Misery Shallows (DI Elizabeth Jewell Book 4)

by Carole Pitt

  CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE

  Detective Constable Wayne Eldridge couldn’t overcome his misery. His future looked bleak whichever path he chose and Daly had just made matters worse, he’d ordered him to come to his office in ten minutes. He checked the time and decided to go to the toilet first. On his way there, he hoped Daly would show some sympathy for the sudden and mind shattering collapse of his gaming deal. He felt like killing Drew Ingram for promising him a stake in his newly formed business only to pull out at the last minute. The shithole, Eldridge shouted, banging the cubicle door in anger.

  Just as he was about to say goodbye to his police career Ingram had found another software designer whose game was, according to the bastard, far superior. Eldridge wasn't about to give up that easily. There was still time to persuade or better still, blackmail him into buying the software on sale or return. The downside of course, was he wasn't likely to earn anywhere near the figure originally quoted. Instead of becoming a millionaire, he'd barely cover his costs and by the time the Inland Revenue caught up with him, he'd end up with less than his current salary.

  Daly kept him waiting in the corridor. Eldridge could hear him having a fierce argument over the phone. He contemplated slipping a note under the door saying he'd contracted food poisoning rather than suffer his ridicule. Seconds later Daly bellowed. 'Get you're arse in here.'

  From his boss's brooding countenance, Eldridge knew this wasn't the best time for a sob story. A few weeks ago, he might have gotten away with it, but Daly had abruptly cut him adrift leaving Eldridge confused as to his status.

  'Times up on your decision lad, so let's have it now. I've been a patient man so far but I'm not having you use this place as a flophouse. It's stay or bugger off time.'

  Eldridge nodded. He tried to articulate but couldn't. His legs felt weak and he hoped they wouldn’t give way. Right now Daly would relish seeing him prostrate on the floor.

  'In the meantime and in case it’s slipped your memory, we have three murder enquiries requiring our constant attention twenty-four-seven. DI Jewell has requested an intensive fingertip search of the area from the lock keeper's cottage to the hippy site so find some uniforms and hotfoot it over to culvert number one. I’ll trust you to organise this but I don’t want any blunders. While you're at it try to persuade a couple of Andrea Puttenham’s disciples to tag along in case you find anything spectacular, which I am counting on.'

  Eldridge was mystified as to why the boss had suddenly taken a turn against him. No longer being flavour of the moment had left him in a vulnerable position. He knew he hadn't pulled his weight recently, had taken advantage of his favoured position, but as Daly hadn't seemed concerned, neither had he.

  Finally, he found his voice. 'Let me explain, sir...'

  'Don't interrupt,' Daly barked, 'I've wasted valuable time trying to encourage you to be more ambitious only to find out you’ve played me like a bloody fool and had other plans. You've done bugger all lately and assumed you could carry on and I'd turn a blind eye. Well lad what you didn't know is, I really do have eyes in the back of my head. So now it's time to start thinking about writing us a polite goodbye letter, but before you get out your designer pen, get yourself back to work and don't bloody dare come back empty-handed.'

  Daly waved his hand towards the door. Eldridge waited, certain he'd receive one kind word before he left.

  'Don't stand there with your jaw on the floor hoping I'll have a change of heart.'

  Eldridge knew he was pushing his luck, but it was worth the risk. 'I'm really sorry Sir. The thing is the bloke who offered me the deal has reneged and now I'm in the shit.'

  Daly's eyes narrowed and his lips tightened. 'Well there'll be plenty more shit in those fields, so get your boots on and start wading through it.'

  Eldridge sloped along the corridor. Katie Gardiner walked passed with her head turned away. Word must have got out quickly, he thought. Katie, however pissed off she was didn’t usually ignore him. An hour later, he was on his way, praying for a miracle.

  CHAPTER FORTY-SIX

  The front desk confirmed Eldridge had left the building but Daly still waited a few minutes before making a move. Eldridge was famous for forgetting things, bumping into him again would undoubtedly raise his blood pressure and it was high enough. For the benefit of those passing by he adopted a carefree countenance and sauntered to the evidence room, situated as in Park Road, in the basement.

  He pressed the security pad to gain access and was shocked to find the heavy doors unlocked. He pushed one open and stepped into a cavernous room. To Daly it looked more like an underground bunker fit for the Pentagon than part of a West Country Police HQ. To his right grey steel lockers lined the wall. Some units had large metal drawers emulating the morgue. To his left the door to another area was slightly ajar; he could just make out firearms chained to racks. Apart from a dozen or so boxes stacked up behind another door, the place was clutter free. Most evidence or property rooms he'd frequented over the years had always resembled an enormous jumble sale.

  The shelves nearest to him would put a library to shame, each box file perfectly aligned with the next one. The false ceiling partially camouflaged the eerie subdued lighting, probably designed for an interstellar spacecraft that wasn’t going anywhere just yet. No litter or debris detracted from the smooth white tiled floor.

  He watched two female officers wheeling trolleys up and down the gangways between other stainless steel shelving units, all standing in unnaturally straight lines. Behind several Plexiglass room dividers, officers sat in front of computer monitors. A young woman civilian with a worried expression approached him. He guessed she was one of the newly created property administrators, probably responsible for the security oversight. In an environment where people were constantly coming and going an unlocked door was easy to overlook when you had a mountain of other tasks to complete.

  One of the problems with the new HQ was its employees barely knew each other. With so many divisions occupying a building too large for its inhabitants, lack of interaction was always going to be a problem. Give me back Park Road, Daly thought, shabby, overcrowded and at times none too clean. He knew that however long he stayed at Cordover Street he'd never form an attachment to the place.

  'Can I help?' she asked.

  Her tone was somewhat disinterested; he could have forgiven her lack of experience, but not her attitude. 'Who's responsible for emptying Park Road's old evidence room and shifting the contents here?'

  'Inspector Logan,' she replied.

  'Tell him DCS Daly would like a word,’ he said intent on being taken seriously. From the woman’s sudden heightened colour, he gathered she had.

  A couple of minutes later she returned with a tall slim officer in his forties. 'Everything's out of Park Road well within the deadline,' he said defensively.

  'How many officers are on the senior management team?' Daly asked.

  'It varies,' Logan said. 'We're still not organised. It's a logistical nightmare.'

  Daly resisted the temptation to tell them he'd just paid a visit to Park Road which, compared with this set up really was a nightmare. Let someone else give them a rollicking, he considered. The fewer people that knew he'd come down here the better.

  'That's no excuse for what is a serious oversight regarding Park Road. I'm reliably informed there's at least a lorry load to collect, so before the demolition get's going I suggest you send a team over there and get it moved.'

  'Jesus,' Logan whispered.

  Daly waited for him to apologise for the cock up or ask him what else he'd come for. Logan might have a couple of college degrees, but he wasn't very quick off the mark.

  Daly broke the silence. 'Right then, this is what I'm after, an unsolved case, June, nineteen eighty-four, near Tewksbury, or to make life easier for you, the Walker disappearance. I want everything you've got.'

  Daly expected Logan to lecture him on how cold case evidence took longer to find. Instead, he spoke politely. 'If
you'd like to sit down while I look at the property register, then Julie will do her best to find it,’ Logan said.

  He followed Logan to the computer area and slumped into a white moulded plastic and chrome chair. When he'd read the original investigation files prior to phoning Brotherton he'd become aware of gaps, indicating deliberately withheld reports. If his luck improved, Logan might unearth them, as long as they still existed. He was aware that manually cataloguing evidence had lessened as new computer systems helped streamline the process.

  Logan typed and scrolled the screen quickly. Daly watched for a while until tiredness overtook him. He closed his eyes and dozed off and the the next thing he knew Logan was tapping him on the arm. 'Julia won't be long. There's an inspection room behind this one, if you'd like to wait in there she'll bring everything to you.'

  Daly felt disorientated until Logan’s words sunk in. He pulled himself together quickly. He needed another answer. 'Is it possible other info on this case is at the warehouse?'

  'All of a sudden Logan had become super efficient and helpful. 'Hang on; I'll see what I can do.'

  Daly stared through the window and thought about what all this stored evidence represented. It was a record of human nature's worst behaviour. All around him were the sad or horrific remnants of someone's life, in some instances still waiting for justice. Faced with this final search, he decided he’d allowed the Park Road basement to defeat him. He should have gone back to double check. God help him if he’d left the Walker's legacy to rot in that rat-infested basement.

  Julia returned with her trolley and unloaded five small plastic crates containing an assortment of paper bags, cardboard boxes and the old khaki coloured folders.

  Daly thanked her and dragged his chair closer to the table, removed gloves from protective packaging, pulled them on and picked up the nearest file.

  Nineteen-eighty-four, the year the miner's strike began. Daly leaned back in the chair and remembered. He was a sergeant at Avon and Somerset, his ambition firmly focused on eventually joining CID. Several of his mates found themselves shipped north to join the thousands of other police officers seconded there to control the escalating violence. It was a warm June when the Walkers vanished. The last official sighting of the family was early afternoon on Tuesday, nineteenth of June at around one-thirty pm. The travellers living at Roxbury Farm had provided witness statements. On that day, everyone was getting ready to leave for the Glastonbury Festival including the Walkers. No one was staying behind.

  Daly recalled his own name had ended up on the back up list for the festival but no one fell ill or opted out, the Glastonbury Festival was the last place on earth he wanted to go.

  The handwritten sheets felt fragile in his big hands and the familiar damp smell reminded him of his dad’s letters sent to his mum during the Second World War. Daly saw Julia coming towards him with a tray. She placed it on another table and smiled. As well as coffee, he saw a plate piled with assorted chocolate biscuits. He checked the time knowing he needed to be quick, took a gulp of coffee, sampled the biscuits and got started. In one file, he found a newspaper article dated February, nineteen-eighty-five reporting on two other unsolved murders. As in the Walker case, neither of the bodies had ever turned up. Daly’s brain processed the obvious. The possibility the Walkers might still have been random victims of a serial killer who had, so far, a foolproof body disposal method.

  Another folder held references to codes of practice for PACE, the Police and Criminal Evidence Act 1984, the new changes to legislation which at the time were considered outstanding. The new legislation’s focus was to balance police powers while protecting the public's rights. As it came into force in the same year, Daly guessed someone had shoved it into the file deliberately, and that someone had to be Brotherton who had used the PACE legislation as a kind of bookmark. So why hadn’t he mentioned it? Surely, he wouldn’t have forgotten such an important document. The problem Daly had with the story was simple. As an ex cop with no access to these places anymore, had Brotherton ever wondered how he would retrieve the file should he need to? It took seconds for Daly to work out the answer. Brotherton knew if the Walker case ever reopened, someone would contact him.

  Anxious to find the reason for Brotherton’s subterfuge he tipped out the rest of the contents and carefully sorted through them, examining everything twice in case he missed anything. An hour and a half later he gathered up his finds, signed for them and left.

  CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN

  'I have to see someone before we go back,' Elizabeth told Patterson as she approached the junction.

  'Gardiner won't be happy if we keep her waiting. She'll want to get home.'

  'If you're that worried about her feelings phone her and suggest she leaves the photographs in my office.'

  'Good work though, getting Lillian Fowler to hand them over.'

  Elizabeth eased on to the busy M5. 'We don't know that until we’ve seen them.’

  'Who's this person we're calling on?' Patterson asked and closed his eyes as they overtook a lorry convoy.

  'You don't know her.’

  'So enlighten me,' Patterson said.

  'A young Chinese girl called Huifen. It's one of my spur of the moment things, I promised to drop by.’

  Patterson sighed as they moved over to the inside lane. 'Daly will go ape shit if he finds out we're making social calls.’

  'Leave that to me. You'll understand the relevance when we get there.’

  'Is she a suspect?'

  'No, she lives with her family above her father's Chinese establishment off the Leckhampton Road. I went there to buy a wok and some obscure ingredients,' Elizabeth said as she pulled out to pass another clutch of articulated lorries struggling up the slight incline. Elizabeth tilted her head towards her sergeant. ‘Relax Tony. The Cheltenham junction isn’t far off so stop asking me questions. I wouldn't be going if it wasn't important,’ Elizabeth said hoping the shop hadn't already closed.

  Fifteen minutes later she parked up, grateful to see the lights on, then remembered Huifen was on campus most afternoons. Inside, a middle-aged couple were talking to a young Chinese man. She stared, amazed at the likeness, it had to be Huifen's brother. Were they twins, except he seemed older and a lot taller? While they waited, Elizabeth and Patterson studied the extensive selection of spices, some she’d never heard. Huifen’s brother finished serving and asked what they were looking for.

  'I was hoping to talk to Huifen. Am I right to assume she's your sister?’

  Concern clouded his perfect features. 'May I ask who you are? I apologise, but I’ve not met you before.'

  She showed him her ID. 'Please don't worry. Huifen isn't in any trouble.'

  'She's upstairs helping our mother to cook. I'm not allowed to leave the shop unattended and my mother will panic if she knows we have police on the premises.'

  Elizabeth knew it would be unfair to make him close the shop. Have you a mobile, maybe you could text her.'

  'I don't keep it down here since one of the local boys stole my last one.'

  'Do you mind telling me your name?' Elizabeth asked.

  'Deshi.'

  Elizabeth nodded to Patterson who produced his phone. He handed it to Deshi who quickly sent the message. 'She'll come down soon.'

  'Please don't let us interrupt your work, we can wait outside.'

  Deshi moved to the rear of the shop. 'This is the only seating I can offer. It’s a storage room but please come in.'

  They heard Huifen clattering down the stairs. She showed no surprise at seeing them.

  'I apologise for dropping in unexpectedly.' Elizabeth dragged Patterson by his sleeve. 'This is my Sergeant, Tony Patterson. I just wanted a brief word with you. When you said you were studying criminology I thought you might be able to help.'

  Huifen grinned 'I never expected a real detective to need me. Sorry it's so crowded in here. Will you have Chinese tea? We've run out of PG Tips.'

  'Thanks, I'm gasping for a drink
,' Elizabeth said and sat down. Patterson remained standing trying hard not to ogle Huifen.

  Huifen arranged the tea on one of the crates and sat next to Elizabeth. 'I'm happy to answer any questions as long as my parents aren't involved. It's not that they're strict, we are terribly Western but they are very protective and might disapprove of some of my friends. I'm not a child and wouldn't intentionally deceive them, but I'm entitled to my privacy.'

  'What about your brother?' Patterson asked. 'Does he feel the same?’

  'It's different for him and he's older.'

  Elizabeth sat up. 'I know you said you’d never visited Roxbury Farm, but I sensed you might know people who had, but didn’t want to ask. Anything you tell me will remain confidential.'

  'There’s only one person and I don't know if it will help you. I met someone at university who lived at Roxbury Farm for a while. When he started his degree, he returned to live with his parents. He's a very nice English boy and we see each other on and off. Not long ago we discussed how the public tend to misjudge traveller sites. His name is Michael and during the conversation, he mentioned he and some of his other friends knew Jez Moore. He explained he had problems but was a very intelligent man. Michael told me Jez was also interested in the culvert murders. Do you think that's why he was killed?'

  'We don't know yet and it would be wise not to broadcast that theory.'

  Huifen nodded her understanding. Elizabeth didn’t need to elaborate

  'Do you know why Moore hung out with University students? I got the impression he rarely left the site.' Patterson asked?’

  'I think he did. Michael's friends found his stories fascinating. He'd been a traveller all his life since leaving a children's home at sixteen and had some odd experiences.' Huifen bowed her head. 'I'm really sorry. I should have spoken to the police earlier. I told Michael I was scared and he admitted he was too, so neither of us got in touch.'