Talisman (The Wakefield Series Book 3)

by David Evans

  Ten minutes later, the duty solicitor announced that Whitaker was prepared to make a statement.

  Stainmore began to write.

  He made a full confession to five burglaries committed over the period from April through to July in West and South Yorkshire. He had spoken to all victims in his capacity as porter at Pinderfields and obtained background information from them as well as addresses. He was at pains to point out that Frank was coerced by him into taking part.

  “We’ll see what your son has to say when we take a statement from him, Mr Whitaker,” Stainmore responded.

  They were about to wrap up the interview when she thought of something else. “I am sorry about your mother,” she said, “but when we spoke about that at your flat before, you told me she was planning an operation.”

  Whitaker looked to the solicitor whose face wore a puzzled expression. After a pause, he answered. “It’s what she said.”

  “And you told me she was doing a cleaning job for, what was it you said, ‘some bloke with money’?”

  “That’s right.”

  She decided to take a chance and pursue her line of thought. “I couldn’t help noticing your reaction when we arrived in the car park earlier.”

  Whitaker lowered his head. “It was nothing,” he mumbled.

  “Mr Whitaker … Patrick, is there something else you want to tell me?”

  He looked up to the ceiling, took a breath then focused on Stainmore. “That bloke the other officers were bringing in …”

  “What about him?”

  “Chamberlain, you said.”

  “Go on.”

  “He looks as though he’s got a bit of money. I’m sure that was the name Mum mentioned … Chamberlain … you know when she were talking about her little cleaning job.”

  * * *

  Chamberlain’s solicitor arrived within twenty minutes of Strong placing him in the interview room. He was afforded a further ten minutes alone with his client. Finally, the questioning began. Darby sat silently beside his boss whilst Strong took Chamberlain through the complaint he’d received from Belinda before he asked Charles to comment.

  Chamberlain sighed, as if the interruption to his day was totally unjustified. “She was hysterical,” he began. “She was accusing me of all sorts of nonsense. And when I didn’t react … she actually punched me. I could have her charged with assault.”

  “That would be interesting,” Strong said.

  “Exactly. But I don’t want to go down that route. It would be just her word against mine.”

  “Unless you had a witness?”

  Chamberlain gave a sad smile. “You’re referring to Anthony, obviously.”

  “He has also given a statement.”

  Chamberlain leaned forward on the desk between them. “But he didn’t actually witness anything.”

  Strong flicked through some paperwork he’d brought with him in a plain file. “We think he did. He claims you were kneeling on top of your wife on the settee about to punch her.”

  Chamberlain gave a quick glance to his solicitor then faced Strong once more. “So he never actually saw any assault. And that’s because there was no assault, apart from Belinda on me.”

  “How did you get into that position, Mr Chamberlain?”

  “She stumbled; fell over the arm of the chair. I tried to stop her falling and she grabbed me pulling me over too. I landed on top. That was when Anthony appeared. He obviously mistook what he saw.”

  The solicitor gave a quiet cough and sat forward in his seat before speaking for the first time. “Mr Strong, my client has given you an honest account of what occurred. I put it to you that there was no assault, quite the reverse. My client was assaulted by his wife and in trying to restrain her, they both fell onto the settee which gave a false impression to their son.”

  “Well thank you for that,” Strong said, with a hint of sarcasm.

  There was a knock on the door, Stainmore looked in and apologised. “Could I have a quick word?” she said.

  In the corridor, she told Strong what Whitaker had said about his mother and Chamberlain.

  “Doesn’t really help with anything though, does it?”

  Stainmore slumped against the wall. “I know …”

  “Only you still have a nagging feeling …” Strong prompted.

  “What if she was attempting to blackmail him?” She pushed herself back upright. “And he’s lying about having access to her house. Was she a participant in their deviant games? The cause of death could be either way round.”

  “But we’ve absolutely no proof,” Strong said. “I haven’t got enough to charge him here either. His word against his wife’s. The son’s statement isn’t strong enough.” He looked to his shoes and thrust both hands in his pockets. “I don’t like the shit but I don’t think I can do anything about it.” He looked at Stainmore. “Anyway, a good result with Whitaker father and son. Flynn will be chuffed.”

  “I just thought you should know.”

  “Thanks, Kelly.”

  Strong rejoined Darby, Chamberlain and his solicitor in the interview room.

  “Just one other thing, Mr Chamberlain,” he said. “Denise Whitaker …”

  “God’s sake, inspector,” Chamberlain protested, “I’ve already told you all about her and how she cleaned for me.”

  “Was she trying to blackmail you?”

  Chamberlain spluttered. “What! You really need to rein in this vivid imagination of yours, Inspector.”

  “So she was never a participant in your activities?”

  A look of distaste appeared on Chamberlain’s face. “Please …” He looked to his solicitor.

  “I think, Inspector,” the solicitor said, “this fishing trip is at an end. If there’s no further questions regarding the … complaint of assault on my client’s wife, I think Mr Chamberlain should be allowed to resume his work.”

  27

  Souter glanced up from his desk when Susan appeared through the stair door.

  Seconds later, sensing her at his shoulder, he spoke without looking at her. “Where have you been till this time?”

  “Information.”

  He turned round to find her holding out the memory stick. He looked at it then saw her grinning. “What’s that?”

  “Take a look. Plug it in.”

  “Woah, just hold on. I’m not going to plug a memory stick into this computer. Not without knowing what’s on it and where it came from. These things can have viruses, not to mention files can be traced you know.”

  She made a point of checking there were no other members of staff at the adjacent workstations before she said in a low voice, “Files from Faulkner’s computer.”

  He looked shocked. “How the … never mind.” He stood up, grabbed her by the elbow and led her to the stairs.

  Out in the near privacy of the car park, Susan related the tale of Sammy, with her complicity, gaining entry to the Council Leader’s office and the close shave they’d had getting out.

  “Shit,” he said once she’d finished. “What if they identify the two of you?”

  “How would they? Nobody would recognise Sammy and I’ll stay away from the place.”

  Souter’s mouth hung open. “Are you serious? I thought you were intelligent, Susan. You spent a fair bit of time talking to his secretary. And have you never heard of CCTV?”

  Susan looked hurt. “Of course I have. I didn’t see any.”

  “No, you won’t.” He turned away and shook his head then spun back to face her. “Don’t you remember last year when Sammy’s friend was missing? Sammy and I went to see the CCTV manager and check the coverage of the Market for the night she disappeared. They have coverage everywhere; especially in the Town Hall. As soon as Faulkner realises he’s been infiltrated, he’ll instigate a security check. You might be lucky, but there’s a fair bet the CCTV manager would remember Sammy.”

  Susan composed herself. “Sammy looks totally different now to the cheap-looking girl she was
then. But it’s done now. We have copies of the files and Sammy took notes on other details she thought might be useful. So, the question is, do you want to know what we’ve got or not.”

  He held her gaze for a few moments then looked away. “All right. But not here. You two had better come round to my flat this evening after work. Make it seven, okay?”

  “I’ll text her.”

  “In the meantime, let’s get back and do what we’re supposed to be doing.” He strode off towards the office doors, Susan close behind.

  * * *

  It was ten past seven when Susan and Sammy knocked on the door of Souter’s flat. He let them in, a concerned look on his face.

  “Have you mentioned who I think was behind the incident down in the car park?” he asked Susan, once the girls had sat down on the sofa. He was still on his feet.

  Susan looked to Sammy. “This Kennedy character, yes.”

  “I’ve come across twats like him before,” Sammy said. Her body stiffened in a defiant gesture. “He doesn’t scare me.”

  “Well he should,” Souter said sharply. “He’s a few leagues higher up than that ‘twat’, as you so eloquently describe him, who was after you for some ridiculous rent money last year.” He was referring to the pimp who, after throwing Sammy out of her room, had attempted to extract money from her.

  Sammy seemed to deflate.

  Souter sat down on the easy chair. “Look, I don’t want to put you two, or Alison for that matter, into any more danger than you already might be.”

  “You really think this is a serious threat?” Sammy looked earnest.

  He rubbed his chin then sat up. “Kennedy phoned the day after the attack. Just to make sure I got the message. And yes, he did refer to you guys.”

  “Okay, but there’s nothing to arouse Brogan’s suspicion that we’re still investigating this though, is there?” Susan said.

  “And all we’re doing is having a look at Faulkner’s files,” Sammy added. “Nothing to connect with Brogan … yet.”

  Souter leaned back in the chair. “I’m still not sure about this.”

  “Well, we’ve got it now.” Susan waved the memory stick in front of her. “So we may as well have a look.”

  “Don’t worry,” Sammy said, “I can do an anti-virus check on it before we open anything up. And provided we don’t copy anything onto your hard drive, no one would be able to tell we’ve looked at those files.”

  Souter jumped up. “Okay, okay, you’ve worn me down. Let’s do it.”

  He switched on his PC in the corner of the lounge and waited for it to settle down. Sammy sat at the office chair and plugged in the stick. No viruses were detected and she began by opening up the email files. “I didn’t think I’d have time to copy the archive files,” she said, facing the screen, “but I managed to get the inbox, sent items and a few other folders on there.”

  Souter and Susan gathered on either side of Sammy.

  “So how far back do these go?” Souter asked.

  “January this year,” she answered, eyes never leaving the monitor. “We’ll have a look at the inbox first and see if anything interesting turns up.”

  After half an hour, they’d progressed as far as the end of April. Souter was jotting down notes of anything that might be of interest. So far it was a pretty meagre list. One thing they had discovered though was Faulkner’s personal email address. He’d forwarded one or two messages on to that.

  It was an email dated the second of May that first aroused Souter’s interest. That was from Kenneth Brogan thanking Faulkner for his time the previous day, concluding that he, Brogan, would be delighted to discuss further any assistance he could offer in respect of the project they had discussed.

  “I don’t suppose you got hold of his diary on this stick did you, Sammy?” Souter asked.

  She looked questioningly at him. “How long did you think we had in there? I only had time for these folders and a couple of other ones I thought might be of interest.”

  “Okay, let’s carry on. That icon there means he’s replied, doesn’t it?”

  Sammy nodded, made a few clicks on the mouse and brought up the Sent Items folder for the same date. “Here we are,” she said. “A polite response looking forward to discussing matters further.”

  Susan disappeared into the kitchen and reappeared ten minutes later with three coffees. In the meantime, Souter had noted two other email communications between Brogan and Faulkner. And then, on May the fifteenth, an email from Charles Chamberlain. “Further to our little chat last night at T,” it read, “I would be interested in facilitating your proposition but would be very wary of how you deal with KB. Amber light on this one. There could be alternatives. Regards C.”

  Souter read it twice and leaned back in his chair. “A bit cryptic, that,” he pondered.

  “Doesn’t look as though he replied to that,” Sammy said. “And ‘T’, what the hell’s ‘T’?”

  “I have an idea,” Souter said, “but let’s see what else appears.”

  By nine o’clock, they’d been through the emails received and sent up to the present. There had been a number of other references to ‘T’.

  “So come on then,” Sammy said, “what’s your theory on ‘T’?”

  “Talisman Club,” he replied.

  “Of course … I saw a card for that tucked in his diary.”

  “Did you now.”

  “Can’t say I know it,” Susan joined in, “But how come you’ve heard of it?”

  “Colin mentioned it to me a couple of weeks ago. In fact … we were talking about the woman who’d been found dead in Normanton. You remember … she’d been dead for over a year.”

  “I do, yuk,” Sammy said.

  “Anyway, he just seemed to throw it in. I’m not sure if he was still talking about that case or if his mind had moved on to something else. Was there anything on the card? A number, address or anything?”

  “Nothing. Just a symbol on the front and the words, ‘Talisman Club’. I turned it over and it was blank.”

  Souter seemed lost in thought for a second. “I wonder … I might have to have another word with Colin. In the meantime, I think we’ve done enough for tonight.”

  28

  Friday 3rd August 2001

  It was mid-morning and Strong was sifting through the statements that Stainmore and Ormerod had taken from the Whitakers yesterday. The search of their flat had proved fruitful and the medals had been formally identified by Mr Parsons. Luke said the old man had had tears in his eyes when he’d shown them to him. They were hopeful that several other items found would be identified by the victims or their relatives later today. He smiled to himself, satisfied that his team had worked hard to get a good result.

  A brief knock on the door interrupted his thoughts. DCI Hemingford and Detective Superintendent Flynn entered and closed the door behind themselves.

  Strong glanced up. “Looks serious,” he said.

  “Good result on those distraction burglaries, Colin,” Flynn said.

  Strong leaned back. “Thank you, sir,” he said. “Good work by Kelly and Luke too.”

  “Indeed.”

  There was a moment’s awkward silence before Strong spoke. “Was there something else?”

  Flynn coughed. “This Chamberlain business …”

  “Ah. Let me guess, he’s had a word with Giles again.”

  Flynn screwed up his face. “Colin … you know how this works …”

  “Only too well, sir.” He turned to the DCI. “And what about you, Rupert? Are you familiar with how things work?”

  Flynn’s tone stiffened. “There’s no need for that, Colin. The fact is there is no case to answer, as I understand it.”

  Strong frowned. “No case to answer? Have you spoken to Mrs Chamberlain? Listened to what she’s said. And their son who was there at the time?”

  “But he didn’t actually witness anything, though, did he? The fact is there is no evidence. We all know how these domesti
c violence cases go. They’ll be kissing and making up in no time.”

  Strong stood up from his chair and shook his head in disbelief. “I can’t believe you just said that. You haven’t been involved. You didn’t see her in A & E the other week.”

  “No I didn’t. But again there was no evidence that she’d been assaulted.”

  “Last time we spoke on this subject you asked if she’d made a complaint, which she hadn’t. She has now, though. And we’re duty bound to investigate that.”

  “So have a word. We don’t have enough evidence to pursue this any further. It would be better for all concerned if she withdrew her complaint.”

  “Better for whom? Mrs Chamberlain or you?”

  “Just fucking do it!”

  Strong pulled himself up into a straight position. “I will not be pressured into persuading a victim to withdraw a complaint.”

  Their gaze held for several seconds before Flynn turned to Hemingford. “Rupert, I’d like you to pay a visit.”

  “Sir.” Was it Strong’s imagination or did he pick up the faint smirk that crossed the DCI’s face very briefly.

  Flynn turned his attention back to Strong, pointing a finger. “And you … I’m making allowances here. Be very, very careful.”

  With that, he opened the door and strode out, Hemingford in his wake.

  * * *

  Susan had the appointment at four-thirty at the Orthopaedics Outpatients Department. This would be her final visit to allow the specialist to sign her off. Sammy managed to leave work early to come with her friend and they were sitting in the waiting area, already half an hour late. An elderly couple, who’d been complaining about the cost of car parking because they were an hour late being seen, had just been called through.

  “Here,” Sammy said, holding up a glossy magazine to Susan, “how many facelifts do you think she’s had?”

  Susan studied the photograph of an aging actress on the magazine’s page. “I dunno. She looks amazing for her age though.”

  “She’s admitting to three, but I reckon if she has another one she’ll have to start shaving.”

  Susan looked at her friend for a split second before they both burst into raucous laughter.