Dark Tides Thrillers Box Set

by Tony Hutchinson

  Sam re-read the names on her white board, thought of the devastation to the families; without any evidence she would never publicly agree to even the remotest possibility of a serial killer. Doing that would cause a media storm, and heap more suffering on to the deceased’s loved ones, more unanswered questions. Here in private?

  Jack Goddard was a big physical specimen. But what if the others had been pushed in?

  Chapter Nine

  Friday 13th December 2013

  Sukhi sent me a text. Told me not to worry. Told me to meet him at the end of my street. He’d be in his car. We’d go wherever I wanted. Where would that be? London? Plenty of jobs and miles away from here.

  It’s always the same when you’re in a rush, more people than usual getting on and off at every stop, people without the right money waiting for change, old people taking ages. I thought about getting off, running, but I forced myself to stay where I was. Even with the stopping and starting, the bus would still get me there quicker.

  Gurmej, my uncle, had a mobile but my mother, who would be down the Gurdwara, didn’t and dad would be at the factory until six. The best my uncle could do was an answer-phone message for dad. Gurmej didn’t have a car. The next bus wasn’t for half an hour and the journey itself was 25 minutes. He couldn’t get to me before 5.55 and my dad would still be at work at that time.

  I turned my wrist. 5.15. I opened my purse: a couple of £2 coins. That wouldn’t get me very far.

  I stared out of the window, the familiar sights rolling past... the shops, banks, the streets of my childhood, of my teenage years. People shuffled past the brightly lit shop windows, heads deep in collars, the flashing lights hypnotising them. The Christmas decorations, stretching between the lampposts, twinkled above the cars.

  Christmas? I hadn’t even given it a thought, not since those numbers, not since 4 3 7.

  I was born here, know nowhere else. Now I was about to leave it all behind, not a student on a gap-year adventure, but a shameful whore on a lifetime of family exclusion. I’d never return. Never see these landmarks again, never see my friends again, never see Bethany…Bethany, a true friend, the type who is bridesmaid at your wedding. I rubbed my eyes. The type of wedding where you chose your husband. I was leaving everything.

  I pressed my nose against the cool glass and saw Christmas trees blinking brightly in windows.

  I loved Christmas. Would I be able to buy a tree wherever we ended up? Presents?

  I pressed the bell and stood as the bus slowed. Time seemed to be going faster. I checked my watch. 5.29pm. Today of all days it had to be four minutes late. It was never late. I couldn’t rely on the next one being late.

  I stepped down off the bus, clutched my bag into my side, and ran.

  Monday 14th April 2014

  Sam walked into the HOLMES room at 7am and said: ‘You’re early.’

  Ed looked up from the computer.

  ‘Yeah, sometimes it’s easier to jump in the shower and skip breakfast. Saves all the post-argument analysis.’

  ‘Oh, I see,’ Sam said, flicking the switch on the kettle. ‘Tea?’

  ‘Please. Bit of intell on Aisha.’ Ed said, getting out of his chair.

  ‘Go on,’ Sam said, sniffing the milk.

  ‘Nothing we can use at the minute. Strict father. Big in the community. Suggestion that she was to have an arranged marriage.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Yeah, and the CCTV of her with a boy, as I said, a potential trigger for honour-based violence. If it’s okay with you, I’d like to go and see this Bethany Stevens. She mentioned a marriage in her statement. I’ll sort the bouncers out with Bev when I get back. I’ll get Paul Adams to draw up an interview plan for them.’

  ‘That’s fine,’ Sam said. ‘I’ve got the press conference at 9.30. I stared at the whiteboard in my office for ages last night. Five columns, one for each of the lads that drowned in the river.’ She poured the hot water into the mugs.

  ‘Anything?’

  ‘Nothing. Jack Goddard’s the only one with unexplained injuries. He was attacked. The others. Nothing. Drowned. All drunk.’

  ‘As we thought then,’ Ed said.

  ‘But what if we’re wrong? What if the students are right? What if they didn’t fall in? What if they were pushed?’

  Ed used the dirty teaspoon to press the tea-bag against the inside of the mug. ‘And your evidence of that comes from where?’

  ‘Nowhere,’ Sam said. ‘I’m just posing the question. Jack’s too big to be pushed but I’ve looked at photographs of the others and full of drink, they could definitely be shoved into the river.’

  ‘And you are posing this question because?’ Ed leaned back against the windowsill and drank from the mug.

  ‘Five in six months,’ Sam said. ‘Do you know how many people, students or otherwise, fell into that river and died in the last year, last two years, last three years?’

  ‘I do now. Obviously none.’

  ‘Correct. So are we saying that students have suddenly started getting drunker? I just think we need to keep an open mind.’

  ‘Have there been any inquests?’ Ed asked.

  ‘Not yet. First one shouldn’t be long though. What are your thoughts on Jack Goddard?’

  ‘Argumentative. Aggressive. That’s clear on the CCTV from the Jolly Roger… A misogynist? Probably. Certainly no charmer around the women. Look at the T-shirts.’

  ‘Get his phone examined asap,’ Sam said.

  Bethany Stevens lived at home with one parent. Her mother, a woman in her early 40s, opened the door. Ed followed her rounded shoulders down a long narrow hall, his enforced short steps making him focus on her bowed head, her chin obviously tucked into her chest. The printed skirt looked washed out; the mules barely had a sole.

  ‘I’ve heard of this girl, Aisha,’ she said in a voice so quiet Ed was straining to hear. ‘But of course I’ve never met her. I do hope she’s alright? Would you like a cup of tea?’

  The kitchen was plain shabby, not shabby chic. The dark brown units belonged to the 60s, the free-standing cooker with its solid door, was probably new in the 70s, and Ed hadn’t seen a twin-tub washer since he was a kid.

  ‘Yes please. No sugar, and with help from people like Bethany, we’ll find out if Aisha’s okay.’

  He sat at the table, the strip of veneer peeling away from the side, and glanced at the brown carpet with its frayed edges. ‘Have you lived here long?’ When had he last seen a carpet in a kitchen?

  ‘Bethany and myself moved in here about two years ago. My grandparents bought this house when it was first built. My nana’s death coincided with my divorce, so we moved in.’

  She placed a mug of tea in front of Ed. The mug was chipped, her hand shaking.

  ‘Of course we need to spend some money on it, but it’s a solid house.’

  ‘It’s very nice,’ Ed said. ‘Beautiful.’ He looked over his shoulder. ‘You must be Bethany.’ He stood up.

  ‘I am and you must be Sgt Whelan.’

  Bethany extended her arm, shook his hand. ‘I see you’ve got tea.’

  She smiled at her mother. ‘You can go now, mam. I’ll be fine. I’ll shout if I need you.’

  ‘Okay pumpkin.’ She rubbed her hand on her pink Paisley apron, nodded at Ed, and walked out.

  What a contrast, Ed thought. Introvert mother, confident daughter.

  ‘Always been a stay-at-home mam, but bad with her nerves now.’ Bethany sat next to Ed. ‘Devastated when that bastard of a father of mine shacked up with another woman. Much younger of course. My mam should have left him years ago. I told her to leave when I was 15. Anyway, how can I help? I’ve already made a statement.’

  ‘As I explained on the phone we are going right back to the beginning, make sure we haven’t missed anything,’ Ed said. ‘In your statement you mentioned a marriage.’

  Bethany nodded. ‘Yeah. I thought she was joking at first: 18 and getting married off. It was only when I saw how upset she was, I
realised she meant it. I couldn’t believe it. And did you see her dad on the TV, crying buckets? It’s his fault she’s run away.’

  Ed looked at her over the rim of his mug; self assured, shiny brown hair, subtle make-up. He sipped his tea. ‘Is that what you think happened?’

  ‘Don’t you?’ Bethany said. ‘I just thought she ran away with Sukhi. He was nice. She’d meet him on a Friday. We used to go to the shops together. It was the only day she could get out. I couldn’t even ring her at home.’

  ‘Why not?’ Ed asked. ‘She had a mobile, access to social media.’

  ‘Yeah right. Is that what they told you, her family? She had a mobile at school. That was just so they could all check up on her. That phone was taken from her as soon as she got home and given back to her on a morning.’

  Ed said: ‘She tell you that?’

  ‘She did. Again I didn’t believe her. I rang the phone one Saturday. Her brother answered and went mental with me. Told me his sister didn’t associate with white slags.’

  Ed sat there, impassive. There was no mention of any of this in Bethany’s first statement. The bright-red warning indicators of an honour-based system began flashing in his head.

  ‘I told the police about the phone, her not having it after college, but they didn’t write it down, said it wasn’t relevant,’ Bethany said. ‘They were just interested in whether Aisha had a boyfriend, whether I knew the lad on the CCTV.’

  ‘And did you?’

  ‘Of course I knew him, but I didn’t tell them that.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘After Aisha told me about the marriage I read an article in a magazine about honour crime. Funny how one minute you know nothing, the next you’re seeing and hearing about it everywhere. I knew what honour meant in Aisha’s world. She told me. The police never mentioned that to me. They told me Aisha ran away with a boy. If that was true, there was no way I was going to help them find her, send my mate into a marriage with some old bloke from India.’

  Ed smiled and shook his head at the same time; smiled because this young woman had grasped the concept of honour, shook his head because his uniform colleagues had not.

  ‘The boy, Sukhvinder, he’s never been seen since.’

  ‘I know, so they got away,’ Bethany said. ‘I knew he’d take care of her. They were in love. I just hoped she’d call me.’

  ‘You told the police officers that you’d last seen Aisha at college. Your last lesson finished at 2.30pm and then you had gone your separate ways. Is that right?’

  Bethany stared into Ed’s eyes.

  ‘Can I ask you something? Do you believe this honour thing exists? Do you believe she could have been forced to marry? That was what she was worried about, worried that they’d take her to India and leave her there.’

  Ed leaned in towards her. ‘I do. And I’ll tell you why. I’ve spent most of my adult life married to a Sikh.’

  Her eyes widened faster than a child’s kaleidoscope. ‘Really? Wow…so you know what I’m talking about.’

  ‘I do,’ Ed said. ‘So if there is anything you haven’t told us, now’s the time. I won’t necessarily tell Aisha’s parents, and you won’t be in any trouble.’

  Bethany stood up and walked to the Formica workbench, took her phone off charge, tapped in her password, and clicked on an icon.

  ‘Here,’ she said, bending down next to him, showing him her phone. ‘I took this on the afternoon she went missing. I was going to show it to her the following Monday, tease her, you know, pretend I would show her parents, her brother.’

  Ed looked at the picture. ‘Will you email this to me, and any others you’ve got?’

  A series of rapid nods.

  Ed focussed on the photograph. Aisha at the bus stop stood on her tiptoes, hands clasped around Sukhvinder’s neck, kissing him. What horrified him was the Asian man, traditional dress, standing on the other side of the road. A sense of foreboding overwhelmed him. Aisha’s dash for freedom needed to have succeeded. That man would undoubtedly know her parents. Ed shivered. Had he just seen The Kiss Of Death?

  Chapter Ten

  Sam was sitting at a table on the stage in the media briefing room, half-way through her prepared statement. The usual suspects from local TV, radio, and of course, Darius Simpson from the Seaton Post, were assembled, a couple of agency photographers walking around, flashes lighting up the room. There was also a regionally based reporter from one of the ‘redtop’ nationals.

  ‘We are keen to trace Jack’s movements between 9pm on Saturday and 4.05am on Sunday, and would like to hear from anybody who was in the town centre, or on the tow path, or who may have spoken to Jack between those times, to contact us. Viewing the town-centre CCTV is an obvious line of inquiry for us.’

  Sam believed in avoiding jargon. Nothing turned viewers off more than cops talking in language that the average man in the street didn’t understand; if members of the public switched off, her appeal was in vain, potential witnesses lost.

  Redtop got in first. They always did. ‘This is the fifth young person to die in the river in the last six months. Some students are saying their deaths are not accidents. Five young men: five deaths. Is Eastern Police considering a possible link, that they may have all been murdered?’

  Sam looked directly at him. She’d anticipated this.

  ‘As I have already pointed out, Jack was assaulted before he went into the river. He did not drown. The other tragic losses of lives were the result of drowning. We will always keep an open mind, but the evidence at this stage is that only Jack was assaulted.’

  ‘But of course the others might just have been pushed in?’ Redtop said.

  ‘Anything is possible, but there is no evidence to back that up, and without evidence all we have is speculation,’ Sam smoothly held her ground.

  In a room full of journalists and media, Sam was now in a one-to-one with the Redtop... and Redtop wasn’t stopping.

  ‘The council have announced this morning they have no plans to put up fencing along the tow path, but might erect large gates to block entry to it after a certain time. Any views, Chief Inspector?’

  ‘That is a matter for the council,’ Sam said. ‘While there maybe some input from Eastern Police, it is not something I will be involved in.’

  ‘Are you going to increase patrols along the river?’

  ‘There will undoubtedly be a greater police presence over the next couple of days as we search for witnesses and evidence,' Sam said. 'If you are asking me will there be a long-term increased police presence, then I’m sorry, but you’ll need to ask the Divisional Superintendent with policing responsibility for that area.’

  ‘In light of the five deaths in six months, do you think he should have been present today?’

  Sam had to admit Redtop was quite the operator.

  ‘The purpose of today is to seek information and search for witnesses into the tragic death of Jack Goddard,’ she said evenly. ‘It is not to discuss policing arrangements, or council policy, with regards to the tow path.

  Redtop nodded. He’d made his point.

  The background questions followed: what type of person was Jack, how was his family coping, could they have a picture?

  Sam left the stage, ready to do one-to-ones with local TV and radio.

  ‘Can I have a quick word Sam?’ Darius said.

  ‘Of course. You were quiet in there. Post not interested?’

  ‘All the questions I had were asked; the angle about the deaths being linked. Some of the students are up in arms. You know, serial killer on the loose.’

  Sam sighed. ‘I know.’

  ‘Look, the activists among them are organising a demo.’

  ‘You’re joking?’

  ‘No. They’ve tipped me off because they want coverage. 5pm tonight. Outside the Town Hall.’

  ‘Town Hall?’

  ‘Yeah, one of the things they’re protesting about is the council’s announcement this morning that they’re considering alley gate
s at the entrance to the tow path.’

  He ran his hands through his mop of blond hair. ‘They’re saying it’s a breach of their human rights, that closing the tow path would mean they’d have to walk the long way round, which for a lot of them would add an extra half-hour to their walk home?’

  Sam didn’t try to hide her contempt.

  ‘Pleeease! Have they got nothing better to think about?’

  ‘Sam, they’ve thought this through,’ Darius said. ‘This way they’ll get the anti-police students who think the cops are ignoring a serial killer and won’t spend money on an extra patrols, the human rights activists who think the gates are an interference with their liberty, and the environmentalists who’ll say putting up the gates will destroy the plants and wildlife in the hedgerows the council will have to dig up. They’ve got all the anti-establishment bases covered.’

  ‘Jesus,’ Sam sighed. ‘Any idea of numbers?’

  Darius shook his head.

  ‘No. But this will spread like wildfire on social media. Nearly every student will fit into at least one of the protest categories.’

  ‘Okay, cheers Darius,’ Sam said. ‘I’ll need to make these one-to-ones as quick as possible, warn uniform. We don’t want to get caught with our pants down.’

  She smiled inside as a red surge spread from Darius’ neck.

  Once all the interviews were finished, Sam went to ACC Teal’s office and updated her on Aisha, Jack Goddard, and the demo.

  Sam was comfortable with her. Teal had come on promotion from Northumbria Police, which she’d joined as a PC before climbing to the rank of Chief Superintendent. She had replaced Trevor Stewart, who had moved to another force on another promotion taking his sexual innuendos with him. ‘That’s great Sam,’ ACC Teal said. ‘Thanks. You concentrate on Goddard and Aisha, although give more resources to Goddard. Aisha’s been missing since December. Leave the demo to me.’

  ‘Thank you Ma’am.’

  ‘Sam, in here, Monica does fine.’