The front door was slightly ajar, and the raised voices of a man and a woman could be heard from one of the upstairs rooms.
The woman said, ‘I don’t know why you’re panicking; they’ve got nothing.’
‘That’s all very well for you to say. You weren’t here when it happened.’
‘No, I wasn’t, but it was me who cleared up your fucking mess, wasn’t it?’
‘Yes, it was, and I’m grateful for what you did that night. That doesn’t alter the fact that this is serious shit. I’m not going to lie to you; I’m starting to get bloody scared.’
‘Listen to me, Councillor: Nobody even knows this cottage exists, let alone what goes on here. You and the others pay me very well to make sure it stays that way. You’ve got to trust me; everything will be fine. Yes, it will be in the news for a little while, and questions will be asked. I guarantee that none of it will come back to you or the others. I’m effectively the barrier between the police and your little group of like-minded individuals. Trust me, it worked in Cornwall; it will work here, too. So stop worrying, and please don’t call me out here again.’
‘Okay, I won’t call again. I just needed some reassurance, that’s all. Some of the others have already started to ask: How long before we can go again?’
‘That’s hard to say. We need to let things at the home settle down a bit. Maybe we should wait for a new boy to be placed into care. None of the other boys at the home are suitable. The best thing about Jenkins was the fact he never said anything to anyone, not even the other kids. We need another quiet, timid one like him.’
With a note of frustration, the man asked, ‘But how long will that be?’
Her reply was filled with venom and anger: ‘What the fuck’s wrong with you? One minute you’re shitting yourself that the police are going to catch you, and the next you’re pressuring me into supplying another kid. Tell the others from me, they’ll have to be patient. Nothing’s going to happen again until I say the time is right.’
‘I’ll tell them, but they won’t like it. There are some seriously influential people in our little group. Believe me, they know how to apply pressure.’
‘Well, you go and tell them, from me, to back the fuck off! They’ll only get another kid as and when I say. Not a second before. Do you understand?’
‘Okay, okay. I’ll tell them.’
‘Make sure you do. Tell them all to calm down and to stay away from this place. I need the people who live round here to think this cottage is derelict and abandoned. Nobody comes here again until I say so. Have you got that?’
‘That shouldn’t be a problem; it’s so far off the beaten track anyway. Nobody ever sees us coming here. Don’t worry about that.’
‘If you do what I tell you, Councillor, everything will be fine. This isn’t the first time I’ve sorted out a mess like this. We’ll all be fine as long as you and your friends can hold your nerve.’
41
25 June 1986
Mansfield Police Station, Nottinghamshire
Danny Flint and Rob Buxton followed Malky MacLaine into the interview room at Mansfield Police Station custody suite.
Danny had just come off the telephone after speaking to Detective Chief Superintendent Wainwright. The conversation had centred on the information that the drug dealer Billy Monk could potentially provide, and what the police would be prepared to offer in exchange for that information.
Bill Wainwright had been adamant that no deals could be struck in relation to the charges of possession of class A drugs with intent to supply.
The Home Office had recently made drug dealing a priority offence, and therefore no deals could be contemplated. The best that Danny would be allowed to offer Monk was to supply a handwritten letter to the judge at his trial later.
Such a letter would mean that, upon Monk’s conviction, the judge presiding over his trial would have sight of the letter from the police explaining how the offender had greatly assisted the police investigating another serious crime.
Depending on the nature of the information provided and the merit he put upon that information, the trial judge would then have the discretion to reduce any custodial sentence.
It would be entirely up to the individual judge whether he decided to act on such a letter. It would be the judge’s choice to either reduce a custodial sentence, or to totally ignore the content of the letter and not reduce it at all.
Danny knew he was going to have to work hard to sell this idea to Monk.
The dealer was a career criminal who was used to prison. He might not be fazed by the prospect of a long sentence.
From what Danny had already heard from Detective Sergeant MacLaine, he knew Monk had something. It would be down to Danny to sell the deal he could offer to gain that information. He knew it could provide the crucial breakthrough they needed.
Monk was sitting quietly in the interview room.
The detectives all sat down, and MacLaine said, ‘Billy, this is Detective Chief Inspector Flint and Detective Inspector Buxton of the Major Crime Investigation Unit. I want you to tell them what you told me about one of your clients earlier.’
Monk grinned and said, ‘I’m sorry, Sergeant MacLaine, I don’t recall telling you a fucking thing!’
Danny had expected this and quickly interjected, ‘Billy, you’ve been arrested today in possession of five kilos of heroin. Fact. You need some help, and I need some information from you. So why don’t we both stop beating around the bush and talk sensibly?’
Billy Monk leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table, and said in a confidential whisper, ‘Alright, Mr Flint, this is how I see it. Yes, as you say, I’m well in the shit. I don’t dispute that, but we both know that I can do a long stretch inside standing on my head. Prison doesn’t bother me that much. Obviously, I’d much rather spend as little time as possible in there, and I do have some information that I think you’ll find extremely useful. It’s only because of the nature of the people involved that I have absolutely no qualms in passing this information on to you, but …’
‘But what?’
‘But, Chief Inspector, I need certain reassurances. I need to know that it’s in my best interest to tell you what I know.’
‘Okay. I understand what you’re saying, and I get it. I do need to hear a little more about what you’ve actually got for me so I know I’m not just wasting my time talking to you. We both know if the information’s shit, there will be no deal. So exactly what have you got, Monk?’
‘I’ve got a client who buys a lot of gear off me. Heroin, cocaine and amphetamine. She can’t get enough of the stuff. You lot need to have a serious look at her, for all sorts of other disgusting stuff.’
‘So just another dealer, then?’
‘No, not just another dealer. Seriously, this ain’t no bullshit. The word I’m hearing is, after she buys it from me, she sells it on to blokes who get their kicks abusing kids. Real dirty bastards.’
‘You mean paedophiles?’
‘Yeah, that’s ’em. Dirty, scummy pieces of shit. It wouldn’t bother me one bit, grassing them fuckers up.’
‘Okay, here’s what I can do for you. This isn’t a negotiation. This is a one-off, take-it-or-leave-it deal. Are you interested?’
‘I’m still listening, Detective.’
‘What I can offer you is a handwritten note from me to the judge presiding at your trial.’
‘What good will that do me?’
‘If your information assists me in identifying and convicting the people responsible for the death of an eleven-year-old child, I promise you I’ll write to the judge at your trial. I will identify that fact, in the strongest terms possible, and request that he shows suitable consideration for your actions in assisting the police before passing sentence.’
‘And that’s all you’ve got, is it?’
‘No, Monk, that’s all you’ve got. That handwritten note from me could be the difference between a double-figure jail term and a single-fi
gure one. You said yourself, you’ve got no qualms about giving us this information because these people are nonces – sick, evil bastards. This is a win-win situation for you. You get the chance of having significant time knocked off your sentence, and you also ensure these evil fuckers get sent down as well.’
Monk sat back in his chair, folded his arms, and shook his head. ‘I don’t know, Detective. I’m no grass.’
Danny said, ‘Have you got kids?’
‘Two daughters and a baby son.’
‘Then for their sake, do the right thing and tell me what you know. Get these sick bastards put in prison where they can’t hurt any other kids.’
Billy Monk was thoughtful for a minute, then said quietly, ‘And this letter is all you can do for me, is it?’
‘That’s it. Take it or leave it. I’ll find these bastards anyway. It might take me a bit longer without your help, but I’ll get them eventually. Do yourself a favour: Get ahead of this, and give me the information. Trust me, I’ll make sure it’s worth your while.’
Monk unfolded his arms, clasped his hands behind his head, and said, ‘Fuck it. You’re on, Mr Flint. What do you want to know?’
Standing behind Billy Monk, Detective Sergeant MacLaine smiled.
Rob Buxton opened his notebook and said, ‘Okay, Billy, tell us about this special punter of yours.’
42
25 June 1986
Rampton Hospital, Nottinghamshire
It had been a couple of months since Tina Prowse and Rachel Moore had last been inside Rampton High-Security Hospital.
When Jimmy Wade had first escaped, a lot of manpower had been thrown into the enquiry to try to recapture a man considered by the press to be one of the most dangerous criminals of recent times.
Both Tina and Rachel had spent a lot of time at the hospital, interviewing staff. They had been part of a team trying to build up a picture of the escape and the circumstances leading up to it.
As they walked along Fleming Drive towards the main entrance, they shared a sense of unease.
Tina voiced those feelings, saying, ‘Is it just me, or does this place give you the creeps?’
Rachel shuddered involuntarily and said, ‘It always has. For some reason, it seems even more foreboding than when we were last here.’
Tina looked up. ‘I suppose those huge black clouds don’t help; it’s going to chuck it down.’
As if on cue, there was a white flash as lightning streaked across the sky, followed quickly by a loud roll of thunder.
The two detectives sprinted for the front door of the hospital as the heavens opened and huge raindrops began to fall.
They only had twenty yards to run, but by the time they reached the door and burst into the foyer, both women had been drenched by the sudden torrential downpour.
The hospital was in the process of undergoing a huge improvement in security.
Following the escape of Jimmy Wade and Clive Winstanley back in March, the public outcry had been enormous. Quite rightly, people wanted to know how two highly dangerous prisoners had been allowed to escape so easily.
The fact that the level of violence needed to carry out the escape was so high appeared to be lost on the public. Four members of hospital staff had been very seriously injured, one of them critically.
The furore had died down a little following the immediate recapture of the child rapist Clive Winstanley. However, the serial killer Jimmy Wade was still at large. The general public wanted reassurances that other escape attempts would be prevented.
A massive budget had been set aside by the Home Office to drastically upgrade security at this hospital and other similar establishments across the country. Outside the hospital, the changes were already evident. Smaller fences that had surrounded the perimeter were now being changed to twenty-foot-high, specialist anti-climb fences.
The layout in reception, where the two detectives now stood, had also changed dramatically. There were now two state-of-the-art body scanners and metal detectors in front of the door that led inside the hospital.
Rachel said, ‘Wow! This place has changed.’
The receptionist behind the huge counter smiled and said, ‘Can I help you?’
The two detectives fumbled in wet coat pockets for their warrant cards. Tina said, ‘We’re here to see Staff Nurse Brian Atkins. I phoned about an hour ago. I’m Sergeant Prowse, and this other drowned rat is DC Moore.’
The receptionist looked down at her notepad. ‘Ah yes. The detectives from the MCIU. Please take a seat; I’ll let Staff Nurse Atkins know you’re here. If you want to start emptying your pockets and checking in your bags, it will save time later. I’m afraid you’ll both have to go through the scanners to be allowed into the hospital. Our instructions are very clear; there are to be no exceptions.’
Rachel began to empty the pockets of her coat into her handbag and said, ‘No problem.’
Tina said, ‘What about my jewellery?’
With a sympathetic smile, the receptionist said, ‘I’m sorry. It’s easier if you place everything in your bag. Everything can then be placed into one of the secure lockers.’
‘Okay.’
The receptionist then lowered her voice, and in a conspiratorial whisper, she said, ‘I’d better warn you … Staff Nurse Atkins won’t be in a particularly good mood when you see him.’
‘Why?’
‘I’m surprised you haven’t heard. Steve Thorne died earlier today.’
Rachel asked, ‘Staff Nurse Steve Thorne, who was attacked by Jimmy Wade?’
‘Yes. Brian and Steve were best mates. I think they joined this job together.’
Before she could say anything else, the door to the hospital entrance opened. A tall, thin man with a mop of bright ginger hair and horn-rimmed glasses walked in. He was wearing denim jeans and a light blue sweatshirt.
He looked at the two detectives and said, ‘Brian Atkins. I think you wanted to see me?’
Tina replied, ‘Yes, Brian. I’m Tina Prowse, and this is Rachel Moore. We need to talk to you about one of your male nurses, Jack Williams, if you’ve got a minute.’
‘I’ve literally only got twenty minutes to spare. I don’t know if you’ve heard this already, but Steve Thorne died this morning. I’m knocking off early to go and see his wife and young son.’
‘I’m really sorry to hear that, Brian. I promise we won’t keep you. I just need to ask you a few questions about Jack Williams.’
‘Yeah, you said before. I don’t know what it is you want to know; all I can tell you is that he didn’t turn up for work today. Fred Barnes the day before, and then Jack today. It’s all very strange. Neither of them misses a shift in months, and then they’re both absent at the same time. Weird.’
Rachel said, ‘I know this is the last name you want to hear today, Brian, but … were Brian or Jack involved in looking after Jimmy Wade?’
‘Jimmy fucking Wade. I’d like to get my hands on that bastard. He wouldn’t be coming back here, that’s for sure.’
Rachel ignored the emotive comment and repeated, ‘Did either Fred Barnes or Jack Williams have anything to do with Wade?’
‘The short answer is yes, Detective. Fred Barnes was tasked with getting Wade to comply when he first came here. Letting him know who was boss, if you know what I mean.’
Tina said, ‘Spell it out for us, Brian.’
‘Look, I know that Barnes can be a little heavy-handed at times, and Williams follows him like a sheep. Whatever Barnes does, Williams will do the same, trying to impress.’
‘In what way is Barnes heavy-handed?’
‘Barnes likes to let the new boys know who’s in charge. The bigger the name, the harder he goes in.’
‘Was Barnes ever “heavy-handed” with Jimmy Wade?’
‘It’s certainly possible. As far as I know, there were never any complaints from Wade.’
‘Brian, I know you’re in a hurry, but have you got time to get me Fred Barnes’s home address?’
/> ‘Yes, of course. You don’t think Wade’s got anything to do with the two of them not coming into work, do you?’
‘I don’t know. Hopefully, when we get to Barnes’s house, he’ll be there drinking beer with his best mate Jack.’
Rachel asked, ‘Did you ever see Wade with any injuries?’
‘No, I didn’t. To be perfectly honest, even if I had, I wouldn’t have said a word. That bastard deserved everything he got. Don’t expect me to have any sympathy for that piece of shit.’
A look of recognition suddenly flooded over Atkins’s face. He said, ‘Hang on a minute … DC Rachel Moore! You’re the detective he tried to kill, aren’t you? If anybody should understand how I feel about Wade, it’s you. Now if you don’t mind, I’ll get you that address. I’ve got to be somewhere.’
Tina said, ‘Thank you, Brian. We don’t want to keep you.’
Ten minutes later, armed with the home address of Fred Barnes, the two detectives were walking back to their car. The rain had stopped, but there were large puddles everywhere in the car park.
Tina said quietly, ‘Does it bother you?’
‘Does what bother me?’
‘When people refer to what happened, like Atkins did just then.’
‘Not so much now. It used to bother me a lot. When I was recovering, just after it happened, I only had to hear Wade’s name and I would go cold and clammy. I’ve started to get used to it now; it doesn’t bother me so much. I must admit though, I would feel a whole lot better if that monster were back behind bars.’
43
25 June 1986
Mansfield Police Station, Nottinghamshire
It was now almost eight o’clock at night. Danny had called a meeting of his supervisors, to check that everything was in place for tomorrow morning’s planned operation.
‘Brian, have we got the Special Operations Unit ready to carry out the searches at Tall Trees Children’s Home?’
A Cold Grave: A DCI Danny Flint Book Page 15