She checked her ringing mobile.
‘It can wait,’ she said. ‘When we’ve more time I’d like to discuss your plans for the future. Where do you see yourself? How far up the ladder do you want to climb? That sort of thing. I’d like to help you. I believe in looking after our good people, irrespective of gender, and all I hear is that you’re one of the good ones.’
‘Thank you… Monica.’
Sam left the office feeling elated. When Trevor Stewart had occupied it, she invariably left full of fuck.
Her phone vibrated in her trouser pocket. She answered it. ‘Hi Ed…I’ll be in my office in two minutes.’
‘Billy Wilson’s popped in to see us,’ Ed said. He had been sitting in her office, waiting for her.
‘What, here? Headquarters?’ Sam put her phone on the desk.
‘It’ll be okay. He’s a witness at the minute. There’s an empty office at the end. He’s already in it. Paul brought him up.’
‘Bloody hell, Ed,’ Sam said. ‘We shouldn’t be doing it at HQ. This place is non-operational.’
‘He’s here now. Let’s just crack on.’
‘Go on then, but don’t make a habit of it,’ Sam told him. ‘Just this once.’
‘And I’ll fill you in on Aisha later. I’ve seen a camera photo of her kissing her boyfriend at the bus stop.’
Billy didn’t move when Ed walked into the room.
‘Don’t stand up on my account,’ Ed said.
‘You what?’
‘Never mind. This is Detective Chief Inspector Parker.’
‘Alright,’ he said.
Ask a hundred people to describe a bare-knuckle fighter and Ed was convinced they’d describe Billy Wilson: fingers like bananas, ‘love’ inked crudely on one set of knuckles, ‘hate’ on the other, and a nose that had been broken more times than a teenager’s heart.
‘I understand you’ve popped in to see us about the young lad found in the river,’ Ed said, sitting down.
Sam leaned against the wall, arms crossed.
‘Thought I’d come and see you, Ed,’ Billy said. ‘Save you the trouble of coming to find me. That’s why I came here. No point in going to the nick in Seaton. They’d have rung you. I’d have to wait. Quicker to come here.’
‘Why did you think we wanted to see you?’
Wilson held both palms up. ‘Come on, Ed. I know the pompous little pricks. They’re in regular. We threw them…’ He corrected himself, ‘escorted them out on Saturday. One of them threw beer over Tom. I’m sure Steve’ll tell you that. It’ll be on the cameras. So I came to see you. Alibi’s watertight. I never did anything to any of them.’
‘Time was you’d have decked the one with the beer on the spot,' Ed said.
‘Times change,’ Billy answered. ‘You know that, Ed. I can’t hit them any more than you can. CCTV. Mobile phones with cameras and videos. Everything you do’s recorded these days. So everything’s by the book, meaning everybody gets away with being a twat.’
‘The young lad didn’t deserve to die,’ Ed said.
‘Ed, I agree. If they were taught to be more respectful, they wouldn’t get into trouble. They’d have some manners. That’s the problem these days - no manners, no respect.’
Sam unfolded her arms, stood straight.
‘Save us the lecture on respect and society’s ails,’ she said. ‘Sgt Whelan will take a statement from you. If everything you say checks out, we’ll not need to see you again. If it doesn’t, we’ll see you at a time and place of our choosing, not yours.’
Sam slammed the door behind her.
‘Who rattled her cage?’
Ed smiled. ‘Don’t cross her, Billy. She’s good, takes no prisoners, if you catch my drift.’
‘Doesn’t look like she does.’
Billy Wilson relayed the events of Saturday night. Ed wrote his statement.
‘What’s Tom King like then?’
‘Quiet. Confident. Good lad, good craic. Very polite. Likes his footie. Not a big drinker though, too much into his martial arts. Local champion. Drinks Cranberry juice and eats those avocado things like they’re going out of fashion.’
‘Is he any good? At martial arts, not eating avocados?’
Billy, oblivious to Ed’s wise-crack, leaned across the desk and spoke as if he was divulging a secret.
‘Ed, I went to one of his fights a few months back. He’s so fast, and his reach.’ He stretched out his arms. ‘He’s like a bloody albatross.’
He dragged the chair closer to the desk with his backside. ‘But it’s not just his speed.’ He tapped his temples. ‘It’s his focus. Concentration. He’s fearless. He just waits and waits, and then, bam!’ Billy punched the palm of his hand. ‘Fists, kicks, he’s got it all. I wouldn’t tackle him, neither would most of the doormen round here. He’s that good Ed, and he’s just a kid.’
Ed thought about Tom King. Would a trained fighter need a weapon?
‘What about the group of lads?’
‘Gobshites. Always wearing them daft T-shirts. Think they’re it. Call themselves Mortimers.’
‘So I’ve heard.’
‘Never had to throw them out before, but they’re pricks, Ed. Think they’re God’s gift. I could imagine them upsetting all sorts.’
‘Enough to kill one of them?’
Billy pushed his chair backwards. ‘Doesn’t seem to take much these days, Ed. Like I said, no respect.’
‘When you next see Tom, tell him to give me a ring.’ Ed passed him his business card.
‘I will, but I don’t know he’ll call. Hates your lot.’
‘Why’s that?’
‘His mother suffered years of good hidings from his old man,’ Billy said. ‘Tom saw it all, but was too young to stop it. Used to get a few bats himself. Police would to go to the house but did nothing. One day, after she’d had a good kicking the night before, she snuck up on hubbie when he was having his breakfast and brayed him over the head with a shovel. Brains and blood all over the ceiling.’
Ed raised his eyebrow. ‘Really? When was this? Where did it happen?’
‘Tom went into care,’ Billy said. ‘Blames the police. Reckons if they’d done their job, the old fella would have been banged up and his mother wouldn’t be in jail. It happened here, Ed, in Seaton.
‘King?’ Ed stared at the wall. ‘Name means nothing.’
‘That’s because he changed it. Tom Cotton.’
‘Pat Cotton! Gordon. Tom was... ’
‘Twelve,’ Billy jumped in. ‘Twelve years old and his mother, who he idolised, still idolises, locked up for killing one of the nastiest bastards ever to walk. He was a pussy among men was Gordon Cotton, but a big man around Pat. That kid visits her every fortnight, and I’ll tell you this much, Ed, he can’t stand blokes being disrespectful to women.’
Chapter Eleven
‘No more killings,’ the speaker shouted into his megaphone, his lisp very pronounced. Sam was in the Command Room adjacent to Control Room, watching the live stream from the CCTV. All those people and they’d chosen the guy with the lisp as their head chanter; talk of politically correct gone mad. She could only imagine what Ed would make of it.
Six screens, same protest, different viewpoints. The students had left the Town Hall and marched on the police station.
Sam reckoned there were about 150 people; Darius was right, every type had been attracted, and they weren’t all students at the university. She recognised a couple of activists who’d never finished school never mind gone into Higher Education. Only social media could have produced a crowd this large in such a short period of time.
Monica Teal had been true to her word and had acted swiftly. There was a serial of one inspector, a sergeant, and eight constables deployed, keeping a watching brief on the demo. Ten cops in total, all dressed in normal uniform, low-key, their objective to ensure that everything passed peacefully.
Sam knew in the underground car park at Seaton St George police station were two, long-whee
l-based Ford Transits, each with a Public Order Serial inside them, kitted out in riot gear. If it kicked off, the police were prepared.
Banners were held aloft:
‘Police Cover-Up’
‘Justice for the Five’
‘No to Alley-Gates, No Restriction of Movement’
‘Save the Riverside Wildlife and Fauna’
And Sam’s particular favourite... ‘Student Debts, Students Deaths, Society in Denial.’
The gathering was noisy but peaceful. Traffic and pedestrians had been diverted away from the area, as a precaution.
Sam stood there, concentrating on the screens. One small incident was all it took, one idiot, and the crowd dynamics would change.
And bang on cue, that idiot appeared, running out of the crowd to hurl an open tin of gloss paint at one of the police stations windows. As the window shattered and white paint flew from the tin, a young cop ran and rugby tackled the paint thrower to the ground.
Cue mayhem.
Two students, now with chequered scarves covering their faces, ran and pulled the uniform cop off the paint thrower. Police officers sprinted forward, barging into a slender young woman, sending her crashing to the floor. Scuffles were breaking out as the mood turned.
Two police vans hurtled around the corner with blue lights flashing and sirens blaring. Cops in full riot gear jumped out and quickly formed a well-drilled three-sided formation, using their reinforced plastic shields to push the crowd back. Three mounted officers joined them, horses a brilliant asset at crowd control.
A student threw a stick from one of the banners, spearing a cop in the cheek, blood flowing instantly following impact. Banners were dropped as the students were forced backwards, the cops kicking the sticks behind them as they advanced.
A ‘snatch squad’ of three riot police broke through the shields, grabbed the spear thrower, spun him round and dragged him backwards, the wall of shields opening up and letting them back through to the police side of the cordon.
Students banged their fists on the shields as they were pushed backwards towards a high wall. Pandemonium. Some shouted abuse, most screamed to be let out of the crowd. The majority, as was usually the case, hadn’t come for aggravation.
The shields formed three sides of a square; the wall formed the fourth.
The students were penned in, corralled.
The riot cops were now able to step backwards, extend the perimeter of the square, but the students were going nowhere.
Their dispersal was now a matter for the Public Order Commander.
Sam left the Command Room. The on-duty uniform Inspector would be inundated with complaints of heavy-handed policing, police brutality, false imprisonment; just another day at the office.
Ed walked into Sam’s office and told her about the interview with Billy Wilson.
‘We’ll see Tom King tomorrow then,’ she said. ‘Get a witness statement off him, even if it’s lies. Gives us something to have a go with later if he comes into the frame.’
‘Much happen at the demo? I heard it moved to Seaton nick.’ He sat down opposite her.
‘Everything was fine and dandy until some half-wit threw a tin of paint through one of the windows. Gloss all over one of the locker rooms but luckily no one was in there. He got locked up. Debbie Strong got hit in the face by a flying stick. That one got locked up as well.’
‘Good,’ Ed said. ‘We had plenty there, didn’t we?’
‘Yeah. I think some are still penned in. They’re only letting a few go at a time.’
‘Fair enough.’
‘I’m going for a drink with Bev if you fancy a quick one,’ Sam offered.
Ed scowled. ‘I promised Sue a while back I would stop drinking on a school night. She’ll not be happy if I can’t even get past Monday.’
Sam stood up and took her jacket from the peg.
‘I thought you were in the bad books?
‘I am.’ He looked at the wall clock. 7.50pm. He’d been there since 6.35am. ‘Bollocks,’ he said flatly. ‘Hung as a sheep and all that.’
‘Hey, don’t let me stop you getting house points.’
‘See you in the Golden Eagle.’
An hour later, Bev Summers was on a high stool in Sam’s kitchen. Both had limited themselves to one drink in the pub – driving. They weren’t driving now.
‘You sure it’s okay to stay?’
‘I’ve got four bedrooms. Course it is. Now…’ Sam bent down, opened the door of her wine cooler.
‘Hey, nothing too expensive, it’s a Monday. Okay to smoke?’
‘Carry on,’ Sam said. ‘I’ll be joining you. Just open the door.’
Sam poured the wine into two large Riedel glasses, sat on a stool opposite Bev and put the bottle into a silver wine bucket full of ice.
‘Seems ages since we had a girlie chat,’ Bev said. ‘I know Christmas was tough.’ Her voice trailed away.
Sam held the glass to her lips, but didn’t tip it far enough for any of the wine to slide towards her mouth.
Bev waited. She and Sam had known each other years, known each other since Sam was a young PC. Sam had been promoted three times but it hadn’t affected their friendship. Sam had insisted on it.
‘I just wonder if I’ll ever move on from Tristram?’ she said quietly. ‘It’s been… God I lose track of time.’ She took a large glug from the glass, swirled the wine in her mouth, and swallowed. ‘I still don’t sleep brilliantly. Every dream I recall, he’s in it. One day I want a new relationship; the next I can’t even bear the thought of starting again. And where would I start?’
‘I’m not going to say give it time, because you already have,’ Bev told her. ‘I never wanted a long-term relationship, not where they moved in anyway. I’m not having some bloke moving in, then taking me to the cleaners when we split up.’
‘God I never thought about that.’
‘Hey, we’re both good catches,’ Bev smiled. ‘Decent jobs, nice cars, houses paid for... and not forgetting bodies! They might be ageing a bit, especially mine, but nothing’s dropped through childbirth.’
Sam pointed at her thighs. ‘We’ll both still be tight down there.’
The bout of laughter began.
‘Maybe you should let Darius Simpson and his blond mop find out,’ Bev said.
Sam tried to speak through the giggles, glassy eyes focussed on Bev.
‘Can’t imagine him doing that,’ she said. ‘Looks too innocent. Probably thinks oral sex is when you talk about it.’
They threw their heads back, laughing like horses neighing.
‘I can’t breathe,’ Sam said through the laughter.
Bev shrieked, her voice much higher than normal.
‘He’s so posh he probably thinks fellatio is a character from a Shakespeare play.’
Sam banged the black granite top, bent forward, and tried to inhale.
‘Stop it…Oh my God, I’ve got a mental picture now.’
‘He’ll be here like a shot if I ring him.’
‘Don’t you dare!’ Sam waved her hand in front of her face, composed herself. ‘He’s a decent bloke, but… you know.’
‘I know… he’s not Ed.’
Sam lifted her head. ‘God, is it that obvious?’
‘I’m one of your oldest friends,’ Bev said. ‘It’s obvious to me, probably not to anyone else. Does he know how you feel?’
‘No,’ Sam shook her head slowly. ‘I’ve never said anything. He’s married. He wouldn’t do anything. He’s not that type.’
She took the bottle out of the ice bucket, poured a little into each glass. ‘And I wouldn’t want him to. It would just cause too much shit; too much shit for him at home, too much shit for us both at work.’
‘But?’
‘There’s a chemistry,’ she said. ‘I can feel it. I think he does, but it’ll never happen.’ She glanced at the microwave. 10.10pm.
‘What do you think about Aisha then?’
‘Not sure,’ Sam said
. ‘I hope Ed’s wrong. I hope she’s not dead. We’re going to see her parents tomorrow. Introduce ourselves. We’re here to help find your daughter... the usual, but it’ll give us a feel for them.’
‘And Jack?’
‘You know as well as I do how tough it is to sort when they’re found in the open.’
She sipped the wine.
‘A missing Asian girl and a body in a river,’ Sam said. ‘Two of the hardest type of jobs to box off and we’ve got them both together.’
‘Nightmare,’ Bev agreed. ‘Did you hear how Debbie Strong’s doing?’
‘She’s fine,’ Sam told her. ‘Strong by name and all that. Couple of stitches.’
‘Stitches?’ Bev said, a smile breaking out. ‘Well I bet her new girlfriend will be impressed... the butch touch.’
She took a slow drink from her glass.
‘Oh by the way, I was in custody when they brought them in,’ she said. ‘Elliott Prince threw the paint.’
Chapter Twelve
Tuesday 15th April 2014
Sam rubbed her bloodshot eyes as Ed walked into her office.
‘Good night then?’
‘God Bev can still drink.’ She massaged her temples. ‘My head’s busting and she looks like she’s gone to bed with a cup of cocoa and a book and slept for 12 hours.’
‘You’re obviously out of practice, not match fit,’ Ed said, sitting down.
‘Something like that… What about you? Everything alright when you got home?’
‘She went ballistic,’ Ed said. ‘I had one more pint after you and Bev left. Two pints and you’d think I’d been out all night. I should have just come round yours and got pissed. Wouldn’t have been any worse. Anyway…’
Sam looked at the sadness in his eyes, swallowed hard before she spoke. ‘Elliott Prince was locked up yesterday.’
‘Really? What for?’
‘He threw the paint through the window.’
‘Elliott Prince?’ Ed said. ‘You sure? He’s the last kid I’d expect to do that.’
‘Why?’
‘You haven’t seen him,’ Ed told her. ‘He’s the kid you knew from day one at senior school would get bullied. Little, fat, freckles, and ginger. If he turned out to be a geek, he’d have a full house.’
Dark Tides Thrillers Box Set Page 38