Scream Blue Murder: an action-packed thriller

by Tony J. Forder

  I knew a lost cause when I came upon one. I had my own views on the subject, but respected the fact that Melissa probably knew Chris Dawson better than I did. The suggestion I had presented was just a theory, and one I was not about to dismiss entirely.

  “So, if not Chris, then who?”

  Melissa rolled her eyes. “We’ve come full circle. Again. This is like Groundhog Day, Mike.”

  She turned away, but before she did I saw her expression change. Same as earlier, she seemed bemused more than curious. Puzzled rather than frightened. I sensed something was playing on her mind, something she clearly did not want to share with me, but then considering everything we had all been through, it would have been odd if she was able to simply take it all in her stride.

  The kid was squatting now, chatting away to the nearby ducks. Melissa called out to warn her yet again not to get too close to the water. I looked on. How nice it would be if adults could continue to adapt the way they did when they were children, I thought. You got scared and confused, hurt both mentally and physically, yet you bounced back in the time it took to snap a finger. Finding the park and the river had been our saving grace, because the way the kid had been playing up after leaving the library, I had been certain we would draw unwanted attention. Now Charlie seemed both as relaxed and happy as we’d hoped she would be. I envied her resilience.

  We were still exposed, however. There were a lot of people around, the numbers starting to swell. I became more aware of their presence, and my anxiety levels immediately increased. I looked back at the bench, but the man was no longer there. I searched for him, and was relieved to spot him headed back the way we had all come.

  “We can’t stay here much longer,” I said to Melissa. “We have to make some decisions. And make them soon. We should try checking into the hotel.”

  Melissa puffed out her cheeks. “I know. Such a shame. For the first time since the shooting, I feel safe. I know we’re not, and I realise being out in the open like this is risky, but it’s so peaceful I can’t help but feel calm.”

  “Yeah. It lulls you, a place like this.” I lowered my gaze. “The last time I saw my daughter was in a park. By a lake rather than a river, but it was a nice place. Seemed like my life was coming together again. I couldn’t have been more wrong.”

  “What happened?”

  I looked at her, and damned if she didn’t seem genuinely interested. I gave a single shake of the head. “Some other time, maybe. When I know you better.”

  “Don’t take this the wrong way, Mike” she said, “but I hope that doesn’t happen. If we get to know each other better it will probably mean we are still not out of this bloody mess.”

  “Hey, language.”

  She smiled. It was a nice smile. My own smile was less genuine. As I had said before, places like this could lull a person.

  It was time to go. Melissa called Charlie over. When the kid re-joined us, her hand sought mine as the three of us began to walk across the bridge. I said nothing. Neither did I shake it off. Instead I smiled to myself and carried on walking.

  17

  By the time the call came in to move, Hendricks felt as if he had been driven borderline insane by the seemingly never-ending wait. Aimlessly kicking his heels had never been his favourite way of passing time, but today he felt like a caged animal. He padded around like one; back and forth, forming tight circles or squares, never straying too far away from his vehicle. Nutton holding back, yet watchful.

  His fellow NCA officer’s eyes were not the only ones that fell upon him, Hendricks noticed. The cops and detectives milling around seldom switched off from observing him. He did not believe it was paranoia, and given the situation he was in few would blame him if that became the diagnosis. No, Hendricks knew when he was being watched, mistrusted. Doubted. He rose above it, meeting their gaze whenever it became overt. I see you.

  The morning was halfway done when Nutton sidled across to him. The two had barely spoken, but Hendricks could see in the man’s eyes that something was sparking behind them. “There’s activity over in the control room,” Nutton said.

  “Has been all night as far as I can tell.”

  The younger man was not deterred by the attitude. “Not like this. You can almost feel the tension level spreading out in waves. Something’s up.”

  Something was up. Randall came bursting out of the door and headed to a waiting vehicle. Another suit came running over to them. “They’ve found Ray Dawson’s car, sir. Chippenham railway station car park. We’re all headed that way now.”

  Without a word of thanks for the information, Hendricks turned away and said to Nutton, “See you there.”

  Haystacks was getting antsy. With biker blood oozing through his veins like two-stroke engine oil, he hated being cooped up in a car. In the periphery of his vision, Rhino noticed his companion fidgeting in his seat, and was struggling to think of a way to keep the man occupied. It was like being with a child.

  After yet another long and steady sigh, Haystacks said, “This is bullshit, man. What are we expected to do with all these pigs around us?”

  Despite the retro terminology, Rhino had to agree. He had observed what he believed to be the decision-makers heading for their vehicles back at the lay-by. This was no doughnut run. The pack were on the hunt. Rhino gunned the engine on his C-Class Mercedes, pushed hard down the hill, which eventually looped its way around to the road on which the small police convoy was travelling. Within a few minutes he had taken up a comfortable position behind them, maintaining the distance at a steady sixty. An hour and a quarter later the police vehicles pulled up outside Chippenham railway station. Rhino circled around and found a spot in the car park where he could observe both the station entrance and the gathering of officers and CSIs now grouping around Ray’s vehicle.

  “What d’you reckon?” Haystacks asked, nodding towards the station entrance. “Dumped the motor and trained it to London?”

  “I hope not,” Rhino replied, after a lengthy pause.

  “Why’s that?”

  “Because that would suggest Mel was complicit. Lynch might be able to control her easily inside a car, but not exposed like that on a train journey. If she’s on a train with him, she’s there willingly.”

  Haystacks nodded. “Complicit’s a good word.” He considered himself a student of language, if not a master of it when speaking.

  Rhino wanted to focus his attention on events over the other side of the car park, and the chatter was distracting him. “Tell you what,” he said. “Take a walk over to the station. Hang about for a while as if you’re waiting for someone to arrive. See if you can pick up on anything being said or done. Get us a couple of coffees while you’re there. And a blueberry muffin I’m starving.”

  Haystacks chuckled. “Starvin’ Marvin,” he said.

  “That some racist shit?” Rhino asked.

  “Fuck you.”

  Starvin’ Marvin was a little black character from the TV show South Park. Every time Rhino mentioned he was starving, Haystacks made the same chuckling sound and said the name. Querying the racial overtones in his colleague’s remark was Rhino’s customary response, as was the barked rejoinder.

  Rhino shook his head. “Just go get the breakfast and listen out for information,” he said. He did not for one second believe that Haystacks would return with anything valuable for them to use. He just wanted rid of the man so that he could concentrate. Plus, he really was very hungry. He thought of Starvin’ Marvin, and chuckled. He loved South Park every bit as much as Haystacks did.

  “While I’m gone,” his companion said as he climbed out of the Merc, “call Chris again will you? Tell him we need to be ahead of this lot, not behind.”

  “He knows. You think he doesn’t know?”

  Haystacks leaned through the open passenger window. “Yeah, well if he has this cop in his pocket, why have we heard fuck all from him?”

  Rhino had no answer to that.

  “Get the breakfast, fuck
you!” he snapped.

  In truth, he hated duties like this. He didn’t quite know what he thought about the murder of his boss’s brother, but following in the footsteps of the cops was ridiculous. Haystacks was right about that much. So exactly where was this cop who was supposed to be helping them?

  They showed Mike Lynch’s photograph to every member of staff. No one recognised him. However, when the machines at the ticket counter were checked there was only one that had sold three one-way tickets to Paddington, London. A young woman by the name of Sally Wainwright had sold them. Randall interviewed her, allowing Hendricks to sit in. DCI Randall showed her photos of Lynch, Melissa and Charlotte Dawson. This time there was a flicker of recognition.

  “Maybe,” she said. “Now that I see him again, the man is familiar.”

  “Have you watched any news broadcasts on TV this morning, Miss Wainwright?”

  “No. Why do you ask?”

  “Just to rule out the possibility of you having seen him on there earlier today. So, just the man, then. You saw no one waiting for him, not the woman and the little girl?”

  She shook her head. “No. Sorry. It wasn’t rush hour, but it still gets pretty busy in here.”

  The woman was starting to become defensive. Unable to help himself, and desperate not to lose the possible witness, Hendricks raised a placatory hand. “No worries. In a while we’d like you to provide a more formal statement, and it’s possible something will be jogged loose then.”

  He earned a glare from Randall, but felt he could live with that.

  They were sat around a table in the staff rest room. Just the three of them. The woman sat forward in her chair, clearly a little distressed.

  “That’s fine,” she said. “I’m not in any sort of trouble, am I?”

  “Not at all,” DCI Randall reassured her. “You’re being very helpful, and we thank you for that. So, have a think about this now: the man bought the tickets, and then left your window. Can you recall which way he turned?”

  “Which way…?”

  “Yes. Did he head for the platforms, or did he make his way back outside again?”

  Sally Wainwright frowned. Her eyes shifted to one side for a moment as she attempted to access that memory. It was an astute question, Hendricks thought. Finally, she shook her head. “No, I didn’t notice. I’m pretty sure someone was waiting to buy a ticket so my attention was all on them next. But, if it’s the man I think you mean, he did speak to me.”

  Randall was alert to this. “He did? Can you recall what he said?”

  “He asked me which platform he needed. And now that I put it together with the other photos you showed me, he did mention a wife and daughter I think. Some joke or other about Paddington bear.”

  “But you definitely didn’t see them? His wife and daughter, I mean?”

  “No.” The shake of the head was firm this time. “Only him.”

  A short while later, Hendricks and Randall were joined by officer Nutton and Randall’s colleague, Detective Sergeant Buchanan. Sally Wainwright had been taken elsewhere by a DC to provide a full witness statement.

  “What do we think then, gentlemen?” Randall asked, having laid out what they knew so far.

  “I’m not buying the trip to London,” Buchanan said. Unlike Randall, who sounded very local, the DS spoke with a thick Scottish accent.

  “I agree,” Hendricks said quickly. “If he was doing that legitimately he would want to blend in, not stand out by providing unnecessary information. He wanted to be remembered.”

  “Unless nerves got the better of him.” This from Nutton. “Some people blurt out all kinds of rubbish when they’re put under pressure. It’s human nature.”

  Randall nodded. “A good point. However, I think my DS and Officer Hendricks are correct. It’s more likely, I feel, that Lynch drew attention to himself deliberately, believing we would be convinced they had travelled to London.”

  “So where do you think they are now, boss?”

  “Well, the Beemer is sat out there in the car park. They didn’t get the train, I’m pretty certain of that. My guess is they’ve found somewhere to hide out right here.”

  Which was precisely what Hendricks believed. The exact reason he then said, “We need to explore other possibilities. We don’t have any idea how much money Lynch had on him. He could have bought other tickets, using cash rather than his card. This time, keeping a low profile, perhaps buying three separate tickets with three separate purchases. Could be a double-bluff, and they really have gone to London. Or they’ve headed off in the other direction.”

  Nutton was nodding. “Any of those are genuine possibilities. It’s hard to imagine them remaining static in one place. Having dumped their vehicle, a train is perhaps the more likely route out.”

  Randall nodded and stretched out his legs. “You could well be right. We’ll make sure to follow up on that. It does beg the question as to why they dumped the car, given we know its anti-theft device was not functioning.”

  “The Dawsons' and their crew have the Lo-Jacks, or whatever system their vehicles use, disabled as soon as they purchase them,” Hendricks said. “But I imagine Lynch was wary of ANPR. The more he drove, the more he risked having his number plate ping your system.”

  “This opens up the wider debate concerning the relationship between Lynch and the nanny, Melissa Andrews,” Randall said. “I would hope for access to the car park CCTV shortly, as well as the station footage already requested, but until then we have to speculate. What doesn’t change is that if the woman and the girl remained in the car while he booked the tickets, or went voluntarily with Lynch on a train, then we have to ask how that can be.”

  “Indeed,” Buchanan said, nodding enthusiastically. “Is it possible that this nanny knew Lynch prior to these events? That she is in some way part of it?”

  As the senior NCA officer in the room, Hendricks guessed the question was aimed at him. He shook his head. “Your guess is as good as mine, I’m afraid. I ran Mike Lynch against our list of Chris Dawson’s known contacts, and nothing sparked. There’s no way for us to tell whether Lynch and Melissa Andrews were in prior contact. Not until we do a phone dump on their mobiles, but that won’t be for a day or so yet. Even then, I doubt they used any form of communication we can trace.”

  “So, the NCA doesn’t keep tabs on those within the Dawson household as well?”

  “Not allowed to. Not employees. Had she been identified as Dawson’s girlfriend or some such, then yes, we would have a folder on her. But not his daughter’s nanny, no.”

  Randall cleared his throat. “How about the more informal information? I’m sure my team and I are not alone in keeping two sets of records. One for officialdom, one for our eyes only.”

  Hendricks smiled. Nodded. “Yes, she was checked out. But only basic stuff. Nothing popped, so her file was closed. However, whatever happened here, it does make her appear more involved than was first thought.”

  “It makes sense,” Nutton said. “She may even have had the task of getting Dawson to pull over.”

  “Well, let’s not lose sight of the fact that, had there not been a pile-up on the M5, we’d not have ended up on that road in the first place.”

  “True.” Nutton nodded. He took a pull from a bottle of water. “She still might have done so simply because they had diverted. You were there, sir, so how busy was the road? I mean, you can’t have been the only vehicles to take the same alternate route.”

  “It was surprisingly quiet.” Hendricks did not appreciate his colleague dropping the spotlight back onto his part in what had transpired. “I got the impression the accident had not long happened, so Dawson may have been one of the first to find a different route. I noticed it got somewhat busier a while later.”

  DCI Randall had been jotting notes on a pad inside a folder. He snapped the folder shut and popped the pen inside the breast pocket of his jacket. “I think we’ve speculated enough. We know for certain that Andrews is not a name or
number in the contacts list on Lynch’s mobile. I myself spoke with Lynch’s ex-wife, and she denied ever hearing the name before. It sounded genuine enough.”

  “I’d like to get sight of that,” Hendricks said. He had already been through it, long before anyone else arrived at the scene. It didn’t hurt to throw Randall off the scent, though. “There might be a name on there I recognise that you would not. One of Dawson’s crew, perhaps.”

  Randall nodded. “It’ll be in evidence by now, but we can arrange that for you. Myself and DS Buchanan need to go and feed back to our team, and catch up on anything new they might have. I have one officer going through CCTV footage from the platforms. The car parking company are giving us grief over acquiring footage from their system, but, as I mentioned earlier, I do expect that sooner rather than later. Hopefully, either or both will tell us what happened after the tickets were purchased. I suggest we meet up again afterwards. I have your details, Officer Hendricks, so I’ll call or text you. Thank you both.”

  The two detectives stood at the same time, and seconds later Hendricks and Nutton were on their own. They were silent for a few moments. Hendricks was processing information, whilst at the same time planning his own next steps. It felt as if what had taken place right here at the station was key. He firmly believed DCI Randall was correct, and that Lynch, the nanny and the girl were still in Chippenham. Purchasing the tickets had been a ploy. They had found somewhere to lie low. He wondered why. What might the three of them be waiting for?

  Nutton was becoming an irritant. The young man was pleasant enough, and had given him room when he needed it. Nutton did not appear at all phased at Hendricks putting distance between them, either. In different circumstances he suspected he would even like the man. However, if the investigation was going to take a major step forward and it seemed like only a matter of time before it did then it was crucial for him to be in an ideal position to slip the leash and just take off on his own. To do that, he had to somehow keep his colleague busy.