Jack-Knifed

by Wonny Lea

  ‘That’s the crime he is doing time for now, but he has been in and out of prison all his life, mainly for convictions of robbery with violence, grievous bodily harm, and aggravated burglary. It’s almost certain that he is one of a known gang of drug dealers, and was in the frame for the killing of two of them, but there was no evidence that would stand up in court. We believe he is still making a shedload of money from arrangements set up years ago, but despite the best efforts of our local CID, nothing has been proven.’

  Martin shook his head and wondered how many times the governor of Cardiff Prison had spoken of the thwarted best efforts of his local CID.

  Mike Waverley continued. ‘Bob Wilson and his cellmate – another one who killed a family member, it was his brother this time, – are both thoroughly evil bastards, but Thompson is in a different league altogether, and in my experience prisoners only become friendly if one wants something from the other and the price is right.’

  ‘And in this new-found friendship, what is that something likely to be?’ asked Martin.

  ‘We’ve tossed that around at our weekly warders’ meetings,’ was the reply. ‘The only thing we have to link them is that a couple of months ago Bob Wilson’s daughter Amy and Leo Thompson’s son Jack were visiting their respective fathers on the same day and were seen leaving together. Since then, their visits have always coincided, and the word is that he is completely besotted with her but her feelings are cooler.’

  ‘When are they next due to visit?’ asked Martin.

  Waverley had obviously been waiting for the question and as if he was expecting to be challenged gave the answer he had prepared earlier. ‘They were actually here yesterday, but unfortunately it was before we knew of your interest. If we had known, we would most certainly have ensured we had up-to-date contact details before they left. The ones we have for Jack Thompson are correct, but it appears that Amy Wilson’s are out of date.’

  ‘Yes, we’ve been told that, but if he is as smitten with the woman as your warders seem to think perhaps she’s with him anyway. We could pay him a visit later and hopefully kill two birds with one stone.’

  Mike Waverley got to his feet and the others followed his lead ‘I’ve arranged for you to interview Wilson in one of the secure rooms that joins the visitors’ block to the main wing of the prison,’ he said. ‘We have obviously told Wilson you’re coming and made him aware of his rights in this matter. He has apparently made it known that he’ll say nothing, so it’s possible you’ll have had a wasted journey, but let’s give it a go.’

  Martin and Matt followed behind, and it wasn’t long before they were hearing the clanking of keys before the opening of every door and the same sound as the doors were locked behind them. Although Martin had made numerous visits to a variety of prisons during his police career, the sound of doors being locked in this way still sent a shiver down his spine.

  A door just off the main corridor was unlocked, and the three men went into a good-sized room furnished only with a large oblong table and a perfectly arranged set of six chairs. Sitting on one of the chairs, with a warder standing behind him, was Bob Wilson, and the first thing Martin thought was that there was no doubt that this was Mark’s father – there was a strong family resemblance, especially in the shape of the face, the mouth, and the lines of the nose.

  Martin took the chair directly opposite Wilson, and as he did he realised that the chairs and table were so perfectly arranged because they were all fixed to the floor.

  Waverley, who had chosen to stand next to the warder, made the necessary introductions.

  Realising his words would not be welcome, Martin nevertheless started by offering his condolences to Wilson for the loss of his son. The reaction was not unexpected, as Wilson cleared his throat and spat on the floor. He would have repeated the action if the warder hadn’t warned him of the possible repercussions if he did.

  Ignoring the pantomime, Martin asked Wilson when he had last seen his son, but in reply all he got was a shrug of the shoulders as Wilson looked vacantly at some unseen spot on the ceiling.

  Trying a different tactic, Martin asked him when he had last seen his daughter and the reaction was very different.

  ‘You fucking well leave her out of this, she knows nothing, and you’ve got nothing on her, so leave it out.’

  The words were spat out with such vehemence that everyone in the room was left in no doubt that here was a man capable of murder, although as far as the actual murder of his son was concerned his alibi was one hundred per cent watertight.

  ‘No one is accusing your daughter of anything,’ said Martin, calmly, though secretly he was a little unnerved. ‘We would like to speak to her, if only to rule her out of our enquiries.’

  The last half of the sentence brought a look of absolute disbelief and disgust to Wilson’s face, and at first it looked as if he would not be able to resist responding but instead another shoulder shrug and a re-fixing of the eyes.

  ‘We understand she has developed a relationship with the son of one of your fellow inmates. Do you think she is likely to have moved in with him?’

  Bob Wilson didn’t reply to Martin’s question, not even giving a shoulder movement this time – and his eyes didn’t leave their fixed point. Although there was no external reaction, the question had made Wilson think about something he had been deliberately avoiding. If his daughter had moved in with Jack he had good reason to fear for her future, if indeed she had one. He was aware of the sort of jobs Jack had been doing so proudly for his father and knew that sooner or later these crimes would be discovered, but even now the young man was an unstable psychopath – and one who could be shacked up with his daughter …

  But he kept his thoughts to himself as Martin persisted with this line of questioning. ‘She isn’t living at the address we got from the prison, or the one she went to after that, and for the last couple of months she has not been collecting any benefits, so you could say we are concerned for her welfare.’

  ‘Well, unless she’s one of the walking dead, you needn’t trouble yourself on that score – she visited me yesterday – ask that lot.’

  Wilson jerked his head towards the warder and the acting governor, before returning to his preferred posture, but the very fact that he had responded at all confirmed to Martin that his questions about Wilson’s daughter were the only ones which were going to produce any results.

  He continued. ‘Are you happy with your daughter taking up with Leo Thompson’s son, knowing as you must do the things the father is capable of? And as the saying goes, like father, like son?’

  Wilson had obviously heard that saying before, and it wasn’t the thought of Leo Thompson’s son but his own that derailed him now. He stood up and headed for the door. ‘That’s not always the case. My so-called son was nothing like me, he should have been a girl, instead he was a fucking apology for a boy – I don’t think he was even mine – now just get me the fuck out of here and back to my cell.’

  Martin watched as the warder unlocked the door and he and another warder, who had been waiting outside, escorted Wilson back to what was ironically his place of safety. Wilson may have wanted to disown his son, but there was no doubt about paternity, and DNA testing if ever needed would only confirm what was easy to establish just by having seen both of them.

  The interview provided as much as Martin would have expected, and on the way back to the governor’s office he asked if the prison grapevine was saying anything more about Jack and Amy’s relationship.

  ‘The first day they were seen leaving together, there were odds-on bets amongst the prisoners that he would be “giving her one” before she got back to the station, and apparently Jack spoke to his father an hour after visiting the same day to settle the bet.’

  The Governor anticipated Martin’s next question. ‘The prisoners are allowed a quota of phone calls, but that one didn’t come through any of our phone lines, it was via one of the mobiles we pick up at every unannounced cell search.
Despite our best efforts, these mobiles get in and as the technology is constantly improving they are getting smaller and slimmer and easier to hide. We pick up a number during the routine search of visitors, and anyone found with one is denied further visiting permits. However, if the visitors are close relations they appeal on the grounds of infringement of their human rights, and they all cock a snook at us as their visiting permits are reissued.

  ‘It’s not easy and we have even dismissed staff in the past for bringing in phones in exchange for undeniably tempting large amounts of cash.’

  ‘Do you think Wilson is happy with his daughter’s choice of partner?’ asked Martin.

  ‘We know he liked the fact that it got him in with the biggest fish we have in our pond at the moment, namely Leo Thompson – Jack’s father. He was a vicious devil when he was first sent down and has grown more evil over the years. During his time in here his reputation amongst our most notorious inmates has grown, and there are rumours that it is his son Jack who is behind this additional standing. Again there are rumours, nothing we can substantiate, that Jack is only too willing to do jobs for some of the prisoners and his father offers his services, sometimes for a fee, but often without charge, just to enhance his position.’

  ‘What sort of jobs?’ asked Matt.

  ‘We don’t know, and as I said, we have no evidence that these jobs even exist, as you must realise there is a lot of boasting and one-upmanship in here, as prisoners fight to be top dog. Our local force has nothing on Jack Thompson but we really believe that your quote of “like father, like son” is more than justified with those two.’

  The Governor offered his two visitors more coffee and said he could rustle up a sandwich but Martin declined the offer.

  ‘If you can give us the address you have for Jack Thompson, I think we will make the most of our time in Bristol and pay him a visit.’

  ‘Yes we can give you Jack’s address and although we are unable to give you Amy Wilson’s latest address we can at least give you a really good photograph of her taken off our video footage from her visit yesterday.’ Mike Waverley handed Martin a package of photographs saying he hoped they would be able to use the best ones in their efforts to track her down.

  They took their leave with the usual expressions of thanks and headed out of the prison and towards Bristol city centre. They were actually heading for the St Paul’s area of Bristol, but as neither Martin nor Matt knew Bristol they couldn’t even guess at the type of house they were looking for.

  With the benefit of a sat nav, they arrived at a street of medium-sized Victorian terraced houses lining both sides of the road. Outwardly it was a respectable-looking area, although on closer examination it looked as if the majority of the houses had been converted into flats and a couple were boarded up.

  The street had definitely seen better days, and Martin felt sorry for the residents who were still struggling to stop the rot with their clean drives and well-kept gardens.

  Number seventeen was towards the end of the terrace, and one of the better-presented properties, but once he had spotted the correct address Martin drove past and parked the car in the next street.

  ‘Even though we aren’t in uniform I think we must have COPPERS tattooed across our foreheads. And seeing us both get out of the car could forewarn Mr Thompson of our visit, so let’s see if we can fade into the background a bit.’

  Matt laughed, knowing exactly what his boss meant, but the thought the two of them fading into the background was a comical picture.

  The door to No. 17 was dark blue and recently painted, and the brass knocker and key plate so beautifully polished it seemed a shame to touch it, but in the event that proved to be unnecessary as the door was suddenly opened.

  To say the face that greeted them was worn out would be the understatement of the year. The woman standing in front of them at no more than five feet two inches was thin almost to the point of emaciation, and if the number of wrinkles on a face was a method of determining age she had received more than one telegram from the queen.

  The voice, though, was years younger, as were her movements as she retreated back into her hall and spoke. ‘Oh, I thought it was Jack. If I had known it was Jehovah’s Witnesses I wouldn’t have opened the door.’

  Well, that was a new one, and out of the corner of his eye Martin saw Matt smirk, but he managed to keep a straight face himself and reassured her on one front before making things much worse. ‘We are not Jehovah’s Witnesses, madam; I am Detective Chief Inspector Phelps and this is my colleague Detective Sergeant Pryor. We are from the Cardiff CID and we were hoping to speak to Jack …’

  She jumped in. ‘Jack’s my son. What do you want with him? Anyway, he’s not here, and I don’t know where he is and I don’t know when he will be back so there’s no point in you waiting.’

  Martin could barely believe that this woman was Jack’s mother, having thought her likely to be his grandmother. And then he remembered that at least one of Jack’s grandmothers had been murdered by his father.

  ‘Perhaps we could have a word with you,’ suggested Martin. ‘The person we are trying to trace is named Amy Wilson and we believe she may be a friend of your son.’

  ‘So it’s not Jack you are after?’ Eileen Thompson enquired. ‘He hasn’t done anything wrong?’

  ‘As I said, we are trying to contact a woman who may be a friend of your son and perhaps you could help us if you will spare a few minutes.’

  Martin didn’t think for one minute that they would be allowed over the threshold, but a miracle happened in the form of a nosy neighbour who had come out of the house next door. ‘Have Social Services caught up with you at last?’ he jibed. ‘You can’t keep claiming the old age for your mother, not since your old man bashed her head in.’

  ‘Shut your effing mouth,’ was the reply, and then turning to Martin she said. ‘Better get inside before the whole street knows who you really are.’

  So they’d moved from being Jehovah’s Witnesses to being from the Social. Martin wasn’t sure if that was promotion or demotion, but he was grateful to the neighbour and followed Jack’s mother into her home. The front of the house had been well-presented, but the inside took the level of cleanliness to another plane, and the phrase you could eat off the floor sprung to Martin’s mind.

  Matt Pryor asked if they could sit down for a moment so that he could take some notes, and she pointed to a dining table and four chairs, presumably not wanting them to sit on her nicely plumped cushions. He thanked her, and then felt unable to continue without making a comment. ‘Your son is lucky to have you to look after the house – it’s a credit to you – I presume he does live here?’

  ‘This is his home but he’s away such a lot,’ she replied.

  Martin was looking around and left Matt to continue with the preliminaries when he heard his DS ask a question about what Jack did for a living.

  ‘He’s a clever boy,’ she said. ‘Always been able to find work and make good money but when I ask about his work, he gets annoyed so I just keep my mouth shut.’

  ‘But he’s away quite a lot?’ continued Matt.

  ‘Hang on,’ she interrupted him. ‘You said you wanted to find some woman, not ask questions about my Jack, so ask your questions about whoever she is and then get going.’

  Martin took over the questions and asked Eileen if she knew of her son’s relationship with Amy Wilson.

  ‘Never heard of her,’ was the short reply.

  ‘Has he brought any lady friends home over the past couple of months?’ continued Martin.

  ‘Can’t imagine Jack ever having something as grand as a lady friend’ she laughed. ‘No one has been here with him for ages. He doesn’t like to see the place messed up and girls these days seem to be a messy lot with their bags and shoes and make-up left all over the place.’

  ‘Hasn’t Jack got a room of his own he could take his friends to?’ asked Martin.

  ‘Yes, he’s got the large front bedroom, has
done since his father was put away, but it’s locked, and nobody but him is allowed in there. I can’t even clean the place and I can’t imagine what state it will be in. Jack likes things to be just so, but has never washed a dish or picked up a duster in his life – that’s my job. He puts some dirty washing in the basket in the bathroom but more often than not he goes out in one set of clothes and returns with some new gear he’s bought and no sign of the stuff he went out in.’

  Realising she was speaking too freely to the police she suddenly terminated the meeting.

  ‘I’ve never heard of the girl and she’s never been here. My son does live here, but he’s not here now, and I don’t know when he will be back, so there, you’ve had a wasted journey.’

  ‘Maybe,’ responded Matt as he handed her a card. ‘We will leave this phone number with you, and when your son returns we would be grateful to receive a call.’

  They hadn’t mentioned their earlier visit to one of her husband’s fellow inmates and still didn’t, but on the way out Martin asked her if she ever made a prison visit, and got the full force of her pent-up anger, as she responded, ‘My bastard of a husband used me as a punch bag for years, and is in the nick because he murdered my mother, so take a frigging guess, detective!’ She slammed the door behind them and Matt barely got his foot out in time.

  Back in the car, Martin wasted no time in starting up the engine and heading down the quickest way he knew towards the M4. ‘There must be a half-decent pub or café between here and the motorway,’ he muttered. ‘I’m absolutely starving – let’s find some food and then head back to Cardiff.’

  Chapter Fifteen