Talisman (The Wakefield Series Book 3)

by David Evans

  He leaned on her desk, arms folded. “So I heard. But she didn’t report it, though.”

  “How many of them do?”

  “But are you thinking there’s a link with Denise Whitaker?”

  She sighed. “It was just that one call on her phone records from his office. I throw in her name; his initial denial. Now, he admits she did cleaning for him. So who knows, Luke. What else is he keeping quiet about?”

  “But it sounds like you’ve no evidence … just a feeling.”

  “Yeah, I know.” She suddenly leaned forward. “Anyway, what are you up to?”

  He walked back to his desk. “Well, I was about to head off to Pinderfields. The distractions.”

  “You got something?”

  He shuffled some papers in a file. “I was going to question Mike Samson, the services engineer. According to his firm, he’s supposed to be conducting some maintenance work in the plant rooms today. Fancy coming along?”

  She gave the invitation a moment’s consideration. “Why not.” She stood up and pulled her jacket off the chair back. “What about Patrick Whitaker though? The porter. I thought he was on your list?”

  Luke was already making for the door. “He’s on holiday for a few days. Gone fishing in the Lakes, so his boss tells me.”

  The Estates Manager’s office gave Ormerod the information he required. Mike Samson should be in a separate outbuilding behind one of the ward blocks. They followed the directions and saw a single storey flat roofed building with a white van parked outside. Ormerod and Stainmore exchanged glances.

  “White van,” Stainmore said.

  “A Mercedes Sprinter, not dissimilar to a Transit,” Ormerod added. “Let’s see what he’s got to say for himself.”

  Walking around to the front of the building, a pair of louvered doors to the building were wide open. As they approached, a tall stocky figure in blue overalls and yellow hard hat emerged.

  “Mr Samson?” Ormerod enquired.

  A wary expression immediately appeared on his face. “Who wants to know?”

  “I’m DC Luke Ormerod and this is my colleague DS Kelly Stainmore from Wood Street CID. I wondered if we could have a quick word.”

  “What’s this about? I’ve got to get this equipment back up and running otherwise the hospital will give me stick.”

  Ormerod turned to the road. “Is that your van, Mr Samson?”

  “Yes. What of it?”

  “You had it long?”

  Samson shrugged. “About two years, why?”

  Ormerod flipped open his notebook. “Can you tell me where you were on Thursday 19th April this year?”

  “I’ll have to check my diary. It’s in the van.”

  “If you would.”

  Samson walked to the van, opened the passenger door and flipped open a briefcase that was in the footwell. Rummaging through the pages of an A4 book with much writing, he stopped at 19th April 2001. “Pontefract Hospital,” he said. “I do maintenance work at various hospitals around and about.”

  Ormerod asked about 25th April and 3rd May. On the first date, Samson was on site at Pinderfields and on the other, back at Pontefract. Finally, he mentioned the most recent, 16th July.

  “Easy,” Samson responded, “I was in Corfu. Two weeks, fantastic. Just got back to work last week.”

  Ormerod could see the days in the diary scored through with ‘HOLIDAY’ in bold letters.

  “Thanks Mr Samson,” Ormerod said. “If we need to contact you again, what’s the best way?”

  “Here.” The man pulled out a business card and held it out to the detectives. “Mobile’s on here. Now if that’s all,” he indicated the building, “I really need to fire this equipment back up, if you don’t mind.”

  21

  Belinda was soaking her tired body in a hot bath at the flat. She shouldn’t feel fatigued but ever since she’d discovered the Outwood house, her energy levels had diminished. She needed to re-charge her batteries but everything that flowed from that discovery had acted like a drain.

  She’d already come to one decision; she was finished with Charlie. There could never be any trust there again. Okay, so he earned mega-bucks but she’d never been interested in money. Fine, it was good to have and she certainly enjoyed living in a smart part of town. But she’d struggled to make ends meet when she was a student nurse before she met him and that held no fear for her now. She knew that traits inherited from her mother helped in that respect.

  Anthony was her top priority now; and Grace. Her daughter seemed quite settled down south, so she wasn’t as anxious over her future as her son’s. But she’d have to get some professional advice. She thought of Karen, one of her nurse colleagues whom she’d trained with. She now worked on the Critical Care Unit at the hospital. It must have been three years ago when Karen went through a messy divorce but she remembered her saying how her solicitor had done a great job with the settlement. Maybe when she got back to work next week …

  She closed her eyes, slid beneath the water and lost herself in the feeling of complete relaxation; the water enveloping her. She was a child again, back in the comfort of her parents’ council house in Halifax. Safe, warm. She pushed herself back up into the sitting position and quickly opened her eyes, aware of another presence.

  “Glad to see you’re nice and relaxed,” Charlie said. “At least one of us can.”

  Instinctively, she wrapped her arms around herself. “What are you doing in here? Get out!” she shouted.

  “There was a time when you’d invite me in.” A thin smile played around his mouth.

  “I was younger and more naive then. Now will you please leave?”

  He shrugged and left the room. “I’ll wait for you out here.”

  She pulled the plug, stood and began to dry herself on the towel. As she stepped over the side of the bath she paused and took some deep breaths. She could feel her heart racing. She could do without this stress. She was feeling vulnerable. Anthony wouldn’t be home just yet. But then she relaxed. What was she worried about? It was only Charlie.

  A few minutes later, a bath robe pulled tight around her, she walked through the lounge, past Charlie sitting on the sofa, and into the kitchen. She filled the kettle and switched it on before returning to stand in the doorway. “Do you want a drink?”

  “Time was I’d pull that chord free and open up that robe,” he smirked.

  “But now, all you’d want to do with it is tie me up. I’ve seen the photos, don’t forget.”

  He stood up, his face twisted in anger. “You’ve created all sorts of shit for me. Why couldn’t you just mind your own business? The police have been round to the office again this morning asking all sorts of questions.”

  She pulled herself straight and tensed. “I’m surprised you haven’t got your mate Giles to call them off.”

  This deflected him. “Hasn’t bloody well worked.”

  “So you have tried then? I can only guess he’s not one of your flagellation gang.”

  He flinched and pointed a finger at her. “Don’t you … It’s …” Once more, he softened. “Look, I was only involved with this because these guys are into all that. I thought it would be a good lever.”

  “Blackmail you mean?”

  “No, not that. But it might lead to … new business opportunities. It’s useful to have influential people that would be willing to do you a favour.”

  Belinda broke into a smile. “So let me get this straight, you only organised all these … entertainments to help promote the legal practice?”

  “Well … yes in a way.”

  “And you didn’t get any enjoyment from it?”

  He stiffened and took a step towards her. “That’s not what it was all about.”

  “Bollocks!” She screwed up her face, her voice rising. “You must think I’m really thick. Of course you were enjoying it. Still are as far as I can see. You’ve not been near me for ages. And boy, am I so glad you haven’t.”

  He took a
nother step closer. “I haven’t been near you because you don’t do anything for me anymore.” His voice rose until he was shouting at her. “You’re so fucking frigid. I can’t imagine you satisfying any man!”

  All her feelings rose to the surface as she clenched a fist and punched him in the face. For a split second he stood stock still; shocked. And then he grabbed her by the hair and pulled her forward into the lounge. He pushed her over the arm of the sofa so she landed on her back lengthwise. The robe parted, exposing her naked body. He threw himself on top of her, knees either side and grabbed her head again.

  He clenched his fist and was about to punch her when a blood-curdling scream came from the direction of the door. Anthony launched himself on top of his father and rolled him onto the floor. Flowers in a vase flew off the coffee table and smashed on the marble hearth of the fireplace. Son rained a hail of punches into father; mother screamed in shock.

  “Anthony! For Christ’s sake …” Charlie struggled to free himself from his attacker.

  “I told you last time …” More effort and struggle. “Come near Mum again …”

  Finally Charlie rolled Anthony off and onto his back then turned and held him down.

  “Calm down!” Charlie shouted. “Anthony! Stop!”

  The boy struggled a bit longer but his anger finally subsided.

  “I gave you a free shot last time,” Charlie said. “No more.”

  Belinda, stunned initially, drew the robe around her and jumped on Charlie’s back, her arm around his neck in a stranglehold, pulling.

  “All right. All right … enough!” he said.

  Slowly, all three began to relax and slacken their grip on each other. Belinda got to her feet, breathing heavily, then Charlie slowly stood. Anthony wriggled and jumped up.

  “No!” Belinda shouted. “Anthony, no. Leave it. Your father’s leaving.”

  Anthony was breathing hard, staring at his father, pure hate in his eyes.

  Charlie looked from his son to Belinda, a chastened expression on his face. He shrugged his jacket back into shape before making halting progress to the door. “I’m sorry,” he said, He disappeared into the hall and they heard the front door opening and closing.

  Anthony looked to his mother, his expression softening. “Did he hurt you?”

  Belinda chuckled. “I’m all right. But I did smack him in the face.” She shook her fist loosely. “Quite a good one, if I say so myself … but it bloody hurt.”

  Anthony’s face broke into a broad grin. He walked forward and hugged Belinda. She wrapped her arms around him and they stood motionless for a few minutes, tears dripping down her cheeks.

  “You have to report this,” Anthony finally said, pulling free. “It can’t go on, Mum. This is the second time that I know of.”

  She wiped her face with both hands. “It is,” she said. “But I don’t want to cause any more trouble. I don’t want to make things worse.”

  Anthony looked incredulous. “How can they get any worse?”

  “Let me get dressed and we’ll talk in a bit.”

  22

  Wednesday 1st August 2001

  “And so, ladies and gentlemen, without any further preamble, I’d like to introduce your new DCI, Rupert Hemingford,” DCS Flynn concluded.

  A short burst of applause broke out and Hemingford stepped forward. At six foot three, he was a few inches taller than Strong, slim and with mousy brown hair cut neatly short. “Thanks for those generous words,” he addressed Flynn, before facing the assembled CID officers. “I hope to meet you all on a one-to-one basis over the next few days but from what Superintendent Flynn has told me you’re a very talented bunch and I should be pleased to have you working with me.” His accent was slightly cultured, fairly nondescript southern English. “And please note, my attitude is very much working together with you, rather than you working for me. I look forward to that very much.”

  Luke Ormerod bent down and whispered into Strong’s ear, “Tosser.”

  Strong, sitting at a desk, stifled a chuckle and looked round the room to see how the others were reacting to the new man. He wasn’t as quick to make judgements. If the man had made it to the rank of DCI at the age of thirty-seven, then he obviously had some qualities that appealed to the higher ranks, even if much of it was political.

  “And don’t forget, my door is always open. Thank you.”

  DS’s Kelly Stainmore and Jim Ryan stood together by the next desk to the right. Although looking at Hemingford, Stainmore didn’t seem to be paying full attention. DC’s Malcolm Atkinson and Jim Darby were standing by a bank of filing cabinets whilst Trevor Newell and Sam Kirkland stood in front of the desk to Strong’s left.

  Another polite burst of applause and Hemingford disappeared with Flynn once more.

  “I see he’s been on the standard team building course they’ve all been on,” Ormerod sneered. “My door is always open,” he mimicked.

  “Give the man a break, Luke. He’s only just walked in. He’s only saying the same sort of things I would.”

  “Difference is, we know you mean it, guv.” Ormerod turned away, content to have made his point.

  Atkinson and Darby joined Ryan and Stainmore and mumbled a few words before dispersing to their respective work stations.

  Newell and Kirkland turned to Strong. “So what do you reckon, guv?” Kirkland asked.

  “Early days,” was all that Strong felt able to add.

  Sergeant Bill Sidebotham appeared at the door and scanned the assembled detectives. Eventually, he spotted his target and waited until Strong caught his eye. He gave a nod and disappeared back into the corridor. Strong rose and made his way as discreetly as possible in pursuit.

  In the corridor, Sidebotham looked serious. Strong knew there was something amiss as his usual demeanour was a smiling jovial character.

  “Colin, I’ve got a woman and her son downstairs … will only speak to you,” he said.

  “Who?”

  “Gave her name as Belinda Chamberlain.”

  * * *

  Strong held out a hand to Belinda after he walked into the interview room where Bill Sidebotham had placed her and Anthony. “Mrs Chamberlain, how can I help?”

  She shook it gently. “Belinda, please.”

  “He attacked her again,” Anthony interceded. “He was on top of her about to punch her in the face.”

  Belinda turned to her son. “Anthony, it wasn’t as straight forward as that.”

  “I saw what I saw,” he said belligerently.

  “You weren’t there from the start.”

  Strong could see the frustration building in the lad’s demeanour. “Perhaps if you would come with me, Belinda, and we could have a conversation as you would want to,” he said. “Anthony will be fine in here.” He looked to the boy. “Perhaps a drink … tea, coffee or a cold one?”

  Anthony sullenly shook his head. “Make sure you tell him everything,” he said to his mother.

  “I’ll talk to your mum and then we’ll take a statement from you. Is that okay?” Strong said.

  “Suppose,” he shrugged.

  Strong led Belinda upstairs to the Soft Interview Suite, reserved for sensitive questioning of victims of crimes such as rape or sexual assaults. He left her alone for a few minutes whilst he grabbed Kelly Stainmore to sit in with him.

  Once seated on comfortable sofas, Belinda, having declined a drink, began telling Strong and Stainmore about the events of the night before. He let her tell the story without interruption until she concluded at the point where Charlie had left.

  “Okay,” Strong said. “Thanks for being so frank about all this, Belinda. Now I would like my colleague DS Stainmore, Kelly here, to take a formal statement from you. Are you quite sure you’d like to do that?”

  She looked surprised. “Are you trying to talk me out of this?”

  “No, not at all. It’s just something we have to make certain, that’s all. Don’t worry.” He smiled. “You’ve done the right thing.�
��

  Ten minutes later, Stainmore was taking Belinda’s statement as Strong and Ormerod sat with Anthony.

  “There’s nothing to be frightened of Anthony,” Strong said after introducing his colleague. “Your mother’s having a statement taken by another of my colleagues.”

  The boy looked disbelievingly. “Is that when you talk her out of it?”

  “Not at all. We take domestic crime very seriously. Certainly I do, as do my colleagues.” Strong glanced to Ormerod who nodded agreement. “But before we can take any action, we need to have written statements. Now, is it okay if you tell us, in your own words in your own time, exactly what happened last night?”

  Anthony proceeded to tell how he’d arrived back home, spotted his father’s car parked outside and rushed inside. When asked why he’d ‘rushed’ he said he’d been fearful of what his father might do to his mother. He went on to relate how he’d entered the flat and heard his parents arguing. He appeared at the living room door to find his mother on her back on the settee and his father astride, one knee either side. His father had hold of Belinda’s head and was poised as if to punch her.

  “But he didn’t actually strike her, did he?” Strong interrupted.

  Anthony screwed up his face. “Whose side are you on?”

  “It’s not a question of sides,” Strong responded in an attempt to answer the lad’s natural suspicions. “We just need to be absolutely sure of what happened. It has to be accurate because whatever we record may be part of evidence that will be given in a court of law. If there’s any flaw in that evidence, a defence barrister would expose it and any future case could collapse.”

  “I understand,” he said, in a conciliatory tone. “In answer to your question, no, he didn’t actually strike her.” His tone hardened again. “But he did that night you saw us in A & E.”

  “So why don’t you tell me about that night?” Strong prompted.

  “I was in my room, listening to some CDs. Mum had come in from a late shift and Dad was watching TV. After a little while, I heard their voices raised. I couldn’t make out what they were saying at first. But they got louder and I started to get worried. As I opened the door, I heard Dad say something about photos. There was a crash of … like dishes crashing to the floor. Then a scream. I knew he’d hurt her. I ran into the living room and she was getting up off the floor by the door to the kitchen. He was huffing and puffing … like walking round … like in circles. I rushed over to Mum and began to help her up.”