Dark Tides Thrillers Box Set

by Tony Hutchinson

  The plan to identify him, like all the best plans, was simple. Ed went to the house. Sam was preparing for the press conference so he had an hour.

  He pulled up outside, called the officers in the LP to confirm ‘male 3’ was still inside, and knocked on the door.

  Baljit appeared. ‘What the fuck do you want?’

  ‘A word with your father.’ Ed pushed past.

  ‘Here, you can’t just go barging in, not unless you got a warrant.’

  Ed spun around, bent down and whispered in his ear. It was becoming a theme of their meetings.

  ‘Listen, little boy, you want to come and play in the big boys’ playground, you let me know, until then…’

  Ed spun back around and walked into what he presumed was the sitting room. The room was empty.

  ‘CID!’ Baljit shouted.

  Ed stepped into the adjoining room and saw Davinder Bhandal standing next to the fireplace, the brother-in-law, Gurmej, stretched out in an armchair.

  ‘Mr Whelan,’ Bhandal said. ‘Come in.’

  Baljit followed, closing what had once been a white door, but was now off-yellow, behind him.

  Gurmej pushed himself out of the chair and spoke quickly in Punjabi. ‘What does this piece of shit want?’

  ‘This piece of shit wants a word,’ Ed said.

  The three Asians, standing by the fireplace, were wide-eyed and open-mouthed.

  Ed began speaking in Punjabi.

  ‘This piece of shit, as you so politely put it,’ he pointed at Gurmej, ‘wants to know if any of the family…’

  He reverted to English and put his hands in his trouser pockets. ‘Tell you what, we’ll leave it. Maybe speak again in the not too distant future at the police station.’

  He walked out, leaving silence behind him.

  Back in the car, he called the LP. ‘It’s Gurmej, the wife’s brother.’

  ‘We heard every word,’ said the Punjabi speaking officer. ‘Quality, you switching to Punjabi. You’ve started a shit storm in there.’

  ‘Good,’ Ed grinned.

  ‘Yeah, they’re trying to remember what they said in Punjabi when you could hear,’ the officer was telling him. ‘The wife’s joined in, remembers the husband asking her... hang on, let me read it verbatim... When they said I was arrested, you asked me if I still had the card. She sounded scared shitless.’

  ‘Anything else?’ Ed asked.

  ‘No, but they’re not sure what’s going on,’ the cop told him. ‘Can’t work out what you and the boss are playing at.’

  ‘Anything from the brother-in-law?’ Ed wanted to know. ‘Looks a nasty piece of work. He’s got bully written all over him.’

  ‘He’s not said much really.’

  ‘Okay, keep at it,’ Ed finished. ‘Cheers lads.’

  The buzz at the press conference reflected the interest the tow path deaths had stirred. Sam found herself sitting in front of TV cameras streaming live feeds to their respective news channels, a phenomenon her predecessors of not so long ago had been spared. Going out live was not the time for slip-ups, not the time for careless answers that would come back to bite you.

  Bright white lights exploded in her face as she made her witness appeal, photographers moving around for the best shot.

  Then came the questions, the cat-and-mouse dance. Sam needed to be foot perfect.

  ‘Two murders on the same tow path in just over a week. Are they linked?’ The guy from Sky went straight to it.

  ‘The two investigations are being run side by side, and while there are similarities, there are also differences,’ Sam answered smoothly. ‘The victims are both single, both young men at university, and the location is the same. The times are also similar in that both attacks happened after the young men had been on a night out.’

  The woman from ITV raised an arm. ‘Were they both drunk?’

  ‘We are awaiting the results of toxicology reports,’ Sam dead-batted. ‘They had both been drinking but that’s not to say they were drunk.’

  The BBC was up next, Sam recognising the face of the middle-aged hack from national broadcasts.

  ‘The first four who died on this tow path in the last six months were believed to have fallen in drunk. Is that early conclusion now under review?’

  The reporters were bouncing off each other.

  Sam blinked as another white flash lit up her face.

  ‘There was nothing to suggest those earlier deaths were anything other than tragic accidents,’ she said cautiously. ‘But it is only right and proper that we revisit those conclusions. Everything is under review.’

  ‘Including the possibility that a serial killer is stalking the town’s students?’ Sky man was back.

  Sam felt the ice beneath her get thinner.

  ‘While everything is under review, there is no necessity to jump to unsubstantiated conclusions and theories. It is important that we follow the evidence.’

  ‘But will more people die while you review everything?’ The Daily Mirror was now in play, the media knife beginning to twist. ‘What steps are you taking to prevent more deaths? Have you put extra police officers along the tow path at night?’

  Sam looked directly at the reporter. There was a potential trap here. She knew him, knew his reputation: a dog with a bone. She had to answer on the premise that he knew there had been extra patrols but they’d ceased on the Sunday.

  ‘Extra patrols often provide public reassurance but more often than not they actually fail to catch the offender or offenders,’ Sam held his gaze. ‘While we will endeavour to have officers on the tow path, you will all know that it runs for two miles on either side of the river and we only have a finite amount of resources.’

  She paused, all eyes still on her.

  ‘I would urge people not to walk along the path alone, to consider other routes home, perhaps to use taxis.’

  ‘Isn’t that admitting defeat?’ the Daily Mirror demanded.

  Sam let her face register surprise.

  ‘Two people have been murdered on the path in little over a week,’ she answered. ‘Suggesting people consider how they go safely home is not an admission of defeat. It’s common sense.’

  ‘Do you have a message for the killer?’ someone shouted from the back.

  Even the hacks at the front turned towards the voice.

  Sam couldn’t have come up with a better question if she had rigged the whole thing.

  ‘Yes,’ she answered with careful conviction. ‘We will find you. Walk up our path before we walk up yours.’

  Press conference over, Sam did one-to-ones with the TVs and radio. She could feel her phone, in vibrate mode, dancing around in her pocket. Interviews finished, she checked the screen. Four missed calls from Ed.

  She walked into a secure area in HQ.

  ‘It’s me,’ she said into her mobile.

  ‘Another spanner,’ Ed told her. ‘Someone’s just switched on Aisha’s phone.’

  Chapter Forty-One

  ‘They’re panicking here,’ Sam said. ‘Where’s the phone?’

  ‘Geo locator put it in Battersea,’ Ed answered. ‘Then nothing.’

  South London, Sam was thinking. Not Plymouth. Probably at the bottom of the Thames by now.

  ‘They’re well and truly spooked,’ she said. ‘We’re barking up the right tree here. I’ll meet you in the canteen for a cuppa and a catch-up.’

  Ed’s rant was a five-star full burner.

  ‘Don’t bother,’ he grumbled. ‘It’s full of civvies eating nut cutlets and quinoa salad. No wonder there’s never any cops in there... overpriced shite that wouldn’t keep a gerbil going.’

  ‘Do you want to try and breathe,’ Sam interrupted, but Ed was in full flow.

  ‘Sorry, but how the hell did it ever get to this? My old sergeants would be spinning. There’s even some woman with a make-up stall in the corridor! Supposed to be a bloody police headquarters, not some hippie commune hosting a make-up convention. I’ll meet you in the car park. We
’ll go and get some proper food and I’ll bring you up to speed. I need to get out of here.’

  She heard him breathe deeply, wondered if Ed’s blood pressure would survive the rage.

  ‘Hell, what’s rattled your cage?’ Sam said.

  ‘The lunatics,’ Ed snapped. ‘They’ve finally taken over the asylum. They’ll be dancing in circles on the grass next, bollock naked with daisy chains on their heads.’

  The wooden planks of the pier were soaking. They were standing at the end, leaning against the railings, land behind them, looking out across the grey North Sea, tankers on the horizon heading in and out of Teesport.

  They’d agreed to come here as often as they could, an acknowledgement that Sam needed to get over Tristram’s death, needed to enjoy the sea again, not fear it.

  Ed opened the white paper bag containing his mayo-free sandwich. The wrapper informed him a ‘sandwich artist’ called Craig had created it with his own hands. Ed knew that already. He had watched Craig make the bloody thing.

  Sandwich artist? He was definitely getting too old. He examined his prawn and tomato offering as he chewed the first mouthful. Not exactly a Rembrandt but nice enough, he had to admit.

  Sam spoke in between mouthfuls of Tuna savoury.

  ‘You finished whinging for the day?’

  Ed nodded, mouth full.

  ‘Good,’ Sam said. ‘So let me get this straight. Amber Dalton is Elliott Prince’s step-sister.’

  ‘Yeah, that’s the size of it,’ Ed told her. ‘He was the result of an affair his mother had with a merchant seaman. Hubbie had already gone for the snip after they had Amber. Mother tried to explain it away... the operation mustn’t have worked properly... but when he threatened DNA tests, she coughed. Elliott was put up for adoption as soon as he was born.’

  ‘And they got in touch how?’ Sam asked.

  Ed told her he didn’t know but it could be done easily enough through the wonders of social media, especially if you had a name

  ‘Seems like Elliott’s adoptive parents told him everything,’ he said.

  ‘And once he finds her,’ Sam said, taking it up, ‘if she confides what happened to her, you’ve got a decent motive for attacking the creeps photographing the girls.’

  Ed said that would fit.

  ‘Could explain why he never received a retribution photograph of himself,’ Ed reasoned. ‘Potentially he’s infiltrating. He’s another Gatekeeper, this time avenging his sister’s honour, as opposed to enforcing honour in Aisha’s case.’

  Sam knew the theory was still a stretch. Killing the person who raped his sister would have serious weight but killing people who hadn’t raped anybody, even if they were taking those pictures?

  She watched Ed roll the paper bag into a ball and put it in his coat pocket. ‘Remind me not to leave it there.’

  They decided to head to Surf Shack for coffee, Ed telling Sam on the way the Bhandals now knew he could speak Punjabi

  ‘Give them something to think about,’ she said.

  They placed their take-out cups on the wooden table, the rich aroma of the dark, strong Colombian coffee drifting upwards, their noses twitching in anticipation. Sam lit a Marlboro Gold, the smoke ruining the smell of fresh coffee for Ed as he stepped back from the table.

  ‘Quarter to two,’ Sam said, studying her watch. ‘Do we go for the girls now, or leave it until tomorrow? We’re not getting any more from the phones?’

  ‘What about the chewing gum and the cigarettes?’ Ed asked.

  Sam shook her head.

  ‘Even if we wait to see if we get a profile, we’ll have to get their DNA. None of them are on the database.’

  Ed took the cup from the table.

  ‘So it’s either today or tomorrow,’ he said after a mouthful. ‘Early doors tomorrow and we should definitely get them... can’t think any self-respecting student will already be out of bed by then. Go now and we might not get all of them. Your call.’

  Sam was reluctant to keep delaying but doing it now would mean working late and the overtime budget taking a hit.

  She worked on her cigarette.

  ‘Say we get them this afternoon, we’ll probably only get one interview with each of them today by the time they get briefed up. 8am start tomorrow and we’ve got them until 3pm before we need a Superintendent’s extension. If we go for that option, we’ll waste time because we can’t interview them in the early hours. Then we’ll be at court Wednesday morning going for a Warrant of Further Detention.’

  She inhaled again.

  ‘But if we leave it for tomorrow morning, we’ve got them all day before they need their eight hours rest. Then if needs be, get a Superintendent’s extension Thursday morning until 8pm Thursday.’

  Sam was saying out loud what she would later write in her Policy File, explaining her decision-making thought processes.

  Ed waited. ‘What’s it to be then?’

  Sam stubbed her cigarette out in the ashtray.

  ‘Tomorrow morning. Logistically, from an interviewing perspective it makes more sense. Some of their phones are down by the tow path, so they’ve potentially lied. Tracey and Charlotte go into the club with Jack and Glen, both dead now. Alex rings in Jack’s death. They’ve got plenty to answer so let’s lock them up for his murder.’

  ‘Okay,’ Ed agreed. ‘What about Amber?’

  Sam found herself tempted by another cigarette but resisted.

  ‘I’ve been thinking about Amber,’ she said. ‘She runs a support group that may or may not be the Sisters Of Macavity, but even if it is, so what? We can put her phone in the town centre at the relevant time, but unlike the others, there’s nothing to link her to the victims, other than they may have cropped up in her support sessions. Not a lot really. Let’s leave her for now. See what the others have to say.’

  ‘And Elliott?’ Ed asked.

  Sam thought about it, searching for a solid reason to bring him in as well.

  She realised it wouldn’t work. Yes he might be raging to learn his new found step-sister had been raped – who wouldn’t? – but after that?

  She paused, took a slurp of coffee and gave up the fight against another cigarette.

  ‘What if Elliott buddies up with Goddard and Jones and the likes after he meets up with Amber?’ Sam said. ‘Expands on your theory of the Gatekeeper of Honour, just more like the vengeful angel.’

  She gripped the cigarette in her teeth as she fumbled for her ringing phone. ‘Sam Parker…Hi Bev.’

  Sam listened for a few seconds.

  ‘Really? See you soon. We’re on our way back.’

  She inhaled and blew out smoke.

  ‘I asked Bev to check out Elliott Prince’s phone,’ Sam paused, Ed waiting. ‘On the nights Jack Goddard and Glen Jones were murdered, it was on the tow path.’

  Ed’s eyes went wide.

  ‘Jackpot!’

  Chapter Forty-Two

  By the time Ed was driving home his head felt like a balloon a jab from exploding. The Op Order spelling out which cops were going to which address, who was interviewing who, had taken time and a methodical brain, and while most of it had been done yesterday, the additions, staff changes and what those entailed, needed covering. Every officer’s role and responsibility had to be spelled out to avoid major cock-ups.

  He’d spent time with Paul Adams, the Level 5 Interview adviser, discussing and preparing the interview strategies for all suspects.

  Everything was in place for tomorrow’s 6am briefing. All Ed wanted to do now was sit in front of the TV, watch the second half of the match on Sky’s Monday Night Football, and eat. Other than the prawn sandwich, he’d had nothing since Richie’s fry-up more than 14 hours ago.

  He groaned when he saw Eric and Leela’s car parked outside, considering turning around and driving away.

  Sue had the front door open before he was out of the car. She walked towards him, her voice quiet but urgent.

  ‘Eric needs to speak to you. He looks really worrie
d. Leela’s here, but he hasn’t told her what the problem is.’

  ‘Okay, okay. I’ll have a word.’

  He followed Sue inside, whispering to her back. ‘I’m sure it can be sorted, whatever it is. Unless he’s got another speeding ticket, in which case he’ll have to take the points and the ban that will come with it.’

  They stepped inside, Sue pointed Ed towards the sitting room and Eric jumped up. Sue was right. He looked terrified.

  ‘Eric, what’s up?’

  The man was visibly trembling.

  ‘Ed, I overheard something this afternoon in the Gurdwara, something really bad,’ he began. ‘I’m scared.’

  Ed’s voice was soothing, hypnotic almost, years of dealing with stressed victims allowing him to drop automatically into ‘concerned’ mode.

  ‘Okay Eric, sit down. I’ll fix us a drink.’

  The bottle of whisky was on top of the drinks cabinet. He poured two large ones, handed a crystal tumbler to Eric and sat down. Ed had flown through turbulence where glasses hadn’t shaken as much as the one Eric was holding.

  ‘Do you want to tell me what’s bothering you, Eric?’

  Eric stared into the glass. ‘Today, this afternoon, I was looking for something in the kitchen cupboard of the Gurdwara, the walk-in cupboard. Davinder Bhandal and that brother-in-law of his came in. Never liked the look of him. Anyway, they shut the kitchen door.’

  He hesitated. Ed shuffled forward on his seat, but said nothing, waiting for Eric.

  ‘They didn’t know I was in the cupboard,’ he went on. ‘I just froze on the spot. They said they’re frightened the house is bugged. Davinder said that.’

  They’d be right there.

  ‘They can’t believe you speak Punjabi. Davinder now knows you are the Gora married to Sue. The brother-in-law, I don’t even know his name... ’

  ‘Gurmej,’ Ed said.

  ‘Well, he was outraged a Sikh woman was with a white man, kept saying it was shameful, that Sue should have married within her own community and that this was what happened when you let girls get Western ideas. They had no respect, no shame and that women like Sue should have been whipped off to India and married.’