Trophies: a gripping detective thriller (The Wakefield Series Book 1)

by David Evans

He made a point of looking round the room. “No sign of any of Billy’s family, though. Does he have any relatives?”

  Rosie looked down and stubbed her cigarette out nervously in the ashtray on the coffee table in front of her. “Never seen anyone. He told me he’s been divorced but hasn’t had any contact with her since the early seventies.”

  “Any children?”

  She stood up and went over to the window to look out. “No,” she answered with her back to him.

  “Sure?” Either Malcolm’s information from Strathclyde police was wrong or she was being economical with the truth.

  She turned back to face him. “Not that he’s ever mentioned.”

  He let her answer hang in the air a moment. “Have you ever seen him lose his temper? Or has he ever been violent towards you?”

  She looked indignant. “Never! He’s always treated me with respect. I’d never stand for it if he didn’t. I’ve seen too many women put up with all that sort of nonsense. No. It’s just not in his nature.”

  “Okay, thanks.” Strong stood up to leave. “Oh, one last thing, has he ever mentioned Fred Williams?”

  “Er … no, not that I can remember.”

  “How about you?”

  “Well …I … I do know a Fred Williams, if it’s the same one. He used to drink in the Flying Horse, lived over in those flats the other side of town.”

  “Yes, that’s him.”

  “Why, what’s he done?”

  “Oh, nothing much. We found his body in his flat last night.” He could see the colour drain from her cheeks as he continued, “I thought maybe he and Billy might have known each other, that’s all.”

  Rosie hesitated. “They… they may have done but Billy’s never mentioned him. But how … I mean …?”

  “We’re still investigating.” He made for the hallway then stopped, thinking of something else. “By the way, when was the last time you saw Williams?”

  “What? Oh … it must have been last year, maybe November time, something like that. I saw him in Morrison’s in town.”

  “Well, thanks again, Rosie. Good to see you looking so well. I’ll see myself out.”

  He left, still weighing up her answers. On his way back to the car, he lit up a cigar. He sat inside for a while, smoking and thinking. Strange that the only photos on view had been of Rosie, her sister, Janice, and Billy. After a few minutes, he flicked the half-finished cigar from the window before setting off back to Wood Street.

  13

  From the telephone box on the corner, he watched Strong leave Montgomery’s flat, cross the road and walk back to the car. A light grey puff of smoke rose into the damp air from Strong’s cigar. He saw him sit in his car for a few minutes, sunroof open a touch, allowing regular clouds of the fumes to drift away. He observed the little cameo that unfolded on the street - the half-finished butt jettisoned from the window onto the grass verge, the detective driving off - a boy of around twelve walking up to where the discarded glowing cigar butt lay, picking it up, drawing on it, coughing and hurrying away past the telephone box, looking pleased with himself.

  Satisfied the coast was clear, the man dropped his own cigarette to the ground and trod on it. Leaving the box, he thrust his gloved hands into his coat pockets and made his way towards Billy’s flat. Walking up the short path to the front door he rang the bell. As the door opened, he pushed past Rosie who was taken completely by surprise.

  “Here! … What the Hell d’you think …?”

  “Shut it, love,” he snapped, finger raised close to Rosie’s face.

  “You better not hang around. Billy’ll be back any minute,” she said, trying not to let the panic sound in her voice.

  He smiled, although it was more of a sneer than a smile. “Now we both know that isn’t exactly true, Rosie, don’t we?” He slammed the front door shut. “I saw Billy getting on a bus into town not fifteen minutes ago. Probably off to the library, I expect.”

  She visibly sagged against the wall.

  “Now, what did he want?” the man asked.

  “Who?”

  “The git that just left. Not back to your old ways again, are you?”

  “You bast…,” she began, raising an arm to strike that was immediately caught in his firm grip. She yelped in pain.

  “Don’t try that with me, not if you want to keep what looks you’ve got left.” He tightened his grasp as he spoke.

  “You’re hurting me.”

  Gradually releasing the pressure, his face was only an inch or so from hers. “So, who was he?”

  “He’s a DI”

  “Good.” He relaxed pulling further away from her. “That’s better. I knew that already, I just wanted to see if you’d lie to me.” His expression hardened again. “Now, what did he want?”

  “He was asking questions about Billy. You know they had him in yesterday over that knocked off gear he had stored here.”

  He started to pace up and down the hallway. “So what did you tell him?”

  “Nothing much.”

  He was back up close to her again and she could smell the stale tobacco on his breath. “Come on, he wasn’t in here for quarter of an hour for ‘nothing much’.”

  “I think he was just after a bit of background.”

  “What sort of background?”

  “Well … family.”

  “And what did you tell him?”

  “Nothing.”

  He began pacing again. “You keep saying that Rosie. Why don’t I believe you?”

  “Look, all I said was that Billy was divorced, that was it. I told him where we met and how long we’ve been together.”

  “Anything else?”

  “He mentioned Fred Williams.”

  He stopped dead in his tracks at the far end of the hall. “What did he mention?”

  “That he’d been found dead.”

  He returned to her as she stood by the front door. “Why should he tell you that?”

  “He thought Fred and Billy might have known each other.”

  “And did you tell him they did”

  “I said, not as far as I knew.”

  “Good. Now you just remember to keep that shut.” He gripped her chin between the thumb and fingers of his right hand. “Otherwise you might not live to regret it.”

  He pushed her head against the wall knocking a mirror crooked. Her eyes were bulging with fear but she didn’t respond. He held her gaze whilst he slowly released her, his face contorted. “Good. Good.”

  She flinched as his hands moved either side of her face to straighten the mirror. “Can’t leave things like that.” He reached for the lock of the front door. “And remember, not a word to anyone about me.”

  Recovering slightly, she managed to regain enough composure to respond. “If I do or don’t do anything, it’ll be for Billy, not you.”

  With the door half open, he turned back to face her, his eyes hard. “Just remember what I said.” Then the door closed behind him and he was gone.

  Rosie ran up the hall to the sitting room, grabbed a cigarette from the packet on the chair arm. She fumbled with the lighter, lit it, took a long drag, then burst into tears.

  14

  Strong arrived back in the office and was removing his coat when his eye caught sight of the yellow ‘post it’ note on his computer screen. ‘Dr Goldsmith – 14.45 – pls call back.’ He sat down at his desk and was about to pick up the phone when Atkinson, carrying an assortment of files, knocked on the door.

  “Yes, Malcolm,” Strong beckoned him in. “What have you got?”

  “Well, guv, I’ve been going through this lot.” Atkinson flicked through the paperwork. “And I’ve turned up six assaults on women on our patch over the last ten years where the files are still open.”

  Strong’s eyes widened.

  “In two of them, Tracey Elliott in ’97 and, this one here, Jane Sedgwick in ’95, items of jewellery were reported missing simil
ar to those found in that box.”

  “Now then,” Strong said slowly, leaning back in his chair, “this sounds as if we might be getting into something else here.” He sprang forward excitedly. “Good work, Malcolm. Now let’s widen the search. Have a word with adjoining forces and see if you can turn up any similar cases. Of course, some victims might not have reported an attack or any missing items but let’s see what you get. In the meantime, where are the others?”

  “DS Stainmore is on her way back from the lab with photos of the contents of the box. Luke and John are out interviewing a couple of Williams’ friends. Sam thinks he’s found a van belonging to Williams and he’s sorting out forensics. Trevor’s searching for any storage facilities he might have had access to, as well as processing the door-to-door results from uniform.”

  “Right, let me know if they come up with anything interesting. In the meantime, ask Kelly to see me as soon as she gets back.”

  As Atkinson left, Strong picked up the phone and dialled Leeds University. Jacob Goldsmith confirmed what Strong had deep down suspected. With the time differential and the subsequent influences on Montgomery’s accent over the years, it was impossible to state whether the Ripper hoaxer and Montgomery were one and the same. There were some similarities but they were not sufficient for Goldsmith to stand up in court and give categorical evidence in any proceedings. Strong thanked him for his efforts and arranged to collect the tapes from his department later in the day. In the meantime, he had a murder enquiry to conduct.

  The phone rang again almost immediately.

  “DI Strong,” he answered.

  “Christ, you’re a hard man to get hold of.”

  “Who’s this?”

  “It’s me, Bob,” Souter said.

  Strong leaned back in his chair once more. “Bob! Bloody Hell. How are you?”

  “I’m okay.”

  “So where are you?”

  “In The Ridings, in Ottaker’s bookshop.”

  “You on holiday or what?”

  “I’d have to say ‘what’. How about meeting up?”

  “Great idea. Actually, I’m starving. I haven’t had any lunch yet. How about buying me some?”

  Souter chuckled. “Cheeky sod. Fine but no ale. I’m still not a hundred percent after last night.”

  “Must have been a good one if you’re not up for a pint. Okay then, how about the Baker’s Oven in Little Westgate, a few doors up from Yates’s Wine Lodge.”

  “Fifteen minutes?”

  “Done.”

  “I have been.”

  Strong ended the call and was about to put his coat on when Kelly Stainmore appeared.

  “Sorry, guv, are you going out? Only I’m just back from the lab. I’ve got the photos of the box and its contents.”

  “No, that’s all right, Kelly.” He hung his coat back up on the hook behind the door. “Let’s have a look.”

  Strong studied the images of the various items of female jewellery. As well as the broken fine silver chain with its clasp intact that he had lifted out with his pencil back at Williams’ flat, there were two dress rings, one with blue coloured stones, one with what looked like a single diamond, a ladies’ cigarette lighter, a ladies’ wristwatch with a brown leather strap, a diamanté brooch in the shape of a bird, a silver charm bracelet with Chinese-style letters as charms and finally a silver hair clasp.

  “Any prints off any of this?” Strong finally asked.

  “There are some, guv. They’re running a check now, I should find out any matches later today or first thing in the morning.”

  “All right, in the meantime, I want you to get together with Malcolm. He’s compiling a list of unresolved attacks on women in the past ten years or so. See if you can trace the victims, take him with you, and see if any of them can identify any of this. He thinks he might have a match on two already.”

  Stainmore nodded.

  “Oh, and Kelly, probably no need to say this to you but tread carefully eh?”

  Kelly frowned as if to question Strong’s statement of the obvious.

  He held up both hands. “I know,” he said in acknowledgement.

  Strong squeezed his way past the queue at the counter for bread and cakes and made his way to the café area at the back of the bakeshop. Souter was seated at a table against the left-hand wall, nursing a coffee. They spotted each other simultaneously.

  Souter rose and hugged his old friend. “Hey, Col, it’s good to see you.”

  “You too, Bob. That’s if it is you.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Strong looked him up and down and gestured with open arms. “Well, look at you, man. You must have put on two stones since I last saw you.”

  “Never. Must be your eyes.”

  “And your head – what’s happened to your hair?”

  Souter remembered the quip Jimmy Wilson had made as they parted company in Sheffield, ‘A word of advice, Bob – if I were you, I’d change my barber!’ To Strong he said, “Oh, that. I had a run in yesterday with a set of twins down near the market.”

  “Not the sheepshearers? They only know one style.”

  “Now you tell me.”

  An elderly couple, the man carrying a tray with soup and a roll and a scone and butter along with two pots of tea, struggled to pass by. Strong offered an apology and both he and Souter sat down at the table.

  “You’re looking well, though,” Souter said. “Laura okay?”

  “Fine, yeah. Still deputy head in Morley.”

  “And Graham and Amanda?”

  “Graham’s at Hull University in his first year and Amanda … well … she’s doing A Levels next year and doing my head in this year!”

  “Hard work is she?”

  “No, not really. It’s just, if there’s a cause she’s into it. I think it’s animal welfare at the moment. It’ll probably be something else next month.”

  “At least she’s got an opinion, unlike some youngsters. Anyway, come on then, what can I get you?” Souter offered.

  “Seeing as you’re in the chair, I’ll have a steak bake and a mug of tea, no sugar.”

  Strong removed his coat and dropped it over the back of the seat and watched his friend thread his way through the throng of shoppers to the counter. As he waited for him to return, he took in the other occupants of the café. It was a habit born out of the job. He didn’t linger on any one individual but, if asked ten minutes later, he could describe all the main characters in his field of vision. He spotted a couple of faces he knew. Chris Wentworth, a not-particularly bright lad in his early twenties with severe acne and a long record for shoplifting, avoided eye contact as he sat with a pregnant girl who appeared no older than sixteen. Freddy Oldroyd a scruffy individual of indeterminate age, and a useful snout from time to time, looked nervous sitting opposite a large, severe-looking woman with a florid complexion.

  Souter eventually came back with a tray supporting Strong’s steak bake and mug of tea along with his own Cornish pasty and replenished coffee mug. He took off his waterproof jacket and hung it on the back of his seat then sat down.

  “So what brings you down here, then?” Strong asked, shuffling all the food and drinks on to their table and leaning the tray against the table leg. “I can’t imagine you’d choose Wakefield for a holiday in January.”

  Souter was quiet.

  Strong looked at his friend. “Is everything all right, Bob?”

  “You know, Col, I envy you.”

  “What?” Strong laughed then dropped his voice, “Come on. Look around you. I’m a policeman, a profession held in low esteem by most members of the public.”

  “Mine isn’t much better, though.”

  “I suppose you’re right. Still, could be worse, you could have been an estate agent.”

  “Look, I’m serious. You’ve got a decent reliable family situation for yourself.”

  Strong grinned.

  “What�
�s so funny?”

  “It’s ironic, really, it’s just that sometimes,” Strong paused while he took a mouthful of tea, “just sometimes, I envy you.”

  Souter exhaled, as if in disbelief.

  “Well, think about it,” Strong went on, still in a jocular fashion, “most married men wonder how it would be if they were footloose and fancy free again. You know, out on the pull, no commitments.”

  “Yeah, right. It’s alright when you’re in your twenties and still finding out who you are but there comes a time …” Souter bit into his pasty. “It can be bloody lonely out there too.” Flakes of pastry dropped onto the table.

  Strong was puzzled at his friend’s demeanour. “Hang on a minute, Bob, I thought you and Sandra …”

  Souter looked down and began playing with the teaspoon.

  “Oh, no, Bob, you haven’t screwed things up again? I thought this time …”

  “So did I.”

  Strong leaned forward on the table. “I’m a good listener, if it’ll help.”

  Over the course of the next ten minutes, Souter brought Strong up to speed with events in Glasgow since learning of Adam’s death.

  “So,” he concluded, “the outcome is, Sandra’s history and I start officially on Monday as Senior Reporter specialising in Crime and Home Affairs.”

  “Well that’s great. I’m really pleased for you. That’s a big step-up for your career. And it sounds as if Sandra wasn’t right for you anyway.”

  “Yeah, I know, but it’s just … it seems every relationship … I fuck it up.”

  “Come on, let’s go.” Strong decided to act before his friend could beat himself up any further. “It’s like a steam room in here with all these damp shoppers sheltering from the weather. Besides, I’ve got to get back. Walk with me.”

  They both rose to leave. Almost immediately, a young mother with a toddler on the hip and a baby in a push chair moved in to take their place. Outside, the rain had stopped and the air was fresher. Strong took a deep breath and headed down the slope in the direction of the cathedral.

  “They’re obviously keeping you busy, Col,” Souter said, once they were on the move. “I hear you’re investigating this murder from the other night.”