by M K Farrar
“Honestly,” she said sadly, “I don’t know what to think anymore.”
“Maybe you should find someone to talk to. It might help.”
Her tone lifted in frustration. “The only person I ever needed to talk to was my husband, and you decided to check out on me.”
He glanced to the ground, shaking his head. “I can’t do this again. I’m sorry, but we’ve been over this so many times before. Neither of us are going to be able to move on if we keep clinging to what we had.”
“So, you just walk out. You decide one day that it’s over, and that’s it. I’m supposed to simply get on with things.”
He shook his head. “You know it wasn’t all of a sudden. It was coming for a long time, but you didn’t want to admit to it. I told you that you needed help, but you refused. You never grieved—”
“Shut up,” she screamed, throwing up both hands and stumbling backwards a couple of steps. “Don’t talk like that.”
He exhaled a breath and ran his hand through his hair. “You see. This is exactly the sort of behaviour I was talking about. You can’t have expected me to keep living like this. It’s not healthy.”
“So, you abandoned us?”
“There is no ‘us’ anymore. You know that.”
His voice had softened slightly, but it didn’t make her anger any less. She’d only come here wanting to see him, drawn to him like an insect to an outside light, and he was brushing her off, as though all their years of marriage didn’t even matter.
It had been stupid of her to want to experience a little of his love again when that love clearly no longer existed. Why did she always have so much hope?
No, she needed to focus on her and the children now. Clinging on to this relationship wasn’t healthy. No matter how much she wished things would change, he’d moved on now. Sometimes, she wondered if he ever even thought of them at all, of the family he’d left behind. Not that the children ever asked after him. Maybe they’d been too small when he’d left. Young minds were known to adapt far more quickly than adult ones. A year in their short lifetimes probably seemed like forever, where for her it felt like yesterday. Only yesterday since she shared a bed with the man she loved and could wake up to wrap her arms around him. Only yesterday since she could cook a meal and eat with her family around the dining room table, sharing stories of their day and laughing.
Only yesterday since they shared a future they could dream about.
Chapter Eighteen
Erica went outside to discover the uniformed officers putting the man who’d punched Shawn into the back of the patrol car. She was pleased to see he was handcuffed.
“His name is Tony Stillman,” she told the other officers, “and he’s already served time. Make sure we add assaulting a police officer to his list of priors.”
She also needed to notify Gibbs that Shawn had been injured, so she called it in.
“Let me speak to him,” Gibbs said, and she handed the phone over to her sergeant.
“I’m fine, sir,” Shawn said, raising his eyebrows at Erica. “Yes, honestly. I don’t need any medical attention. I’d prefer to keep working.”
He listened again and said, “yes, sir,” and then handed the phone back to Erica.
She placed it to her ear. “Sir, we also have reason to believe Gareth McClennan and David Nesh may be involved in the kidnapping of Ellie Dempsey, and also in the illegal sale of alcohol and tobacco. I need the addresses of both men. I also want to request a search warrant for both of the addresses, plus we’re going to need additional units as backup.”
“Whatever you need. Leave it with me. I’ll get the additional units to meet you there.”
“Thank you, sir.”
Within a matter of minutes, she received a message with the addresses of both men. While the two men didn’t live together, they were neighbours.
“Got them,” she told Shawn. “Let’s go and pay these two a visit.”
They drove to Sidney street, though once again, Erica knew they needed to have backup. This could go just as badly as it had done in the pub—if not worse—and she wasn’t going to take any risks.
“Let’s hope they’re in.” Erica glanced over at Shawn, who still held the tea towel to his eye. Most of the ice had melted now, so he basically just had a wet cloth pressed against his face, but she assumed it was still cold and so must offer some relief from the swelling. “Are you sure you’re okay to do this? I’d feel better if you went to get checked over.”
He put the towel down. “I’m fine. Seriously, Erica, you don’t need to mother me. I’m a grown man.”
She rolled her eyes. “I’m not mothering you! You’d say the same to me if it was the other way around.”
“Yes, because I care about you, too, and that’s what people do when they care about each other.”
He held her eye, his brown to her blue, and something sparked between them, a fission of electricity. Bizarrely, Erica’s cheeks heated, and she glanced away. It wasn’t like her to be embarrassed around Shawn.
“Let’s get on with it,” she said, her tone curt, needing to move back to more professional topics. “There could be a child in one of those flats who needs to be returned to her mother.”
Shawn didn’t say anything more but dropped the towel down into the footwell and climbed out.
He put his hands on his hips and looked up at the building—a brown, eight-storey block of flats. “Someone from the pub might have tipped them off that we’re after them.”
“Possibly, but we can’t do much about that.”
Each flat had a small balcony, and while some of the balconies were filled with plants, others had been used to string washing lines across. A grassy area separated the building from the pavement, a wrought-iron fence between them.
The additional units Erica had requested arrived and Erica coordinated the uniformed officers to make sure each end of the street was secure.
“Gibbs will get the warrant to search both properties,” Erica said to Shawn once everyone was in position. “Hopefully, they’ll talk to us and we can rule them out. I’ll ask the questions, and, assuming we can get inside, you keep an eye and an ear open for any sign that a child might be being kept there.”
Shawn nodded. “No problem.”
“And if you start getting a headache, or feeling sick or dizzy, tell me. You could have a concussion.”
He threw her a grin. “Yes, boss.”
The lift wasn’t working, so they took the stairwell, climbing up several flights until they reached the floor they needed. An open-air walkway led to each of the individual flats, and Erica led the way to numbers eighty-six and eighty-five. Eighty-six had music blaring from behind the door with a steady thump-thump of a base, where eighty-five was quiet.
“We’ll try here first, shall we?”
Erica came to a halt in front of the door with the pounding music and rapped on it with her knuckles. She didn’t think they’d be able to hear her over the noise, but the door swung open almost immediately.
She could immediately see the reason Gut-so-Gav got his name. He was easily as wide as he was tall, though weirdly the weight was mostly around his middle. A belly that could be mistaken for that of a nine-month pregnant woman strained against the front of his grey t-shirt, putting the material under some considerable strain. The rest of him was that of an average forty-year-old bloke.
“You were expecting us?” Erica asked.
“Yeah, we got a call saying two cops were asking questions about us down at The Pig and Whistle. Figured you’d be here next.”
Erica gestured to her colleague. “This is DS Turner, and I’m DI Swift. We’d like to ask you some questions about Jack Dempsey. Can we come inside?”
Gut-so-Gav smirked. “I’d rather you didn’t.”
“Or we can do this down at the station,” Shawn said.
He exhaled a huff of irritation and stepped aside, allowing them in.
“Is there anyone else in the flat?�
� Erica asked. The last thing they needed were any surprises, like a person coming out of another room, armed.
“Nah, it’s only me here.”
“We’re looking for David Nesh as well. We were told you’d be together.”
He rolled his eyes. “Well, he’s not here, is he? And no, I don’t know where he is.”
Cardboard boxes were stacked up against the walls and on every available surface. Erica didn’t have to check inside to know they were filled with cartons of cigarettes. She imagined Gut-so-Gav would have considered trying to move them before she and Shawn had arrived, but there was no way he’d have had time.
“So, Jack Dempsey,” Erica said. “Do you know him?”
Gav jerked his chin. “Yeah, I know Jack. What’s he been saying?”
“Just that he’s done some work for you. Have you heard about what happened to his family?”
“Yeah, his missus got stabbed, didn’t she, and someone’s grabbed his little girl. Terrible shit. What’s the world coming to if you can’t even have a day out at the park.”
She noted how Shawn had slowly moved towards the doorway, giving him a view out into the kitchen and the rest of the flat.
“How long has Jack been working for you?” she asked.
“Not long. Only a couple of months. We know him from down the pub, and when he lost his job, he was there a bit more regularly than normal. We got chatting, and I thought I’d do him a solid and see if he wanted to earn a bit of extra cash.”
“Doing what, exactly?” She cocked her head, wondering what kind of lie he was going to come up with.
“Oh, this and that. Delivery mainly.”
“Delivering what?”
The smirk returned to his face. “Whatever the customer has ordered.”
“Do you know if Jack Dempsey got in any kind of trouble with any of the customers?”
He frowned. “What kind of trouble?”
“The kind of trouble that would make someone want to stab Dempsey’s wife in the back and kidnap his daughter?”
He lifted both hands and reared back. “Whoa, that’s some heavy shit. We don’t deal with the type of people who would do that.”
“That’s going to be for us to judge. I’m going to need the names of the people Dempsey was delivering to.”
He shrugged and glanced away. “I don’t have that kind of information.”
“Do you really think we’re going to buy that, Gav?”
“Doesn’t make any difference to me if you do or not. It’s the truth. Dempsey goes to a location, and the customers come to him.”
“What’s the location?”
“Round the back of the boxing place. But don’t expect to go there finding any CCTV footage or anything like that. We’re careful not to be caught on camera.”
She resisted an eye-roll of her own. “Of course you are.” It didn’t feel as though they were getting anywhere with this. “Please remember that a girl’s life is in danger. Her mother is in hospital and is breaking her heart over her daughter’s disappearance. This isn’t a game.”
“I never said it was, Detective.” But that annoying sneer still hadn’t left his face.
She’d had enough of Gut-so-Gav’s attitude.
“Want to show me what’s in those boxes?” She jerked her chin towards one of the stacks.
“No, I don’t think so.”
“We already have a warrant on the way to search them, but I already know what’s in them. If you won’t cooperate, we can take a drive down to the station.”
He folded his arms. “I can wait. I’m not in any rush.”
“Well, I am. We have a little girl missing and every minute counts.” A sudden surge of anger surprised her. Here they were, trying to find a missing girl, and the person who’d stabbed a defenceless young mother on a sunny spring afternoon, and these men didn’t even care. “Gareth McClennan, I’m arresting you for the illegal sale of tobacco and alcohol. You do not have to say anything, but it may harm your defence if you do not mention when questioned something you rely on in court. Anything you do say may be given in evidence.”
“What? This is bullshit!”
Shawn pulled Gav’s hands behind his back and slapped a set of cuffs around his wrist. Erica searched Gareth to make sure he wasn’t concealing any weapons and then Shawn pushed him out of the flat, Erica following close behind.
Uniformed officers were positioned outside of the door. “Don’t let anyone in until the search warrant comes through,” she told them. “Same for next door. And if David Nesh shows up, arrest him, too.”
BACK AT THE STATION, Erica had taken Gut-so-Gav into one of the interview rooms and read him his rights again. Shortly after arriving, they’d got a call that David Nesh had shown up back at the flat and so Shawn was busy dealing with the other man. She wondered if Shawn would have more success getting information out of Nesh.
“For the benefit of the recording, this is DI Swift conducting an interview with Gareth McClennan in interview room two.” She turned her attention to the man sitting on the other side of the table. He’d lost much of his bravado and was now slouching in his chair like a sulky teenager who’d just been grounded. “Mr McClennan, please can you tell me your full name, date of birth and current address.”
He folded his arms and rattled it off.
“Where were you at two pm on Sunday afternoon?”
He shrugged. “I dunno. Down the pub, probably.”
“Can you be a little more specific?”
He twisted his lips and lifted his gaze to the ceiling. “Yeah, I was definitely down the pub. There was a footie game on, and I had a couple of beers while I was watching it.”
“And when you say ‘pub’, are you talking about The Pig and Whistle?”
He sniffed. “Yeah, that’s right.”
“Who was playing?” she asked.
“Man U versus Leicester. Leicester won, two-nil, in case you need to know that as well.”
“And there are people who can vouch for your whereabouts?”
“Yeah, an entire pub full.”
“What about your friend, David Nesh?”
“He was there with me.” He exhaled an irritated breath. “I know what you’re trying to get at, but we didn’t have anything to do with that little girl being snatched or Dempsey’s missus being stabbed.”
“I’ll be the judge of that. How long have you known Jack Dempsey?”
“Like I told you before, a few months. I’d seen him down at the pub before that, but after he lost his job, he was there more often. It was quiet one day and we got chatting. I bought him a pint, and he said how he was out of work, so I offered him some.”
“By work, are you talking about the selling of illegal alcohol and tobacco?”
“It’s not illegal. We just do the occasional run through the Channel Tunnel.”
“From the number of boxes in your flat, that looks like more than the occasional run.”
He shrugged. “I store some stuff for my mates. It’s not a big deal.”
“Which mates? David Nesh?”
“Sometimes.”
“I’m going to need the names of anyone he was delivering to.”
“I already told you, I don’t have anyone’s names. Dempsey takes the goods to a certain location and people come to him. It’s a simple case of handing over the cash in exchange for what they want. We don’t exactly run background checks on them.”
“I want the dates and times that you sent Jack Dempsey to meet with these people.”
He folded his arms again and sat back. “I can’t remember.”
“Don’t worry, we can sit here until you do.”
They were going to need to get someone to speak with Jack Dempsey again and find out if he had any more knowledge about the people he’d been selling to. Maybe Shawn had been able to get more information out of David Nesh, but her instinct were telling her that this was going to end up being a dead-end.
She wasn’t going to give
up yet, though. She’d grill Gareth for hours if that was what it took.
She exhaled a breath and sat forward, resting her hands, her fingers linked together, on the table.
“Let’s start again, shall we? Walk me through exactly what you were doing last Sunday, from the moment you woke up, and then we’ll talk again about Jack Dempsey.”
BY THE TIME SHE’D FINISHED grilling Gareth McClennan, hours had passed, and she was shattered. Most frustratingly, she didn’t feel as though she was any further on in the case than she’d been at the start of the interview.
Erica made her way back to her desk where Shawn was already waiting. She tried not to wince at the sight of his swollen eye.
“Well, that was a waste of time,” she said. “How did you get on with David Nesh?”
He shrugged. “He admits they sell a bit of bootleg booze and some cigarettes, but he’s insisting they didn’t have anything to do with the disappearance of Ellie Dempsey or Mae Dempsey’s stabbing.”
“Yeah, Gareth is saying the same.”
“Do you think they had anything to do with the case?” Shawn enquired.
“My instinct tells me no. They’re just a couple of wide boys who think they’re gangsters. But I don’t think they’re into kidnapping children or stabbing people in the park.”
“I doubt they had enough brains between them to put something like that together, but that doesn’t mean they weren’t inadvertently involved.”
“And appearances can be deceiving,” she reminded him. “That whole persona might be an act.”
“Maybe.”
“Let’s talk to Jack Dempsey again. It’s bothering me that he lied to us in the first place, and right now this is the most solid lead we have on his daughter’s disappearance and the stabbing. If we can get CCTV footage from around the area where he’s been meeting these customers, we might be able to pin down some licence plate numbers and speak to some of his customers as well.”