Dark Tides Thrillers Box Set

by Tony Hutchinson

  ‘What do you want?’ he said.

  ‘The truth,’ Paul demanded. ‘We know about you going into Rendezvous with Tracey and Charlotte, after you were seen being very luvvie-duvvie with them in the town centre. Marvellous thing close-circuit-television. So cut the bullshit.’

  Jones’ hands shot up to his face and he began to cry.

  ‘Save it, Glen,’ Paul said. ‘Your mate’s dead and you can’t even tell the truth.’

  Jones was shaking and hitching sobs from his throat.

  ‘Okay, okay,’ He croaked. ‘Me and Jack got a letter... a picture more like. No threat but it wasn’t nice.’

  ‘Where’s the picture?’ Paul demanded

  ‘In the flat.’

  ‘Let’s go and get it,’ Paul told him. ‘Let’s get it now.’

  Amber Dalton had moved since Sam had last visited her in February of last year. No longer renting, she had bought her own house after deciding against a return to Bristol. She had resigned from the planning office at the local council, immersed herself in various part-time counselling courses as well as her degree and was now helping victims of abuse.

  Sam and Ed were on their way to Amber’s new home.

  ‘I just feel we’re not getting anywhere fast enough,’ Sam said, staring out of the side window as Ed negotiated yet another town centre contra-flow system.

  ‘Always the same,’ he said testily. ‘No repairs done all year, come March the council miraculously finds some money they need to spend before the financial year ends and bang – roadworks everywhere …sorry, what did you say?’

  Sam wearily shook her head.

  ‘I said, Mr Angry of Tunbridge Wells, I feel like I’m running through treacle. We’re getting nowhere fast. Bloody hell, we can’t even find Glen Jones and Jamie Telford.’

  Ed scowled as he joined a queue at temporary traffic lights.

  ‘I’ve sent Paul and Bev out looking for them. It’s only 11 o’clock. Plenty of time. We’ll get the girls in after we’ve seen Amber. They’ve got a lot to answer now. I’ll knock up a quick questionnaire later for the door-to-door teams. Now wind down the window, light a cigarette and chill!’

  Sam had chain-smoked two by the time they pulled up outside Amber’s home.

  Walking up the driveway, Sam noticed Amber still kept the garden beautiful. The same pale blue bench was underneath the front window, although she had taken the precaution of setting it into concrete.

  ‘Morning Amber,’ Sam said, when the door opened. ‘You remember Ed.’

  ‘Oh, hi Sam. To what do I owe this pleasure? I was expecting a parcel, not you…sorry, that sounded rude! Come in, come in.’

  She led them into the kitchen and pointed at the glass-topped table, and the four moulded plastic chairs, each a different vibrant colour. Sam took the lime green one, Ed the purple.

  ‘Tea?’ Amber said.

  ‘We’re fine. Look, we’ll not keep you. It’s just a quick one.’

  Amber sat at the table.

  ‘I felt our conversation was a little rushed the other night when we talked about the girls being photographed,’ Sam said. ‘Do you know personally of it happening to anyone?’

  ‘Lots, but I’ve told you Sam, it’s not my place to report,’ Amber said. ‘I would have been devastated if a third party had reported my rape. The girls have got to report it themselves.’

  Sam said she understood and moved on.

  ‘Do you socialise with any of the girls.’

  Amber moved her eyes from Sam to Ed and back again.

  ‘Not really,’ she told them. ‘We might go for a drink after a group session but that’s it. I never see them at any other time.’

  ‘And your group,’ Sam asked. ‘Does it have a name?’

  ‘Nothing as formal as that Sam,’ Amber smiled.

  ‘Okay, thanks for your time,’ Sam said, standing to leave, Ed rising too. ‘Please stress to your members – do you call them that? – we’ll deal sensitively with any allegations they make.’

  Sam pushed her chair under the table and pointed to a book on the kitchen bench, a book she’d seen as she walked in.

  ‘Good read that,’ she said lightly. ‘My favourite character was always Macavity.’

  Glen Jones sat, head bowed, looking at the black lino on the interview room floor.

  ‘So you lied about meeting up with Charlotte and Tracey,’ Bev said.

  ‘I panicked.’ He was sniffling. ‘Jack was dead. I didn’t kill him. I had no idea who did, so I just said I went home. I’m sorry, but that’s why I did it.’

  ‘And what do you think now?’ Bev asked him. ‘About his death?’

  ‘Sisters of Macavity,’ Jones answered quietly. ‘I can’t get their name out of my head. What does it even mean?’

  Bev ignored the question. ‘When did you first hear about them?’

  ‘When I got that photograph,’ Jones told her. ‘I’ve tried to find out about them. I’ve asked girls I know but no one had heard of them. They’re like a secret society. I think they did it though... killed Jack. What if I’m next? At least with Jamie they sent the photos out. They didn’t do that with Jack’s, and they haven’t done it with mine.’

  He reached for a plastic cup of water and drank slowly.

  ‘Mortimers,’ Bev said. ‘Your little group. Who was the leader?’

  ‘No one. We’re all the same.’

  Bev leaned towards him and lowered her voice. ‘Every group that ever existed had a leader. Who’s yours?’

  Jones rubbed moisture from under his nose, stared at her through glassy eyes, and inhaled deeply.

  ‘Elliott,’ he said after a long pause. ‘Jack wanted to be, but it was Elliott. He just had the way about him. He got people to do what he wanted without ever forcing them. Half the time he didn’t even ask them outright. He just nudged them along with his smooth words.’

  Bev glanced at the two photographs laid side by side on the wooden table framed by desk-top graffiti; previous prisoners writing obscene messages about the cops who’d arrested them. Who had been stupid enough to leave prisoners alone in the interview room, and who the hell gave them a pen?

  The first photograph showed Glen Jones and Jack Goddard naked on all fours. Jones had told the truth. There was no threat to make the picture public.

  ‘And you have no idea where these were taken, what night?’

  ‘No. It could be anywhere, any night.’

  ‘Can you give us a list of the parties you’ve been to in the last two months?’

  He raised his head, eyes wide open and still red.

  ‘I couldn’t tell you which parties I’ve been to in the last two weeks. We probably go to about three a week, maybe four. It’s not like you get a written invitation.’

  ‘So you’ve no recollection of the, how shall I say it, pose?’ Bev asked him.

  ‘No, but looking at it, I think somebody’s put something in our drink,’ Jones said. ‘I would never do that, no matter how pissed I got.’

  He looked at the floor again.

  ‘What would they put in your drink?’

  ‘You know... roofies.’

  Bev tapped her biro against her upper teeth. Rohypnol – roofies – the date-rape drug.

  ‘Many roofies knocking around the university?’ she asked.

  Jones looked up. ‘I’ve never bought them so I wouldn’t know. I suppose you can get them. You can get most drugs.’

  ‘This picture here,’ Bev pushed it across the desk. ‘The charming image of you all wearing matching ‘hashtag slags and beer' T-shirts. Write the names across each body.’

  She slid him a pen and sat in silence as Jones printed each name. Nine in total.

  When he’d finished, Bev took the photograph, removed a piece of paper from her jacket, and compared it to Jamie Telford’s list.

  ‘This lad here,’ Bev pointed to a hairy arm on the edge of the group. ‘You can only see this guy’s arm. You’ve written down a different name to Jamie.’

>   ‘Who did he say it was?’

  ‘Jonny White.’

  ‘No, no way.’ Jones sounded sure. ‘I think Jonny might have been in hospital that night. He did his leg playing football. He wasn’t out that night. It can only be Aaron Leech. He was definitely out with us that night and he’s the only face you can’t see on the photo.’

  Bev studied the picture again, ‘Was Aaron a member of your silly little group?’

  ‘No, he wasn’t,’ Jones answered. ‘I don’t know why.’

  Bev already knew which group Aaron had joined.

  He was a member of ‘The Drowners’.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  ‘Do you think Amber’s lying?’ Sam’s brow was furrowed, elbows on her desk, hands cupping her chin.

  ‘I don’t know,’ Ed’s answer was honest. ‘Maybe the group doesn’t have a name, maybe she doesn’t normally socialise with them. I suppose they’d have her number in case they wanted to talk to her. She’s putting herself about as a counsellor. Maybe going to meet them is business, not pleasure. Maybe she just happened to be reading Cats. Maybe it’s coincidental that all their phones are out and about when Jack Goddard dies.’

  ‘All ifs, buts and maybes.’

  ‘But more than enough to lock them all up.’

  Bev poked her head around the door. ‘Got a minute?’

  ‘Course,’ Sam said.

  ‘Aaron Leech.’

  ‘One of the ones who drowned?’ Sam said.

  ‘Yes. He’s in the Hashtag photo.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Yeah, Jamie Telford identified him, wrongly according to Glen Jones. You can only see the person’s arm. Jones says it’s Leech. He remembers drinking with him that night. He told me Jonny White was in hospital. I’ve checked. He was.’

  ‘Why?’ Sam asked.

  ‘Injured his leg playing football,’ Bev said. ‘They kept him in.’

  ‘Get a crew checking on the known associates of the five who drowned,’ Sam said quickly. ‘I know it’s been done but let’s redo it. There’s now a connection between Goddard and Leech we didn’t know about, even if it is nothing more than they were photographed together. The bigger connection is that they were wearing the same T-shirts.’

  Ed clasped his hands around his neck, stretched and looked upwards.

  ‘Could we really have a bunch of vigilante women killing men who have wronged them on social media? Women serial killers are rarer than rocking horse shit, and we’re contemplating a group of them.’

  ‘We’ll follow the evidence, but at the minute…I want to delay everything with them,' Sam said. 'When we go for them, I want as much evidence as we can get, but I don’t want any more students dying on that tow path. Tonight, and tomorrow I want as many uniforms as they can spare us along that tow path.’

  Ed knew the likely reaction.

  ‘Bloody hell, Sam, the uniform Superintendent’s going to have to open a new box. We already want a presence in Aisha’s street tonight.’

  ‘Well he’ll have to borrow a box of uniforms from another policing area if necessary, but he won’t need to. We can use the same crew. We want them in Aisha’s street from 5.30pm. We can be done there by 11, give them an hour’s break, then they can do midnight until daylight on the tow path.’

  ‘I’ll sort a couple of mounties out for the tow path,’ Ed told her. ‘Just in case there’s a chase.’

  Sam nodded once. ‘Job’s jobbed then. Let’s have a cig, Bev.’

  Admin, the unseen and often boring part of police work, filled the afternoon. Year on year, it increased, more forms to be completed, successive governments wanting ever more data and statistics on every conceivable facet of the job.

  Then there was the change in status. When police officers stopped being Servants of the Crown and became employees, Health and Safety legislation kicked in. Risk assessments had to be carried out for every policing activity.

  Ed sat at a desk completing the Operational Order for the door to door. In the old days it was done under the initials IIMAC – Information, Intention, Method, Admin and Communication. Now he had to add R – IIMARC – for a Risk Assessment.

  He shook his head. All this to knock on a few doors. When he joined for the first time back in 1978, they just got on with it. Now, a minority of cops wouldn’t move until a job had been risk assessed. How some of the recruits joining in the new millennium would have managed with just a radio and a wooden truncheon was beyond him. Now it was stab-proof vests, batons, quick-cuffs, CS gas, tasers, and more firearms officers than ever yet still everything had to be assessed. There comes a time when a police officer just has to get on with it, Ed firmly believed. Thankfully, most still fell into the ‘getting on with it’ camp.

  Ed also needed to liaise with the Neighbourhood Inspector and discuss a Community Impact Assessment.

  All part of the fun in the modern day police force. No, police service, he reminded himself.

  In another office, at another desk, Sam sat writing reams about the investigations, recording every decision made in relation to each major inquiry, her reasons for making that decision, what other options she had considered and why she had dismissed them in favour of her chosen one. Her Policy File was her shield against hindsight, and hindsight was a stick that could be used to beat her in any judicial proceedings or internal investigation.

  If an army marched on its stomach, the police service was mobilised by keyboards and ink.

  Both front windows were fully open as Ed drove to Aisha’s street, the fresh air a natural coolant to the stuffy offices they’d left.

  ‘Do you think we’ll get a reaction here tonight?’ Sam said.

  ‘Guarantee it.’ Ed applied a little pressure to the brakes, hoping to avoid coming to a complete standstill as he approached the red light. The lights changed and he gently accelerated. ‘But just before we came out I sat down with the Inspector handling Neighbourhood Policing and did a Community Impact Assessment. He doesn’t expect trouble on the streets. Like me, he thinks any reaction will come from Aisha’s family, especially if they’ve got something to do with her disappearance.’

  Copies of both the operational order and impact assessment were with the control room Inspector, giving the early heads up in case trouble broke out.

  In the street, seven uniformed officers were knocking on doors, clipboard in hand, Ed’s prepared questionnaire on top.

  The borrowed Fiesta was slowly driving up and down.

  Sam opened her door and hadn’t even started to get out when Darius Simpson appeared. He bent down. ‘The family are kicking up a shit storm Sam.’

  ‘Good evening to you too,’ Sam said tightly. ‘What’s up?’

  Putting her left leg out of the car forced Darius to step back. She knew he’d love to get close to her.

  ‘Mr Bhandal’s been outside, demanding to know what’s going on, who’s responsible,’ Darius said. ‘He’s going to make a complaint about us being here taking photos, says he’s writing to the Chief Constable and the local MP, plus he’s knocking on neighbours’ doors after your lot have left.’

  ‘Pity he wasn’t so proactive when his daughter went missing,’ Sam said. ‘Leave him to me.’ She stepped away from the car and walked towards Bhandal. He was closing the gap between them much quicker than she was.

  ‘What is the meaning of this, Sergeant Parker? It’s an outrage.’

  She ignored the demotion, an old tactic employed by people trying to get the upper hand and rile the officer concerned.

  ‘We are simply revisiting everything we have done in relation to Aisha’s disappearance,’ Sam told him, holding his angry eyes. ‘It’s been over four months now and what better place to start than where she went missing.’

  Bhandal was shaking with rage.

  ‘Nobody round here knows anything,’ he said, his voice rising. ‘Find her boyfriend then you’ll find her. He’s a kidnapper. You won’t find her knocking on the doors here, bringing shame upon my family because we
cannot control who our daughter sees.’

  Sam’s calm was the ice to Bhandal’s heat.

  ‘Shame, Mr Bhandal? We’re not trying to shame you. We are trying to find your daughter.’

  ‘My wife is very upset,’ Bhandal went on. ‘This is reminding her of what has happened.’

  Suddenly his son, Baljit, quick-marched across the road, fists clenched. The shouting started before he was halfway across.

  ‘What the fuck are you lot doing? Call this lot off.’

  Sam waited until he was standing by his father.

  ‘I’m not calling anybody off,’ she told him. ‘Now I suggest you go back in the house before you overstep the line and force me to consider arresting you for obstructing a police officer in the execution of their duty.’

  ‘Execution?’ Baljit shouted. ‘The only execution likely around here is yours.’

  Ed glided up behind him, gripped his arm, and whispered in his ear.

  ‘Listen, sonny, go back inside before you’re arrested for threats to kill, there’s a good boy.’

  Baljit pulled away.

  ‘Keep your hands off me,’ he hissed. ‘I’ll do you for assault.’

  Ed smiled as Baljit slinked off.

  Bhandal pointed his finger at Sam. ‘I will be contacting my solicitor.’

  ‘You do what you feel you must,’ Sam said, smiling at him as the Fiesta drove slowly past.

  He stormed off after his son. A third man, the uncle, Gurmej, was standing on the footpath directly outside the house, watching everything. The three of them went inside, Bhandal slamming the door.

  ‘Told you there was going to be a shit storm.’ Darius and the photographer were next to them now.

  ‘Did you get any photos of that little interaction?’ Sam said.

  ‘Plenty,’ the photographer grinned.

  ‘Any chance of getting copies?’

  ‘No problem, Sam,’ Darius jumped in.

  Ed smiled. Put your tongue back in son!