by Mike Holman
“Hey, I’m sorry, I just don’t want you involved in any of this, I don’t want to be involved myself, it just fucking happened.”
“In any of what?” sobbed Sue.
“I’ve just had a problem with some heavies, it’ll sort itself out.”
“What, when you’re dead, that’s how it’ll be sorted out is it?” Sue cried.
“Hey, come on Sue, I’m okay, fuck them, they’ve gone, come over here and give me a cuddle,” as he said this Wayne put his hand to his nose and then looked at the blood that had transferred to his hand.
“Get me a cold damp cloth for my nose Sue.”
Still crying, trembling and feeling very shaky on her legs Sue went to the kitchen and soaked a dish cloth in cold water. She returned to the living room and sat with Wayne on the sofa. She used the cloth to clear the blood from his face then folded it neatly so he could hold it to his nose to discourage any further bleeding. She inspected the dressings on his stab wounds. Wayne tried to stand but clutched his groin and stomach in pain.
“I’ll call the hospital Wayne.”
“No, you won’t call anyone, I had a Detective bothering me at the hospital last night, I don’t want any more visits.”
“We need to go to the police Wayne”
“No way, I sort things out myself. You know what I think of that fucking lot. The day I talk to the filth will be the day I go to my fucking grave.”
“Stop swearing Wayne, you know how it upsets me to hear you talk like that. Everything you get involved in these days frightens me. The way you’re carrying on you’ll end up in a grave. My dad is friendly with a really nice Policeman, Tom Lancaster I think his name is. Let’s go and see if he can help.”
“Sue, leave it, Lancaster is the same as the rest. I’ve had run ins with him in the past and I don’t need no help okay. He’s the one who was bothering me at the hospital last night. Now leave it and don’t fucking talk to anyone about this or else.”
“Or else what Wayne, you threatening me now are you, I can’t live like this.”
“Calm down Sue, if either of us talks to the Old Bill I can guarantee those animals will be back quickly. That’s why they’re doing this, to scare the shit out of me. Get yourself back to the bakery, your job is important to us!”
“So why can’t you get a proper job?”
“I bring money in Sue, sometimes a load, other times not much, that’s the way it goes.”
“It’s where it comes from that bothers me Wayne.”
“Don’t stick your nose in Sue, what you don’t know can’t hurt you.”
“What about this lorry driving job you’ve been doing, is that still ok?”
“I don’t think they need me anymore, I’ll get something else, it was no fucking big deal anyway.”
“I’m calling the Doctor to come and check you out Wayne.”
“No Sue.” Evans tried to get off the sofa to stop her but gave up knowing deep down that he needed a Doctor to check him out and that a home visit and patient confidentiality should stop it going any further.
Sue was in no fit state to return to work. After helping Wayne to bed she called Alan Bradwick to get the rest of the day off, waited for the Doctor and decided to get stuck into some serious housework to try and take her mind off the morning’s events.
Evans had again been lucky, no permanent damage was the Doctor’s diagnosis. He decided to lay low for a few days. His thoughts revolved around how he could turn this situation round to his own advantage and come out on top, possibly rich and more importantly still alive.
CHAPTER 4
“Thomas,” Tom cringed every time he heard DI Lowe call his name from the adjoining office. Tom got up from behind his desk, walked into the DI’s office and jovially retorted “You called guvnor.” He knew that Barry Lowe hated being referred to as ‘guvnor’. Lowe felt it was a crude and uneducated term but knew better than to take Tom to task over it.
“The Superintendent wants to see you up in his office Tom.”
“What have I done now?” chuckled Tom.
“I think it’s something to do with someone he knows at Brampton Golf Club, but I don’t know exactly what it’s about.”
Tom sighed. “Okay, I’ll go and see his lordship now, perhaps someone from his Lodge has lost a fucking golf ball.” He got no reaction from the comment, but then again didn’t expect one.
He walked out of the CID office and up the corridor to the Superintendent’s office. The entrance was via his secretary’s small but tidy office. Anne, a plump lady of about 45, had been the Superintendent’s secretary at Brampton for the past 15 years and had seen four different Superintendents come and go in that time. The current Superintendent, Alan Davies, was a very popular man with his subordinates. He had 27 years service, a majority of which were in CID and had a great deal of front line experience. For this reason Tom considered him a rare commodity in today’s police service. Tom had considerable respect for him as an experienced, approachable and hard working ‘copper’.
“Morning Anne, is God in?” quipped Tom.
“Hi Tom, yes he’s expecting you. He’s on the phone at the moment but you can go in. I’m just making him a coffee, do you want one?”
“Yes please Anne, black and strong please, two sugars.”
Tom politely knocked on the Superintendent’s door and walked in. Alan Davies was in deep conversation on the phone relating as usual to budgets and lack of funds. His office was a grand, quite imposing affair. A large oak desk placed centrally, facing a broad window that overlooked the entrance drive to the police station and the well tended grounds. His office was immediately above the front foyer and public entrance giving him a perfect view of the comings and goings at Brampton Police Station.
Tom stood at the window staring out over the grounds and drive, deep in retirement thoughts of peace, quiet, sun and sea.
Alan Davies completed his call and replaced the receiver.
“Tom, just the man.”
“Morning Sir, you wanted to see me?” said Tom turning round to face the Superintendent.
“Yes Tom, have a seat, do you fancy a coffee?”
Tom sat down in one of the visitors’ chairs arranged the opposite side of the desk.
“Anne’s already making one Sir.”
“Fine, I was wondering if you could do me a little favour and have a look into something for me.”
“It’ll cost you, Sir,” said Tom as a joke.
Alan Davies laughed and said, “If you’re going to ask for more money for the CID budget, I think you already know the answer Tom! How are you coping running the office on your own while your counterpart Nichols is on holiday, only I know how busy you’ve been lately?”
“Not too bad Sir. We are a bit pushed but coping. It’s the damn call outs in the night that tire me out. While John is away I get them all. And don’t let DI Lowe hear you suggest that I am running the office, he’ll be most put out.”
Superintendent Davies laughed, “It’s okay Tom, I know who does the work, he’s just one of the new accelerated promotion breed that we all have to tolerate. I know you won’t agree but there is a place in the force for men like him Tom.”
“I can think of quite a few,” retorted Tom, “But most would be far too disrespectful to suggest.”
The door to the office opened and Anne placed coffee in front of both men, two chocolate digestive biscuits adorning the saucer of the Superintendent.
“Thanks Anne, don’t know where I would be without you!” Anne smiled and left the room.
“Now Tom, the reason I wanted to see you.”
“Yes Sir, I’m intrigued,” replied Tom.
“Three days ago a guy by the name of Colin Peterson was reported missing by his wife Maria. I know them both just as very loose acquaintances from Brampton Golf Club. About a year ago they held a big party at their house to celebrate his 50th birthday. I, like many others from the golf club, got invited. Shirley and I reluctantly decided to g
o, more to be nosy than anything else as everyone is always talking about his wealth and fantastic house. I always felt a little uneasy about being too close to them as friends.”
“Why Sir?”
“I’ve no idea really Tom, just a feeling I had. Nice enough couple but he is a bit rough and ready and didn’t seem to fit in totally with the wealth he displayed. A boastful man who liked to draw attention to himself in a flamboyant way, not my cup of tea really. I often wondered if most of it was borrowed money. She was nice though. A very eloquent and beautiful lady of Spanish origin, slightly younger than him. She seemed to fit her surroundings much more suitably. Anyway I would see them occasionally at the golf club and have a social drink but other than that kept my distance.”
“How did he go missing Sir?”
“Well it’s really odd. Apparently he told his wife he had to go to London for a business meeting with an old acquaintance. He left home really early, about 3.30 or 4.00am I believe, to drive to London and beat the traffic. She said she was still fast asleep when he left. Apparently they don’t share the same bedroom. When she awoke, he had gone, his car was gone as was his briefcase, mobile phone, wallet etc, in fact all the things he would normally take and she assumed all was well, but he has never returned.”
“What about the guy he was meeting?”
“Maria says she has no idea who he was meeting, when or where the meeting was or what it was about. Apparently he has his diary with him and there would be no other record of the meeting. His desk at home has been checked but we’re no further forward. It’s a strange one Tom.”
“What does he do for a living Sir?”
“They live in an enormous old farmhouse not far from the cliffs at East Point. They probably own a couple of hundred acres of land there and boast of owning a part of the coastal path behind the property that leads down to a couple of small sandy coves. It’s annoyed quite a few local ramblers that they have fenced off their part of the coastal walk, including the coves. They’ve been to me for advice, but if it’s privately owned the ramblers have no rights and that’s the end of it. They’re not public footpaths and the small beaches are now inaccessible to the public. They say the previous owner had allowed people to use and enjoy the area. Anyway, I’m not sure exactly what Peterson does but he describes himself as an entrepreneur who is into property, antiques, shipping and transport. Some of the old farm buildings have been converted into offices and got planning permission for commercial use, but whether this is by them or whether they rent it out, I’m not sure. I always tried to avoid getting too deep in conversation with him. He annoyed me intensely ‘cos I felt he only wanted to befriend me because of my position in the police force. Perhaps he felt he could get favours.”
“Doesn’t sound like the sort of person who normally goes missing,” Tom replied thoughtfully.
“No it’s strange Tom. It all seems fairly genuine in respect of the wife though. Sgt Atkins and one of his WPC’s went down there and went through the motions, have filled in the necessary missing person form and circulated the information, his description, car details etc. Apparently Maria was very emotionally upset, the WPC spent some time with her and was quite happy that her reactions were genuine, befitting a loving wife whose husband has disappeared. They have liaised with the Metropolitan and City Police but nothing has come up at all. No sightings of the car, Peterson or anything. They’ve checked airports, hospitals etc. as best they can and surrounding police forces in respect of accidents or suspicious incidents, but nothing. Sgt Atkins felt it might be some sort of domestic problem between the two of them. Perhaps Peterson has a younger woman elsewhere or something like that but I haven’t heard any rumours. Maria has been on the phone to me twice and she seems genuinely upset, distraught and concerned for him. She says it’s not the most fantastic marriage which is why they sleep separately but works as a day to day marital partnership. She says she loves him and is deeply concerned for his safety as three days have now passed. She has been most insistent that we try and do more Tom. I know a missing person is usually down to Uniform but I would like you to go out there, get to know her and snoop around a bit, see what you can find out. Sgt Atkins is downstairs he can brief you as to how far he has got before you go. Keep me updated Tom.”
“Okay Sir. Will you be speaking to her on the phone?”
“Yes I shall tell her you will visit.”
“I’ll go after lunch Sir. Perhaps you could check if that’s convenient for her. I’ll take Dave Sweeting if he’s finished with the prisoners so he can snoop around while I’m talking to her.”
“Ideal Tom, I’ll phone her and be in touch shortly. Sorry to lumber you, I suspect you’re busy with that stabbing last night as well?”
“Not really Sir, I am intrigued to find out what I can but Evans won’t make a complaint, is far from helpful and wouldn’t support police proceedings even if I did get to the bottom of it. He’s an arrogant shit anyway and probably deserved it.”
“I’ll ask Barry Lowe to cut you some slack over the next few days Tom so you can spend some time trying to locate Peterson. The DI will have to do some CID work for a few days and run the office himself like he should be doing, it will do him good.”
“That’ll be a culture shock for the lads,” chuckled Tom.
Superintendent Davies laughed loudly and replied, “Yes I’m sure they will be most impressed. Thanks for your help on this one Tom.”
“Pleasure Sir, thanks for the coffee.”
The Superintendent handed Tom a piece of paper with the full address and phone number of the Petersons and a copy of the missing persons report. Tom left the office and returned to his cubbyhole, as he liked to call his own office.
He settled down behind his desk for the rest of the morning to catch up with some essential paperwork and phone enquiries.
CHAPTER 5
“Are you in there Sarge?” shouted Dave Sweeting from the main CID office.
“Yep, sure am Sweetface.”
“Sorry Sarge, didn’t wake you did I?” joked Dave as he put his head round Tom’s office door.
“Very funny Dave, what’s up?”
“Just to tell you that we’ve finished with those prisoners, all sorted, they admitted the school job and the theft of the car and they’re having another five cars TIC.” (An abbreviation for taken into consideration. A means by which criminals can admit other offences without being formally charged with all of them. They are merely taken into consideration by the court at the time of sentence).
“They’ve been charged, fingerprinted and photographed and the Custody Sgt. is going to release them. Martin’s got other things to do so I’m going to have some lunch if that’s okay?”
Tom glanced at his watch, 1.30pm.
“I’m feeling a bit peckish myself, what have you got on this afternoon Dave?”
“Trousers, shirt and tie Sarge.”
“Is it ever possible to get a serious answer out of you?”
Sweetface gave one of his laddish grins and replied, “I’ve got plenty to do but nothing urgent, why?”
“I want you to come and do an enquiry with me this afternoon down at East Point, but first I’m going to buy you lunch.”
Dave Sweeting started slapping his cheeks in pretence of shock.
“What?” said Tom.
“I’m trying to wake myself up Sarge, I must be dreaming, thought you said buy me lunch.”
“Get your jacket we’ll have a walk into town.”
“Oh, by the way I’ve got a message for you Sarge, I’ll tell you on the way.”
Both men took a short stroll into town. Dave Sweeting explained that the message he had for Tom was from the PC who took Dorsey home. That his story checked out about the car running out of fuel and that there was some blood on the passenger seat of the car and also some on the handset of the public telephone kiosk in the old café layby on the coast road. Also that Scenes of Crime had been asked to take samples from both.
&nb
sp; “Where are you taking me for lunch Sarge?”
“To the Bull in the Market Square.”
“Oh real upper class lunch then,” laughed Sweetface.
Although fairly close to the coast, Brampton was not a tourist seaside town as it had a very rocky and quite treacherous coastline dotted with a few very small sandy coves. Most of these were owned by private landowners like the Petersons and some were occasionally visited by dog walkers, ramblers and locals where permitted, but were generally very quiet and virtually unused. Brampton itself was an old rural market town. Many years ago the existence of the town had revolved around a bustling cattle market which was where the cinema and leisure centre stood today. As a town it catered adequately for the needs of its 80,000 inhabitants and boasted an excellent array of general shops and leisure facilities. The main shopping areas in the High Street and the Market Square were home to many successful family trading outlets which competed well with the normal High Street chains. A general market took place in the Market Square every Saturday and Wednesday.
The Bull public house was situated on the eastern corner of the Market Square opposite the clock tower. The Bull was a very scruffy town pub frequented by many of the local criminal fraternity, general drunks and troublemakers. A scruffy pub with an immense large screen TV in one corner for the football. When football was on it was not a nice pub to be in. The landlord, Eric, a burly, loud Yorkshireman tolerated his clientele well, mainly because they all spent a lot of money on drink and if trouble arose, he and his staff were always ready, willing and able to deal with it, in fact, seemed to enjoy it at times. He had himself been on the wrong side of the law many times as a youngster in Yorkshire but got on fairly well with Tom. He considered him a good and fair copper and felt that it was always useful to have a friendly down to earth contact at the police station for when things did go wrong.