by David Evans
Sammy and Souter watched her disappear towards the rear of the bar.
“Be brave, Bob,” Sammy said. “In life you have to take a few risks.”
“Easy for you to say.”
She grinned and leaned in closer to him. “I’ll think of something to track down their emails too. There’s bound to be more useful information from them than any voicemails.”
“One day, this will be illegal, if it isn’t already,” he said, voice low.
Souter looked all round to see who was at the adjacent tables. Most were engrossed in their own conversations thankfully, although there was one solitary drinker, dressed in a black leather jacket at a table nearby. He seemed to be concentrating on his newspaper crossword.
A few minutes later, Susan returned with a smile on her face.
“Don’t tell me, Faulkner’s had a call from the Queen and he’s up for a knighthood?” Souter said.
“Well, he’s not as smart as he thought,” Susan announced. “He hasn’t changed his security code from the default setting when he got his phone.”
“But how did you get hold of his number?”
“Easy. Just rang the council offices. Chances were the bloke would be out to lunch, expanding his girth. Spoke to his secretary and said I was calling on behalf of my boss who had spoken to him last week about a meeting they’d arranged. We would have to change and could she give me his mobile for them to sort it. Easy peasy.”
“So what did you find out?” Sammy asked.
“Nothing. Well, nothing of any interest. There was only one message, from his wife, asking him to pick up some milk on his way home.”
“Hold the front bloody page,” Souter said. “I can see it now, ’Councillor in dairy scandal’.”
Sammy punched his arm. “At least we know we can access them,” she said.
“Exactly,” Susan concurred. “All I need to do is monitor the voicemails and wait for something interesting to be left.”
* * *
Belinda was on a late shift. Tomorrow, would be similar, so she planned to call in to the photographic shop near the market in Wakefield before she came in. She had said nothing further to Charlie. That had been easy because there had been little conversation between them lately, not since the big row when she’d challenged him over Anita being in the Outwood house with him. She’d said nothing to him about her subsequent visit there. She was intrigued but also apprehensive about what might be on the roll of film she had found in the small bedroom. She’d also given some thought about what might be concealed behind the locked bedroom door.
She was at the nurse’s station, lost in thought when Helen drifted past, turned around and spoke. “Did you ever get those pictures back, Belinda?”
“Sorry?”
“That roll of film,” Helen persisted, “Did you take it in to be developed?”
“Oh, yes. I’ll pick it up tomorrow morning before I come in.”
The HCA approached the desk and studied her colleague earnestly. “Are you sure you’re okay?”
“Just a bit tired, that’s all,” she said.
At that moment, Strong and Stainmore entered the ward and approached the nurse’s station.
“Hello, can I help you?” Belinda asked.
“I’m looking for Belinda Chamberlain,” Strong said.
“I’ll see you later, love,” Helen said and wandered off to one of the side wards.
Belinda looked puzzled. “Well, you’ve found her.”
Strong took out his warrant card discreetly and showed it to the nurse. “I’m Detective Chief Inspector Strong from Wakefield CID and this is my colleague Detective Sergeant Stainmore. Is there somewhere private we could chat?”
Belinda’s expression changed from puzzlement to shock. “What’s happened? Is it Anthony? Not Grace? Tell me it’s not Grace?”
“Anthony? Grace?” Strong repeated.
“My son and daughter.”
“No, it’s nothing like that, Ms Chamberlain. We just need to have a quite word, in private, if you don’t mind.”
“It’s Mrs Chamberlain,” she responded. “I’ll just need to get one of the other nurses to cover for me, then we can use Sister’s office. She’s not in until later this afternoon.”
In the office, door closed, Belinda sat nervously on one of the seats.
“Mrs Chamberlain,” Strong began, “did you take a roll of film in to Magic Snaps in Wakefield to be developed?”
Belinda coloured. “Is that what this is about?”
“Did you take the photographs themselves?”
She shook her head. “No. I’ve no idea who did. And I’ve certainly no idea what’s on them.”
“So where did you get the film?”
She looked down onto her lap. “I … I found it.”
“Where? In the street?”
“No.” She looked up at Strong. “I found it in a house. A house that my husband owns.” She stiffened.
Strong sat back and exchanged looks with Stainmore before resuming. “And your husband’s name?”
“Charles Chamberlain.”
“Would that be Charles Chamberlain, the commercial lawyer in Wakefield?”
Belinda nodded.
“So you maintain that you have no knowledge of what was contained on that roll of film?”
She looked shocked. “Of course not. Why?”
Strong ignored the question and continued with his planned line of questioning. “I wondered if you might recognise some of the people pictured.” He looked to Stainmore who produced an envelope from her bag. He pulled out the first photo and passed it across to Belinda. “These have been selectively printed from the negatives to show only the faces or decently recognisable body parts, if you know what I mean.”
The first photograph showed a man’s face in obvious ecstasy. Belinda handed it back. “I don’t recognise him,” she said.
Next, a woman laughing. “That’s Anita.” Belinda’s brows furrowed. “Anita Matthews.” She looked up at Strong. “I knew the bastard was having it about with her.”
“Your husband?” Strong asked.
“Supposed to be a family friend; his PA. Huh!” She leaned forward. “Do you know, she used to babysit Grace and Anthony when they were small?”
“I’d have to check,” Strong said, “but I don’t think she was … indulgent, shall we say.”
“Doesn’t matter, she was there.”
A few other photos depicted two men and another woman Belinda didn’t recognise and two other men she said were business clients of her husband’s whom she’d met on a couple of occasions at social gatherings. Two more showed the same man plus what appeared to be someone else’s back.
She paused, looking close to tears. “This one,” she said, “That’s Charlie’s back. You see this mole …” She pointed to part of his anatomy, “… that’s definitely him.” She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand and looked defiantly at Strong. “You don’t sleep with someone for twenty-odd years and not recognise their back.”
“Okay, thank you Mrs Chamberlain. You’ve been very helpful.”
“Will you be talking to Charlie?”
“We just need to establish that all participants were of legal age and consenting.”
“I’ll kill him,” she said. “Bringing all this to my door.” She looked between Strong and Stainmore. “It’s just … I wanted to choose the moment when I challenge him. He doesn’t know I had access to the house and found the film.”
* * *
Souter drove into his allotted space in the underground car park of the apartment complex near Wakefield’s Westgate railway station. He was running late, the table at L’Italia was booked for eight. Looking forward to seeing Alison, he was interested to hear exactly when she would be returning from America. He planned to organise tickets for himself to join her in New York for the last two weeks of her secondment. As he leaned into the boot to retrieve his briefcase, his mind was already picturing their time in bed together
after their meal.
With all those thoughts buzzing around his head, he wasn’t aware of someone lurking in the shadows of the car park. He never managed to straighten up out of the boot before an almighty blow was delivered to the back of his head. His legs gave way and grey fuzz clouded his vision. An arm came round his neck and the grip tightened.
“Souter, ya bastart,” his assailant yelled in his ear in a guttural Glaswegian accent. “You are seriously pissin’ some people aff.”
The arm yanked tighter at his neck. “You listen and you listen good,” the voice continued. “You’d better leave digging around that Lofthoose site. Naebody wants tae hiv you proddin’ intae somethin’ that disnae concern ye. You hear me?”
All Souter could do was mumble incoherently.
“Because we ken where ya live. An’ we ken where your friends live. Do you get ma meanin’?”
Another weak mumble then he felt his legs being lifted off the ground. He was bundled into his own boot and the lid slammed shut. After that, all was blackness.
14
Alison drove into a visitor’s space on the other side of the car park and noticed Souter’s car as she got out and made for the stairs. She loved Italian food and was looking forward to trying the new restaurant. At least he was home, she thought, and not delayed because an important news story had broken. That had occurred in the past.
Ever since the incident last year when she surprised him in his apartment with Sammy, he had vowed there would be no secrets. Not that there was anything to hide on that occasion anyway. To that end, he had given her a key to the place. She had given him a spare set to her house in Ossett in return. She put the key in the lock and opened the door. “Only me!” she shouted as she entered. “If you’re in the shower, I’m coming in,” she laughed.
Silence greeted her.
“Hello? Bob?”
No response.
She walked through the lounge and checked the kitchen, then into the bedroom and finally the bathroom. No sign. In fact, looking round, it didn’t appear that Souter had returned at all; there was no briefcase or discarded jacket. Strange. She was sure that was his car in the space downstairs.
Locking the front door behind her, she walked back down the two flights of stairs to the car park. Definitely his car. She walked over and looked inside. Trying the driver’s door handle, it opened. Stranger and stranger, she thought. She closed the door again and walked back to her own vehicle. About to get back in, she paused. Perhaps he’d just nipped to the shop; a bottle of wine for later and he’d forgotten to lock the door. Pulling out her mobile phone, she rang his number. After a few seconds, faint strains of Scotland the Brave could be heard. Only it sounded as if it was coming from his car. Back across the car park once again. It was coming from the boot. Perhaps it had fallen out in there and he hadn’t realised.
She felt for the boot catch and squeezed.
It clicked open.
* * *
Strong entered the waiting area of Pinderfields A & E and scoured the collection of walking wounded and attendant friends and relatives. Susan was sitting on her own on the back row, head down. He walked over to her. “What’s happened, Alison?” he asked.
She looked up, relief in her eyes. “Colin, thanks for coming.” She stood up and he gave her a hug. “He’s been attacked.”
Strong put his arm around her shoulder and gently eased her back into the seat. “Can you tell me what happened? Take your time.”
She wiped her eyes with the back of her hands and related the events of earlier in the evening. After phoning for an ambulance, Alison had called Strong at home and he had notified Wood Street. Uniforms were first on the scene but he’d also spoken to Luke Ormerod, asking him to get involved. He was at the car park, along with the SOCO officers, investigating the scene.
When she’d told him as much as she knew, he asked what the medical staff had said about his condition. “He was beginning to come round in the ambulance,” she responded, “but he wasn’t making much sense. They’ve sent him for a scan.”
“Is there anyone I can call for you?” Strong asked.
“I’ve rung Sammy. You remember Sammy?”
Strong nodded.
“And she was coming in with Susan.”
“How are those two?”
Alison began to relate their stories when a nurse approached.
“Ms Hewitt?” she said. “Mr Souter is back from his scan and asking for you.”
Alison stood. “Will you come in with me, Colin?”
“Of course.”
Souter was lying on the trolley in a bay in A & E with a sheet over him, still feeling nauseous.
Alison approached and reached for his hand before stroking his forehead and sweeping his hair gently back. “Oh Bob,” she said. “What have you got involved with?”
He smiled at Alison’s concern then focused on his friend standing behind her. “Hello, mate,” he said.
“Now then, Bob,” said Strong. “This is a bit of a mess you’ve gotten yourself into, isn’t it? Any ideas who might have attacked you and why?”
Before he could respond, Alison followed up with a question of her own. “Is this anything to do with that council development scheme you’ve been working on? Lofthouse? And that unsavoury developer?”
Souter gave a bewildered look.
“Susan told me about when you confronted him at the council meeting the other week.”
“I don’t know,” Souter said. “I didn’t see who it was. I was just leaning in the boot to fetch my case when I got walloped on the back of the head. Things went hazy and I had the feeling of being lifted off the ground. After that … I woke up in the ambulance with you.”
“Whoever it was, they didn’t say anything?” Strong asked. “No words of warning?”
“Like I say, I don’t remember anything really”
Alison spotted a doctor nearby and went to speak to him. Meanwhile, Strong leaned in closer to his friend. “Come on, Bob,” he said quietly. “They must have said something.”
“No, I’m telling you, Col.”
“What about anything else? Sounds? Smells?”
Souter thought for a minute. Leather. A leather sleeve. A jacket. His thoughts went back to the pub in Leeds. The man studying his crossword. He was wearing a leather jacket.
“Well, Bob? Anything?” Strong repeated.
“No. Sorry, mate.”
“And what about this Lofthouse thing Alison mentioned?”
With no time for him to answer, Alison returned. “The doctor says there’s no lasting damage that they can spot on the scan, but you’ll be staying in tonight.”
Souter felt disappointed.
“Routine for head injuries,” Alison went on. “You probably have some concussion. And we can always have that Italian later.”
Before anyone could say anything else, a trolley was wheeled into the next cubicle. Strong thought he recognised the woman accompanied by a youth.
“You’ll be okay, Mum,” the boy was saying. No real privacy was afforded by the curtain.
“All right,” Strong said, “I’ll get off and see how Luke’s getting on at the car park. You take things easy and I’ll be back tomorrow for a statement.”
Before he could say his goodbyes to Alison, a man stormed into the department and approached the woman who had just been brought in to the next bay.
“Belinda. Belinda, darling,” he said.
“Get away from me,” Belinda responded. “I don’t want to see you.”
“But … I didn’t mean …”
“Leave Mum alone, Dad,” the boy said. “You’ve done enough damage already.”
“But you don’t understand. I’m not leaving.”
Strong decided it was time to intervene. He stepped outside of the curtain surrounding Souter and faced the man. “I think you should go, Mr Chamberlain,” he said.
The man looked him up and down. “Who are you? What the fuck’s it got to do with you?”
“You’re seriously upsetting the patients in this unit, not to mention the hard working staff. Now,” He flashed his warrant card. “I’m DCI Strong and we can continue this conversation at Wood Street if you want to, I don’t mind.”
A look of contempt passed over the man’s face as he appeared to weigh up the situation. Finally, he turned towards Belinda. “I’ll see you later,” he said. One final glare at Strong then he left.
Strong turned to the woman and saw the swelling around her eye and the cut on her forehead. “Mrs Chamberlain,” he said. “Did he do that to you?”
Anthony, who had been watching events unfold between Strong and his father, jumped in before his mother could respond. “Yes, he bloody well did.”
“Anthony!” Belinda said. “Don’t say that. You weren’t there.”
“Maybe not this time, but I’ve seen him raise his hands to you before now. You can’t let this carry on.”
Strong took out a card and gave it to Anthony. “Now’s maybe not the right time, but if your mum wants to talk …” He turned to Belinda. “Give me a call.”
She gave him a weak smile and he walked away.
Ten minutes later, Alison had gone to get herself a hot drink, when Susan and Sammy rushed in. The curtains had been pulled around the adjacent bed. Anthony had disappeared somewhere and a nurse was suturing Belinda’s cut head.
“I knew that Brogan was trouble when you confronted him at the Town Hall,” Susan opened up.
“Who did this to you?” Sammy asked.
“Just forget about it,” Souter said.
Susan folded her arms. “Oh no, you don’t sweep this under the carpet. This is serious.”
He tried to raise himself up. “I do know that. Which is why I’m telling you to forget about it.”
“Did they say something to you?” Sammy joined in. “When they hit you and bundled you into the boot?”
He groaned, lay back down onto the pillows and closed his eyes.
“You’re scared, aren’t you?” Sammy persisted. She leaned in and lowered her voice. “I know you too well, Bob. You need to tell us. You never let me down and I trust you. And I hope you know that I,” she glanced at Susan, “that is we, would never let you down either, and that you can trust us.”