recognise where I was. Didn’t initially, but thought it might be on the eastern side of town. It was then that I saw that I was,’ a beat, ‘stark bollock naked.’ The room erupted in laughter. ‘Yeah, you just laugh at my predicament, why don’t you?’

  ‘And what else was there, Chris?’ Johnson asked.

  Prentice considered the floor for a moment, then said, ‘Securing me to the lamp post were a pair of pink fluffy handcuffs.’ More laughter. ‘I tried to stand up, but I was cold and stiff. Anyway, what really worried me shitless was a group of lads that were getting closer and closer. I knew that before long they would be gathered around me, taking the piss. I tried to pull at the handcuffs, but they wouldn’t come apart and I couldn’t find anything to undo them with, so I just rattled them on the lamppost. Some house lights came on and I hoped they called three nines.’

  ‘Good job somebody did, or we’d probably still be looking for you,’ Jake said.

  ‘You might just have been looking for a body instead,’ Prentice moaned. ‘They taunted me, kicked me and one pissed all over my back. So, as you can see I’m not exactly happy about it, but at least you can prevent the rumour mill from starting up. So now you know.’

  There was silence in the room. The laughter had stopped. The assembled officers beginning to realise how serious it could have all been. Reg Johnson stood.

  ‘Folks, I give you my young crew-mate, “Piston Prentice”.’

  There was a round of applause, but Jake knew that the incident would probably haunt Prentice for the rest of his service.

  10

  The central police station on Campbell Square is a white sandstone building. Built in the 1930s, along with the fire station next door. It stands on the site of the Victorian Northampton Gaol. It not only housed the police station on the ground floor, but also the Magistrates Court on the first floor.

  Number One court, originally the Court of Assize, would remind anyone of any age of a traditional court of law. It was very Old Baileyesque: oak benches and dock, with the magistrates sitting on a raised dais, looking down on both the accused and the witnesses. The smell of polish and fear permeated the courtroom.

  Jake had arrived early to give evidence on a minor traffic matter, situated to the side of the No.1 Court. It was empty, so he went down into the bowels of the station to the canteen. It was small, compared to some canteens. The serving hatch was directly on the left-hand wall as he went in, with a small preparation area behind the hatch. Despite its size, the two kitchen staff managed to produce a fairly decent breakfast, lunch if you wanted it, and an evening meal. That day, Jake opted for a simple bacon butty and wondered how much longer the force would maintain such a service. He knew that eventually it would go the way of other canteens in the county, sandwich and drinks machines and a microwave in the corner.

  As he entered the canteen and ordered his butty, he caught sight of newly promoted Inspector, Dave Harte, Jim Kingsfield’s old Detective Sergeant. Harte looked uncomfortable in uniform, showing his bright new silver stars on his shoulders. Jake collected a coffee, and went to join him, who looked up, as Jake’s shadow fell across him.

  ‘You seem a bit out of place here, Jake,’ Harte said warmly.

  ‘No more than you do in that uniform.’

  ‘Tell me about it. I much prefer my suit. Anyway, what brings you here?’

  ‘Traffic court,’ Jake said as he sat down opposite. ‘The guy probably won’t turn up or plead guilty on arrival. That’s usually par for the course.’

  Harte nodded, but said nothing and kept eating.

  Jake took a slug of his coffee. ‘So, how are you liking your new job then, Dave?’

  ‘It’s OK, if you want to nursemaid new sergeants and probationers. I spend more time doing paperwork, than getting out on the street. Can’t believe how much of it there is. Nightmare,’ he said, wiping his plate with a large chunk of bread.

  ‘What about the DI role going in CID?’

  ‘Not a chance, not had these long enough.’ He indicated the pips on his shoulder.

  ‘Ah, I see, any word on those Fulborough remains?’ Jake asked casually.

  ‘No, not a word.’

  ‘Did you know that the new forensic pathologist wants to get rid of them, get them buried?’

  ‘No, I’ve not heard anything, but there again, I’m not really kept in the loop anymore. Who told you?’

  ‘Kirsty. I said I’d check it out.’

  ‘There’s a new Detective Chief Inspector, who’s running the department. An American Captain on some exchange scheme. Running it without two DIs, by all accounts.’

  ‘Shouldn’t you have been asked?’

  ‘I was. They wanted me to go acting, but I said I didn’t want it. Didn’t see it as right, stepping into Jim’s shoes, you know.’

  Jake nodded and took another slug of his coffee, as his bacon butty was placed on the table in front of him. He nodded again in thanks.

  ‘How’s Kirsty?’ Harte asked. ‘I’ve not seen her since the funeral,’

  ‘She’s finding it difficult, as you would expect, but she’s coping, just.’

  ‘Difficult losing a partner. I hope I never have to cope with anything like that.’

  Jake tucked into his butty and, as Harte was putting the finishing touches to his breakfast, a young constable approached them.

  ‘Inspector?’

  ‘Yes, constable. What can I do for you?’

  ‘You’re needed upstairs, sir, something about Fulborough Wood.’

  Jake looked at Harte and raised an eyebrow. ‘That’s just spooky.’

  ‘Indeed it is, perhaps it’ll get me back on the enquiry.’ Harte smiled and rubbed his hands in mock glee. He collected his kit off the back of the chair and walked towards the door. Before leaving, he turned to Jake. ‘Do you want to come up as well?’

  Jake thought for a moment. ‘I’ll see what’s happening with this court case then catch up with you.’

  Harte agreed, and carried on out of the canteen.

  Jake took time to finish his sandwich, mulling over the previous day’s events. Andy Thomas the collision investigator had briefly spoken to him at the scene and he was concerned about a number of things that made him and Jake think that the collision was a little out of
the ordinary. He’d sent him off to do some digging.

  Jake wiped his mouth with a serviette, collected his mug and plate and placed it on the table by the serving hatch. Wishing the canteen staff a good day, he went back upstairs to the court.

  The traffic matters were usually held in court number three and, as he approached the open doorway, he was met by the court usher. She told him that the case was to be adjourned. The defendant had called in to say that he was ill. Not being surprised at this information, Jake went downstairs to join Harte.

  As he entered the front office, Jake saw a man, who looked like a construction worker, standing the other side of the counter talking to the office clerk.

  Harte beckoned him over. ‘Apparently, Jake, some suspicious goings-on at Fulborough Wood.’

  ‘Again?’

  Harte nodded towards the man standing at the desk, who he turned his attention to. ‘I’m Inspector Harte. I was on the Major Crimes unit during that case twelve months ago. You can speak to me and my colleague if you wish?’

  The man, who gave his name as Harry Bagshaw, stared at the both of them. ‘I suppose so,’ he said after a moment. ‘Could we talk somewhere more private?’ he added, glancing around.

  ‘Sure. Monica, would you put him in interview one for me please?’

  Monica nodded and invited Bagshaw into the police station. Jake followed Harte to the interview room on the ground floor. As he sat down, she offered him a drink, but he declined. They both sat down opposite Bagshaw. The room wasn’t like the interview rooms in the justice centre, stark and smelling of disinfectant. This room was carpeted, cleaned regularly, soundproofed and hushed.

  ‘I’ll record this, if you don’t mind?’ Harte said holding up two CDs, which he picked up from under the machine.

  Bagshaw just shrugged. Jake took a back seat and watched Harte begin the interview. He decided not to interrupt, unless absolutely necessary. After going through the formalities, including stating his full name, Harte asked, ‘Mr Bagshaw, how can we help you this morning?’

  ‘First off, I don’t want anyone to know who came to you with this information, as it would get me into deep trouble. The sort of trouble that wouldn’t end well for me.’

  ‘I see. Have you been threatened?’

  Bagshaw nodded.

  ‘For the recording please.’

  ‘Oh, yes, I have.’

  ‘By who?’

  ‘I’d rather not say at this time.’

  ‘What do you want to tell us then?’

  ‘A few weeks ago we were working in Fulborough Wood. His Lordship wanted rid of it, since all that other fuss.’

  ‘Yes, I know. I was one of the detectives who worked on the case.’

  Bagshaw looked at Jake.

  ‘I was involved as well,’ was all Jake said.

  Bagshaw nodded, evidently satisfied. ‘OK.’

  He went on to explain that Lord Fulborough wanted to destroy the wood and use it for something else. And to dissuade the rubberneckers that came and wandered all over the site in the hope that they would solve the mystery like The Continental Op or Philip Marlowe.

  ‘You like a bit of hard-boiled crime fiction?’ Jake asked.

  Bagshaw looked towards him. ‘Some of it, yes. Anyway, we’d been working for most of the morning, removing the remaining tree stumps and then we found it. At first I thought it was just a roll of carpet.’

  ‘Right. Go on.’

  ‘I was operating the excavator and, as I pulled up this roll of carpet, we saw it was… ’ Bagshaw stuttered.

  ‘What did you find, Harry?’ Harte said.

  Bagshaw looked down at the table and stared at his large hands that lay flaccid and almost disconnected from the rest of his body. When he looked up again, Jake saw that there were tears forming in his eyes, but he quickly composed himself.

  ‘We found a body – a skelington.’

  Jake smiled at Bagshaw’s pronunciation of skeleton, but was surprised by what he’d said. Another body? More of Tyler’s victims? Will the spectre of that man ever go away? The last thing we need is a psychopath’s burial ground. The press will be hyping it up and pissing all over the police like they normally do.

  ‘Harry, why didn’t you call us immediately?’

  ‘It wasn’t my call to make, or the foreman for that matter. He took his orders from the estate manager.’

  ‘That’ll be Frank Philpott, if my memory’s correct?’

  ‘Yes, right. He and the foreman went away and discussed what to do, then he came back and told us – to bury it.’

  ‘Excuse me? You did what?’ Harte said, looking over at Jake.

  ‘And what did you do?’ Jake asked.

  ‘We did as we were told.’

  ‘Did you not argue the point. That was the wrong thing to do?’

  ‘There was little resistance. Philpott gave us a grand each and two-grand to the foreman to keep quiet.’

  ‘Who’s the foreman?’ Harte asked.

  ‘Bloke named Ian Morton. I’ve worked with him since he took over the company – evil bastard if you ask me.’

  ‘Name’s familiar. So, where is your money?’

  ‘I gave it back to Morton this morning. He wasn’t happy about it. That’s when he threatened me. He had me up against his motor with his fist in my face.’

  ‘If I’ve got this right then, Philpott paid you all off to rebury the remains of a body you found?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘I don’t know. Some talk about delaying what Fulborough had planned for the site. But I think there was more to it than that. The look on Philpott’s face said it all.’

  ‘Was Lord Fulborough party to this agreement?’

  ‘No, I think it was between Philpott and Morton.’

  ‘How long have you worked for Morton?’

  ‘Morton has only been in charge for three, possibly four years. I worked for the previous owner on and off for most of my life. They were reasonable employers, until Morton got his hands on the whole company. Don’t think I’ll be working there for much longer particularly when he finds out what I’ve done.’

  ‘There’s no reason for him to find out unless you tell him,’ Jake said.

  ‘Why have you come to us now then?’

  ‘Inspector, I have been arguing with my conscience, ever since this happened. I am a religious man. I go to church on Sunday. I couldn’t let it fester inside me any longer.’ He tapped his chest as he said it.

  ‘Do you have any family?’

  ‘My wife passed away several years ago – cancer – and I haven’t seen my son for twenty years. Last I heard he was in Australia.’

  ‘I’m sorry to hear all that, but I can assure you that you have done the right thing by coming here. You realise, however, that by admitting what you’ve done, you and the others have committed a serious offence.’

  ‘I understand that, yes.’

  ‘I have no alternative in this matter but to arrest you. Do you understand?’

  ‘Yes, I was prepared for this. I’ve sat for an hour in your car park trying to pluck up the courage,’ he gave an etiolated smile.

  ‘Very well. Harold Bagshaw, I am arresting you on suspicion of concealing a body. You do not have to say anything, but it may harm your defence, if you do not mention when questioned, something which you later rely on in court. Anything you do say will be given in evidence. Do you understand?’

  ‘Yes, I do.’

  They all exited the interview room, after Harte stopped and retrieved his CDs. As they did so, Harte bumped into the young probationary constable, he’d seen earlier.

  ‘Ah, Aiden, do me a favour and take Mr Bagshaw to the CJC, will you? And book him in for me. He’s been arrested for concealing a body.’

  Aiden Bentley handcuffed
Bagshaw and led him away towards the rear of the station.

  ‘What do you think about that?’ Jake said.

  ‘Doesn’t it make you wonder what actually has gone on in Fulborough Wood?’

  ‘It makes me question whether there are any more, that’s what.’

  ‘I agree. What if Tyler used the place to dispose of all his bodies?’

  ‘We could be looking at remains going back years.’

  ‘Problem is, there would be no reason to investigate.’

  ‘But they’ll have to investigate this, surely. If I was Senior Investigating Officer, I’d want to dig up the whole bloody wood.’

  ‘Yeah and that’s the point – the case is cold and closed. Why go digging any further?’

  ‘So, what are you going to do, Dave?’

  ‘I’m going up to Major Crimes at HQ, see if I can convince them to look a bit deeper into Fulborough and re-start the enquiry.’

  ‘Tell me how it goes, will you?’ Jake smiled.

  ‘As soon as I know something, you will.’

  ‘OK, but I don’t want Kirsty involved too much, if at all. She’s not ready for it yet.’

  Harte nodded in understanding to Jake

  ‘I feel that there will be more turmoil to come up there and it’s my duty as her FLO to ensure she is kept away from it as much as possible’ as he headed out of the door.

  11

  Second Monday –

  Rachel –

  Two Weeks Later

  In the middle of the afternoon, Rachel felt decidedly unwell. Even after her usual nights out with the girls, she had always prided herself on getting to work the following day on time, happy and certainly not hungover. She was only twenty-two after all, and quite capable of staying out late and getting in to work on time the following day.

  But she was always careful, kept her drinks covered and never finished them if she had left them unattended. Not that she believed that it would happen to her. The trolls usually went for the pretty blondes or brunettes. She, on the other hand, had short mousy brown hair. She didn’t consider herself fat, but knew that she wasn’t thin either. She was happy and confident with herself and the way she looked, and that’s all that mattered.