Talisman (The Wakefield Series Book 3)

by David Evans

Anita screamed.

  “And you can shut up too.”

  The receptionist appeared at the door. “I’ll call the police,” she said.

  “No. Wait, it’s okay,” Chamberlain said, getting up. “I’ll handle this.”

  “What, like you handled Mum?” Anthony stood defiant, fists up. “I’ll do it again.”

  “Anthony … look, calm down.” Chamberlain held both hands up in front of himself, like a cowboy confronted by a gunslinger. “Sit down a minute and let’s talk.”

  “There’s nothing to say.” He pointed a finger at his father. “You come near Mum again and I’ll kill you.”

  “Anthony, don’t say that to your Dad,” Anita said.

  The boy turned to face her, a disgusted look on his face. “And you’re just a whore. Don’t you ever talk to me again.”

  “Hey, don’t speak to Anita like that.”

  “Like what? How else would you describe someone you’re paying to shag?”

  Chamberlain took a step towards him and raised a fist but Anita stepped in front of him.

  “No!” she yelled. “He’s your son.”

  “That’s it,” Anthony responded. “Hit me. Like you hit Mum.”

  For what seemed like an age, they all stood motionless, holding each other’s stare. The tension in the room was palpable. Slowly, Chamberlain dropped his arm.

  Anthony’s anger also appeared to subside. “But she’s wrong. I’m not your son and you’re not my father. Not any more.” He let out a low groan. “Pathetic,” he said then turned and walked out of the office.

  17

  Friday 27th July 2001

  Darby sighed, leaned away from his desk and rubbed his eyes. “This is such a tedious exercise.” He was trawling through sheets of paperwork listing staff allocations from Pinderfields Hospital going back months. “I’m going for a pasty. Anybody want anything?”

  “No, you’re all right,” Stainmore responded from the next desk.

  “Fetch me a coffee back, will you?” Jim Ryan called out. “Milk, two sugars.”

  “See if they’ve got one of those steak pies,” Trevor Newell piped up.

  “I fancy a sausage roll,” Luke Ormerod added.

  “Bloody Hell, I was only being polite!” Darby protested.

  “Wayhay!” Ryan, Newell and Ormerod exclaimed.

  Grumbling, Darby made for the door to be met by Colin Strong.

  “Ah, John,” Strong said, “are you headed for the canteen? Can you bring me back a tea?”

  “Anybody would think I’ve got ‘mug’ tattooed across my forehead,” Darby mumbled on his way out.

  “Something I said?” Strong wondered aloud.

  Ryan looked up, a broad smile on his face. “Don’t worry, guv, he just got stitched up to bring us back some food.”

  “How’s the search going? Anything standing out yet?” Strong referring to the hospital staff correlation exercise.

  “Not as yet, guv,” Ormerod replied. “John, myself and Kelly have shared it out in the first sweep.”

  Stainmore looked up from her paperwork. “I thought I had someone here. A nurse on duty in the right areas for the first three victims’ visits but was off-duty for the next two.”

  “From John’s reaction just before you came in, I don’t think he’s got anything yet either,” Ormerod added.

  “Is there anything else that links the victims or is it just coincidence that they all have strong connections to the hospital? I mean, it’s hardly unusual for elderly people to be visitors to the major hospital in the area. I don’t want us to focus on only one avenue here if it’s not correct.”

  Ormerod responded, “Well I’m also sifting through likely candidates with past experience who might be out on the streets at the moment, but most are still banged up.” Indicating Ryan sitting at the desk behind, he continued, “Jim got hold of the notes from the two cases in Barnsley and again, both of those victims have connections with Pinderfields.”

  “All right. Keep at it.”

  Detective Superintendent Flynn appeared at the door. “Colin, a word please,” he said, before disappearing back along the corridor.

  “Headmaster’s study,” Ormerod quipped.

  Strong looked to the ceiling before following his boss.

  * * *

  Souter was putting the finishing touches to an article for the weekend edition when Susan pulled up a spare chair and sat beside him.

  “We’ve booked a holiday, Sammy and me,” she announced. They’d met for lunch and she’d just returned. “Do you think Mr Chandler would mind?”

  Souter looked at her incredulous. “Are you serious? You’ve booked a holiday before asking for any time off?”

  “It’s only for a week.”

  “When?”

  “19th August.”

  He looked at the calendar pinned to the workstation screen. “That’s only three weeks away.”

  “Yep. It was a late deal to Majorca.”

  He spun round in his seat to face her. “Chandler might well say you can take as much time off as you want.”

  “You don’t think he would, do you?”

  “Do you realise I called in a favour to get you this summer job?”

  Susan looked down on her lap. “I do, yes. But I really need a break after these last few months, starting the course, Dad and everything.”

  Of course, Souter thought, the poor girl has had a tough time this year, her father dying a few months ago. For the second time, it could be said. She’d already lost him some years prior when the dementia took him. Before he could say any more, his desk phone rang. He snatched it from its cradle and barked a response. “Souter.”

  “Mister Souter,” came the guttural Glaswegian accent. “I hope you paid attention to whit you wis told the other day.”

  “Who is this?”

  “Let’s just say Ah’m lookin’ efter yir best interests. We wouldna want tae see ye get hurt; or mair tae the point, yer lovely lookin’ friends, now would we?”

  Involuntarily, Souter glanced at Susan who looked concerned at his reaction to the phone call.

  “Who is it?” she mouthed silently.

  Souter turned back to face his computer screen. “Look, I don’t know what you’re frightened of but you must be scared of something if you’re resorting to …”

  “You don’t fucking get it, do ye?” the Scots voice interrupted. “It’s you who should be scared. Now, if we have to speak to you again, you’ll be sorry you didnae listen tae me.”

  Souter opened his mouth to respond but the line had gone dead. Slowly, he replaced the handset.

  “Was that who I think it was?” Susan asked.

  Souter’s brows furrowed. “Is Janey doing any more on the Lofthouse Development story, do you know?”

  “I don’t think so. It was, what, ten days since that Planning Meeting. She only reported on the fact that it was given approval. So unless the council release any more information, I don’t think there’s anything more to say. Was that your friend in the leather jacket then?”

  Souter nodded. “Not a word to anyone.”

  Susan looked offended.

  “I mean it, Susan. Especially Alison.” He leaned back in his chair and sighed. “You don’t think they could have found out that you’ve been listening to Faulkner’s messages do you?”

  “Wouldn’t have thought so. There’s only you, me and Sammy who know I’ve done it. Besides, there wasn’t anything of any interest. I haven’t even checked them for about a week.”

  “Do it now.”

  “Sure?”

  “Yes. Let’s see what there is.” As Susan began dialling numbers, he thought of something else. “What would be really useful is if we could do the same thing for Brogan’s phone.”

  Susan put up a hand to interrupt. “Sounds like he’s on holiday. This is a Scottish voice asking him to call him back when he returns.”

  Souter held out a hand for the phone. “Here, let me listen to that.”
<
br />   “Hold on, I’ll get it to repeat.” Another number pressed on the keypad and she handed the phone to Souter.

  He listened then gave it back. “That was Brogan,” he said. “I’m sure of it.”

  Susan looked inspired. “There’s one other person I haven’t tried,” she said and began dialling a number.

  Souter was puzzled.

  After a few seconds, she began to speak. “Planning please, Michael Pitchforth.” Another pause. “Yes please.” She listened and began to write down a number then hung up. “Got it,” she said, a pleased expression on her face. “Now let’s see if he’s as careless as Faulkner.” More dialling and then a broad smile spread over her face as she listened before ending the call.

  “You got access to his voicemails too?”

  “That’s the good news,” she said. “The bad news is there are no messages, but I’ll keep a close eye on both now.”

  Souter shook his head. “I can’t believe it’s so simple. It must be illegal.”

  Susan stood. “And now, as I feel invincible, I’m going to see Mr Chandler about that week’s holiday.”

  * * *

  By the time Strong arrived at Flynn’s office, the Superintendent was seated behind his desk. “Come in, Colin,” he said. “Shut the door and take a seat.”

  Strong did as asked. “Something wrong, sir?”

  Flynn studied Strong for a moment. “Charles Chamberlain,” he finally announced.

  “Ah.”

  “Indeed. How much of a fishing exercise have you been conducting?”

  Strong relayed the details of the photographs brought to his attention, his interviews with Mrs Chamberlain, the confrontation in A&E and his visit to Chamberlain’s office the day before.

  “But there’s no evidence of non-consensual or under-age activity?” Flynn asked when he’d finished.

  “It doesn’t appear so, sir.”

  “And Mrs Chamberlain hasn’t actually made a complaint of assault against her husband?”

  “No.”

  Flynn stood up and walked to the window, looked to the street below for a second before turning to face Strong. “Assistant Chief Constable Wadsworth asked me to have a word.”

  “Wadsworth?”

  “Giles, yes. He wondered if your persistence in this might be construed as harassment. He doesn’t feel unnecessarily upsetting a prominent lawyer in the town would help the cause.”

  Strong smiled … ah, the cause. “And which cause would that be, sir? The force or the Lodge, or possibly both.”

  “Now Colin, I’m only passing on ACC Wadsworth’s concerns here. It doesn’t do any good to upset the powers that be, especially …”

  “Especially as I’ve been passed over for the permanent DCI position.”

  “Look, I know you’re upset with that. But you’re not doing yourself any favours by provoking the wrong people.”

  “The wrong people?” Strong stood up and took a step towards Flynn “Maybe I should have accepted Jack Cunningham’s invitation all those years ago and joined. I might even have had your job by now.” He put up both hands and waved Flynn away. “No, I wouldn’t have been able to live with myself. At least I can sleep easy on a night.”

  “Colin. Calm down.”

  “Calm down? I’m perfectly calm. I had every right to investigate the contents of those photos. And if Giles’s ‘brother’ turns out to be a wife-beater then that’s perfectly all right then is it?”

  “Just don’t do anything hasty.”

  He turned, walked to the door and opened it. “By the way, I wasn’t planning on doing any more digging on those photos. But I will if Mrs Chamberlain wants to press charges.” He left and closed the door before Flynn could respond.

  On the way back down to his office, he felt for the comforting outline of the cigar packet in his jacket pocket.

  18

  Souter pulled up in the street about twenty yards from Alison’s front door. He’d driven past once already, checking other parked cars for any signs of life; anyone possibly keeping an eye on the place. He didn’t want to admit it but that call this afternoon from Kennedy - and he was sure it was Kennedy - had unnerved him. Just what was so important that he had to be warned off? Was the development that lucrative for Brogan? In any event, Alison was too important for him to be putting her in jeopardy.

  Again, he looked up and down the street before letting himself in to her house.

  “Is that you, Bob?” her voice came from the kitchen.

  Savoury aromas were wafting through the room. “Smells like you’re cooking up a storm.”

  She appeared at the doorway smiling, a glass of red wine in her hand. “Oh, just something I’ve thrown together.”

  He put his bottle of wine on the coffee table and walked towards her. “Come here,” he said, a huge grin on his face. He put both arms around her, pulled her close and kissed her. “I’ve not had a chance to thank you for coming to my rescue.”

  She laughed. “Head feeling better then?”

  Both hands dropped to her bottom, squeezed and pulled her closer. “Much,” he said.

  “Nothing wrong with your friend either,” she giggled and pulled away.

  He stood leaning against the door frame and watched her bend down and open the oven door. “Home-made pizza,” she said over her shoulder.

  “And for afters?”

  “Down boy.”

  Whilst Alison fettled around in the kitchen, Souter nervously walked around the sitting room. He checked the street again from the window before lifting the telephone receiver and listening for any unusual clicks and tones.

  “What are you doing?” Alison took him by surprise.

  “I just … well, I was making sure it was working okay.”

  “And the glances through the window?”

  He looked down at the floor but said nothing.

  She moved closer, put her arms around him and kissed the top of his head. “This attack has shaken you up. More than you’re admitting, hasn’t it?”

  He raised his head, feeling sheepish. “I’m more worried that you’re okay.”

  “Me?” She looked incredulous. “What’s it got to do with me? Unless … Is there something I should know about? You still haven’t told me about this Lofthouse story you’ve been working on.”

  He shook his head. “No, it wasn’t that. I was only concerned that you might have been affected by finding me … having to go to hospital with me … you know.”

  She kissed him on the lips. “Come on, silly boy. I’m absolutely fine. Let’s go and eat. This is ready now.”

  During their meal, Souter asked about Alison’s possible trip to New York.

  “Yeah,” she said, “I was going to tell you all about it when we were at L’Italia the other night, but you didn’t make it, remember?”

  “Cheeky sod.” He grinned. “I might have had a bang on the head but my memory hasn’t gone.”

  “Anyway, they want me to fly out on the second of September. It’s a Sunday. The office manager will meet me at JFK and show me round. I’m going by Virgin, isn’t that great?”

  “Get you, JFK. You’ll be talking like a native in no time.”

  “I doubt it. I couldn’t disguise my accent.”

  “And you’ll be based in one of those towering buildings?”

  “The World Trade Center, yes.”

  “So how long will you be there?”

  “The return ticket will be for Sunday October the fourteenth. So, if you can, you could fly over for the first two weeks in October.”

  “So you’ll be away … what, six weeks.”

  “Yep, but I could see you for the last two.”

  “But I won’t see you for four weeks. That’s the whole of September. How am I going to manage?”

  Alison pulled a face. “You’ll be fine. And Sammy and Susan will keep an eye on you for me.”

  “I’ve never been to New York, so that’ll be great. I’ll ask Chandler tomorrow.” He topped t
heir glasses up with the Italian red he’d brought with him. “But you’ll never guess, Susan only went to see him today to ask for a week off in three weeks’ time.”

  “I know. Sammy requested that too. They’re off to Majorca. They’ll have a great time.”

  “But this is only a summer job for Susan. I thought she’d be pushing her luck but Chandler agreed.”

  “She has had a lot to cope with over the last year or so. And Sammy needs a break too. She’s blossomed really well. When I think about the first time I saw her … you and her together in your flat. I can’t tell you.”

  Souter smiled at the memory. He had ordered Chinese food for them both when Alison knocked on his door unexpectedly. “I thought you were the takeaway delivery. I’m so glad you took care of her. She deserved a bit of luck.”

  A mischievous expression grew on Alison’s face. “But would you have, though? Sammy, I mean?”

  “Come on, Alison, what do you take me for?” He was incredulous. “Of course I wouldn’t have. She was vulnerable. She’d come to me for help. I wanted to help. Look how she’s turned her life around.”

  “I know. I’m sorry.” She looked down to their empty plates. “Now, about afters.” She picked the plates up and took them to the sink. “I’ve got some cheesecake, if you fancy it.”

  His face broke into a broad grin. “That’s not all that’s on offer, is it?”

  She grinned coyly, took hold of his hand and led him upstairs.

  An hour later, they lay exhausted and naked on the bed. Darkness had fallen outside and the room was lit by the orange glow of the streetlamp over the road.

  Alison gently fondled him. “Glad to see the knock on the head hasn’t affected other parts.”

  He looked down and smiled. “Not with you.”

  After a few seconds, he rose and padded into the bathroom. When he returned, he couldn’t resist looking out of the window onto the street.

  “There is something bothering you, isn’t there?”

  He turned and smiled at her. “Just paranoid, that’s all. After what happened last week.”

  “And you’ve no idea why it happened?”

  “No,” he said and looked away.

  She swung her legs off the bed and reached for her dressing gown. “I don’t like it when you lie to me, Bob.” She slipped her arms into the robe, stood up and tied it at the waist. “I had enough of that with my previous.” She walked past him and out of the bedroom.