Death's Cold Hand

by J. E. Mayhew

  Mr Lowry appeared at the door. “Woah! What’s going on here?”

  But Harley couldn’t hear him. All he could see was Pavel’s jeering face. “He’s gonna fuck you up, Harley boy! You dirty grass!”

  Harley brought his fist down on Pavel’s face and heard a satisfying crunch as blood spurted from the boy’s nose. Then he felt himself being dragged back. It was worth the pain in his knuckles just to see the smug grin wiped off Pavel’s face for once. Somewhere Mr Lowry’s voice echoed in the back of his mind, telling him that he needed to get to the Remove Room, but Harley wasn’t going to stay there, waiting until the end of the day for Bobby to get him. Without looking back, Harley ran for the door.

  Chapter 13

  Finding Nicola Norton wasn’t difficult. A simple Google search brought DS Vikki Chinn to the psychologist’s website. It was an impressive advertisement for her services; sleek and professional. Nicola’s pretty, smiling face dominated the home page, her long, golden hair spilling over the shoulders of a well-tailored suit. It seemed to Vikki that Nicola Norton put a lot of store in her looks as her image was all over the website, sometimes listening earnestly, sometimes laughing with a client, there were even some pictures of her doing yoga poses.

  One photo showed her in khaki fatigues, looking very young, the caption below it briefly outlined her time in the Royal Army Medical Corps, although there were no dates given. She claimed to have worked for a number of forces charities, specialising in PTSD and had been an expert witness in several court cases as well as ‘advising Merseyside Police Service as a psychological profiler.’

  “Ooh, she’s pretty,” said a voice at Vikki’s shoulder. It was Madge the receptionist, holding a plate of biscuits. “She obviously looks after herself.”

  “Can I help you, Madge?” Vikki said, minimising the screen.

  “Is Andrew about? I’ve got some biscuits for him,” Madge said, scanning the room. Her dangly earrings clanked as she turned her head. Madge was one of two civilian employees who worked on the main reception. Both looked the same, with their dyed blonde hair and love of dangly earrings and they dressed identically. It didn’t help that the other one was called Marge. Both also had a mission to feed Andrew biscuits until he exploded. Whenever a meeting ended and there were a few biscuits left on a plate, Madge or Marge would make sure they were squirreled away and sent up to Kinnear.

  “He’s out, Madge,” Vikki said. “I’ll put them on his desk for you if you want. You know he’s on a diet, right?”

  Madge’s wrinkly face creased into a look of disbelief. “A young man like that? On a diet. I don’t think so love. Here, make sure he gets them. There’s a Jammy Dodger on there…”

  Vikki looked shocked. “Who leaves a Jammy Dodger behind?”

  “I know! I nearly had it myself, but I thought, ‘No Madge, that Andrew Kinnear is going to be a dad. He’ll need to keep his strength up.’”

  “Okay,” Vikki said, taking the plate.

  Madge gripped it and looked at Vikki with a steely gaze. “They’re for Andrew. Don’t you go munching them all.”

  “Madge! What do you take me for?” The plate was released, and Vikki placed it on her desk. “I’ll put them on his desk just as soon as I’ve done this.”

  “Make sure you do,” Madge said, giving Vikki a stern look.

  Vikki watched her leave and then bit into the Jammy Dodger, whilst dialling Nicola Norton’s number. She was doing the poor man a favour, the women down on Reception seemed to be hellbent on feeding him up.

  “Hello, Nicola Norton. How can I help?”

  Vikki almost choked on the biscuit. From the slickness of the website, she’d half expected some kind of secretary to filter Norton’s calls. “Hi, my name’s Detective Sergeant Vikki Chinn of Merseyside Police. I wondered if it would be possible to chat with you…”

  “Is this about Paul Travis?”

  “Not exactly, I was reviewing the case of Richard Ince and wondered if I could pick your brains about it.”

  “Richard Ince. I see. Gosh. That was about six months ago, I’ll try my best to remember. Fire away.”

  “Thanks. You told the investigating officers that you were saddened by the news of Ince’s death but not surprised. Can you just elaborate on that for me a little?”

  Nicola Norton gave a sad sigh. “On the face of it, Richard was a cheerful, fun-loving guy but like a lot of young men I meet, he put on a front. He was actually full of guilt and anxiety…”

  “Why did he feel guilty?”

  “For surviving,” Norton said. “He’d been in a number of close calls in Afghanistan and lost mates there. He blamed himself. He thought better men than him had died.”

  “That must have been difficult for him…”

  “Understatement of the year. Just to keep going every day, to get up for work and not let the whole thing consume him required a Herculean effort. In the end, it got him. He was strong to have lasted as long as he did.”

  “Did you share your concerns with anyone else?”

  “I wrote to his GP, with Richard’s permission. He increased his medication, and I was meeting him regularly through Pro-Vets for talking therapy. We weren’t aware that he was taking heroin but then that isn’t something people often reveal willingly unless it’s got them into some kind of trouble. Oh, I also instituted a buddy system, whereby Richard could talk to someone who had been through the same kind of experience. I don’t think we can imagine half of what some servicemen experience in the line of duty, Sergeant, I’m sure you can appreciate that.”

  “Absolutely,” Vikki said. “And who was it that you teamed him up with?”

  “I can’t recall off the top of my head, Sergeant,” Nicola said, her voice faltering slightly. “It was a few months ago and I’ve worked with so many other people since.”

  “Did you keep a record of who it was, by any chance?” Vikki said. “It might be very useful…”

  “Is there some suspicion around Richard’s death, Sergeant?” Nicola sounded worried. “I mean, as far as I remember, he left a suicide note. The previous investigating officer said it was pretty conclusive.”

  “No, it’s just that I don’t recall seeing any mention of a buddy system being set up in our records and it’s important to ensure thoroughness even in what appears to be an open and shut case.”

  “Right,” Norton said. “I see.”

  “So, would that be possible?”

  “Would what be possible?”

  “For you to consult the notes and call me back? I want to progress this case as quickly as possible,” Vikki said, trying to reassure Norton.

  “Yes, yes of course.”

  “Should I call you or you call me?” Vikki said, pushing her luck.

  “I’ll call,” Nicola said, sounding deflated. “I’m sorry, Sergeant, obviously, with the terrible news about Paul, I’m feeling a little raw and now you’re dredging up memories of Richard Ince. You’ll have to forgive me.”

  “Completely understandable,” Vikki said. “You knew Paul well then?”

  “Professionally,” Nicola said. “He hired me to do the counselling a couple of years ago, so we got to know each other. He was a good man. I can’t quite believe what’s happened to him. His poor family…”

  “Indeed,” Vikki said. “Did Paul have any enemies?”

  “Not that I’m aware of, Sergeant. My interactions with Paul Travis were on a business level, apart from the odd casual conversation before or after meetings. If someone did want to harm him, he never confided in me.”

  “And you never noticed any kind of tension at Pro-Vets at all? No atmosphere between any individuals?”

  “Not really. It’s a friendly place to work on the whole.”

  “But not always?”

  “It’s just that there was a bit of tension between George and Paul sometimes,” Nicola said.

  “How do you mean?”

  “Oh, nothing much. Paul called me in to coach a couple of lads and George
made a fuss about the cost. It was well known that they argued about stuff like that. George was always watching the money and Paul was always trying to find ways to spend it.”

  “Was it serious, do you think?”

  “I honestly don’t know, Sergeant. Listen, I’m a little uncomfortable talking about this. I hardly knew Paul and I thought you rang me to talk about Richard Ince,” Nicola said, a hint of anxiety in her voice.

  “Forgive me, Ms Norton, you’re quite right. I’m just covering both cases. I’ll leave it there. If you could call me back with the name of the buddy assigned to Richard, that would be great.” They said their goodbyes and Vikki hung up, frowning. “So Paul and George had their differences but where does Richard fit in?” Vikki said to the dead phone.

  *****

  There comes a time in your life when you have to acknowledge that you just aren’t going to outrun a seventeen-year-old, even if he spends most of his time smoking and drinking cheap lager. PC Mark Robertson had come to this conclusion some time ago which is why he walked to the school and sent his mate in the patrol car round the block so she could approach from the other direction.

  He had been doing door-to-door in Port Sunlight when a call had come through that a young man was hanging around outside Bebington High School with the possible intent of harming a pupil. He hurried over to Alex Manikas who leaned against an unmarked car, scrolling through his texts.

  “Just checking this call from Bebington High School, Alex. There’s a lad lurking around outside. Could be something and nothing.”

  “Do you have to, Mark? He’s probably got a hard-on for some sixth form girl and is waiting to pick her up. I’d rather get this murder sorted. You know priorities?”

  “I know, Alex but if he is waiting to have a go at someone, what then? Don’t want some poor kid stabbed on our watch, do we?”

  Alex had looked pained. “Fair enough, mate. Any way of getting a bit more detail, first?”

  “Maybe,” Mark had said and pulled his mobile out. “I know one of the teachers there. We go for a pint every now and then. Put the world to rights, you know.” He scrolled through his contacts until he found Frank Lowry. The phone buzzed for a while. Mark didn’t expect an answer, he knew that phones were banned in lessons for both pupils and teachers. Mark just hoped he had a free lesson.

  “Mark, how did you know?” Mr Lowry said, his voice animated.

  “Know what, Frank?”

  “About Bobby Price… the kids are full of rumours to do with that poor man who was killed the other day.”

  Once Mark had apprised Alex Manikas of that particular nugget of information, he had been less reluctant about letting Mark go.

  “Bloody Jacks, standing around all day, why didn’t he knock on a few doors?” PC Julie Irwin had muttered as they drove past Manikas on the way to Bebington High School. There were various reasons why uniformed officers called detectives ‘Jacks’ some kinder than others, depending on who you asked. “What did you ask him for anyway? He doesn’t outrank you.”

  “Yeah, but I’d hate for him to miss out any houses because I’d done a flit. Anyway, stop your grumbling, he took over from me, so it’s all fine.”

  Julie had dropped Mark off at the bottom of the road and he had start to walk slowly towards the school while she drove around to the other end. He wanted to jog but if Bobby Price saw him hurrying towards him, the boy might leg it before Julie was in position. He just prayed she’d be there in time.

  Bebington High School stood on a long road comprised of what looked like nineteen fifties semi-detached houses. It was a nice, leafy area and for a few seconds, PC Robertson felt lucky to have a job that allowed you to walk out in the spring sunshine. Of course, the pimply youth at the end of his journey was less appealing.

  The school had been modernised over the years, but Mark could tell that originally it had been built around the same time as the houses. It was a brick-built building that was largely on one level and surrounded by bushes and trees. Bobby Price was leaning against the red railings, his hands stuffed into his jacket. At that moment, Irwin appeared at the other end of the road, driving steadily towards him. Bobby seemed to be daydreaming because he made no attempt to move. Robertson got close. “Hi Bobby,” he said, genially. “Nice day.”

  Bobby Price’s face fell, and he turned to run. Seeing Irwin getting out of the car, he whirled around and threw himself towards Robertson. “Ah, come on, Bobby, I just want to have a chat…” whatever else Robertson planned on saying was crushed as Price’s shoulder smashed into his stomach, winding him.

  Gasping for breath, Robertson wrapped his arms around Bobby’s body. Price’s face twisted with anger and he smacked his forehead hard into Robertson’s face. Stars exploded before Robertson’s eyes and he staggered back against the school railing. He vaguely heard the thud of Price’s footsteps receding up the road.

  “Bloody hell, Mark, are you okay?” Irwin said, peering at his face.

  “It’ll heal. Get after him!”

  Irwin looked up the road at the disappearing boy and shook her head. “In these shoes, luv? I don’t think so. He’s got away.”

  “Bugger,” Robertson snapped. “We won’t hear the end of this now.”

  “Come on,” Irwin said. “Let’s get you patched up and then we’ll have a word with your mate at the school while we’re here.”

  Chapter 14

  There seemed to be so many loose ends that Blake wasn’t quite sure where to begin. They had gathered to share and sift through any information but at this stage, it always felt like overload. A small group of them sat in the Incident Room and Alex Manikas fed back on initial findings from the door-to-door which was limited. “Seems like nobody in Port Sunlight Village saw or heard much on the night Travis died, sir. Some residents had seen him arguing with the teenagers the previous weekend and the descriptions fitted with those given in relation to the assault on the old man. But nobody really knew where they came from though, and the general consensus was that they ‘weren’t from the village.’”

  Blake nodded. Port Sunlight was comprised of listed buildings but was hemmed in on one side by New Ferry. Once a bustling little town, New Ferry had fallen on hard times and a lot of shops had closed. Things hadn’t been helped by a huge gas explosion that had damaged a lot of property a few years back. It turned out to be an insurance job and someone went to prison for it. Houses in the village were listed buildings and highly sought after, something not reflected by the properties surrounding it.

  So it didn’t surprise Blake that the residents of Sunlight would see the kids as coming from elsewhere. “What about this Bobby character?” he said. “The one who was said to have hit the old man and was arguing with Travis?”

  “Possibly Bobby Price, sir,” Alex said. “He was hanging around outside Bebington High School, waiting for one of the pupils there. A lot of the kids are saying he killed Travis and this pupil grassed him up…”

  “If only,” Blake muttered. “Do we know where he lives?”

  “Working on that now, sir. From what we know, the boy he was after is called Harley Vickers. He ran from the school once he realised Bobby was waiting outside for him. We have Harley’s address. Mark Robertson nearly had Bobby Price, but Price assaulted him and made a run for it…” Alex nodded to the bruised PC who leaned against a wall at the back.

  Blake looked over to him. “Are you okay, Robertson?”

  Robertson sported a brilliant shiner. “I’m fine, sir. A bit battered and bruised. Been given a head injury letter to take home to my mum.”

  “So, this Bobby Price. Is he known to the school?”

  “Ex-pupil, apparently,” Robertson said, picking up the story. “He’s done the rounds of schools that would have him and settled in Bebington Secondary where they managed to keep hold of him until he was old enough to leave. He got a Food Technology GCSE…”

  “Food Technology?” Blake said. “Is that cooking and stuff?”

  “So I b
elieve,” Robertson said. “That was a couple of years ago. The family moved so we’re having trouble finding his address. Since then, rumour has it that he’s dropped out of a couple of apprenticeships. Some of the pupils I spoke to didn’t like him. They called him a creep for hanging around with younger students. Or words to that effect. He hasn’t got a record but that could just mean he hasn’t been caught yet.”

  “What about this other lad, Harley?”

  Robertson looked at his notebook. “Thirteen. Troubled kid with a temper problem. Some mild learning difficulties. On the verge of exclusion several times.”

  “I wonder why Bobby thought this Harley had grassed him up,” Blake said.

  “It seems that another friend, Alfie Lewis, had been telling the world, his wife and their dog that Bobby had murdered Paul Travis and assaulted the old man in the Dell. Bobby blames Harley for some reason.”

  Blake hissed and shook his head. “Bloody kids,” he muttered. “How do you make a situation ten times worse in seconds? Just add teenagers. Jeez.”

  “I hope you’re taking notes, Andrew,” Kath Cryer said, grinning and giving Kinnear a nudge. “Ten years’ time and you’ll be running after a teenage daughter. Tearing your grey hairs out over her.”

  Kinnear blushed. “Hopefully, we’ll give her a better moral framework…”

  “Ooh, get you,” Kath said.

  “I’m sure Andrew will make a great dad, Kath,” Blake said, awkwardly. He wasn’t a great one for banter. “Anyway, Alex…”

  “We’ve got Harley Vicker’s home address, sir,” Alex said. “We could go and talk to him. If he’s afraid of Bobby Price, he might talk…”

  “Or he might run away,” Blake muttered. “Yep. Let’s go for it. The sooner we find Bobby Price, the better. Have a chat with this Alfie Lewis, too. Have we managed to unlock Travis’ mobile phone, yet?”

  “They’re still working on it, sir,” Kinnear said.

  “His wife doesn’t know the pin for it?” Blake said. “Again, I can’t help thinking that there’s more to Paul Travis than just wholesome war hero and all-round good egg. What else have we got?”