by David Evans
54
On his way into work next morning, Mark Hewitt, Alison’s brother, drew his car to a halt outside the telephone box on Dewsbury Road and switched off. He’d been awake half the night worrying about what he should do. He didn’t trust his sister to pass on the information she had to the police. There had been nothing in the papers about it, just that attack on the ex-prostitute. Even if Alison had told them, his reinforcing of the facts would add weight to its significance. Normally, he didn’t like reporting anything to the police, he had little confidence in their abilities to do anything for the ordinary man in the street and the idea of grassing someone up was alien to him. But this was different. This bastard had hurt his sister and he didn’t like that. She hadn’t said as much, but he knew. And if, as it seemed by the publication of the e-fit, he’d been a bastard elsewhere then he was going to do his damnedest to make sure he got what was coming to him. He was there when his sister found the piece of paper with the address on and had filed the details in the back of his mind before she threw it away. He, too, had a good memory. And so he sat in the car and considered what he was about to do. He knew the bastard’s name and he knew his address and, very soon, so would the police.
“Okay, I’ll tell him.” Kirkland replaced the receiver. He looked up for Strong, spotted him and called across the room, “Guv, front desk have a Janice Roberts downstairs asking to see you.”
“Roberts?” Strong repeated.
“Don’t know but she says it’s urgent, apparently.”
“Okay, Sam. Thanks,” he said and made for the door.
At that moment, Ormerod ended his call and attracted Strong’s attention. “Oh, guv, I’ve just had a call giving a name and address for our mystery e-fit. Caller wouldn’t leave a name, though.”
“Good. I’ll be back in a minute, Luke,” he responded, and was gone.
Strong entered the front interview room where Jim Dyer on the front desk had asked the woman to wait. She was pacing the floor nervously and turned towards him immediately, gripping an envelope tightly in her hands. He recognised her face from the photo Rosie had shown him and she was definitely the other woman who attended Billy Montgomery’s funeral two days before.
Janice Roberts bore no resemblance to her younger sister, Rosie. Strong guessed she was in her mid-fifties, her dyed dark brown hair showing some grey at the roots and she was rather overweight. Behind her glasses, the eyes were slightly puffy, betraying the emotional roller-coaster she must be riding.
“Mrs Roberts,” he offered a hand. “Please sit down. I’m so sorry about what’s happened to your sister.” He took a seat across the table from her.
“Mr Strong,” she began, “my sister spoke of you from time to time. She maintained you were one of the ‘good guys’, as she put it, someone with a bit of compassion who always treated her with respect and common courtesy. She respects you.”
Strong was slightly embarrassed at this testimonial to his character. Billy Montgomery had said something similar. Sometimes he wondered whether he would have been more successful as a policeman if he’d adopted a more belligerent attitude like some of his colleagues. Expressions of support like these and the flow of information it generally brought made him sure his attitude was the correct one.
“This came in the post this morning,” Janice said without further preamble. “It was posted yesterday.”
He took the envelope and pulled out a second envelope from within, along with a covering note addressed to Janice. The note merely asked her to deliver the enclosed envelope when she thought it appropriate. The second envelope was addressed to Detective Inspector Colin Strong, Wood Street Police Station. Intrigued he took a key from his pocket and slit the top. Inside was the following hand-written letter.
‘Dear Mr Strong,
If you are reading this then something bad has happened to me. If that’s the case, I want you to know the truth. I have not said anything before now because of Billy. He swore me to keep quiet but as he’s gone now, I don’t see the point any more.
We all have pasts we’re not proud of. You know about mine as much as anyone. But you were always fair with me and I think you deserve to know. Billy had a past too. Again, you probably know as much about that as I do. However, since we’d been together these last four years, I saw a vulnerable Billy. He wasn’t ever a violent man, despite what you might have thought – if anything, he was a victim.
I’m sorry I lied to you about Billy’s family when you called round. I suspect you knew I was but I did it out of loyalty to Billy. The thing is, he has a son, Alan. He has a daughter too but she emigrated to Australia years ago.’
Shit, he thought, that’s it. How bloody stupid. Alan, Billy’s son. The words of Mary Burns repeated in his head, “Never heard o’ him for years. Left home as soon as he could.” And when asked if she had any idea where he was now, she’d responded, “Not a clue.”
Janice saw the change of expression on his face. “Is something wrong?”
“Sorry, no. It’s just … I’ve realised something,” he answered, continuing to read the letter.
‘Ever since Billy and his wife split up way back, Alan’s been following him around. Every time Billy came out of prison and moved to somewhere new to make a fresh start, Alan would find him. He felt Billy owed him for abandoning him back in Glasgow. He was jealous. He’d done his best to split up every relationship Billy had ever formed since leaving Glasgow, with some success. He tried to come between us too but we were stronger than that. We’d been honest with each other from the off. Billy knew all about me and I knew all about Billy. But Alan was more than jealous, he was a bully too, and violent with it.
Around the beginning of December, Alan called round to see his dad. I was always on edge whenever he appeared. Alan had been burgled a few days before. They’d taken the TV, video, music centre and CD's. But there was something else that bothered him. I got the impression that another, more important item had gone too. They didn’t talk in front of me but I could hear their raised voices from the hallway. I heard Alan say, “Well, they’ll start digging into your past again, if they ever find it.” And a little later, Billy said something like, “You shouldn’t have kept them in the first place.” I didn’t think too much of it at the time. I didn’t even know if they’d still been talking about the burglary. But it began to make sense, once I knew about recent events.
No sense in denying Billy used to dabble in a bit of buying and selling those types of things, so he offered Alan the pick of what he’d got stored at the flat to replace his TV and other stuff. When Alan saw his own TV and video, he went mad. I heard a struggle and dashed into the hallway. Alan had Billy by the throat up against the wall. I thought he was going to murder him. I shouted to Alan to leave Billy alone, he was a sick man, but he just came out with a torrent of abuse towards me. Billy told Alan to leave me alone and that he would tell him where he got his stuff from. I think you can guess by now that he told Alan that Fred Williams had asked Billy to fence the stuff. Williams had done about five or six jobs and Billy had made a few bob out of them. Billy only gave Alan a rough idea where Williams lived, saying he didn’t know exactly where. I suppose he was just trying to buy some time so he could warn Williams. After threatening Billy and me to keep our mouths shut, Alan carried his property out to his car and left.
Unfortunately, after that incident, Billy went through a bad patch with his cancer and wasn’t able to get in touch with Williams like he’d intended. Later, when he improved for a spell, no one knew where Williams was and Billy assumed he’d found out that Alan was after him and had decided to lie low for a bit. It wasn’t until we heard the news the other week that we realised the real reason nobody could find him.
I hope this is useful to you, Mr Strong and I hope Alan is made to pay for what he’s done. He didn’t even maintain respect at his father’s funeral, threatening me again to keep quiet.
Thank you again,
Yours,
Rose Hudson.’
Janice watched as he re-read parts of the letter before she interrupted his concentration. “Is it important, Mr Strong? Does she tell you who it was?”
He measured his reply. “Well, I think it could be significant but I need to look into this further.” He stood up as if to leave but stopped, as he thought of something else. “Tell me, Mrs Roberts, when you were at Billy’s funeral the other day, who was the man who upset your sister?”
“Oh, him, that was Billy’s son, Alan. Nasty little … I’ve never liked him,” she scowled. “But how did … were you there? Has he got something to do with all this?” She became agitated.
He put both hands up to placate her and sat back down. “Please, I’m only trying to piece together a full picture of your sister and her home life. Do you know where he lives?”
“I don’t, no.”
“Did Rosie tell you what their little contretemps was all about?”
“No, she wouldn’t say. It’s him, though, isn’t it?” She began to fluster. “That’s what you think. Rose told you as much in there, didn’t she?”
“Look,” he said in calming tones, “as soon as I can tell you any more, I will but I promise you this, Mrs Roberts, I’ll find whoever did this to your sister.” He stood and opened the door. “In the meantime, I assume you’ll want to get back to the hospital?”
“Yes, I came here on the way.” She stood to leave.
“Can we arrange a lift for you?”
“That’s okay, thank-you, I have my car.”
Strong showed her out and rushed back up the stairs, two at a time to the CID room. It was a hive of activity but Ormerod wasn’t at his desk. He swept the office for him before asking Darby, who was at the nearest table, “Seen Luke, John?”
“Gone for a piss, I think, guv.”
He turned to head for the toilets and collided with his man in the doorway. “Sorry, Luke, you said you’d had an anonymous call, naming our e-fit?”
“That’s right.” Ormerod returned to his desk and rummaged through his notes.
“Let me guess,” said Strong, “would it be Alan Montgomery?”
“How did you know that, guv?”
He just smiled. “You also said an address?”
“Yes.” He picked up the slip of paper and handed it to Strong.
“Right, come with me Luke,” he said, then headed off towards Cunningham’s office.
55
Calder Street was an archetypal northern street. The river giving rise to its name ran behind the brick-built terraced houses on one side, whilst similar streets ran in a grid layout behind identical houses on the other. The front doors opened directly into the living rooms from the street whilst ginnels ran down behind giving access to small rear yards.
Souter received no answer from number twenty-seven and walked back to his car. He’d prepared himself for a long wait, parking between a transit van behind him and an estate car in front. This afforded him a view up Albert Street, which ran into Calder Street at right angles between numbers thirty-three and thirty-five. From there, he could watch for any activity to and from the ginnel at the rear of the houses as well as the front door and up the street in front of him.
Half an hour later, Strong and Ormerod arrived. Cunningham had seemed as excited about the latest developments as Strong and readily concurred with his decision to bring Alan Montgomery in for questioning. They pulled up outside the house, hoping he hadn’t already fled. Ormerod went round the back whilst Strong knocked on the front door. He peered in through the room window. From what he could see through the net curtain, Montgomery’s possessions were still there. After several minutes, Ormerod returned and shrugged a negative to Strong.
Back in the car, Strong contacted the incident room and instructed Darby and Kirkland to come down and keep watch on the house from a discreet distance. Ten minutes later, the two DC’s parked their Ford Focus about fifty yards down on the opposite side. Satisfied their colleagues were in position, Strong and Ormerod pulled away and headed off to Pinderfields. As well as checking on Rosie’s progress, he had an important question that required an expert medical opinion.
Souter observed all the police activity, culminating in Strong performing a U turn before departing. He suspected Alison Hewitt had informed them about Montgomery, only she’d given him a slight advantage by telling him yesterday. However, what benefit he had, had evaporated now that the police were on the scent. From the time Strong had spent in the car after his initial approach to the house, he knew another team of detectives would be further up the street keeping a close watch. He couldn’t see them, several vehicles, including a large old van, obstructed his view, but he could sense them. He’d be surprised if Montgomery didn’t return. After all, there was nothing fresh in last night’s papers to suggest any connection between the attack on Rosie Hudson and the e-fit that had been published on Monday. Besides, all his possessions seemed to be inside. It was a risk. He didn’t know how Montgomery would react. However, he needed to speak to him before CID arrested him if he was to get a story. And that, after all, was his job.
Alan Montgomery had initially panicked when he made good his escape from Rosie’s flat. Things had definitely not gone to plan. How come those two tossers Williams and Hinchcliffe picked his house to do over in the first place? More amazingly, why did his father have to be involved with them? Still, no sense in dwelling on that now, top priority was what he’d been good at all his life, survival.
He had spent the rest of the previous day organising somewhere to rent in Sheffield, a bed-sit in the Crookesmoor area. Not ideal, but it would do for a week or two until he found somewhere more suitable. More to the point, it gave him somewhere to get his head down and away from where all the activity might be. He spent a restless night going over everything he thought the police might have to go on. There was nothing to connect him with Williams’ place but he was annoyed at the publication of that e-fit. It must have been from the bloke behind the bar in the Malt Shovel. He didn’t think the old dragon that interrupted him at Rosie’s yesterday had spotted him. According to the latest newspaper reports, the slag was still clinging on. If she regained consciousness and told her story, he was done for. Now, he drove back for one last visit to collect his things and move on; not for the first time in his life.
Strong recognised Johnson. He was the young constable who, along with Sergeant Rawlings, had made the grim discovery in Williams’ flat at what seemed like an age ago. He was on victim watch at Pinderfields ICU.
“What’s the latest?” Strong asked him.
“No change, sir. That’s her sister in there.” He nodded towards the doors of the room. “And the doctor’s just gone in.”
Through the vision panel in the door, Strong saw Janice Roberts seated by the side of Rosie’s bed, holding her sister’s hand. The female doctor was checking the displays on various machines and monitors that surrounded the patient. She engaged in a brief conversation with Janice and, after a few minutes, came out.
“Excuse me, doctor,” Strong said, displaying his warrant card. “Can I have a quick word?”
“If it’s about Ms Hudson, I’m afraid I can’t discuss any details of her condition with you, apart from what you can see. She still remains unconscious and on the life-support systems.”
“Yes, I know. It doesn’t look promising, does it?” he said, rhetorically. “But I’d like to ask you a medical question, not directly related to this case.”
“If it’s quick and you walk with me, I’ll do what I can. I’ve got to go down to A&E.”
“Thanks.” He co-ordinated his stride with hers. “What I’d like to know is, is it possible for a son to have the same blood group as his father, regardless of what group his mother was or how rare that blood group might be?”
“Well, yes, it’s definitely possible.”
“So, if it’s possible, what’s the probability?”
“If the mother has a different blood group to the father, it’s fifty per cent but, if the mother is the same as the father, then it would be one hundred per cent.”
He was thoughtful.
“I don’t know if that’s of any use to you?” she went on.
“Oh, yes. Thank you doctor. That’s very helpful.”
They had reached a set of double doors. Strong held them open but obstructed the doctor’s progress. “Look, I know you told me you couldn’t discuss Rose Hudson’s condition but she’s not just a victim to me. Rosie and I go back a long way.”
The doctor studied him as she considered her reply. “Seeing as you’re so keen on percentages, I’d put it significantly less than fifty.”
Alan Montgomery prided himself in the fact that he was careful. Recent lapses concerned him. He thought it best to avoid the front door, even driving down Calder Street itself. For one thing, if the police were on to him, they’d be watching for his arrival. For another, the curtain twitchers may have their own suspicions and call the police when they see him. He drew to a halt in Albert Street. There were no suspicious-looking vehicles parked nearby. All the cars seemed empty and the only van that could have housed a police surveillance team belonged to the bloke from the television rental company who was rumoured to be giving one to the tarty piece at number forty-two.