by J. E. Mayhew
“You held no ill-will towards Travis?”
“He wouldn’t be on my Christmas card list, but his charity is a client. I’m not going to balls that up because my daughter is a poor judge of men.”
“But there’s quite an age difference. Didn’t you think Travis was taking advantage?” Kinnear said.
“My wife’s younger than me. What are you trying to say? That I should have wanted to kill Travis? Is that it? You want me to throw my hands up and say, yeah, I did it. You got me. He was shagging my little girl and I couldn’t bear it? Is that what you want?”
“I’m sorry, Mr Price. We didn’t mean to upset you, but we have to explore all possibilities,” Kath said. Price was reddening and she wondered if they hadn’t made a mistake coming here after all. An interview at the station might have been safer.
“Yeah, well, the one possibility you don’t seem to be exploring is the obvious one. The one you have a witness to. Paul Travis was killed by jihadis but you lot don’t want to know, do you? It all gets swept under the carpet, doesn’t it? You’d rather pin this on me or my son than go upsetting some immigrant ISIS freaks, wouldn’t you?” He jumped to his feet. “I tell you what. I reckon we’re done here. It’s always the same, isn’t it? Bloody liberal elites trying to do down the hard-working man. Paul Travis was just an ordinary bloke trying to do some good. Yeah, he was no angel but he’s gone and now you’re coming after us. It makes me sick.”
“Mr Price, we aren’t…”
“Just leave, please before I lose my temper. Go on go. I tell you what, though, I’m not keeping quiet about this. People have a right to know what’s going on here.”
Chapter 30
The van squealed to a halt on the Clatterbridge Road and Terry White couldn’t believe his luck. He hurried towards it. It was a plain, faded blue Ford Transit, grimy with miles of travel. A scruffy-looking man in a black donkey jacket and a woolly hat looked out at Terry from the driving seat. Silver stubble covered his chin and lank grey hair dangled out of the hat and down his neck. He looked scrawny and as in need of a wash as Terry.
“Need a lift, mate?”
Terry nodded.
“Where to?”
“Just away from here.”
The man grinned again. “Fair enough. I’ve been there before, myself, mate. Hop in.”
Terry glanced around and then looked at the man hard. He didn’t look like Graves and besides, he’d only recently trapped another part of the man’s black soul in an effigy and melted it, so he’d be weak. He might even be dead. Properly dead.
“Are you coming? I haven’t got all day,” the man said, revving the engine and still grinning.
Terry hopped in and slammed the door shut.
*****
Malachy O’Hare sniffed at the green puddle on the hob in Ufford’s kitchen. “Looks like the same thing again. A melted plastic soldier. Was it Terry White who attacked you then?”
Blake nodded from the kitchen door. “I think so. I’ve had a brief look around, Malachy but only to ensure that Ufford was beyond help. If you find anything else let me know, right?”
“Of course I will. When’s that gobshite Kenning going to be here?”
Blake smiled, stepping aside to let more crime scene investigators in. “He won’t be long, but it’s pretty obvious how Ufford died.”
“Aye well, the big hole in his neck would present him with problems for a kick-off,” O’Hare said, smiling through his mask, “but we better wait for the experts to confirm that.”
“You’d make a great pathologist, Malachy,” Blake said. He stepped into the garden and scanned across the fields behind the house where a line of officers followed the deep footprints through the dark soil. Overhead a helicopter tracked back and forth, searching for any sign of the fugitive. Under any other circumstances, Blake would have loved to be out on this glorious Spring day, enjoying the birdsong and the blue sky. Right now, however, he felt a sense of foreboding. Everything pointed to Terry White being responsible for the deaths but there was the added complication of Quinlan’s possible involvement in a money laundering enterprise. And then there was Laura being paid out of the charity’s coffers for some reason. Blake shook his head and jumped into his car. He needed to see Cavanagh.
*****
A scrum of reporters hung around the entrance to police HQ in Liverpool. Blake had been so deep in thought that he’d forgotten all about the media interest the case would generate. Deirdre Lanham, the terrier from the Wirral Argus had elbowed her way to the front of the pack. “DCI Blake, is it true a second victim has been found?”
Blake waved a dismissive hand at her. “I can’t help you at the moment, I’m afraid. Our investigations are on-going and we will give a press conference in due course.”
“Why are your team so dismissive about a terrorist connection, DCI Blake?”
“What do you think about the proposed rally at the war memorial in Port Sunlight? Should that be allowed to go ahead?”
Blake flinched at the last question. He hated getting tangled up in politics and mass gatherings. They always ended up in a mess. He barged his way through the crowd and got inside. Marge stood smiling expectantly at him. “Well?” she said.
“Well, what, Marge?”
Her face fell. “Laura,” she said, lowering her voice. “How did it go?”
Blake gave her an apologetic smile. “Sorry, Marge. Not your fault but it didn’t work. She sent her boyfriend to put me straight.”
“Oh, you poor boy,” Marge said, pouting. She sounded so heartfelt that Blake feared she was going to come from behind the counter and give him a hug.
“Don’t worry, Marge, I’m over it. Plenty of work to keep my mind off things and like I said, it wasn’t your fault. I’m sorry I got you involved. It was a daft thing for me to do.” Blake hurried up the stairs to the Major Incident Room.
DI Kath Cryer and DC Kinnear were waiting for Blake at his desk. Kinnear stared at Blake’s face. “You okay, sir?”
“Yeah, a gift from Terry White, I think. How did you get on with Price? Why’s everybody yelling terrorist?”
“It didn’t go very well, boss,” Kath said. “He didn’t seem that bothered by the fact that his daughter was seeing Travis. He was more uppity that we didn’t seem to take Bobby’s statement about the so-called terrorists seriously. He’s kicking up a stink about it on social media already. Hence the call for a rally.”
“Jeez,” Blake murmured. “That’s all we need. Okay, then, let’s call his bluff and get Bobby in for a second time and get more detail, shall we?”
“Lex is going to want to be there as an appropriate adult, sir,” Kinnear said.
“More the merrier,” Blake said. “Maybe we can find out where this baseball bat really came from. What about Paul Travis’ mobile records?”
“Oh, yeah,” Kath said, opening a file. “Looks like plenty of communication, very lovey-dovey between them up until a couple of weeks ago then it ends abruptly. It backs up Layla Price’s version of things that Travis had ended their relationship. Other calls were to immediate friends and family, no real surprises.” Kath pursed her lips for a second, clearly bracing herself to say something. “Do you think we’re complicating this too much sir?”
“How do you mean?”
“I mean, the obvious suspect here is Terry White. Bobby just happened to be there and saw him dump the baseball bat and picked it up. He wouldn’t be too upset to see Travis get a good hiding, would he? Maybe there is no sane motive, just Terry White’s paranoia.”
“I’m not so sure. There's something else going on and I can't believe they are not connected Ollerthwaite noticed unusually large sums of money flowing through that charity, he suspects that it’s being used to launder money. Maybe Travis noticed unusual transactions. Ollerthwaite also claimed that Quentin Ufford was being obstructive. Now Ufford’s dead…”
“Or those things could just be coincidences, sir. If Quentin Ufford was trying to stop Ian Olle
rthwaite from investigating, why would someone kill him?”
“Because he knew too much?” Kinnear said, with a shrug. “Or because he failed to cover someone’s tracks?”
Kath gave Kinnear a look of disgust. “Behave, Andrew, this isn’t Dr No, people don’t get dropped into a shark tank for failing…”
“I dunno, Ma’am. If there’s a lot of money at stake, maybe Ufford had to be silenced before we put the screws on him…”
“But how does Terry White fit in with that, Andy?” Kath said. “If White was at Ufford’s cottage when the boss arrived, then why was he hanging around for so long after killing Ufford? Hardly the hallmark of a professional hit. I’m not saying there isn’t something going on at Pro-Vets but I’m just saying that it just might be separate to what Terry White is up to, that’s all.”
Before Blake could answer, DCI Matty Cavanagh appeared at their side. He looked sleek and well-groomed as ever. He reminded Blake of a fox, cunning and hunting for any weakness. Cavanagh might be vain and a bit of a corner-cutter but he wasn’t stupid. “Hi, Kath, Andrew. Erm, Will, have you got a minute? I want to discuss a development with you.”
“Sure,” Blake said, following Cavanagh to his office. “I wanted to talk to you about something, anyway.”
Once they were inside, Cavanagh shut the door and turned to Blake. “Please tell me that my team didn’t see Kyle Quinlan enter a house in Bebington last night…”
“How would I know, Matty? I live in Rock Park…”
“Yeah, but this house is occupied by your little brother, Will, remember him? The author who hangs out with psychopaths?”
“Research, maybe?”
“Oh, yeah. Thanks, Will, I hadn’t thought of that. Research. Of course. Were you helping him with his research? Because you were there too.”
Blake sighed. “Okay, I admit it. I tried to trick Laura into seeing me. I pretended I was a client and had a rogue pet that needed her attention. She sent Quinlan along… I honestly didn’t expect that…”
“Bloody hell, Will. What the fuck were you thinking? Quinlan’s going to be spooked now. My team are going to have to be extra careful because of you.”
“If it’s any consolation, Matty, Quinlan seemed anything but spooked. Like I said, I think he’d have been more suspicious if I hadn’t tried to contact Laura.”
“I’ve got to tell the Super, Will, you were warned…”
“Wait, listen, I know it was a stupid thing to do but I had to find out what was going on. If anything, Quinlan’s strutting about like cock of the walk now. He thinks he’s got one over on me…”
“Well he has hasn’t he?”
Blake gave a wry smile. “I suppose so, yeah, but I know, now, Matty. Laura has no interest in me. It’s over. What I mean is that Quinlan saw me as his Achilles’ heel. If Laura still had feelings for me, then he could never be sure I wouldn’t get her to turn him in. She pretty much denounced me in front of him. So now he feels secure, which is always dangerous. Far from rattling him, I think it will have made him complacent.”
“I dunno, Will, what else did you get from him?”
“He said that I couldn’t touch him because the moment I came for him for anything, it would appear like some kind of vendetta. He thinks he’s bulletproof.”
“I can see his point. That it?”
“From that encounter, yes but it might be useful for you to talk to Ian Ollerthwaite…”
Matty looked pained. “God, do I have to?”
“You know he’s in hospital, right? Attacked by this Terry White character we’re chasing,” Blake said. “He was investigating the Pro-Vets accounts and there’s a lot of money going through their coffers, an awful lot. Some of it to an animal psychologist, apparently.”
“Laura? You think Quinlan is using the charity to launder money?”
“It’s a strong possibility,” Blake said. “Have a chat with Ollerthwaite. Again, having a conflict of interest, it would be hard for me to investigate impartially but you could look into it as part of your investigation into Quinlan.”
Matty Cavanagh looked at Blake warily. “Okay, Will but if this jumps up and bites me, then I’m going straight to the Super, understand? He’ll give me a rap on the knuckles but it you who’ll get your arse kicked.”
Chapter 31
Despite his history with the media, and maybe because of it, Blake hated press conferences. He knew they were a good way of getting the public on your side. There were times, though, when he thought he may as well go into the street with a sign on his back that said: I’m a copper please kick me. That’s how it felt sometimes. Three people had died and a tortured soul was on the loose but Blake had to waste time listening to inane questions and speculation that did nothing to inform the public.
Sitting next to Martin, Blake did his best to keep a poker face while the Superintendent rambled through the basic details of the case and expressed his great concern over the whereabouts of Terry White. On the other side of Martin sat Hannah Williams, Media and Communications Manager. She was a slim, black woman in her forties, with strong cheek bones and a pointed chin. She scanned the press pack with stern, glittering eyes like a security guard watching for the first sign of trouble. Blake had not had many dealings with her before. It was a measure of how seriously Martin took this case that she was sitting in on the conference.
An earnest young man with a goatee beard and a tweed jacket put his hand up. “There have been accusations that a witness to the Travis murder was ignored when he claimed to have seen two men of Middle-Eastern descent fleeing from the body. Is it true that you’re dismissing the terrorist angle on this case?”
“Angle?” Blake muttered under his breath. He looked up at the journalist. “We’re looking at this case from every ‘angle’ possible, including the one you have just alluded to.”
“Then you don’t rule out a possible terrorist atrocity?”
Blake winced. “Given that a second body has been found, we are confident that Paul Travis was not the victim of a random attack with terrorist motives…”
“Something more orchestrated and premeditated then?” the young man said.
Hannah Williams leaned forward, giving Blake a quick, sidelong glance. “What DCI Blake means is that other than the one witness, we have no other evidence that there are any connections with terrorist activity in this case. We do have other evidence that points strongly in another direction. Next question please.”
Deirdre Lanham raised her hand. “Given that you’re investigating the Pro-Vets charity quite closely, is there an implication that they didn’t do enough to help Terry White?”
Blake opened his mouth to speak but Hannah got there first.
“Our role is purely to investigate the circumstances around the crimes and present the evidence to the CPS, we do not make judgements about anything…”
“But you have to admit that they’ve failed this man,” Deirdre Lanham insisted. “I mean he is obviously troubled…”
“Which is why we need the public’s help to find him as a matter of urgency,” Blake said.
“But we must remind the public not to approach him as he is extremely dangerous. Call 999 if you spot him,” Hannah said before Blake could continue. “Next question.”
“What support did this young man have before he went off the rails, though?” Deirdre Lanham said, not backing down.
“I believe he had access to a counsellor who was working closely with his GP, but nobody could have…” Blake began to say.
“I don’t feel it’s appropriate to discuss Mr White’s medical history. That’s well out of our remit, I’m afraid. Next question.” Hannah Williams’ eyes slid away from Deirdre Lanham and towards another journalist.
“What are your views on the planned rally at the Port Sunlight war memorial this weekend?”
Hannah’s expression was deadpan, unreadable. “People have a right to protest and we hope that any marches or vigils will proceed peacefully.”
/> Blake ground his teeth as the Media and Communications Manager fielded almost every question, butting in when he tried to answer. Finally, she wrapped up the conference by standing up. “Thank you, ladies and gentlemen, I think the take-home message here is that we aren’t looking at this as a terrorist attack but we are looking for Terry White, a troubled and dangerous young man who needs urgent help. We’d be grateful to the public for their assistance.”
Murmured conversation filled the room as everyone began to pack up and compare notes. Some journalists hurried out to prepare their stories. Blake followed Martin and Hannah out of the room and into the corridor at the back.
“Well, that could have been a lot worse,” Martin said, breathing a sigh of relief. “Thank you, Hannah, sterling work there. Wouldn’t you say so, Will?”
“I wondered what I was doing there, to be honest, sir…”
Hannah suppressed a smile. “You aren’t sulking are you, Will Blake?”
“No. It’s just that I would have happily missed the conference altogether and spent the time on the investigation if I’d known I wasn’t required to speak…”
“What’s up Blake? Someone stealing your limelight?” Martin said. “Talk about bruised egos. I’m sorry, Hannah…”
“It’s not that I just wondered what I was doing there, that’s all.”
Hannah Williams’ eyes narrowed. “So did I, DCI Blake, so did I. I had to pull your fat out of the fire a number of times back there, as it happens but, hey, you’re welcome.” She gave Martin a curt nod and stalked off down the corridor.
“What is it with you, Blake?” Superintendent Martin said, putting his hands on his hips. “How do you manage to make any situation worse?”
“I’m sorry, sir, but what do the public think when they see us sitting there like a couple of stuffed shirts, hardly saying a word? They want to see us in control of the situation…”