by Anita Waller
‘Not found one yet, but I bet there’s one somewhere. Those pictures in that album aren’t proper photos, they’re prints on ordinary A4 printer paper. He could hardly take them into Boots and have them printed, could he? I reckon he’s bluetoothed them from his phone to his printer.’
‘Right, keep looking. I’m taking this album back with me, I’m going to go through it properly and see if I recognise anyone.’
He raised his voice so that everyone could hear. ‘Listen up. No working after five o’clock. We can come back tomorrow and finish off. There’ll be two uniforms on duty outside all night, so we’ll be secure.’
He heard a chorus of ‘thanks, guv’ and headed for the lift, taking Craig with him.
‘Back to the station, Craig, in a bit. Let’s get some expert help on these pictures. Tomorrow afternoon, we’ll have a briefing, but for now, let’s go get Kenneth Lancaster. Let’s go scare the shit out of the murdering bastard. He’ll regret taking the photo of that little lass for the rest of his life.’
Billy took a cup of tea and a glass of water into the back garden and watched as Kenny deadheaded the roses. His love of roses seemed so at odds with the way he lived his life.
‘Drinks,’ Billy called, and Kenny walked across to him.
‘Thanks. I’ll give the garden a good hosing tonight, this soil is baked solid.’
‘We go Monday,’ Billy said quietly. ‘I got us into first class, and once we’ve arrived in Crete, nobody will be able to find us. You heard from Carl?’
Kenny shook his head. ‘Not today. But I don’t need to, it’s done now. I don’t really want him to know when we’re going, or anything. He was good to work with, though. I felt he had my back, and it was a lot easier lifting Grausohn than I thought it was going to be. We’d better start packing then?’
‘As soon as possible. We can’t take too much, but we get quite a lot of weight allowance going first class. I’ll nip up to the loft, sort out the biggest suitcases.’
Billy headed upstairs, let down the ladder and headed up into the disorganised roof space. He heard the doorbell and hoped Kenny had too. Footsteps echoed on the hallway parquet floor, and he nodded. He didn’t need to get down out of the loft just yet.
He didn’t hear the door open, and he couldn’t hear Kenny’s words, but he did hear the deeper tones of DI Roberts. He crept quietly back to the loft hatch and eavesdropped on what was happening.
Billy was transfixed. He thought he heard Roberts say something about Kenny accompanying them to the station. Then, he heard Kenny say, somewhat louder, ‘Why?’
Roberts then said something about Grausohn, and Billy froze. Again, he could hear Kenny’s raised voice. ‘I’ll go upstairs and get a cardigan,’ he said, and Billy moved away from the hatch.
Kenny walked upstairs, accompanied by Craig Smythe and pressed the button for the loft ladder to raise, and the hatch to close.
‘I had intended getting down a suitcase,’ he said drily to the young constable.
‘Leaving the country, sir?’ Craig asked, trying to hide the smirk.
‘No, I was planning on heading to Wales for a few days. Doesn’t matter. I can go tomorrow.’
He went into the bedroom, took a cardigan out of the wardrobe and headed back downstairs, Craig no more than a few feet away from him. It was much too warm for the cardigan, but he’d had to use some excuse to get upstairs and put the ladder away; he didn’t want Billy involved yet. If the alibi was needed, fair enough. If it wasn’t, he had to keep Billy out of it.
Kenny got in the car and looked back at the house. Thought transmission would have been a good skill to have, but he didn’t have it. Still he tried. Stay out of sight, Billy, ’til I need you.
Billy waited ten minutes, then cautiously pressed the button in the loft. He watched the hatch silently rise, and then, the ladder dropped to the landing floor. Shakily, he climbed down, went to their bedroom window and peered around the curtain. No police car in sight.
Once again, the loft ladder disappeared, and Billy went downstairs. He drank a full glass of water and sat at the kitchen table wondering what to do. They simply hadn’t discussed this eventuality.
Kenny had assured him they had left no trace of themselves in Grausohn’s place; Carl had sorted the whisky glasses, they had brought the cigars back with them. They had touched nothing on the balcony, even leaving the chair that had been accidentally knocked over. CCTV wasn’t an issue, either, so how had the police linked him to that night?
Carl. He had to tell Carl. Maybe the police had already picked him up, but if they hadn’t, Billy would have valuable time to decide what to do.
And then, he had to go through the house, get everything out that could possibly be of use to the police, and into their lock-up.
He picked up his phone and rang Carl. It seemed ages before he answered, and Billy was scared. It seemed they had already picked up suspect number two.
‘Hello, Billy.’
Billy breathed a sigh of relief. ‘Carl? You okay?’
‘Yeah…’ Carl’s guarded reply told Billy what he wanted to know.
‘The police haven’t been in touch?’
There was a long, drawn-out silence.
‘What about?’
‘I’m not a hundred percent sure, because I was up in the loft when they arrived, but they took Kenny to the station, and I think I heard Roberts say it was relating to Nicolas Grausohn.’
‘Shit. Will he keep his mouth shut?’
‘Of course he will. I was concerned they’d found something in that apartment to implicate both of you.’
‘But we cleaned everything up, avoided touching anything… unless it’s something from when Kenny was there officially. Wonder if they’ve picked Fraser up? His fingerprints have to be in there as well, I guess.’
‘You’re right, of course. I’m glad I rang you. I feel a bit better now. That’s what it must be. Right, I’m going to move his laptop, iPad and stuff, and his phone, if he’s not taken it, and there’s some paperwork here… I’ll get it all out of the way, in case they decide to do a search.’
‘You got somewhere safe to stash it?’
‘Yes, we’ve got a lock-up. Not sure what’s in it, but the key is on Kenny’s car keys.’
‘Good luck, Billy. Let me know how he gets on and ask him to ring me when he gets back.’
‘He will come back, won’t he?’ Billy felt drained.
‘Sure he will,’ Carl said, smiling.
Billy disconnected and systematically went through every room, removing two phones, a laptop, an iPad, a significant amount of paperwork.
When he felt the house was clear of anything even remotely incriminating, he placed it all in the boot of his car and drove to the lock-up.
Billy hadn’t been there since they had signed the lease for it.
The chair bolted to the floor, the hook hanging from the ceiling, the blood sprayed everywhere, the blood encrusted tools hanging from the walls, they hadn’t been there on that long-ago day.
His eyes roamed around, and he took everything into his brain. This was the work of the man he had planned to spend the rest of his life loving. He wiped his brow, stood the laptop and other paraphernalia prominently on the chair and pulled down the door. He didn’t lock it; he would ring the police with the address when he reached Crete.
Twenty minutes later, he was back home, praying that the phone would ring; he needed to hear Harding, Kenny’s brief, say that Kenny had been charged.
Chapter 24
The Brownlow garden had come alive with the sound of children playing. The remaining five members of Ella’s Gang had met up and simply talked for the first hour. Sally then produced food and drinks, and afterwards, they set up the croquet. The elephant in the garden was Ella, and everybody wanted to talk about her, but nobody dared.
Sally, standing at the kitchen window, watched them playing and saw the sorrow. She wished she’d had a group of friends as close as these seemed to be, wh
en she was a child. It would have made all the difference to her childhood; hers had been a lonely existence created by a domineering father who hadn’t let her breathe without asking permission.
But it was obvious how much they missed Ella. They had gone into a huddle over by the church wall, at the funeral, and their parents had left them alone, knowing they were grieving in their own way. They were far too young to have to deal with these sorts of feelings.
To make matters so much worse, they couldn’t go anywhere without an adult. They were all due back at school in eight days’ time, and even then, unless Roberts turned up with an answer to everything, they couldn’t let them do anything on their own.
And Daryl, no longer limping but still favouring his shoulder slightly, had to face another funeral the next day. Sally sighed. She was going to Megan’s funeral, while John was going to look after the children. Daryl didn’t have that option. And from the way Daryl had spoken earlier, it seemed that his dad and Aileen had become very close, so it was equally possible he would have to face yet another funeral on Tuesday, when Vinnie Walmsley was buried.
She gave a huge sigh and delved into the freezer to find pizzas for lunch for the kids. The too-quiet kids.
Kenny was sitting in the interview room, his mind racing. What the fuck could Roberts possibly have? If they’d found his fingerprints on the desk, that was perfectly feasible; he worked for Grausohn. He’d helped Carl wash their glasses, and Carl had placed them back in a cupboard with other glasses. No fingerprints there. They had left Grausohn’s glass on the coffee table, but only Grausohn had touched that.
Kenny was tapping his foot angrily on the floor when the door opened. Neil Harding, his solicitor, walked in, placed his briefcase on the table and shook Kenny’s hand. ‘Been a naughty lad, Kenny?’ Harding asked with a smile.
‘Not as far as I know, Neil. But I haven’t actually seen anybody to find out what they think I’ve done.’
‘They think you murdered your boss, plus a few others.’
‘What?’
‘So they say. Let’s get it sorted and get you out of here.’
‘Billy called you?’
‘He did. Very worried, didn’t know what was happening. Said something about being up in the loft when DI Roberts arrived, so couldn’t really hear anything.’
‘I put the loft ladder away, so they wouldn’t know he was there. I needed him to be my cavalry, not taken in for questioning purely because he’s my partner.’
‘Okay, down to business. What have they got?’
‘Nothing. If they’ve got fingerprints or DNA placing me in the penthouse, then that’s fine, I work there. If there was anything dodgy going on, then Tommy Raines is the man to ask. He did some dirty work, and some clean. I stuck to clean.’
Neil nodded and made some notes on his pad. ‘Okay, well, they shouldn’t be long, and we’ll find out what this really all about. I suppose you’ve got an alibi for Friday night?’
‘Of course. I stayed in with Billy.’
Again, Neil nodded and made a notation.
‘This is getting boring,’ Kenny said.
They looked up as the door opened, and a uniformed officer came into the room. ‘You won’t be interviewed until tomorrow, Mr Lancaster. Have you finished your talk with your solicitor?’
Kenny looked startled. ‘I can go home?’
‘No, sir,’ the uniform said, ‘I’m to escort you to a cell for the night. You will be interviewed tomorrow morning. We’ll notify Mr Harding an hour before your interview, to give him time to get here.’
Harding nodded. ‘Try to get some sleep, Kenny. I’ll see you in the morning, move some appointments around.’
Suddenly, to Kenny, it had stopped being boring. Now, it was scary.
Heather had hardly slept. They hadn’t left the Grausohn place until after six, despite Roberts’ instructions to finish at five. They’d opted to carry on and finish the search, so they didn’t have to go there next day, but Heather had felt unsettled, unhappy, un-bloody-everything. Her eyes feeling full of grit. She arrived at work at just after six, determined to sort out the album.
By ten o’clock, results were promising. Of the eleven photographs in the book showing assorted deaths, they had tracked down nine of the identities. Heather felt she never wanted to see a dead body again; it had been a harrowing job. Their success in identifying the nine had been a combination of recognition by police officers, and the facial recognition programme. The two unidentified bodies appeared to be very young men, maybe late teens, and who had clearly been tortured.
Their missing persons list showed sixteen males who were in the age group, but it would take time to tie any of those with the two in the photographs, both pictured hanging from a hook by a rope around their wrists. They could hardly go to see parents of the missing youths with these photographs and ask if they could identify their son.
She looked at the list of names and sighed. From their appearances, most of them were under thirty. What an utter waste of life, and she had no doubt that when they informed parents or wives, there would be a lot of distress and angst flying around.
Johanna Fleischer
Tommy Raines
Ella Johnston
Andy Brough
Peter McCormack
Pete Stanton
Ernie Lightfingers (only known by nickname)
Alan Jenson
Ray Fenton
She looked up as Roberts approached her desk. ‘It’s ready, sir. We’re still working on the last two names. The photograph of Tommy Raines’ burial site has been emailed to every station within a fifty-mile radius of Sheffield, with a request that they contact me if anyone recognises anything.’
‘Thanks, Heather. If you get that information, and I realise it’s a bit of a long shot, pull me out of the interview.’
‘Will do, sir. You going in now?’
‘No, having a sandwich and a coffee first. Let the bugger wait. Has somebody sent for his brief yet?’
‘I’ll do it,’ she said. ‘What time shall I tell him you’ll be ready?’
Roberts looked at his watch. ‘Let’s say around one o’clock. Lancaster will be well pissed off by then.’
She handed him the list. ‘We’re still working on Ernie Lightfingers’ real name, sir. Should have it shortly. Nat March recognised him, but couldn’t remember his real name. It will be on file somewhere.’
‘It’s Paramore. Ernie Paramore.’ He picked up the album. ‘Nat was right. It certainly is him. I’ve come across him a few times, but nothing seems to stick. Chatty bloke who could talk himself out of everything. Didn’t manage it this time, though.’
He slipped the album inside his folder. ‘I’m taking this with me into the interview room. I think he’ll break when I show him the photo of his daughter. He may not have known her, but he cared enough to go to her funeral.’
He headed to his own office for the promised sandwich and coffee and opened the folder. He had the list of identified bodies, now with Lightfingers crossed out, and Paramore inserted, he had the album, he had the fingerprint results taken from the glass and, by now, he should have a very annoyed Kenny Lancaster, who was likely to let his temper get the better of him.
His phone rang, and he listened to the caller, then smiled. He was still smiling when he walked back into the main office.
‘Brian, take Dan and George and go to Lancaster’s house. We’ve got the warrant, pick it up on your way out, along with his house keys. Check everything, no stone left unturned, okay? I’m sending a recovery vehicle to bring his car in, see what blood we’ve got in that little beauty. If you find anything significant that I need for this interview, I want you to ring Heather. She’ll keep me informed. Craig, you’re with me. We’ll be going downstairs in about an hour, okay?’
‘Yes, sir. I’ll grab some lunch now. I reckon this might be a long afternoon.’
‘I reckon so, as well, Craig.’ Roberts thought the young officer was shaping up well;
nothing seemed to faze him, and he thought when this case was over, he might very well be having a chat with him, bringing him on to the team properly, instead of being seconded to help wherever he was needed.
‘Sir?’
‘Yes, Heather.’
‘Mr Harding didn’t sound very happy, said he’ll be here at one and would appreciate the interview starting on time. He apparently changed his appointments for this morning to this afternoon. His actual words were, “he’s buggered me about enough.”’
Roberts smiled. ‘Craig, we’ll go down around half past one. Never did like solicitors.’
Billy saw the looming shape of the recovery truck appear outside but didn’t think too much of it, until it became clear which car was being taken. He had heard nothing from Kenny and merely a text message from Neil Harding informing him the interview had been postponed until the morning.
He went outside. ‘What are you doing?’
‘And you are?’ the uniformed officer asked.
‘I live here.’
‘And is this your car, sir?’
‘No, it’s my partner’s car. Kenneth Lancaster.’
‘And your name, sir?’
‘William Hanson. You can’t take his car! He’s done nothing wrong!’
‘Then I’m sure, if he really has done nothing wrong, the car will be returned in the same condition as it is now. This is the documentation giving us permission to take it.’
PC Yardley was enjoying himself. The man was obviously aggrieved that the car was being taken. How would he react in five minutes when the search team turned up?
The car was loaded onto the truck, and Yardley handed Billy a receipt. ‘It will be at the police compound. We’ll let you know when you can collect it.’
He thought Billy was going to explode. He was laughing inwardly as he climbed into his police car and used his radio. ‘DS Balding, are you on your way?’