One Dead Witness

by Nick Oldham

  A personal radio stood on its base on Henry’s desk, tuned into the encrypted channel dedicated to the arrest operation. It crackled. A message passed from one member of the Surveillance Unit to another. It was nothing for Henry or Danny or the arrest teams, who were biding their time by playing snooker upstairs in the recreation room.

  Danny’s heart jumped, but she remained calm.

  Soon, she thought. Soon.

  ‘Any progress?’

  ‘Zilch.’

  ‘Not to worry,’ Karl Donaldson said reassuringly. ‘She’ll turn up.’

  ‘Yeah, yeah, sure,’ Myrna moaned. ‘Look, I’m really sorry if I’ve caused any problems over there. She was right here when I spoke to you.’ Myrna gestured to the empty seat in her office as though Donaldson could see. ‘Then I dozed off and when I woke, she’d skedaddled.’

  ‘Just keep me posted.’

  ‘Yeah. Hey, Karl, thanks for phoning. I’ve felt such a barf.’

  ‘Forget it.’

  ‘Got him! Target Two in sight, walking down the Promenade. Dressed in a pale blue suit. Grey shoes. Completely un-fucking-mistakable. Stands out like a prick in a nursery.’ Danny grabbed the radio before Henry could.

  ‘Good job. But remember there’s more than just you and your team listening, so maintain strict radio discipline. Received?’

  ‘Roger,’ grunted the glum reply, knuckles rapped.

  ‘Whereabouts on me Prom?’ Danny asked.

  ‘Just outside Tussaud’s, walking north. There’s a two-man follow behind him now on foot. We’ve got him. He’s not going anywhere without us knowing, especially in that suit.’

  ‘Keep us informed.’

  Henry gestured for the radio.

  ‘Arrest squad two,’ he transmitted over it. ‘CID office, two minutes, ready to roll, please.’

  ‘Already there, boss,’ came the reply.

  ‘I’ll see you later.’ Henry pointed at Danny, stood up, and clicked his thumb.

  ‘Henry?’ She rose slowly and looked at him.

  Another of those stomach-churning, ‘Do we? Don’t we?’ moments flipped between them. Both caught it, both held back. Instead, Henry squeezed her hand and less than romantically said, ‘Next time I see you, make sure it’s in the custody office.’ It was probably destined to be one of the great romantic lines of all times. They laughed, parted and Henry was gone.

  The Promenade was bitter cold, the usual icy wind driving in from the Irish Sea. Henry danced a jig and rubbed his hands to keep warm. His jacket collar was turned up high around his ears, his shoulders hunched low. He was near the entrance to North Pier, looking across the wide Prom towards a row of amusement arcades on the opposite side of the road, just south of the junction with Talbot Square. He was chatting to a member of the Surveillance Unit.

  Ollie Spencer - Target Two - had been seen to enter ‘Ollie’s Amusements’ and go into the back room of the arcade. As arcades went in Blackpool, it was one of the less salubrious ones, fairly grotty, but still able to attract the penny-droppers. From the short opportunity Henry had had to do some research into Charlie Gilbert, he knew the fat man owned this business.

  The front and rear of the arcade were covered by the surveillance team. At anyone time, using a tried and tested rotation system, there could be up to three members of the team in the premises, playing the bandits and video games. All on expenses, of course.

  Once Henry had been briefed as to the situation, he walked back to his car parked a safe distance away. A member of his arrest team was driving for him.

  The surveillance officer he had been talking to rejoined his team.

  Henry crashed back into the passenger seat and smiled at his companion, a Detective Constable named Dave Seymour. Henry turned up the heater and said, ‘We wait.’

  Seymour nodded. Waiting suited him. He didn’t like moving unless absolutely necessary.

  The other members of the arrest team - two uniformed officers driving an unmarked police car - were parked nearby.

  ‘He’s coming out of his office now,’ a voice came over the radio. ‘Leaving via the rear door. Get ready guys, ‘n’ gals, he’ll be with you in fifteen seconds.’

  There was a silent delay on the airwaves. It seemed interminable.

  ‘Got him,’ came the next voice eventually, ‘heading towards Talbot Square.’

  Henry breathed out, not realising he had been holding his breath in the first place.

  They followed him unobtrusively, sometimes even brushing past him, even actually making eye-contact with him on occasion. So Spencer actually saw members of the surveillance team, yet never once suspected remotely they were cops and he was being tailed.

  ‘Up Talbot Road, away from the Prom.’

  ‘He’s going to take them to his flat,’ Henry mused out loud. Where, if their information was correct, Claire had been murdered.

  ‘Turning left onto Dickson Road.’

  Henry looked at Seymour. Yes, Ollie Spencer was taking them home.

  The other surveillance team were not having quite the same measure of success. The whereabouts of Target One, Charlie Gilbert, eluded them. They set up an ob-point near his house in Poulton-le-Fylde, but no one was home. Another ob-point was at his usual place of work - a grand, restored building, formerly a warehouse of some sort which had been refurbished as offices and storage facilities. But Gilbert could have been anywhere. He owned a chain of arcades down the Golden Mile on the sea-front, restaurants, cafes, shops selling cheap tack; and not only in Blackpool. There probably wasn’t one large town in the Northwest of England which did not have one of Gilbert’s arcades in it. They were everywhere. His other recent business moves included out-of-town developments where, several years before, he had bought cheap land and then as the out-of-town shopping boom burst open, he began to develop the land, making vast amounts of money in the process.

  In Henry’s office, Danny grew impatient, wanting to get going. She tapped her teeth with the tip of her pen as she listened to the movements of the team tracking Spencer.

  Her PR crackled. ‘Target Two now entering the flat above the electrical goods shop.’ She heard Henry acknowledge this piece of information. Then: ‘Unit One interrupting!’

  Whoa! Danny’s heart quickened.

  ‘Target One’s vehicle now pulling into the driveway of his home. DS Furness received?’

  She jumped for the radio. ‘Sit on him, don’t let him see you and wait for support. . . Arrest Squad One, meet me down in the garage.’ She spun out of the office into the corridor and collided, body to body, face to face, with Jack Sands.

  She tried to heave him out of the way.

  He took hold of her, his big powerful arms circling her body, and he literally carried her back into Henry’s office, slamming the door behind him with his heel. Danny squirmed and wriggled herself out of his grasp.

  ‘I haven’t got time for this shit, Jack,’ she snarled angrily. ‘Just get out of the way.’

  His tongue ran along the inside of his lower lip, like a reptile was slithering about in his mouth. ‘You think you’re so fucking smart, don’t you?’

  ‘Jack, I need to get out fast. I’ve got important work on. Please.’

  ‘That’s exactly what I mean. You think you’re some high-fuckin’ -falutin’ detective now, working on some very important cases.’ He mimicked Danny with these last three words, shaking his head and sounding like some kind of Hooray Henry. ‘But you’re not.’ He poked his finger right in the middle of her cleavage so forcefully she staggered backwards against the desk, holding it for support. ‘You’re just a fuckin’ no-good bitch that doesn’t know anything except what I’ve taught her, and what have you done to me? Eh? Dumped me - like that.’ He clicked his fingers with a snap and a jab forward of his face.

  ‘Let me go, Jack.’

  She pushed herself away from the desk and tried to walk round him. He took hold of her again and pulled her to him.

  ‘No - I won’t let you go. Ever. I l
ove you. Don’t you see what you’re doing to me?’

  Her eyes softened for a moment. Jack released some of the power of his grip, giving her space to manoeuvre. Just enough room to twist slightly and, once again, drive her knee up into his testicles.

  He roared in agony, released her, doubled up in pain, and reeled away, clutching his privates, cursing and swearing. His eyeballs were ready to pop out.

  Danny left him hobbling around the office, no backward glance.

  Fifteen minutes later.

  ‘In position,’ Danny transmitted.

  ‘Received.’ Henry acknowledged Danny’s radio message. This meant everyone was ready to roll - the initial arrest teams, backed up by the evidence-gatherers.

  Henry breathed deep. ‘Let’s hit ‘em,’ he said, his mouth dry in anticipation.

  When the ‘Roger’ came from Danny, he opened his car door and moved.

  Gilbert’s house had a huge sweeping driveway, the house itself set in two and a half acres of landscaped gardens. There were wrought-iron gates at the entrance to the drive, but they were open. A convoy, led by Danny and her arrest squad, drove at a sedate pace and stopped outside the front door of the house.

  Danny rang the bell. She had decided this arrest was going to be made in a dignified, adult manner ... at least, that’s how it would start out. This approach didn’t stop her sending two cops around the back of the house to ensure there was no chance of a back-door dash.

  Gilbert came to the door. Danny had never been close to the guy before, but had seen photos of him. She was astounded - and repulsed - by his enormity. He was like an overweight walrus, with broken capillaries all over his face, tiny piggy eyes and a girth which needed a chalk-mark to measure it. He was so hideous she almost giggled.

  ‘Detective Sergeant Furness, Blackpool CID.’ She wafted her warrant card and badge under his nose. ‘Are you Charles Gilbert?’

  He nodded, perplexed.

  ‘I’m arresting you on suspicion of the murder of Claire Lilton.’ Danny cautioned him and waited for his reply.

  He blinked rapidly a few times. Then, patronisingly, said, ‘Dearie, you are making one hell of a mistake here. Do you know who I am?’

  ‘I know exactly who you are, Mr Gilbert.’ Danny smiled sweetly and waved the search team into the house.

  ‘What the hell’s going on here?’ Gilbert demanded. He moved his bulk and wedged himself into the doorway. ‘You’re not coming in here. Where’s your warrant?’

  Danny regarded him, rotating her lower jaw as if chewing gum. ‘Under the Police and Criminal Evidence Act, we don’t need one.’

  The officer leading the Support Unit search team was standing at Danny’s shoulder, his troops behind him, eager to get on with the job. He poked his chin over Danny’s shoulder and said, ‘So if you don’t get out of the way, you big fat tub of lard, we’ll happily move you.’

  Gilbert nodded, beaten. He moved aside and whined, ‘I want a solicitor - now.’

  ‘You’ll get one when you reach the police station,’ Danny told him. ‘Now what I’d like you to do is accompany these two officers to that van, get in and be taken to Blackpool police station.’

  ‘I said I want a solicitor now.’

  Danny remained pleasant in tone. ‘Sooner you get in the van, sooner you get to the station, sooner you get a brief.’

  One of the uniformed officers on the arrest squad reached out and tried to grab Gilbert’s upper arm. It was too big and fat for his hand.

  ‘Don’t you dare touch me,’ Gilbert said, shaking him off.

  ‘No more delay.’ Danny’s voice hardened. ‘Get in the back of the van, now.’

  Gilbert eyed her dangerously and pushed past her.

  As an aside, the uniformed officer said to Danny, ‘I honestly don’t think he’ll fit in. We should’ve brought an HGV for the fat bastard.’

  Danny sniggered. Stage one over. With a sense of satisfaction, she prepared to send Henry a message over the airwaves: mission accomplished.

  Her boss had decided on a less subtle approach for Ollie Spencer. A rapid entry was needed in this case, because if the police took too much time getting in, Spencer might be able to dispose of vital evidence; with his flat being the supposed scene of the murder, Henry wanted as much from it as possible.

  The entrance to the flat was by way of a door at the rear of an electrical shop, leading directly to some stairs and up onto a landing; the doors of the flat were off this landing.

  Henry’s team had to get in, get up the stairs and locate Spencer before he knew what had hit him. To assist the team they had a map which had been drawn initially by Grace, then improved by a detective. According to this floor plan, once on the landing, there was a bedroom door to the left, bathroom, toilet and kitchen through doors on the right and dead ahead, a living room.

  The Support Unit were going to do the entry, race up the stairs, split like the Red Arrows and hit each door virtually simultaneously. Maximum fifteen seconds from going in the door to locating and neutralising Spencer, they promised.

  The officers gathered around the outer door with the ‘Ram-it’ in the hands of one of them.

  He shuffled his shoulders, flexed his fingers on the handles of the thirty-inch, thirty-five pounds of solid metal tubing with a flattened end. He swung it backwards about two feet to gain the necessary momentum, then let it swing towards the door.

  Fourteen thousand pounds of kinetic force burst the door open with one blow. The officer pivoted out of the way.

  The Support Unit teams raced in and bounded up the stairs in a well-practised drill.

  At the top of the stairs they split and hit the doors.

  Twelve seconds after entry the shout went up: ‘Suspect located - neutralised - bedroom.’

  Henry Christie jogged up the stairs to -the bedroom where he saw Spencer, naked, lying spreadeagled on the bed, a rather flaccid erection meandering up from his ginger pubic hair. A young boy who looked no more than nine, also naked, was sitting next to him on the bed.

  ‘Found this one, too.’

  Henry turned at the voice. An officer was holding another youngster, this time a girl, who had only a towel wrapped loosely around her.

  Henry looked at Spencer and arrested him for murder.

  ‘One arrested - no problems,’ Danny informed Henry over the radio, just moments after he had cautioned Spencer and thrown a pair of trousers at him.

  ‘Received,’ he replied. ‘Ditto - no problems either, just a couple of house-guests, probably mispers.’

  ‘Understood.’

  ‘We’ll probably be at the nick before you, so we’ll book our chap in, then I’ll call you when the coast is clear.’

  ‘Roger,’ Danny replied.

  Henry turned his attention back to Spencer, who was making a meal of getting dressed. ‘Get your fucking clothes on,’ the DI growled, ‘or I’ll drag you naked through the streets of Blackpool and show everyone what a pervert you are.’

  Spencer eyed him unsurely; decided he was probably telling the truth.

  He was fully dressed within a minute.

  Spencer was processed into the custody system fairly smoothly. He was quiet and easy to deal with, saying little, exercising none of his rights until he found out where he stood. When he was sitting in a cell, Henry radioed Danny to bring Gilbert in.

  By this time he had been sitting in the back of the van in the rear yard of the police station for about fifteen minutes, getting increasingly restless.

  Danny opened the van doors, then the inner cage door.

  Gilbert eased himself through the gap.

  ‘You are going to look so stupid,’ he told Danny.

  ‘Yeah, right.’ She pointed to the back door of the police station. ‘I believe you made an official visit here a few weeks ago, so you’ll know the way to the cells.’ She pushed him gently. He snapped her hand away.

  ‘Don’t ever touch me.’

  ‘Don’t make me have to.’

  He
walked to the door. Behind him one of the uniformed officers imitated his rolling gait, blowing his cheeks out like a trumpet-player and forcing his belly out. Danny laughed silently ... but the smile dropped from her lips as, right at the back door, the one and only police witness in the case appeared in the company of a social worker and literally walked straight into Gilbert.

  ‘How could that have happened?’ FB demanded furiously. ‘Your most vital witness walking right into the main suspect. Come on - how?’

  ‘I don’t know, sir,’ Danny admitted. ‘It just happened - one of those things. I feel bad about it. It should not have happened ... just an unlucky coincidence.’

  ‘Someone should swing for this,’ FB blazed.

  Henry had watched him browbeating Danny for long enough. ‘What’s done is done,’ he said reasonably. ‘No one’s to blame for it. Grace had been handed over to Social Services and was leaving the station.’

  Danny slumped heavily onto a chair. They were all back in Henry’s office.

  ‘I’ve really cocked up again, haven’t I?’ Danny admonished herself. She was close to tears. ‘I did it with Claire, now I’ve done it with Grace.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ FB asked.

  ‘I mean I promised Grace we’d protect her if she gave evidence and look what happened.’ Danny shook her head in frustration. ‘Slap-bang into him. You should have seen his face. As soon as I get the chance I’ll visit Grace, spend some time with her, reassure her. She’ll need all the support we can give her now.’

  ‘Fine, do that,’ FB said. ‘Now, where are we up to?’

  ‘Gilbert’s in with his solicitor; Spencer hasn’t requested one. Danny and a DC are going to interview Gilbert first,’ Henry explained.

  ‘No,’ FB said firmly to Henry. ‘I want you and Danny to interview them both.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because I say so, that’s why. I want the best interviewer on this, and that’s you.’