But he made the call anyway. He had to thank somebody for something.
Julie Hammond sat opposite Tyler in the third-floor office at Hanley Police Station. She’d driven over on business and called Mills on spec. Was it a good time to call in and have that chat?
‘You might want to put it like that,’ Mills had told her.
Tyler wondered if he had ever sat in the presence of so much determination, so much energy. She looked to be in her mid-thirties, with a personable smile that seemed to him to belie a rugged thirst for justice.
‘So, do you mind telling me,’ said Tyler, ‘who you are, exactly?’
The woman grinned, and there was fire in those eyes. ‘DS Hammond, Derbyshire CID. But tell another living soul what I’m about to tell you – and I will have to kill you.’
DS Hammond had been keeping a keen eye on Martin Hillman for some time. Suspicions regarding corruption in office, illegitimate business dealings, allegations of money laundering and possible links with a significant drugs syndicate.
Working undercover, she had used an operative to attend one of Hillman’s late-night meetings on a previous occasion. The same night, it turned out, that a business rival had been assassinated in what had been assumed to be a drive-by shooting over drug territory.
And so, when Hillman had been planning another apparently less-than-urgent meeting at an ungodly hour, she had made it her business to be there in person, and to find out just how important the meeting really was.
She blew it with the oatcake business and realised that she would never be trusted to move into the inner sanctum. Hillman knew that everyone present at that meeting would have been interviewed by police, and so it hadn’t necessarily put Hammond at risk. But it had made him cagey.
Hearing about the Jenkins murder in Stoke-on-Trent, bells had been ringing over Derbyshire. There was a Hillman–Dammers connection already documented and it went way back. Dammers was even living in the old Hillman house.
Tyler listened, and then he exploded.
He was investigating one and possibly two murders and there was intelligence out there and so no, frankly, he didn’t accept all of that cop-undercover-cloak-and-dagger bollocks.
Julie Hammond let him have his say.
And then she accepted his apology.
The investigation into Hillman was ongoing. The man was dangerous and lives were still at risk. Undercover officers sometimes died in the course of their duties.
Tyler re-assured her that nothing had been said, and that nothing would be said, that might in any way compromise her work or that of her team. ‘Will you get him – in the end?’ he asked.
‘We’ll do our best. We’ll cause him some damage, something beyond inconvenience, I should think. But more than that, who can say?’
Hammond asked how things were going Tyler’s end, and he smiled, thinking about the letter. ‘Actually,’ he said, ‘we’re about to bring him back in.’
33
Hillman quoted chapter and verse all the way from Derby, but when he walked into the interview room at Hanley Police Station and saw the look on the faces of DCI Tyler and DS Mills, the silence fell like a guillotine blade.
Tyler didn’t show the letter straight away. There was a tangle of meetings and alibis to wade through first, to get the juices flowing.
Hillman’s solicitor, on serious time now, was earning every penny of it. Blocking this, questioning that; threats of bringing the department to its knees for the disgraceful way it was treating his client.
Tyler took his time constructing the scene:
Dammers had made contact with Jenkins after the discovery of the body of Alan Dale. On the face of it, he was making sure that everybody had their story straight when the police came knocking. And Jenkins had his story straight, and there was no question about where that story was going to get Martin Hillman.
Hillman was leaning forward. The lack of speculation, the firm certainty in Tyler’s tone, was something he had not encountered before, and he didn’t like it.
‘He told Paul Dammers that as you had once been well accustomed to blackmail – meaning that you had used the noble art on your teacher, Howard Wood – you would understand what was being offered.’
The solicitor objected, but this time it was Hillman who shut him up.
‘What are you talking about?’
Tyler went on. ‘Jenkins told Dammers that he wanted to meet with you to discuss a proposition. A once-in-a-lifetime business deal.’
The phrase, clearly a quotation, stung Hillman, and he flinched but said nothing.
‘You met him at an arranged location and he showed you a letter he’d written.’
The shock registered as Hillman tightened, the colour draining from his face.
‘The letter was long and detailed. It started off with some background: about an allegation made against you at River Trent High that resulted in the expulsion of the boy who had made the allegation. And how you blackmailed Howard Wood and used him to turn the allegation around.
‘The letter moved on to an account of what happened on Wednesday, June 14, 1972, when five boys took Alan Dale down The Stumps. The letter suggests it was your idea, Mr Hillman. That it was in fact retribution for being punished, along with Jenkins, for an incident involving Alan Dale.’
Tyler watched the fear and uncertainty moving around on Hillman’s face.
But still, thought Tyler: it wasn’t running as deep as it ought to.
‘Jenkins referred to you as a sadist. For the others, it was merely ‘fun’, but you really enjoyed it. You beat Alan Dale that day, didn’t you? You took a stick from the allotments and you beat him without mercy. You took Howard Wood at his word and you branded that boy with the stripes of Stoke City, reminding him while you did it that ‘Red is the colour’. Though it had nothing to do with football or Stoke City for you, did it, Mr Hillman?’
Hillman was as pale and silent as a corpse.
And yet.
‘Jenkins goes on to recount how, two days later, three of you decided to have some more fun. The others were bored with it, but you couldn’t let it go. You wanted your pound of flesh – you wanted blood for what had been done to you by Wise. And while Alan Dale was begging you to stop, you called on Steven Jenkins, like he was your hired assassin, to shut Dale up. And he did, punching him in the face while you stood there and laughed.
‘But then someone disturbed the party. Alan’s sister. You fled, but Steven Jenkins was curious to see what would happen next, while you and Paul Dammers were busy getting as far away from the scene as possible – a trait that you have gone on to develop into something of an art.’
Hillman’s solicitor objected, Tyler acknowledging the objection with a scowl, before continuing.
‘From the cover of the park bushes, Jenkins watched Alan Dale fall into the trench. He fell. He was not pushed.’
Hillman, coming slowly back to life, frowned. ‘Are you suggesting that, in the end, nobody actually killed Alan Dale?’
‘And yet,’ said Tyler, ‘it seems that nobody was more responsible for his death than you.’
The solicitor earned some more of his fee with another loud objection.
‘I imagine,’ said Tyler, ‘that Howard Wood will admit to being the victim of blackmail all those years ago, when he is shown this letter.’
Tyler placed the letter down on the table. ‘Skeletons in the cupboard, Mr Hillman. Not what the electorate want to hear, is it?’
Hillman’s eyes fixed on the letter.
‘So, Jenkins decided to blackmail you. He had nothing to fear from the revelations penned in his own hand. Jenkins did occasional, casual, labouring work. Being involved in a bullying episode thirty years ago, regardless of whether it ended in the tragic death of an innocent boy, would hardly make much difference to his career prospects. But it certainly would to yours.’
Tyler read from the penultimate page: ‘I was always impressed with the way you had the balls to blackmail your
own teacher and get away with it. It made me think that maybe one day I might try it myself. When the police came to the school I even thought about having a go at blackmailing the kid’s sister, leaving like she did and him not getting out of that hole.
‘I even went and looked and he was dead. I thought she’d gone to get help but then when we found out he was reported missing I thought, ‘Steven, there’s some money to be made here.’ Except I didn’t have the confidence you had. I approached her a couple of times and she told me to go to the police if I had something to say. You could have persuaded her though, I’m sure of it. Surprised you didn’t think about it to be honest. Maybe you did.
‘Over the years it would occur to me every now and again. Find out where she was living and turn up and get a few quid out of it. But something else always came up and I never got round to it. Story of my life.
‘But now I finally got around to making a quid or two out of the business. You doing so well and all. I don’t know that I would have thought about it but for Dammers coming around and playing it heavy. You want to get yourself some decent heavies. Like me heh heh!!!’
Tyler turned over the final page.
‘You can keep this copy for old times’ sake. Everybody likes a bit of nostalgia. And if you ever get fed up paying out, look at it, from time to time, to remind you of its value. And I’ll keep my copy, and I’ll do the same.
To old times.
Steven Jenkins, always your friend.
‘Did he tell you how ill he was?’ asked Tyler.
Hillman didn’t answer.
‘The imminence of death sometimes produces great courage. He had nothing to lose. If you paid up, he could afford to bow out in a blaze of glory. Or maybe he thought you would make it a quicker death for him.’
Hillman looked to the man sitting next to him, and for the moment neither said anything.
‘He kept two copies, as it turned out,’ said Tyler. ‘Because the one assumption that I’m prepared to make is that there was a copy in his flat, and that copy was taken on the night he was killed. The other copy he left with a person he could trust, with instructions where to forward it in the event of his death. He had more faith in the postal service than I do.
‘Still, better late than never, wouldn’t you say, Mr Hillman?’
Hillman sat for a few moments, staring at the letter. Then he sat back and started to laugh.
‘Something funny?’ asked Mills.
‘Is that all you’ve got?’ said Hillman. ‘Is that it?’
‘What were you expecting?’ asked Mills.
‘Well, from the smug look on both of your faces, I was thinking that you might have something resembling evidence.’
He looked to his brief, who nodded, and then he turned back to Tyler. But he let the man he was paying do the talking.
‘I will be writing a letter shortly myself, on behalf of my client. Now, if you will excuse us, I believe that we all have work to be getting on with.’
Chief Superintendent Berkins wanted a word. The word turned in to many words, and they came out like gunfire.
When he’d finished he waited for Tyler to speak.
‘Everyone is scared of Hillman.’
‘Is that so?’ said Berkins. ‘Based on what?’
Tyler sighed. He was sick of talking about it. What was the point? When it came down to it Berkins was right. There was no point to argue. An abundance of conjecture and speculation amidst certainties in his own mind that could not be proven – he needed evidence; he needed one of the horses he was backing to come in on the home straight and cross the line.
It was time for action; either to put the cuffs on Hillman or else find a rougher, more elemental kind of justice, if not for Steven Jenkins and everyone else that Hillman had stamped on through the course of his mean life and psychopathic rise to power, then for Alan Dale.
Tyler wanted a drink, and badly. He wanted to start drinking and keep on until he passed out and woke up on another planet, in another lifetime.
‘Do we have any idea who forwarded the letter?’ asked Berkins.
‘I doubt we ever will. Hillman likely suspected the existence of a third copy, but went ahead and arranged the hit anyway, as a lesson and a punishment. Hillman even raised the subject of blackmail himself, but the shock was still there nevertheless, when he actually saw us with the copy. There’s a lot of dirt in that letter. It raises a lot of questions. It doesn’t hang him but he could do without it.’
‘It doesn’t prove anything,’ said Berkins.
‘Hillman was responsible for the murder of Steven Jenkins.’
‘I don’t need – I shouldn’t need – to tell you, the coinage we deal in, that the courts deal in, is evidence. And anyway, why would Jenkins effectively sign his own death warrant?’
‘A posthumous claim to glory, a belated act of heroism, greed, desperation, spite – who knows what Jenkins was thinking?’ said Tyler. Then: ‘Maybe he wasn’t alone in keeping tabs on Hillman.’
‘Meaning? There was something else that you were going to tell me, Jim,’ said Berkins.
Tyler told the man what he needed to tell him about the undercover operation on Hillman.
‘Where does all this leave your investigation, Jim?’
‘I think Dammers set up the hit. I intend putting a tail on Dammers.’
‘To what end?’
‘Dammers can lead us to the hit man, I’m certain of that.’
‘I don’t know,’ said Berkins. After giving the matter some thought, he asked Tyler what he intended doing with Miss Dale, who was already waiting downstairs to be interviewed and formally charged.
Apologise on your behalf? Thought Tyler, but didn’t say.
As Tyler entered the CID room, he asked Mills, ‘How is she? What’s she saying?’
‘I’ve never seen anybody so relieved to be brought into a police station. I think if we gave her the option of being hanged here right now she’d take it. She wants to be punished, sir. She’s waited all her adult life for it. I think, when we let her go, she’s a high suicide risk.’
Mills took his notebook out and showed a page to Tyler. ‘What she said earlier.’
A society that creates conditions in which a child can be terrorised daily and nothing is done. A police force who gave up too easily the first time, and who would have done so again but for me. And who am I? Alan deserved better than me.
‘I suspect,’ said Mills, ‘that Berkins might prefer Sheila Dale’s summing up not to be made public.’
‘To hell with Berkins.’
Mills was right though. There was nothing Dale wanted to hear but the pronouncement of her own death sentence, and not even Chief Superintendent Graham Berkins could organise that.
Tyler sat down opposite the woman and asked Mills to arrange for some tea.
‘For what it’s worth,’ he said, ‘many have already found justice, one way or another.’ But even as he said the words, he was questioning on what level he believed them.
Dale looked at him, the cynicism etched deeply into her. He told her as much as he could. He told her of two deaths, the ruined careers.
For a long time, she didn’t say anything. ‘I don’t need to know,’ she said at last. ‘I don’t want to know. A lot of people are responsible for the death of my brother and maybe no-one more than me. I’m glad people are suffering, but they will never know suffering like Alan did. Those teachers, children, that school, this city – the whole evil nest should burn for what was done. They can rot in hell with the so-called good people who did nothing.’
Dale blotted her eyes.
‘What they were planning to build in that place – they should scrap it. Do you know what they should do? The one thing that would make this city remember its shame – if it ever wants to be proud again? They should build a monument, like they do to honour the war dead. Remind people that this should never be allowed to happen again.’
The tea arrived but nobody felt like drinking.
<
br /> 34
Tyler spoke again with Julie Hammond. It was clear enough to both of them that the key to nailing Hillman lay in the hit on Jenkins. The previous hit – coinciding with another well-documented, well-attended meeting arranged by Hillman, again a good distance from the scene of the crime – had been linked to the Greater Manchester area. A rival of Hillman had been shot to death. A knife in Hanley and a gun in Salford, but it amounted to the same thing in the end.
Hammond’s team were tailing Dammers. Berkins couldn’t afford an officer to go on any further wild goose chases, but Tyler and Mills were putting in unofficial overtime to subsidise what Hammond could offer, and between them they’d got Dammers covered around the clock.
They couldn’t keep it up much longer. Other cases were flying in thick and fast. Dammers was staying clear of Derby and Hillman wasn’t stupid enough to go near Stoke-on-Trent for a good long time. Hillman’s poor mother’s grave, thought Tyler, as he sat parked around the corner from the cul de sac where Dammers lived, and where Hillman and his mother had once lived.
Tyler was about to call it a night. A member of Hammond’s team was due to take over. It was midnight when Dammers got into his car, accelerating north along the D-road, towards Junction 16 of the M6.
Following discreetly Tyler wondered if this was a trip to Manchester, but he knew that was too good to be true. Strokes of luck like that didn’t fall into your lap that easily.
Still, he played with the fantasy of Dammers leading him straight to a flat in Salford, the man opening the door to Dammers as Tyler turned the lights on full-beam. The two villains throwing their hands into the air, shouting, ‘It’s a fair cop, Guv. We’ll come quietly.’
Tyler’s phone was ringing. It was Hammond.
‘You can’t sleep either?’ she said.
‘Afraid not,’ said Tyler. ‘I never can when I’m tailing low-life around the cities of England.’
Red is the Colour Page 23