Talisman (The Wakefield Series Book 3)

by David Evans

  “Press release first thing this morning. I’m just on my way to speak to Bernard Faulkner. Going to do an interview and a piece for the evening edition. See you.” She strolled off towards the stair doors, a smug look on her face.

  They watched her disappear before he sat down on his chair.

  “How are you this morning?” Susan asked.

  “I’m okay,” he replied, but she could see that wasn’t really the case.

  “What was all that clandestine chat in the corridor with Colin about yesterday?”

  “Just some other information that helped with Belinda.”

  “What other information?”

  Souter sighed then finally decided he’d have to tell her. “The night before she went in to ‘confess’, she rang me.”

  Susan looked surprised. “So you knew she was going to do that?”

  Souter made a face. “Of course I didn’t. But I didn’t think anything about it until I found out what she’d done.”

  “What do you mean?”

  He nodded towards Janey’s empty work station. “It involves Janey too. Apparently, she’s knocking about with one of the firemen who attended the scene.”

  “She’s pulled a fireman?”

  “Don’t sound so surprised. Anyway, when she wrote the piece on the Friday after, she mentioned that the fire had been started by an iron left on a pile of clothes. But it was what she didn’t report that was interesting.” He then explained how Chamberlain had been found in the upstairs bedroom.

  “I get it,” Susan seemed to cotton on. “That info was never in the public domain but you told Belinda about it when she called you.”

  Souter nodded.

  “Hence she could tell the police that when she confessed and that added weight to what she said.

  “But there was one further piece of information that I didn’t know at the time. Colin told me yesterday. And I can’t tell anyone else, not even you.”

  “Okay, I can see that. But what do we do now? It was obvious she was covering for someone.”

  Souter looked at his watch. “Give it until later this afternoon, then you’re going to make a phone call.”

  * * *

  Belinda arrived home just after two in the afternoon. Grace had collected her from New Hall Prison in Flockton about ten miles to the west of Wakefield, where she’d been remanded in custody. Despite Grace probing her mother for answers, Belinda had refused to be drawn as to why she’d made a false confession. For the last fifteen minutes of the journey, Grace had resigned herself to the fact she’d have to change her tactics if she was ever to get to the truth.

  Belinda sat on the sofa in the lounge as Grace made tea. She looked ashen and years older since Grace had last seen her mother. Life inside New Hall, even for only a few days, had made its impact. She finally spoke, “Where’s Anthony?”

  “Out somewhere,” Grace answered.

  “Not surprised.”

  Grace brought in a mug of tea for her mother and one for herself and sat down next to her.

  Belinda cupped her hands around her mug and sipped gently. “How’s he been coping with all this?” she asked.

  “Hardly seen him to speak to. I think he’s avoiding me.” Grace looked to her mother. “You know I confronted him last week,” she said, “… about him lying about being with Simon?”

  Belinda looked alarmed. “What did he say?”

  “He just insisted the fire wasn’t anything to do with him and avoided every other attempt I made to get him to talk.”

  “I didn’t want him to know that I knew he wasn’t with Simon.” Another sip, then she turned to Grace. “But the police must be satisfied that he was, so Simon must have lied for him too. Otherwise …” She turned away and a tear ran down her cheek and dripped off her jaw.

  Grace placed a hand on her mother’s knee. “Oh Mum, I’m sorry I wasn’t here to help you with all this.”

  Belinda put her mug down and wiped her face with the back of her hand. “You’ve got your own life now,” she said, before the telephone interrupted.

  “I’ll get it.” Grace got up, walked over to the phone and picked it up.

  * * *

  Hemingford stood in front of the whiteboard and pointed. “Right, Charles Chamberlain … what do we really know about him?”

  The full squad were the audience in the CID Room.

  DS Jim Ryan and DC Sam Kirkland gave a succinct resume of who the victim was his business connections and family.

  The DCI was obviously still infuriated. “What I still can’t understand is how the hell did the wife know how he’d been found if she was never in that room.”

  “That was never in the papers,” Ormerod agreed.

  “Can only be one of the firemen on the scene.” Strong suggested.

  “She managed to speak to one of them then, is that what you’re saying?” Hemingford pressed, the taut atmosphere palpable.

  Strong held out his arms. “Or someone who knew one of them. You know how gossip gets around.” A few nods and mumbles. “Anyway, this isn’t getting us anywhere. What about some of the other leads we were exploring?”

  The tension in the room subsided. “Okay, Colin,” Hemingford said, “What about this Talisman Club thing then. What do we know about that?”

  Strong gave a brief outline of the informal, private gatherings that took place at the house and those so far known to have been involved.

  “Have all known ‘members’ been interviewed? Whereabouts for the evening in question?” Hemingford asked.

  Strong looked to Stainmore. “We’ve spoken to a number of them but we have a few more to get through. No-one without an alibi so far.”

  Hemingford turned his attention to Darby. “John, didn’t you say his mobile was being analysed?”

  “Yes, sir. Most calls in and out on the days before the fire were to named recipients on his connection list, nearly all business. But there were two calls on the 16th that came from an unregistered mobile. We’ve not been able to trace that yet.”

  “Well keep on it.” He looked to DS Ryan. “And Jim, what news from the investigation into his computer?”

  “Again, nothing to arouse suspicion,” Ryan replied. “All emails seem to be business related and nothing out of the ordinary.”

  “And nobody saw anything on your door-to-door enquiries, Sam?”

  Kirkland shook his head. “Afraid not.”

  Hemingford began to pace in front of the board. “Right, well get back out there and visit the neighbours again. Someone must have seen something out of the ordinary on that evening. Somebody must have visited the property. Christ, people walk dogs, kids play out. We need to get that breakthrough here.” He pointed at various officers in turn. “Look again at his business records, computer, phone. That woman of his, Anita is it? She must have something else to tell us. Let’s go to it.”

  * * *

  “Come here,” Susan said and wrapped her arms around Belinda in a bear hug. Sammy joined in too. All three were engaged in a tearful reunion. Grace had opened the door to them at the St John’s Square address and Belinda had walked up the hallway to meet them.

  That afternoon, Susan had called Belinda at home. Strong had told Souter that they were releasing Belinda at lunch-time and gave him the contact number. Souter had come with the girls, and he and Grace were left like embarrassed spectators.

  Belinda broke free. “Come on through,” she said, wiping her face and leading the way to the lounge.

  “We couldn’t keep quiet and let you be in prison,” Susan said, once they’d all sat down.

  “I know. I didn’t want to involve you. It was stupid of me to think you’d not come forward.”

  “Once the girls had made statements,” Souter explained, “they checked the CCTV footage from the pub where you were on the Thursday evening and that corroborated your version of events.”

  “I’ve caused an awful lot of trouble, haven’t I?”

  “Have the police given you a
hard time?”

  “That Hemingford bloke, have you met him, Bob? He wants me to come in to Wood Street tomorrow for ‘another chat’ he says.”

  “I know Colin’s not keen on him,” Souter replied. “You will be taking a solicitor with you though?”

  “She has to,” Grace jumped in.

  “But anyway,” Sammy spoke, “Why did you say you were there?”

  “Come on, you know we’re going to gang up on you,” Susan said with a smile.

  “Grace, why don’t you make our guests some tea,” Belinda said.

  “Mum!”

  “Okay, okay.” Belinda wiped her face again and composed herself. “You probably know why already. In a word, Anthony.”

  “You think he was involved, or worse still, set fire to the place?” Sammy asked.

  “I don’t know what to think. What I do know is that he lied to me … is still lying.” She related the facts as she knew them and her fears about her son.

  Grace added her concerns that her brother seemed secretive. “I suppose they all go through that phase,” she offered in conclusion.

  “Would you like Susan and me to have a chat with him?” Sammy wondered.

  “He might talk to us, not being family,” Susan added.

  Grace and her mother looked at one another. “Might be worth a go,” she said. “We’ve got nothing to lose.”

  49

  Wednesday 29th August 2001

  St John’s Square was quiet at just after ten o’clock at night. The street lights cast a warm glow over the pavement and front gardens and a gentle breeze rustled the leaves of the trees on the church side of the street. Souter had swapped places with Susan, who was now in the driver’s seat of his Escort. Sammy was in the rear, alongside him. The radio on low. Waiting. Belinda had rung him earlier to tell him that Anthony was due to return at ten. This was their best opportunity.

  Just after a quarter past, a tall, lanky figure appeared around the corner, hands thrust deep into his trouser pockets.

  “That’s him,” Souter said. “Are we all ready?”

  “Let’s do it,” Sammy responded.

  Souter waited until the boy was about to turn into his path. He got out of the car, walked round to the passenger door and held it open. “Anthony Chamberlain?” he asked. “We’d like a word.”

  The boy looked at Souter, then to the car and made a face. “Oh come on, I’ve told you all I know.”

  “It’ll only take a minute. Just clear a few things up.”

  Anthony shrugged, stepped forward and got into the front passenger seat. Souter closed the door and stood outside.

  “What? What the fuck is …” Anthony looked alarmed at Susan in the front then at Sammy behind. “You’re not police. I’m out of here!” He pulled the door handle but Souter pushed it closed again.

  “You can either talk to us or to the police,” Susan said, “The choice is yours.”

  “I know who I’d rather talk to,” Sammy added.

  “Look, Anthony,” Susan’s tone softened, “Your mother helped me a great deal last year. I’d like to think of her as a friend. I know what she did, she did for you. I think you owe it to her to be honest.”

  Anthony shook his head and Susan could see he was fighting with his emotions.

  “Anything you say to us in here … tonight … will stay in here,” Susan continued.

  “We promise,” Sammy said. “We won’t even tell him outside, if that’s what you want.”

  For nearly fifteen minutes the girls tried every means to persuade Anthony to open up, but he stuck to his story that he was with his friend, Simon. Finally, Susan got out of the car, shrugged and shook her head at Souter.

  Disappointed, he opened the passenger door and let the boy out.

  As Souter drove the girls back to their flat, they discussed how the conversation had gone. “All right, we’ll have to approach this from a different angle,” he finally said. “I’ll try and arrange something similar. I still think you two are the best means we have of getting at the truth, though.”

  50

  Thursday 30th August 2001

  Belinda had given Simon’s address and a description of him to Susan. She’d also rung his parents with a story of wondering whether Anthony had left his trainers at their house recently. Apparently, Simon was out, taking some books and CD’s back to the library on Balne Lane for his mother and himself. He’d set off about half an hour before and usually spent a fair bit of time browsing when he was there.

  Susan was at Alison’s house along with Sammy and Souter when Belinda had rung to tell her this. Quickly organising themselves, the three of them left Alison to continue preparing for her upcoming trip to the States on Sunday.

  The ugly concrete structure of Wakefield’s Balne Lane Library could have been a legitimate target of Prince Charles’ views on architecture. It performed its function well, however.

  They spotted Simon studying the rack of CD’s on the second floor.

  In a well-managed manoeuvre, Sammy and Susan approached him from different sides.

  “Hi Simon, how are you?” Sammy asked.

  He turned and looked surprised.

  “It is Simon, isn’t it?” Susan asked from the other side.

  “Who are you, what do you want?”

  “You’re friends with Anthony Chamberlain, aren’t you?” Sammy continued.

  His eyes narrowed. “What of it?”

  The girls began a practiced routine. Sammy: “Best friends, some would say.”

  Susan: “Do anything for him.”

  Sammy: “Keep secrets.”

  Susan: “Even lie.”

  Simon put his hands up, palms out. “What is this? Leave me alone.”

  Sammy: “We will when you tell us the truth.”

  Susan: “You see, Simon, Anthony’s mother was extremely kind to me recently. And when I heard she’d lied to the police … made a false confession … I was puzzled at first. But then I got to wondering why she would do that. And the only explanation that made any sense was that she was covering for someone … someone she really loved. And that someone could only be … Anthony.”

  Sammy: “Except Anthony maintained he was with you on the evening of the fire that killed his father.”

  Susan: “But he wasn’t, was he? Your Mum told Mrs Chamberlain she’d not seen too much of him recently. You were at home but Anthony wasn’t with you.”

  Sammy: “Do you know what the penalty for perjury is?”

  Simon’s head looked as if he was following a match on Wimbledon’s centre court, turning from one to the other. Finally, he raised both hands to his face, closed his eyes and shook his head. “Okay, okay,” he protested. “Not here.”

  Souter had been loitering by an adjacent section, browsing some videos. He looked up as they made to move away and caught the slight shake of the head from Susan as the three of them walked away.

  “We can get a coffee or something downstairs,” Sammy suggested.

  A few minutes later, Simon was sitting at a Formica topped table opposite Susan and Sammy, a Coke in front of him and coffees alongside the girls.

  “So what’s the big problem?” Susan asked.

  Again Simon appeared to be agonising over what to say. “Look, whatever I tell you, promise me you won’t tell Anthony’s Mum, or anybody else for that matter.”

  “That’s a pretty big ask when we don’t know what it is,” Sammy said.

  “The fire had nothing to do with Anthony. I know he was pretty pissed off with his Dad and what he’d been up to but trust me, he wasn’t anywhere near.”

  “But you weren’t with him, so how would you know?

  Simon looked down and studied his hands. After a moment he spoke quietly, “I was covering for him. But I knew where he was.”

  “I hear what you say but to convince us, you’re going to have to tell us a good bit more. You need to tell us where and what he was up to.”

  He looked up at Susan. “I told you, I
only covered for him.”

  Sammy looked to Susan. “Unless it’s totally illegal, I’m fairly sure that what you tell us will remain between us here.”

  Susan nodded agreement. “Of course.”

  “But it just doesn’t involve Anthony. I mean someone else could lose their job if it ever came out.”

  Susan was becoming exasperated. “Look Simon, you’re going to have to trust us.”

  A deep breath was the noisy precursor to Simon’s next statement. “Okay,” he began, “Anthony’s been having … having it away with one of our teachers.”

  Sammy and Susan looked at one another in shock before smiles began to form.

  “I know what you think, and I do to,” Simon went on, “Lucky bastard. Miss Weaver’s a cracker.”

  “Miss Weaver?”

  “She only came to the school this year. She teaches history.”

  Susan let out a deep breath. “How old is this Miss Weaver?”

  “Anthony says she’s twenty-one.”

  “And you’re sure he was with her that night?”

  “She’s got a flat in Smirthwaite Street, not far from the school. He goes there regularly.”

  “We are going to need her to confirm that.”

  Simon rubbed his hand over his head in an angry gesture. “You can’t. If this gets out, they’d know it was me who told you. Anthony would kill me.” He stopped, realising what he’d said. “I didn’t mean that, not literally. But she’d lose her job.”

  Susan leaned in closer to the boy. “Simon, if this is true, it’ll go no further. Stick to your story that you were with Anthony and … well, just hope that nobody else suspects anything.”

  He writhed in discomfort. “I shouldn’t have said anything.” He stood up. “I’ve got to go.”

  They watched him strut out of the cafeteria area before Souter joined them.

  51

  Friday 31st August 2001

  “Anthony?”

  “Not you again. Look, leave me alone.” Anthony turned to walk away.

  Souter had wandered into the Waterstones store in The Ridings. He caught sight of him at the rear where the lad was sorting some books on the Transport and History shelves.