Bad Cops

by Nick Oldham

  On one of the coffee meets – at Costa Coffee on Forton services on the M6 south of Lancaster – Henry broached the subject of a return to work and what she might like to do.

  ‘So, have you thought about it?’

  ‘I have,’ she said tersely.

  ‘And …?’

  ‘I know I’m not ready yet,’ she admitted. ‘I want to come back and I will come back, but just at the moment I feel I might let someone down at a critical moment.’

  ‘That’s honest, but you’re probably wrong,’ Henry said.

  She shrugged.

  ‘You’re a bloody good cop.’

  ‘Thank you for saying that, and I’m touched. It’s just … I don’t know … Hawkswood beating me up the second time. God, he was mental, and I thought he was going to kill me, I really did.’ She took two hands to lift her coffee cup to her mouth. ‘He was insane.’

  In her mind, she saw it all happening again – being dragged out of her car outside Tom Salter’s yard. Then the terrible beating she had endured at Hawkswood’s hands.

  Henry watched her carefully, knowing this was what she was seeing.

  ‘Is there some way of dealing with it that my counsellor hasn’t revealed?’ she asked.

  ‘No,’ he answered truthfully. ‘It’ll be there all your life. I’ve stuff … here …’ He touched his head. ‘Mostly it’s tucked away but there are some occasions – usually in the middle of the night – when the demons come …’

  ‘Isn’t that a line from a film?’ she asked.

  ‘Probably. Look, Diane, you deal with things in your own way eventually. You determine your own strategies and it does take time.’

  ‘And then the way that Runcie and Saul were killed in front of us.’ She sighed with a deep judder.

  ‘Well, at least we weren’t killed, which is a plus. And there was a bit of instant justice applied there, too.’

  ‘Yeah, I guess so.’

  They drank more coffee, deep in their own thoughts.

  ‘I can’t tell anyone how to deal with it, but for me work is always a good option. Like I said, you are a good cop, I mean a great cop, and the public needs cops like you. I mean, the way you got that Miriam woman to open up about Tom Salter … that was great, and what you uncovered – that second phone – was crucial, damning, acting on a hunch … I like that.’

  He smiled and, for the first time, she did too.

  ‘You really think I’m OK?’

  ‘You want me to keep massaging your ego?’

  ‘Yes, please.’

  ‘It would be a pleasure. Where exactly is it?’ Henry wriggled his fingers suggestively and they laughed again. He became serious and asked, ‘If you’d like me to get you a place on FMIT, that is within my power.’

  She considered the offer, then shook her head. ‘Nah. Know what? If it’s in your power, what I’d like to do is get back on Child Protection.’

  ‘That’s not an easy option,’ he warned her.

  ‘I know, but I think it’s where I can do my best work, maybe come back to the serious crime stuff a bit further down the line. I think I want to know I’m going to be in one place and be helping kids and mums – and dads, of course, and families – plus …’ she held up her left hand and pointed to the engagement ring, which she had previously not really explained well, ‘… this is all back on, and it’ll help if I do not have to whizz all over the county or country all the time.’

  ‘It’s in my power,’ Henry said.

  Henry spent a lot of time crossing over to Central Yorkshire and back as he improved health-wise, mainly just to assist Rik Dean, who really didn’t need all that much help. He did what he thought he would have been doing on his first trip to that force, sitting down and reading how an investigation was being conducted and offering what he thought were suggestions for improvements, if any.

  If he was honest, he had little to say because Rik really did have control of the whole thing, and he humoured Henry more than anything.

  He saw very little of FB, who was grappling with the more strategic complexities of trying to manage a failing force, but as much as FB was doing to help it turn the corner, the news and rumour coming out of headquarters wasn’t good. It did seem like it was a done deal that Central Yorkshire would be amalgamated wholesale into one of its neighbouring forces, and maybe that was for the best. It needed new blood and a new direction.

  On one of those days when Henry felt like he was getting under Rik Dean’s feet and had probably exhausted his tips for the day, he decided on a stroll around Portsea. On his way back to the police station, he thought he would call it a day, get back to The Tawny Owl and leave Rik alone from now on.

  As he approached the old police station, intending to enter via the enquiry desk, he saw a man leaning on the wall outside, who watched Henry as he went in through the door. Henry caught his eye.

  The foyer was quiet and Henry walked up to the desk. He had not yet and never would be given a swipe card to enable him to access the building, so he still had to wait for doors to be opened for him.

  The lady behind the desk recognized him and quickly waved him over to her.

  ‘Boss, have you just walked past a man outside, a bit of a scruffy, middle-aged bloke, jeans and a jacket?’ she asked.

  ‘Yep, I did,’ Henry said. ‘He’s still out there.’

  ‘I know it’s a big ask,’ the PEA said, ‘but is there any chance you could have a word with him? He was in here a few moments ago and said he wanted to talk to a detective. He was all jittery and nervous and, when I picked the phone up to call someone in CID, he left. I’ve seen him pacing about outside since, though, and I just wonder … I know you’re busy and you’re a superintendent and all that.’

  ‘Yeah, ’course,’ Henry said. ‘Did he give a name?’

  ‘No, sorry. But thanks so much … he did look really troubled.’

  Henry nodded and went back outside.

  The man was still there leaning against the wall, now smoking a roll-up. Henry saw his hands were shaking as he put the cigarette to his lips. He clocked Henry approaching and seemed to shrink in himself, lose any confidence he might have had, then turn and start to walk away.

  Henry speeded up a little. ‘Excuse me,’ he called. ‘Did you want to speak to a detective?’ He dug out his warrant card. The man stopped and turned. His eyes reminded Henry of a hunted animal. He showed him his warrant card and introduced himself. ‘Can I help you in some way?’

  There was an interview room off the entrance foyer – not one geared up for cops to speak to people under caution, but for members of the public calling in who had delicate things to discuss.

  Henry managed to persuade the man to come with him back into the nick and he ushered him into this room, indicating to the PEA that a cuppa would be useful.

  ‘Take a seat,’ Henry offered. There was a table and four chairs. ‘There’s a brew coming, if that’s OK.’

  The man had extinguished his cigarette and sat on the chair, leaning forwards with his elbows on his knees. Henry saw his hands were shaking badly and that he constantly touched his face nervously.

  ‘I don’t know your name,’ Henry said.

  ‘Donald … Don … Pierce.’

  ‘OK, Don, what can I do for you? I can see you seem to have something on your mind. Is it something I can help you with?’

  The man called Don hung his head but did not reply.

  Henry half thought about being in his car, driving home and seeing Alison.

  That was until the man said, ‘I’ve come about Martin Sowerbutts,’ and suddenly Henry was very interested indeed.

  Five minutes later, the man was in custody. Twenty minutes after that he was being led into an interview room by Henry, together with Rik Dean and a duty solicitor.

  Henry went through the preliminaries – caution, tapes, introductions – then said to Donald Pierce, ‘Now then, can you tell me again what you told me in the interview room at the front desk?’

 
; Pierce stared at the table top for a very long time, then said, ‘It’s wrong, it’s all wrong.’

  ‘What is, Don?’ Henry asked.

  ‘Sowerbutts. Martin Sowerbutts.’

  The two detectives were sitting on the opposite side of the table, waiting patiently. The whirring of the tapes could be heard in the silence.

  Pierce looked at them. ‘I read it in the paper … how Sowerbutts killed and raped them kids. It’s all wrong.’

  ‘What exactly do you mean?’ Henry asked.

  ‘I know for a fact he didn’t do it.’ Pierce closed his eyes. ‘Thing is, you see, I can take you to the bodies … four more bodies – four bodies of kids that you don’t even fucking know about. Other kids. You know about some, but not all of ’em.’ He opened his eyes and Henry saw them change. This man was no longer hunted or haunted – he was the hunter and the ghost. He felt a chill.

  ‘Tell me,’ Henry said.

  ‘I don’t even know who fuckin’ Sowerbutts is, but he didn’t kill them kids, at least not the kids you lot think he killed, because I did. I killed them. I abducted them. I raped them. And then I strangled them to death. I dumped some bodies but I’ve kept others – for various reasons. And now I want to tell you all about it. But that poor fucker – he didn’t do it. I did. You got the wrong man.’