Flesh Evidence: a heart-stopping crime thriller

by Malcolm Hollingdrake

  ***

  Close-up focussing on the tattoo allowed the camera to capture the moment it was released from Carl’s body; it was removed as one piece. Loud rock music contradicted the delicate surgical removal of the sliver of dead flesh, the noise filled the room but the camera captured the whole thing.

  “One jar is all we need this time my young friend. They can have the lot in one go. They were no good last time, let’s see if they are any the wiser with this, shall we? Sorry, you won’t be here to know will you? By that time you should, if they’re on the ball, be with them. You’ll be home. That’s if the police think!”

  The figure turned and switched off the camera and then the music. “By tomorrow the police should have this jar and then we wait.”

  ***

  Forty-five minutes after the televised interview had been shown, the telephones had not stopped ringing. Every call was logged and detailed and then checked depending on the quality of information. Two calls stood out. Cyril listened to the recordings of the first. It was received from Carl Granger’s phone. The voice had been masked using some electronic voice-changing software. It was being assessed to see if it was the same voice that was heard on the Tony Thompson video.

  “Late again Detective Inspector Bennett. Late again. Funny how the police always fail the innocent.”

  Cyril played it again. “I take it we’ll know shortly where that call was made from and it will be full of a police presence including a dog?”

  “They’re on their way. Grove Road Cemetery,” replied the officer.

  ‘Appropriate I suppose’, thought Cyril. “The second call, please?” Cyril listened. Initially, the voice sounded tentative and nervous and then, as if the floodgates seemed to open, the words just flowed.

  “My name is Samantha Young, I live on Crane Lane. Hopefully, I’m not bothering you but I’ve been a little concerned since the disappearance of those young boys. There’s a farm behind my house that’s full of old caravans, the trailer of a wagon and old vans. I just wondered, after hearing the reports if there is anything there. It’s probably nothing and I don’t want to waste your time. Sorry!” The caller spoke quickly with few breaks and the words ran into each other.

  “Contact her now and tell her that I’ll come and see her right away.” Cyril demanded and then waited for the call to be made.

  “She’s only available after three, works in a school kitchen.” The officer held the phone to his ear awaiting Cyril’s answer.

  “Make an appointment for me to call at four.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  “Sorry, would you repeat that?” Liz made frantic notes. “And when exactly was this? Yes, I fully understand. When can I meet with you?” Liz checked her diary, thanked the caller and hung up. Data protection and confidentiality had again raised its head. She checked Google Earth for the directions from Harrogate to Eccleston, Lancashire. Looking at the routes she decided to give the M62 a miss and take a more scenic route. Firstly she’d clear it with Cyril and then the Lancashire Police. All being well a local PCSO would meet with her and attend the interview.

  ***

  The following morning dawned battleship grey and the rain didn’t improve Liz’s mood as she travelled west along the A59. The clouds sat heavily above Kettlesing Head where the field of wind turbines stood like headless leviathans, their sails appearing briefly at the bottom of each sweep curling the mist into tiny vortices. Ahead and to the right was RAF Menwith Hills Missile Intercept and Listening Station. There was always something quite sinister about the large spheres that sat trapped behind a nest of razor wire, tall fences and CCTV cameras. Albino dinosaur eggs from a bygone, cold era were laid incongruously amongst England’s green and pleasant land. Their menace materialised as they grew larger through a veil of mist and spray. She smiled at the disturbing thought that should there be an enemy missile strike, then this spot and all of Harrogate, would be one of the first targeted and the search for a killer and kidnapper would mean nothing. “All a matter of world perspective.” she said to herself as she looked into the rear-view mirror.

  The weather improved as she crossed the Bolton Bridge and by Clitheroe the sun was again shining. Her mood lifted with the brightness and by Eccleston she was buzzing.

  After collecting the local officer, he directed Liz to Clearmount School, a large stone mansion of a building surrounded by gardens and sports fields. Liz and the PCSO entered through the main door once the door-locking mechanism was released. An elegant, lady in her middle years, greeted them.

  “Detective Sergeant Graydon?”

  “Mrs Hackworth?” Liz noted the smile. “Good morning, I believe you know Colin, your local Support Officer?”

  The head teacher simply smiled again and nodded before she shook his hand. “Please.”

  Liz followed the head into her office. “Firstly may I offer you refreshment?”

  “Coffee would be welcome. Thank you.”

  The head made a call. “Now, how may I assist?”

  The interview took longer than expected and by the time Liz had dropped the Officer at Coppull Police Station, a building that comprised no more than a pair of semi-detached houses with a small, flat roofed office attached to the front, the traffic had started to build. She headed north back to Harrogate. The conflicting information tumbled in her mind as the information gleaned from two different sources for the same place and time set alarm bells clearly ringing.

  ***

  Cyril pressed the doorbell and waited patiently for someone to come to the door. He heard the immediate, short, sharp bark of a small dog. He guessed that it was a poodle. He was wrong. Within minutes he had become best of friends with a Shih Tzu, not his favourite breed. He waited to witness the slow accumulation of dog hairs on his dark trousers.

  His concern was detected. “They don’t shed, Inspector Bennett. I’ve always had this breed because my children were allergic to dog fur. She has hair.”

  Cyril was already confused, the lady spoke quickly, hardly taking a breath, just as she had done on the phone and secondly he was having difficulty in getting a word into the conversation.

  He had to raise a hand before she stopped chattering. “Derelict vehicles, Mrs Young. You have some concerns?”

  Cyril soon found himself standing in a stranger’s bedroom looking through lace curtains at a muddy field and a farm that appeared no more organised than a derelict scrap yard. His phone rang.

  “Excuse me… Bennett.” It was Liz.

  “Sir, I’ve just finished talking to the Head teacher at the school where Pamela taught. I need to see you later but I’m still in Lancashire. Could we meet for a drink?”

  “My place Liz, pizza and a good red, you obviously need it. Can you make seven?” Cyril noticed Mrs Young glance across and then look away. He put the phone into his pocket and smiled. “Girlfriends!” He noticed her sharp look of disapproval and he smiled to himself.

  “See, there and there and to the right of that building. There’s even a box, I’ve been told it’s an old industrial refrigeration unit. It’s just behind the unsightly pile of car tyres, Sindi-lou and me see it when we go out for a walk, don’t we my little precious? I carry her actually, in a basket; it’s far too dirty for her delicate little toes. Besides, he has two large dogs and one never knows, does one? We don’t take chances do we my precious one?”

  Whilst the final words were addressed to the dog and spoken as if to a two year old, Cyril let them travel over his head. He took out his phone, fascinated by the farm view. He set the phone to ‘movie’ and panned round through 180 degrees.

  “Who owns the farm and land, Mrs Young?”

  “Farmer named Gregson, horrid individual, lives and farms near Nidd Park. They check this dump every couple of days and as you can see, store any crap they like right behind my house. I’ve complained to the council on many occasions for all the good it does!”

  Cyril, initially shocked by the sudden use of the word ‘crap’, now picked u
p the hidden agenda. “You said there were a couple of dogs?” Cyril quizzed whilst still looking through the window.

  “That’s what I’ve heard but I’ve never seen them other than when someone’s there. As I say, if I’m in the garden, we’ll see people checking the place, won’t we darling.” She lifted the dog up to her face and kissed it. “Probably looking for more space to drop another tyre, a caravan or a few tons of dung. It’s disgraceful. Don’t you agree, Inspector?”

  Cyril muttered something about it not being the best view he’d seen but he didn’t want to be quoted in the next epistle to the council.

  ***

  Cyril arrived back and immediately went straight to the Command Room.

  “As much as you can find about this address, also chase up the owner and any details we have on them. It’s urgent. Check with Stuart and see if that farm and this have been inspected yet. I want a meeting on site within twenty-four hours otherwise it’s a warrant, not that I need one.” Cyril afforded himself a smile; such authority came with his rank!

  ***

  18:55, the late sun reflected from the window of one of the houses opposite and cast a golden glow into Cyril’s lounge. He sat, a glass of red wine on the coffee table, an auction house catalogue on his knee and Stevie Winwood playing on the stereo. He inhaled his e-cigarette. He watched the light changing in the room as the sun set even lower. It was five past seven when the doorbell broke his trance.

  “Sorry, late. Needed a shower, what a day! Grim start but it just got better and better until coming over Blubberhouses. Wagon decided to avoid a corner, and in doing so removed a whole stone wall and a tree, so as you can imagine there was something of a delay. I recognised one of the traffic lads so managed to push my way through a little more quickly. Must be one of the only perks of this job. That and getting dinner prepared by your boss!” She smiled. “Anyway just realised that it’s your gym night isn’t it?” She pulled a face as if to show that she was sorry.

  Cyril nodded. “Yes, but I’m fighting a strong Yorkshire instinct…you know that dreadful feeling when you’ve paid your membership fee and you’re not using it. The emotion builds up inside giving a dreadful and painful ache, not muscular, but it certainly hurts just as much. The pain is here…” He tapped his right buttock. “It’s deep in my wallet. Third missed session so that’s twenty-five quid!” He smiled. “I’m throwing cash away like a man with no arms!”

  They both laughed.

  “Walking?” Cyril asked as he collected the bottle and a glass.

  “Oh, yes and do I need this!”

  Liz settled into a chair and sipped her wine. “Right, here goes! As you know Pamela Shepherd was born Samuel Dixon. He stayed a Samuel through school, right through university and at the start of his teaching career but by that time he was known as Pamela Shepherd when not at work. Complicated, I know but understandable.”

  She took a longer sip of wine leaving only a drop in the glass. Cyril obliged and topped it up.

  “Thanks. However, as you can imagine, Sam believed he was the wrong sex and was transgender and she told me that she would have successfully applied for a Gender Recognition Certificate had it not been for her mother’s illness. She had started the application.”

  “So Pamela was not the teacher, Samuel was?”

  “Yes, I’m glad you’re keeping up because I wasn’t at first. You could imagine the difficulty; an unofficial name change would have been impossible, as the police checks, compulsory for working with kids, would have caused so many complications. He knew this when he was training so he was prepared for it. So, the logical process for Samuel was to train and work as a male and live as a female. I’m sure it’s not impossible, it is, I’m sure, difficult and emotionally damaging but not impossible. But…”

  Cyril moved to the edge of his seat. “But?”

  “Originally, Samuel was teaching chemistry full time. His mother moved to Hampsthwaite to be with this guy she’d met using a dating agency and all seemed fine. As a new teacher, Sam appears to have had some discipline issues but the Head assured me that they were resolved. Most young teachers find it difficult developing the correct relationship balance, some try to be too friendly and it all goes pear shaped.” She sipped more wine. “This is where it all goes a bit hazy and although the dates are clear from her employment record, it’s difficult in a way to track. Sam had some time off, initially the odd day but then a week and then longer. Unofficially, the Head told me that Sam was suffering from depression but she let slip that one of Samuel’s students had seen him in Manchester one Saturday, not as he knew him but as Pamela. This rumour went round the school. Kids can be cruel and little things began to happen. A handbag appeared on Samuel’s desk, knickers were tied to his car, kid’s stuff. What’s more interesting is that I’ve seen photographs of both Pamela and Samuel and you would not be able to identify one as the other unless you were, let’s say, very close personally. Seeing Sam leave in a morning and sitting with Pamela in the evening, then you would. The Head believes that it wasn’t one of the boys who identified Sam but it was one of the parents who’d possibly bumped into Pamela and after a conversation put two and two together. The child obviously overheard a private parental conversation they shouldn’t have and one thing led to another.”

  An alarm sounded in the kitchen.

  “Hungry?”

  Liz nodded.

  “Tell me the rest over dinner.”

  Cyril brought the pizza and salad and all was quiet as Liz started to eat.

  “I’m starving!” She picked up a slice and between mouthfuls continued. “The school went through an inspection, you know, these formal judgements public services have to endure.”

  Cyril nodded.

  “Well, his teaching was seen to be unsatisfactory, mainly because of his lack of class control. There was nothing riotous, kids weren’t hanging out of the windows or throwing things but the report clearly makes reference to an atmosphere of fear and anxiety within lessons.”

  Cyril looked puzzled. “Who was afraid and anxious?”

  “This is the thing, it was the teacher who displayed fear and great anxiety. The report stated that on two occasions certain boys seemed to dominate the lesson. There was a feeling of intimidation and rewards were given frequently by the teacher to maintain order. It doesn’t state what those rewards might have been. I’m aware that some people go to pieces in those formal monitoring situations but the Head believes it was something more insidious. It was the week after this inspection that one of the pupils made the allegations.”

  Cyril picked a tomato from the salad bowl. “Am I ahead of you? There was an accusation of sexual impropriety maybe even bribery?”

  Liz paused before nodding. “There was a suggestion that he’d grabbed a boy’s groin on more than one occasion and also that he’d gone into the changing room after football and watched him shower. The Head and the Deputy interviewed Samuel and of course he denied it all. There was no evidence to suggest he had been in the shower area, even the supervising member of staff supports that. Even so, he was suspended on full pay pending further enquiries. You can imagine for a teacher who was already hovering on the edge of a precipice it wouldn’t take much to send him over.”

  “The boy making the accusations, how old?”

  “Fourteen, but it wasn’t just one boy. Four boys corroborated the original accusation.”

  “Conspiratorial. Let’s stick together and that way we make the shit stick. What happened to them?” Cyril picked another tomato.

  “Parents were brought in and you can imagine the mess. When it was decided to involve the police, two boys withdrew their allegations and suggested that the others were lying too. They were both suspended for three days. It should have been longer but the Head believed that their honesty should be taken into consideration.”

  “So the police were involved?”

  “No, the parents of the other two wanted only that their boys were not taught by Mr Dixon.
As you can imagine, even though the Head should have brought in the police, as bullying is a two way street, she played the safe card. Let’s say she got what she really wanted and that was rid of Mr Dixon. She was probably more concerned about saving the school’s reputation, by keeping it out of the press. After all, weak teachers are expendable; school reputations take time to build. You wouldn’t want to throw away your good name over some transvestite who failed to make the grade as a teacher would you? Then again you could say she was looking after the boys’ best interests.”

  Cyril wasn’t too sure but said nothing on the matter. He’d seen some very poorly performing coppers who had eventually, with the correct support, made the grade. “Come and sit over in the lounge and I’ll open another bottle. So what happened?”

  “Samuel didn’t return. He had sick notes giving him nearly a year away and then he resigned, never returned to the school or any other as far as his records shows. The Head paid him a visit on three occasions during his sick leave, it was part of a support philosophy the school had put in place but only paid lip service to. Each time she turned up at his flat she met his girlfriend. Strangely she referred to Pamela as a lovely caring girlfriend! He was never there.” Liz looked straight at Cyril awaiting the response and it came quickly.

  Cyril choked on his wine; a fine red mist of ruby droplets sprayed the catalogue on the coffee table before he took control of his breathing. Tears came to his eyes.