by Mike Holman
Tom declined the invitation and after quickly outlining events explained his wish to speak to Dorsey upon his release from the cell block and made his way to his own desk.
“Sweetface,” Tom shouted from his office.
“At your beck and call Sarge.”
“Go down to the cells, in Dorsey’s property locker you’ll find a jacket with blood stains. It’s all sealed up in a bag apparently. Drop it into Scenes of Crime for me. Tell them I suspect the blood will be a match for public enemy Wayne Evans. Get them to do the necessary comparisons to see if they can get a match on it for me. I imagine they’ve got sufficient on Evans from his previous visits and offences to make the comparison. Also there are a couple of idiots in for stealing a car and a burglary at the school, you and young Martin can deal with them.”
“What do you reckon Evans has been up to then Sarge?
“I’ll brief you later Dave, I must get on. Anything much in the Crime Book overnight?”
“No Sarge, only a couple of vehicle thefts in the town centre, 3 minor town centre office break ins and an attempted burglary out in Whitbury village just off the coast road. The occupant seems pretty sure that it was her estranged husband trying to get in so Uniform are looking into that. Nothing for you to worry about anyway Sarge.”
“Thanks Dave.”
Tom swiftly tidied his office, concealed any documents that shouldn’t be seen by one of the local criminals and made his way back down to the Custody Sergeant in the cell complex.
“Alright if I take Dorsey up to my office now Jim?”
“Help yourself Tom, he’s signed all the paperwork, I’ve released him refused charge and returned all his personal belongings except for his jacket obviously. I told him you want a friendly chat and he’s quite happy, although very nervous. But I never know if that really means much with him ‘cos he’s always so quiet and nervous in here. He was very concerned as to why you want to keep his jacket though. I told him I didn’t know. He’s in the visitors’ waiting room.”
“Thanks Jim.”
Tom opened the waiting room door and saw Dorsey sitting in the corner with his head in his hands looking disconsolate. Dorsey was the same age as Evans, a solidly built young man of about 5 foot 10 inches, covered in tattoos with a completely shaven head. Tom had never seen him in anything other than jeans and Dr Martens boots. He liked to portray himself as one of the town’s hardmen but inside the police station he was generally as quiet as a mouse and exceptionally anxious when shown the cells.
“Paul do you remember me? I’m Tom Lancaster, one of the DS’s here. I’ve got a coffee for you up in my office, we need to talk.”
“Why Mr Lancaster, why have you kept my jacket, I ain’t done nothing wrong.”
“Follow me Paul and I’ll explain. You know full well why I’ve kept your jacket.”
“No I don’t.”
“Come on, this way Paul.” Tom led him upstairs to his office.
Once inside, Tom shut the door. Dorsey sat down opposite Tom’s desk and was handed a coffee.
“There’s sugar on the desk here Paul, help yourself.” Tom sat behind his desk.
“So why did you want to speak to me Mr. Lancaster? I told them why I ran away.”
“You’re a big mate of young Wayne Evans right?”
“Yeah, he’s my best mate.”
“Christ you pick some nice friends don’t you Paul?”
“He’s okay when you get to know him.”
“Well you know what happened to him last night don’t you?”
“No.”
Tom studied Dorsey’s face and bodily reactions. He was an intuitive Detective whose lengthy CID experience had made him very proficient in the observation of body language. He immediately detected Dorsey’s unease.
“Come on Paul, I’m too busy a man to waste time going round the houses, I wasn’t born yesterday, your mate Evans got stabbed last night, that blood on your jacket is from him.”
Tom saw little body reaction from Dorsey to the statement that his best friend had been stabbed, so immediately knew he was on the right track.
“No, I don’t know what you’re talking about, it’s from a nose bleed I got in a fight a couple of days ago.”
“The blood was fresh Paul, don’t waste my time. The reason I’ve kept your jacket is so that Scenes of Crime Officers can do comparisons to see if it’s a match for Evans’ blood. I’ve got a good idea what the result of that will be. If it is Evans’ blood you will be paying us another visit but this time on suspicion of a serious stabbing.”
Tom noticed the sudden change in Dorsey’s body language and knew he was getting somewhere instantly.
“It’s got nothing to do with Wayne and I didn’t know he’d been stabbed, honest Mr Lancaster.”
“You and Evans had a fight did you Paul? It’ll be easy for me to check it out from the blood on your jacket.”
Dorsey started to get flustered and agitated.
“Hey Paul, as I said I’m a really busy man, I’ve given you the chance to be up front with me about the blood, if it turns out to be from Evans you’ll have to take the consequences. A stabbing is a serious offence and we all know how much you love being in here in the cells. Don’t expect any sympathy from me when it happens. Finish off your coffee and you can get off home, I haven’t got time to be fucked about by the likes of you, I told you I’m a very busy man Paul.”
Tom knew full well that Evans would never make an official complaint or support police proceedings, but relied on the fact that Dorsey wouldn’t have the intelligence to have even considered that. He got up from behind his desk and started to open his office door.
“Hang on Mr. Lancaster, if it was Wayne’s blood it wouldn’t necessarily mean I stabbed him, I don’t want to be dragged in for nothing like that.”
“But if you’ve been telling me the truth you’ve got nothing to worry about.”
Dorsey was reluctant to get up off the chair, a good sign in Tom’s mind. Tom shut the door and sat back down.
“You’ve got ten seconds to make your mind up Paul, if you’ve got something to say spit it out or else get off home.”
“Okay I’ll tell you what happened Mr Lancaster but the stabbing had nothing to do with me, you know what good friends we are, I wouldn’t do something like that to a mate. I just went to help him out and then later when I was walking home I saw the Old Bill car and really panicked ‘cos of the blood on my jacket. If I tell you what I know I want your word you won’t tell Wayne I’ve been talking to you, you know what he’ll be like if he thinks I’ve talked to the Old Bill.”
“Wouldn’t do your street cred much good would it Paul? I’ll keep it to myself for now.”
Tom listened whilst Dorsey explained that he had been at home and received a telephone call from Evans just after midnight. Evans was in a panic and told Dorsey he had been stabbed and needed his help to get to the hospital.
“What were his exact words to you Paul?”
“He said something like, ‘the bastards have stabbed me.’ I asked him where he was and he told me he was about 2 miles out of town on the main coast road by the phone box in the old café lay-by. He said he didn’t want to call no ambulance ‘cos he’d automatically get the Old Bill as well.”
Dorsey carried on to explain that he drove out, collected Evans from the lay-by and took him to casualty.
“So how did the blood get on your jacket Paul?”
“When I got to the lay-by he looked awful and real weak. He was sitting down leaning against the phone box. I helped him up on to his feet and into my car so I must have got some on me then. Then I gave him my jacket to put against him in the car to try to stop the bleeding. He’d used his jumper to roll up and hold against where he’d been stabbed to try and stop the bleeding but there was loads of blood. I was really worried about him.”
“Did you take him right into casualty?” Tom asked, knowing that it would be easy to check to clarify Dorsey’s story.
“So why were you on foot when you got picked up last night Paul?”
“I was in such a panic I forgot I was low on fuel, I ran out of petrol about a mile from home so I was just walking back from where I left the car. I can show you where it is.”
Tom continued to talk to Dorsey to try and determine whether Evans had given any clue as to what had actually happened. Dorsey was insistent that Evans had refused to talk about where he had been or why or by whom he had been stabbed. Once Tom had got as much information as he could he showed Dorsey to the front foyer and quickly briefed a Uniformed Officer who was to go with Dorsey to the car, examine the car and then have a snoop round in the lay-by by the phone box and arrange for a scenes of crime examination if necessary.
Tom was getting more and more intrigued about Evans’ misfortune and was quite pleased to find that it was a fairly quiet day on the crime front which would allow him time to delve further. Before returning to the CID office to brief his own staff and the DI, he made a fairly lengthy entry in the station occurrence book in order that other Officers could brief themselves as to what had happened. Tom was a great believer in the effectiveness of the occurrence book. Officers would often see things that appeared to be of little relevance during their patrols. However, upon reading the occurrence book they would occasionally find themselves in possession of important information in relation to offences or enquiries being dealt with by CID or other departments. On occasions these snippets of information had proven to be vital missing pieces of a complex puzzle.
CHAPTER 3
Just after 10.30am Wayne Evans dragged himself out of bed and into the kitchen to have breakfast. He moved about cautiously and grimaced with pain from the area of his stomach wounds. Although the bandages did give reasonable support in restricting movement, twisting or bending was very painful. The pain wasn’t as bad as he’d expected, the hospital had provided him with some fairly strong painkillers and strict instructions to take it very easy for a couple of weeks. He shared a small rented two bedroomed 1950’s terraced house in a scruffy part of town with his girlfriend Sue. She had reluctantly left at 7.50am as normal to walk to the bakers where she worked as a counter assistant. She always started at 8.00am and finished at 4.00pm. Sue wanted to take a few days off to look after him but he was most insistent that he didn’t want her there. She rarely argued, deep down she was quite scared of him and knew his tempers well. On the whole she did what she was told. Sue was from a good, caring and fairly wealthy family. Her parents could never understand why she had got involved with Evans or what she saw in him. Sue wouldn’t admit it but there had been many occasions recently when she questioned her own judgement in respect of Wayne. Her parents tolerated her relationship from a distance, as they didn’t want to alienate themselves from a daughter they loved so dearly. They hoped and prayed it was a passing phase.
Wayne made himself a strong black coffee and two slices of toast and marmite. He cautiously manoeuvred himself from the kitchen into their small dining room and lowered himself gently onto a chair, screwing his eyes up tight and holding his breath expectantly awaiting imminent pain. He had been in many fights in his time, mostly pub brawls, was generally proud of his ability to look after himself but this had frightened him more than he cared to admit. Those bastards meant to kill me, this is big league stuff, he thought to himself as he took cautious sips of hot coffee. He had always fancied himself as becoming a big league criminal but hadn’t expected a near fatal introduction.
Whilst reflecting on his narrow escape he heard a sound he recognised as a powerful motorcycle pulling up outside. The engine stopped and he heard a knock at the front door. He carefully got up from the chair and slowly made his way towards the solid wooden front door. As he did so the knocking became louder and more aggressive.
“Hold on, hold on,” he shouted, “Who is it?”
“Courier, mate,” came the reply, “I’ve got a delivery needs signing for.”
Wayne wasn’t expecting anything, but was used to Sue occasionally having mail order clothes delivered. He turned the latch, partly opened the door and started to lean forwards to see the caller. He caught a momentary glimpse of a large leather clad motorcyclist wearing a crash helmet. The split second their eyes met the heavy door flew back at him violently, pinning him against the hallway wall. His forehead and nose had taken much of the impact. He could taste blood and stood dazed for a few seconds, blinking his eyes trying to recover focus whilst wildly hitting out at his assailant with his free right arm. He felt a blow to the side of his head and a large gloved hand pushed hard into his throat taking his breath away and pinning him harder against the wall. Wayne was finding it hard to breath as he realised he had two visitors, both tall and heavily built, wearing leathers and black full face crash helmets. He desperately tried to get a glimpse of their facial features but cotton ski masks under their helmets made it impossible.
“You’re supposed to be dead Evans,” shouted the man holding him by the throat. Now he recognised the voice. Without warning he brought his knee up into Wayne’s groin with such force that both his feet left the ground. He squealed with pain, the grip on his throat was released and he fell heavily to the floor in agony.
“Get up Evans, you’ve got more to come,” he heard before passing out.
Ever since arriving at work Sue had not been able to concentrate for worrying about Wayne. Alan Bradwick had been running his bakery business in Brampton High Street for 20 years and was a good and caring employer. He employed 12 people all of whom had worked for him for many years and he looked upon them virtually as his family. Sue had started to work for him on Saturdays whilst still at school and he then offered her a full time job when she left school at 16. Now 21 she was his youngest and shortest serving member of staff. He valued her greatly as an employee as she had such a pleasant and polite manner with his customers whom repeatedly returned for their bakery needs. Sue was a slim attractive girl with shoulder length blonde hair. She was very mature for her age, had smiling blue eyes, a soft, kind nature and a natural ability to converse with customers of all ages.
This particular morning he had noticed that Sue was distressed and worried. After some prompting she told him of her boyfriend’s injuries and he suggested that she should pop home to see if he was okay. Alan Bradwick had never met Evans and had no idea what sort of person he was. If he had, he would probably try to talk some sense into the girl.
It was only a five to ten minute walk. As she approached the house, which was at the end of a long cul-de-sac of council owned houses, she saw a large black motorcycle parked outside. At first she felt relieved, believing that Wayne must have a friend visiting which would give him some company and cheer him up. As she turned through the rusty twisted gate, which hung sadly on only one hinge, she saw the front door ajar. She walked carefully down the path of broken discoloured twisted paving slabs and as she approached the door she heard a deep muffled voice.
“Get his legs, we’ll put him on the sofa till he comes round, fucking idiot, why did he have to pass out.”
She fully opened the door and saw Wayne’s two leather clad assailants. Their size and demeanour frightened her instantly. They had just laid Wayne on the sofa when the taller of the two caught sight of Sue in the hallway. She could see blood on Wayne’s face. She wanted to scream or run back out. No noise would come out of her mouth. She froze. The stockier of the two shouted, “Let’s get out of here.”
As they pushed past Sue in the hall the same man pushed her head against the wall, his crash helmet visor almost pressing against her face.
“Is this your boyfriend, gorgeous?”
She felt terrified and didn’t know how, but managed to utter a very tremulous and quiet “Yes.” Tears o
f fear had started to blur her eyesight.
“Well if you’ve got any sense dump him ‘cos he’s a piece of shit who has got worse to come if he fucks about with the wrong people again. Tell him he’d better have learnt to keep his stupid fucking nose…”
“Broken fucking nose,” the second retorted sniggeringly.
“…Out of other peoples’ business,” the stockier man concluded.
On this both men slammed the front door and disappeared from the house. Sue felt as if her legs were frozen in place and wouldn’t move. She was shaking and felt icy cold with fear. She heard the motorbike engine start and the sound disappear up the road and into the distance. She suddenly seemed to regain her composure and rushed over to the sofa in the lounge where she could see Wayne opening his eyes and slowly looking round the room as if recovering from an alcoholic stupor. He was bleeding from his nose following the impact with the heavy front door.
“Shit Wayne, what the hell’s going on, who were they, what is happening?” she shouted, tears streaming down her cheeks now stained with smudged black mascara. She tried to help him sit up. He grimaced with pain, pushed her arms away from him and said angrily,
“I told you to go to fucking work. It’s nothing for you to bother about, go and be Miss goody two shoes and sell your fucking bread.”
Evans tried to sit up but was finding any movement excruciatingly painful and decided to be still.
Somehow for once Sue found the strength of character to speak up for herself. She shouted, “How can you talk to me like that Wayne? I came back to see how you were ‘cos I care for you so much. All you ever do is shut me out, push me away and insult me. I hate the way you treat me and talk to me. The people you mix with bloody frighten me. Shit, I don’t know what I’m doing with you any longer.”
“Well fuck off and find someone else then,” Evans retorted.
Sue sat heavily in the armchair in uncontrollable tears. “And you think I’m going to marry you do you, when you treat me like this.”
Evans managed to get himself in a semi upright sitting position with some difficulty. He had a pang of conscience seeing Sue so distressed and realised that he might lose a beautiful girlfriend who looks so good on his arm, satisfies his ego, comes from a wealthy family and might be his ticket to higher status and moderate wealth one day.