by Ken McCoy
‘You imagine correctly. A pathologist should deliver an opinion that’s not influenced by the police. Trouble is, the police like a tame pathologist to make their lives easier and pathologists like to get regular police work. We needed a name to be reckoned with and Tempest was that name. It was my idea – suicide invalidated Graham Feather’s life insurance, which would have been another travesty of justice.’
‘Another?’ said Fiona.
‘Yes. I strongly suspect he was set up for the fraud by Santiago. I’m not sure why.’
‘It was because three grand went missing from the company accounts and ended up in Santiago’s personal account. Santiago wanted to keep it from his shareholders, so he somehow moved it into Feather’s account,’ Fiona told him.
‘Why would he do that?’
‘Who knows? Maybe he just had a grudge against Feather for some reason. So he set him up for a fall.’
‘Sep,’ said Winnie. ‘I thought this investigation was just for Mrs Boswell’s benefit. To prove her husband wasn’t killed by a prostitute he was visiting.’
‘Well, that’s how it started out, but it seems to have snowballed since then, in more ways than one. Why do you ask?’
‘I just got the impression that her interest in you was more than just business.’
‘She was very grateful for all my help, if that’s what you mean.’
‘I’m wondering just how grateful she is.’
‘She’s a good-looking woman,’ said Fiona, teasing Winnie, ‘and a woman without a man.’
‘Yes, she is,’ said Sep, going along with this, ‘and I seduced her with my sexy bandages and naked feet. How could she resist me?’
He caught Winnie’s gaze and added, ‘Winnie, I have no interest in her, other than I believe her husband’s murder to be part of this whole affair that started with Charlie Santiago taking a flier through a window.’
‘And have you come to any conclusions while you were mummified?’ Fiona asked.
‘I’ll tell you what conclusion I’ve come to: Charlie Santiago was murdered by being chucked out of a window; James Boswell was murdered because he was investigating Santiago’s murder; the old woman in the Grimshawe hotel was murdered because I was using her to investigate Boswell’s murder; I was run down for the same reason; and Graham Feather was murdered because he knew something that might have incriminated the person behind all this. So Graham Feather is the key to everything and the murderer assumes that his death stops us finding out what he knew. And talking of keys, can we get access to his house?’
He was looking at Fiona, who said, ‘Now that I’m off the Cold Case team you’re assuming that I’m now working on the Feather murder.’
‘Fiona, you’re the best detective Cock Robin’s got on his team. He needs to make up for his mistake somehow.’
‘Sir, one of these days you’re going to get into trouble calling him Cock Robin. They’re all calling him that down at the station and they know it came from you.’
Sep looked at her accusingly. ‘DS Burnside, they can’t possibly have got it from me. I haven’t been near the place for weeks.’
‘OK. I might have let the name slip, but you know what they’re like down there.’
‘Not big fans of Cock Robin?’
‘DCI Wood does need to make up for his mistake but it’s only been a murder since the coroner’s latest verdict. The man’s been dead well over a month.’
‘After which no doubt Cock Robin sprang into action like a coiled sponge,’ said Sep. ‘That house should have been locked up and guarded until the coroner made his verdict. Any decent forensic evidence will have been trampled into the floorboards by now.’
‘Sep, for the first two weeks we had a pathologist’s verdict of suicide and no reason to think otherwise. DCI Wood was spitting chips when he found out you were behind ordering the second pathologist. It makes him look a prat, with him saying it was suicide.’
‘Cock Robin is a prat,’ said Sep.
‘I know, but he blames it on me, with me being your stand-in.’
‘You should have told him Jenny ordered the second pathologist on your advice. That way you’d have got the credit for finding out it was a murder not a suicide.’
‘You mean I’d have got the credit for making DCI Wood look a prat.’
‘That as well, yeah.’
‘The Yorkshire Evening Post did him no favours.’
‘No, I didn’t think they would.’
Fiona glared at him. ‘It was you who gave them the story, wasn’t it?’
Sep gave a slight wince that might have been pain or it might have been guilt – bit of both in fact.
‘It was too good an opportunity to miss. Hey, they don’t know his nickname yet,’ he said.
‘Oh, you can’t tell them that, sir!’
‘I won’t, but I bet one of our constables might let such a thing slip to a persistent reporter.’
‘Sir, you have a highly developed sense of irresponsibility,’ said Fiona.
‘Talking of responsibility,’ said Winnie, ‘you’ve still got a job to do proving that James Boswell wasn’t murdered while visiting a prostitute.’
‘I’ve convinced his wife that he wasn’t and that’s half the battle,’ said Sep. ‘She needed to know that for sure. Fiona, you need to look through all Graham Feather’s stuff in his house. Any notebooks, computers, any paperwork at all; anything concerning Santiago’s firm; in fact, anything at all that might give us a clue as to why the murderer was worried about what he knew. He spent most of his time in that Cat D prison near Wetherby. Go there and have a word with his prison mates. He might well have confided in them. He might well have been planning revenge on Santiago.’
‘You think he might have killed Santiago?’
‘Well, I’m sincerely hoping he didn’t, otherwise it only adds to the mystery of who carried on with the killings after Santiago died. For all I know, the whole thing could be Graham Feather taking revenge on the world and not just Santiago. But if so, who killed Graham Feather? It could well be that we’ve already spoken to that person. We’ve got a lot of work to do.’
‘We’ve also got to get you home,’ said Fiona.
‘Good job I’m in the peak of physical condition,’ Sep said. ‘Ouch, go steady with me!’
His transfer from hospital bed to wheelchair was more awkward and painful than he anticipated, thanks to his good friend DS Fiona Burnside.
Back in his house Winnie looked down at Sep after he’d settled into the chair she’d bought him; a high armchair suitable for a person with his physical limitations. He was within reach of his wheelchair and had practised the transfer from one chair to the other until he could do it without falling to the floor.
‘I reckon with my elbow crutches I can get about without the wheelchair. The physio reckons I should try crutch-walking as much as I can. I’ll give that a try tomorrow. It’s not as though my leg’s broken, it’s just the wrong colour that’s all. Mind you, most of that’s gone now.’
‘I’ll be staying with you until you’re able to walk with a stick,’ Winnie told him.
‘Are you not worried about the man who tried to kill me?’
‘Yes. Do you think he’ll try it again?’
‘Possibly.’
‘You know what I’m wondering, don’t you?’ said Winnie.
‘You’re wondering if I still have a gun in the house.’
‘Have you?’
‘None of your business.’
‘Is it fully loaded?’
‘An empty gun’s not much protection.’
‘Sep, it’s an unlicensed gun. If you use it, you’ll be in so much trouble.’
‘I’d say it was his gun.’
Sep mimed the scenario, holding out his right arm.
‘Picture this. He comes towards me with the gun held out at arm’s length. When he gets near me I kick it out of his hand with my good leg. As luck would have it I catch it and get a shot off.’
�
�Do you think the police’ll believe that?’
‘Winnie, I’ve acquired a reputation for unusual behaviour, most of it undeserved. Why wouldn’t they believe me?’
‘You have a point.’
‘Besides, it’s not an impossible scenario, plus I’ll be alive and I don’t want to die without having married you.’
Winnie looked at him with a mixture of affection and annoyance. ‘Are you proposing to me, Sep?’
‘I don’t know. What did I say?’
‘Something about marrying me.’
‘I thought I was talking about shooting an intruder. Let’s face it, I’ll be innocent until proven guilty and he’ll be the intruder not me. Probably the same man who killed all the others. If he’s only wounded he’ll blow the whistle on who’s behind it all because I think whoever it is has hired a hitman. Fiona will be the investigating officer, with a bit of—’
Winnie threw her hands up in surrender. ‘OK, OK, I give in! Forget us getting married, where’s this bloody gun?’
Stanley Butterbowl, aka Mr Wolf, watched from his car as Winnie helped Sep from her van into a wheelchair and into his house. Wolf knew where Sep lived and an element of guesswork plus regular drive-bys had told him that Black was now living back at home. The woman staying with him might be a problem. Wives and girlfriends are always problems. Screamers, the lot of them.
Night-time was always a good time. He was guessing that Black would be sleeping downstairs, but where was the woman sleeping? Upstairs? All he had to do was keep watch at night and keep an eye on the house lights. If lights went on and off both upstairs and downstairs it would pinpoint the whereabouts of both the woman and Black. Wolf smiled at his own genius. Such deduction was as clever as he got. He looked at his huge hands and opened and closed his fat fingers. Yeah, these’d do both jobs. Highly efficient murder weapons, hands. No bangs, no blood, no screams, if the job was done right and possibly no one finding the bodies for a few days. All he had to do was break in. While Black was in hospital he’d fixed a downstairs window around the back of the house so that it didn’t lock properly. He could open it in a few seconds with a screwdriver. He’d also been in the house and knew the layout well enough to go straight to whatever bedroom the woman was in. Wolf grinned and settled back in his seat. The waiting would be the hardest part of this night’s work.
As he picked his gnarled teeth with a toothpick he was wondering how much trouble the woman might cause him. Black would be a sitting duck. He had no intention of using a gun on him either. His bare hands would do the job much more quietly. Silence was always a bonus in his line of work. Maybe he should do her first. He wouldn’t get any extra money for it but it’d help his cause. Yeah, he’d do her first. But one scream from her would alert Black. Shit! What to do? The more he thought about it the more he thought he needed backup. He took out his mobile and stabbed in a number.
‘Bazza, it’s Wolf. D’yer wanna want to earn yerself a monkey ternight? Cash money. It’s in me skyrocket right now.’
‘Doin’ what?’
‘I want yer ter fix a whore with yer hands and I want it done quietly. She’ll be sleepin’, so all you have ter do is go in, put yer mitts around ’er neck and stop ’er breathin’. She’ll probably be naked so there’s that in it for you as well. I’ve known you strangle naked tarts for fun.’
‘Maybe I’ll do it fer a grand.’
‘Piss off, Bazza! A grand’s all I’m gerin’ fer killing Sep Black who’ll be downstairs. I’m giving you ’alf me bleedin’ take and you get the easy job.’
‘Sep Black? The copper?’
‘Yeah.’
‘Bloody hell! I thought he was in ’ospital. Was it you what ran ’im down?’
‘Bazza, d’yer want this fuckin’ job or not?’
‘Who’s the tart?’
‘Her name’s Winnie O’Toole.’
‘Yeah, I know ’er. Still a whore, is she? I thought she’d stopped sellin’ it and opened a clothes shop. Very tasty. Yer think she’ll be naked?’
‘I reckon so. Tarts like her allus sleep naked. This is a job with fringe benefits.’
‘And yer’ve got the monkey on you?’
‘I have. You go home tonight five hundred notes richer and, knowing you, yer’ll be skint right now.’
‘OK. You’d better pick me up.’
‘I’ll be round in ten. Be ready.’
‘Do I get tooled up?’
‘It’s a hands-on job. I don’t want ter wake the neighbours up, but bring what yer like. I’m on me way.’
THIRTEEN
Sep made himself comfortable in his new chair with his bad leg propped up on a footstool and a small table by his side on which was a bottle of Glenfiddich and a glass.
‘Do you want the telly on?’ Winnie asked.
‘No, just stick some sort of music on. Nothing too intrusive, I want to talk and think.’
‘Is this some new multitasking skill you’ve acquired?’
Her banter often made him smile. To Sep, banter was important in any relationship. ‘There’s a classical CD in there somewhere.’
‘Classical music, you?’
‘Well, orchestral stuff from the shows. It’s as near as I come to classical. I’ve often promised myself to upgrade my musical taste. You like classical, don’t you?’
‘Some … Wagner mostly. I’ve got his Ring Cycle on a couple of CDs. I think you’d like Wagner if you gave him a chance.’
‘You have a similar taste in music to Adolf Hitler. It’s us who should have similar tastes if we’re to get married.’
‘There you go again, Sep. Are you serious about this marriage business?’
Sep was quiet for a few moments, then he said, ‘According to the surgeon I nearly died back there. I know I’ve been through stuff like this in the past but I think I’m getting too old for it all. I’m going to go back into uniform and packing this strong arm detective stuff in. The hours are steady in uniform. Detectives work all hours. What I need is a normal life.’
‘So, you want us to get married?’
‘Don’t press me, Winnie. We’re engaged, so I have got it in mind, but when is another question altogether. I need to get myself ready for it.’
‘That would be great, Sep, but I know you’re at your weakest right now. What are you going to feel like when you get your strength back?’
‘Winnie, right now I’m thinking clearly. The stronger I get the dafter I get.’
‘Yeah, that’s what bothers me.’
‘I thought about it a lot back at the hospital. Do you know how many times I’ve been taken into Casualty?’
‘Seventeen.’
He smiled. ‘Ah, you’ve been talking to Fiona. What else did she talk to you about?’
‘Such as?’
‘Such as she thinks I’m an idiot for not marrying you and I have to agree with her. How about you?’
‘How about me what?’
‘Do you agree with her?’
‘If you must know, yes.’
‘When I get back I’ll be plain old Inspector Black and you’ll become Mrs Winnie Black … at erm, at some stage.’
‘I accept your latest proposal, but don’t keep me hanging on too long. I have other admirers, you know.’
‘I’m not surprised. Do I get an engagement kiss?’
‘Yes, but that’s all you get.’
‘With this leg it’s all I can manage.’
They kissed, passionately, then Winnie asked, ‘Does this mean you’re not going after the person who’s trying to kill you?’
Sep gave this some thought. ‘What I’m going to do is wangle an interview with the Yorkshire Post. They’ve always chased me for stories. This time I’ll give them what they want. I’ll tell them I’ve had enough and that I’ll apply for a transfer to uniform and leave it to the CID people to follow up on the James Boswell case … and the Santiago case … and my case for that matter. I’m having nothing to do with it, so whoever’s paying a hitman is w
asting their money and I need them to know that. Having said all that, I don’t know if I’ll get a transfer any time soon.’
‘Of course you will,’ said Winnie. ‘A man who’s been knocked about as much as you have, they can’t expect you to go on forever. The Post’ll love it. I bet the paper’ll be running Sep Black stories for weeks. You’ll need to start a scrapbook.’
‘They’re not all memories I cherish. The bottom line is I definitely want to marry you because I know I love you.’
‘You definitely know that, do you, because I did wonder?’
Sep looked at her and smiled. ‘Yes, I do love you and I know you love me, and I know we’ll always get on, and I know you’ll always look out for me, and me for you, which is a lot more than I can say for my first wife.’
‘Sep, if you go back on your word about this I’ll leave you for good. I promise you that. This also goes for you packing the bloody detective job in. I want a husband who comes home in one piece every night.’
‘Sounds good to me so, are we engaged at the moment? I’ve lost track of where we are.’
‘If you need a clue, I haven’t got a ring.’
‘You’d better wheel me to a jewellers tomorrow then.’
‘Sep, I hope you’re serious about this. Loving you is as a much a curse as a blessing. I wouldn’t be able to stand it if you let me down. For you to let me down would break me to the extent that I’d have to disappear from your life completely. I know exactly where I’d go and it wouldn’t even be in this country, in fact it wouldn’t be in this hemisphere.’
‘Your long lost aunt Maude’s in New Zealand?’
‘Maude died last year but she left me a place out there, with me being her only living relative. There’s a house and a job out there with the family business if I want it … and I’ve got the money to get there.’
‘Blimey!’ said Sep. ‘You’ve really given this some thought, haven’t you?’
‘So, are you able to mend your ways?’
‘The way I feel right now I don’t think I’ve got any ways to mend.’
‘No more wild oats to sow?’
‘All sown and forgotten. You’re the only wild oat I’ll ever need.’