Dark Tides Thrillers Box Set

by Tony Hutchinson

  ‘Protection.’ Ed leaned back. ‘Or to use it for what it was intended, you know, putting nails in a wall.’

  He had put the box behind him but when Elliott asked to see it again, Ed reached back, picked the box off the floor, and held it up.

  Elliott stared at it again while the seconds became a minute on the red timer of the tape machine.

  When he spoke, it was quietly. ‘I used one like it once, a few months back, to put up a picture.’

  ‘In your house?’ Ed asked him.

  Elliott shook his head, his eyes never leaving the hammer.

  ‘I put a picture up for her in her bedroom,’ he said. ‘I bought it for her, the picture, a pencil sketch of two ballerinas.’

  ‘Who?’

  Elliott finally moved his eyes from the weapon and put them on Ed.

  ‘Amber,’ he said softly, almost sadly. ‘She got the hammer from a toolbox in her downstairs loo. The box was always open.’

  ‘And when you finished putting the picture up?’ Ed asked him.

  ‘Went downstairs and Amber put the kettle on.’

  ‘And the hammer?’

  Elliott looked like a man emerging from a mist.

  ‘I put in on top of the toolbox.’

  Ian Robinson was bent down, hands on knees, looking into the dark undergrowth. The ground dropped away from them down towards the narrow, shallow river, its flow speeding as it rushed between the protruding rocks. Upstream, Ian could see a waterfall about 10 metres in height, the falling water dropping into a deep plunge pool, moss and foliage covering the nearby rocks and stones.

  They were about 30 metres from the gate. Progress was slow, their eyes having to continually re-adjust from the bright sunshine to the dappled shade of the deep green foliage. He didn’t have his police issue Public Order leather gauntlets, a loss that had left his hands and wrists a reddened mix of nettle stings and hawthorn scratches.

  Ian blinked, focussed, rubbed his eyes, and focussed again. He bent further forwards to pull a couple of stubborn, knotted branches apart.

  Standing up straight, he told his colleague to stay where was. He fumbled in his pocket for the mobile and rang Ed Whelan.

  ‘Perfect timing mate, I’ve just walked out of an interview,’ Ed said in answer.

  ‘I’m at Highmounde,’ Ian told him. ‘We’ve found a body.’

  Chapter Forty-Nine

  ‘Ed, where are you?’ Sam asked, speaking into the phone.

  ‘CID office upstairs.’

  ‘Meet me in the DCI’s office. He’s off today.’ She put the phone back in her pocket.

  Ed walked along the corridor, the bare walls harbouring decades of stories and secrets. More whispered meetings than in any office.

  Sam was sitting on the desk. ‘How did you get on with Prince?’

  ‘Before I update you on that, there’s something else. Ian Robinson found a... ’

  ‘Body!?’ she interrupted, jumping down. ‘Aisha?’

  ‘Don’t think so,’ Ed said. ‘Looks male, although it’s difficult to tell. SOCO en route. They’ll need to cut back some of the bushes and undergrowth to get at it. Looks like it’s been carried over a gate and rolled down. Might have been thrown over the wall but there’s no lay-by at that point and they’d have needed a ladder. Probably too dodgy. Easier to pull into the lay-by next to the gate, get it over and roll it down.’

  ‘How far from the gate?’

  ‘Within the Catchem limits,’ Ed said.

  ‘Okay.’ Sam was forcing her mind to slow down. ‘Before we shoot up there, what about Prince?’

  ‘Says he used the hammer to put up a picture at Amber’s,’ Ed said. ‘According to him, it’s her hammer and I believe him.’

  Sam leaned against the desk as Ed carried on.

  ‘I believe him about the blood on his trainers, I believe him about the hammer, I believe him doctoring the photographs and I believe he believes Amber’s the killer.’

  Sam shuffled back so she was once more sitting on the desk.

  ‘Pretty convenient, all his excuses for the forensics.’

  ‘That’s why I believe him,’ Ed said. ‘It’s too well thought out.’

  ‘Are you still thinking it’s got something to do with Aisha?’

  ‘Can’t get it out of mind,’ Ed told her.

  Sam stood and walked towards the windows, dismissing the idea of sneaking a forbidden cigarette.

  ‘If it is Amber’s hammer, how did Aisha’s family get it?’

  Ed had been expecting that, the Achilles heel that left his nagging hunch a hobbling wreck.

  ‘That’s where my hypotheses falls down.’

  ‘I’ll get Bev to interview Amber,’ Sam said. ‘She took the statement from her for the rape so she knows her. You’ll need to give Bev a quick update about Prince’s interview. Then we’ll go and see what Ian’s found at Highmounde.’

  ‘Have you seen this hammer before, Amber?’ Bev asked. ‘For the benefit of the tape, I am now showing Amber Dalton a cardboard box with a plastic see-through lid, referred to as Witness Reference JT 4, containing a yellow-handled hammer.’

  Amber looked.

  ‘It’s similar to one I have in my toolbox at home. Not that I use it.’

  ‘We believe this hammer was used to kill Jack Goddard,’ Bev said.

  The ‘Oh my God’ seemed genuine, the apparent shock that flooded Amber’s eyes was harder to judge.

  ‘Mine’s at home,’ she said after a pause, ‘Go and check. The toolbox is in my downstairs toilet.’

  ‘I intend to,’ Bev told her.

  Sam phoned Ian Robinson from the car.

  ‘Ian, make sure someone’s got a camera. Photograph any onlookers.’

  They both knew what the stats had to say about offenders returning to the scene, albeit in this case the scene was more likely a deposition site.

  The line was faint and scratchy. Ed could just make out Ian’s voice on speakerphone, but not what he was saying.

  ‘Okay, me and Ed are on our way.’ She disconnected the call.

  ‘Ever had any success with that, the offender returning?’ Ed asked her.

  ‘Not yet. You?’

  ‘Not personally, but I’ve known it to happen.’

  Ed told Sam he would need to ring Brian Banks, to tell him before he heard it from the media and realised Ed had been playing him.

  ‘He’s useful at times so I’ll keep him sweet,’ Ed said. ‘You see his lordship to tell him what’s happening on his turf and I’ll ring Brian.’

  Ed turned into the driveway of Highmounde. In the distance they could see the marquees, the SOCO van and a high-top Ford Transit.

  Ed pulled up outside the stately home and Sam walked up the sweep of immaculate stone steps. A beanpole butler opened the huge oak doors and Sam stepped inside, her wide-eyed gaze taking in the Gone With The Wind staircase and galleried landing.

  She was shown into a heavily furnished study where beanpole asked her if she would please wait. James Farquarharson joined her within a minute, hand outstretched as he strode into the sunlit room.

  Sam took the hand but not the offer of a seat that came with it.

  ‘I’m here to tell you we have found a body in your field, near to the marquee.’

  ‘Good God,’ Farquarharson spluttered. ‘How long has it been there?’

  Sam could never quite predict the first thing people asked once they heard about a body. Farquarharson’s was another odd one.

  ‘No idea yet,’ Sam told him. ‘But we’ll obviously keep you abreast of all developments.’

  ‘Yes, yes. Thank you.’ Farquarharson was reaching for the right air and expression.

  ‘Will it, err, affect the Literary Festival?’ he asked, at least dusting a little embarrassment over his words. ‘I don’t wish to sound insensitive but the organisers have done a fantastic job and we have authors coming from around the country.’

  Amazing, Sam was thinking. We wouldn’t want something as inconvenient
as a body to put the good and great off their bedtime reading, would we?

  ‘I’m sure we will be off-site by the time the festival starts,’ Sam said, giving Farquarharson what she hoped was an understanding smile.

  Ed was perched on the wing of the car when Sam rejoined him.

  ‘Some people and their priorities,’ she said. ‘Unbelievable…you sorted with Banks?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘Let’s walk across the fields then. I could do with the exercise. And I need to get some food. I can’t remember the last time I ate.’

  They walked until they came to a stile and dropped into the field where the festival was to be held.

  ‘We need to go through the transcripts from the Bhandal house with a fine tooth comb,’ Sam said. ‘If this body is anything to do with them, we need to start building a case.’

  ‘The transcripts are already there. It’s just a case of what you want doing with them.’

  ‘I want every mention of the body putting into a summary,’ Sam said, strategy taking rapid shape. ‘Time, date, who said it, what was said, the works. I remember ‘fox food’ being mentioned, which is interesting given where we are.’

  Julie Trescothick walked across to meet them. They were 20 metres from her van.

  ‘Body is a male,’ Julie said after a brief greeting. ‘Decomposition has set in and no doubt a few animals have had a nibble, but it’s only the top half of him that’s decomposed. The bottom part’s been jammed in the stream, so with the cold running water, it’s been pretty well preserved. Trousers and trainers are intact, upper clothing looks like it’s been torn... animals probably.’

  ‘Age and ethnicity?’ Sam asked, as always liking Julie’s work.

  ‘Not sure about age, but he’s Asian. His legs may be freezing, but his skin tone’s still obvious.’

  Ed recalled Sue’s conversation with Mrs Maan, glad he drilled her to get a description of the young lad who’d been attacked, what clothes he was wearing.

  Now he repeated what Sue had been told... white T-shirt, dark blue jeans with zips in them, and lime green trainers.

  ‘Could be,’ Julie said. ‘He’s certainly wearing lime green trainers.’

  Thank God it was no longer a world full of Adidas Sambas, Ed thought. Made things so much easier.

  ‘I’ll get on to control room,’ Sam said. ‘Get them to give Jim Melia a call. He’ll enjoy this one, poking around a body that offers something different. He can hold the floor next time he’s swapping stories with his pathologist chums.’

  Call made, she turned to Julie.

  ‘Come on then,’ she said. ‘May as well have a look.’

  The interview door opened.

  ‘Let’s put another set of tapes in the machine,’ Bev said.

  ‘Did you find it?’ Amber rushed.

  Bev waited until the beeping of the machine stopped before she began talking, reminding Amber of the caution.

  ‘A search of your house has been undertaken.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘There’s no hammer in the toolbox.’

  Amber’s face sagged, her open mouth a disbelieving oval.

  ‘There must be. Where else could it be?’

  ‘You tell me,’ Bev said, watching as closely as she was listening. ‘Or perhaps you already know?’

  Amber had drawn into herself, knees tight and shoulders hunched.

  ‘That one you showed me. That’s not it. It can’t be.’

  ‘Then how is Elliott’s DNA all over it,’ Bev turned the screw.

  ‘I don’t know? Ask him.’

  ‘We have,’ Bev said. ‘He said it’s the one he used to put a picture up in your house. He says he’s never touched another hammer even remotely like it.’

  Bev thought she saw a shadow of desperation cross Amber’s face, her eyes searching.

  ‘He must have. That can’t be mine.’

  ‘Why not, Amber?’

  ‘Because I haven’t hurt anyone.’

  Bev looked at her notepad, reminded Amber how she had reacted to Jack Goddard and Glen Jones’s deaths.

  ‘So you see the predicament I’m faced with here, Amber?’ Bev said. ‘We have a hammer we believe is a murder weapon, a hammer Elliott says belongs to you. You accept you own a hammer like it but can’t tell us where it is. You can see where I’m going with this.’

  Amber had put her palms flat and hard on the table, her whole body drawn tight with tension.

  ‘I can but you’re wrong.’ Her tone was so strong it took Bev by surprise. ‘You’ve got to believe me, Bev. It’s nothing to do with me. I trusted you last time. You have to trust me now.’

  ‘Are you saying that Elliott stole it?’

  ‘No, I’m not saying that at all.’ Bev saw the tension ebb away like a blood pressure cuff deflating. ‘I know he didn’t.’

  ‘Could somebody else have stolen it?’

  ‘No, of course not. No…unless.’

  Her chin rested on her chest.

  ‘Amber, can you remember one of the other victims attacked by the same person as you? She was called Danielle Banks.’

  ‘Vaguely.’

  ‘She was the one who found a broken window but presumed that it was caused by her ex-boyfriend. That presumption caused her not to get the window fixed that night.’

  ‘I think I can remember.’

  ‘Well humour me,’ Bev said. ‘Here’s a pen. Write down everybody who has been in your house since that hammer was last used.’

  ‘Elliott was the last to use it.’

  ‘Okay then. Write down the names of the people who’ve been in your house since then. Are there many?’

  ‘Not really.’

  She took the pen and started to write.

  Bev was watching her. The names were upside down as she was looking but upside down or not, she bit her lip when she saw the fifth name. She didn’t want Amber to know.

  By the time Amber had finished the list – five minutes that felt more like five hours – Bev was buzzing.

  She needed to get out the interview room quickly and call Sam.

  Chapter Fifty

  ‘I need a beer.’

  It was Baljit, only just returned. The listeners already knew his mother and father were in the kitchen. They heard the ‘whoosh’ escape from the can and imagined the foam spewing out. Baljit reverted to Punjabi. ‘They’ve found him.’

  ‘How?’ Parkash demanded.

  ‘I don’t know,’ Baljit said. ‘But there’s police everywhere... blue tape, people in white suits. It’s like something off the TV.’

  ‘There’s nothing to link it to us,’ his mother said, almost dismissive, arrogant. ‘Keep calm.’

  Sonia Mitchell was scribbling down the salient points. She’s a cool one.

  ‘Your mother’s right,’ Bhandal said. ‘They cannot link him to us. If they try, remember to ask for Carver.’

  In the LP, Sonia could hear Baljit slurp again then crush the empty can.

  ‘They’ll try to link him with us, though,’ he said. ‘They’ve already linked him with her.’

  His mother broke the short silence.

  ‘They need more than links,’ she said, ‘They haven’t got any and they haven’t got her.’

  ‘They will never get her.’ Bhandal’s voice was ice. ‘She’s gone for good.’

  ‘Who’s gone for good?’ It was Mia.

  Sonia hadn’t heard her come down the stairs. She was very quiet. I wonder.

  ‘A girl on my course,’ Baljit said quickly. ‘Her family has moved down south. She was in my group. Now we have to do her work as well, otherwise it won’t get marked.’

  This lot can lie without breaking step. It’ll need a good interviewer to sort them.

  ‘Any food?’ Mia asked.

  ‘I’ll make Dahl,’ her mother said. ‘I’ll call you when it’s ready.’

  Sonia heard the door open and close.

  ‘Do you think she heard?’ It was Bhandal.

  ‘I don�
�t think so,’ his wife answered. ‘Keep an eye on her, though.’

  I heard. I heard everything. Who have they found? If it’s the police it must be a body. Who else wears white suits and puts tape up. But what did Baljit mean about them making links? Were they talking about Aisha and that lad she was seen with in the shopping centre? He can’t be dead! Where is he, though?

  And who’s gone for good? Not some lass from uni that’s for sure.

  Why can’t we ever talk about Aisha? Why did we have to play happy families and get that photo of us all on the settee, the night Aisha was locked in her room? Why did I have to go to my auntie's that night? Why did the papers all say Aisha went missing on the Friday? Why is Aisha’s name banned in the house? Why is she dishonourable? So she didn’t want to marry some ‘Freshie’. Big deal. Who would? Freshies... on their way to England or just arrived, bringing their stupid rules of expected behaviour with them.

  I’m scared now. I’ve been scared since Aisha ran away. What if my family has done something to that lad? I’ve overheard my parents talking, talking about the shame. I think I’m going to have to step into Aisha’s shoes. I’m going to have to marry the bloke she ran away from marrying. I don’t blame her for running. She told me he was ugly. But what if I have to marry him?

  Things were bad before Aisha ran away, the two of us being monitored all the time. But it’s a million times worse now. My mother walks me to school, can you believe that, and meets me at the gate on an afternoon. I’m 15 and I’m getting walked to school.

  We have a Diversity Officer in the school. She’s Punjabi, keeps asking me if I’m alright since Aisha ran away. I just keep saying I’m fine; like I’d tell her any different. She’d be straight round to my parents if I said anything out of turn.

  Why do they keep giving these diversity jobs to Asians? Give them to white people. I’ve heard the arguments... ’Oh they don’t understand our culture.’ Guess what? Asians say that so whites can’t infiltrate. It lets them keep control while they smile sweetly at English society, the same society where that social worker wanted to put me in a ‘culturally appropriate’ placement. Put them where they’ll be looked after, not just where the carers have the same colour skin.