by Paul Finch
Of course, it all boiled down to the same thing in the end.
‘Enjoy your sadistic gratification while you can, boys,’ Heck said to himself. ‘Time’s almost up.’
When Heck returned to the CID office later, Gail was no longer there.
By the tidied state of her desk, she’d set off for home. However, glancing through the window outside the office, he spotted her crossing the car park with a lidded travel mug in one hand and her briefcase in the other. She threw the case into the back seat of her Punto, pulled down her shades, and climbed in. The car growled to life, but she was only halfway to the exit when Heck stumbled into her path, waving his documentation.
She slowed to a halt and powered her window down.
‘Can I have a few secs?’ he asked.
‘If you must.’
‘Can I get in?’
‘I thought you only wanted a few secs?’
‘Gail – you ever heard the phrase never focus solely on one hypothesis?’
‘All right …’
‘Constantly re-evaluate theories, always keep an open mind …’
‘Okay! I hear you.’ She hit the locking mechanism. ‘Hop in.’
Heck rounded the car and clambered into the front passenger seat, thrusting his paperwork at her. ‘What do you think of this lot?’
She lifted her sunglasses and leafed patiently through it all, finally separating the impalement and the poisonous spider incidents from the gas cylinder tragedy. ‘These two I’ve heard about. This other one is new to me. So?’
‘You don’t think there’s anything odd about them? Something a bit, I don’t know, contrived?’
‘Contrived?’
‘Come on, Gail … if these are genuine accidents, they’re once-in-a-lifetime events. Yet you’ve got three of them, all in the same force area, all within a few months of each other. And then you’ve got Lansing as well.’
She gave him a long, disbelieving stare. ‘Heck … I know you have to justify your existence somehow. But this is far-fetched even by those standards. Are you seriously telling me you’ve been through all the accident records in the county – that you’ve literally been scraping the barrel to try and find something, anything, to reinforce this notion of yours that what we’ve actually got here is a pair of psycho pranksters?’
‘Psycho pranksters?’ He pursed his lips. ‘Apt description. I like it.’
‘Well I don’t.’ She slapped the paperwork back into his lap. ‘Can we just try and be professional. I hear you when you remind me that it’s poor policy to throw all your eggs in one basket, but might I remind you that it’s equally poor policy to bend the evidence to fit the facts? Though frankly I’m being generous in referring to that lot as evidence. We haven’t got anything circumstantial, let alone something approaching a smoking gun. There are no obvious links between any of those victims.’
‘We haven’t established that yet,’ he said.
‘Two scrotey car thieves from Leatherhead, a sales rep from North Wales – two hundred miles apart? Harold Lansing – a self-made Surrey millionaire?’
‘Like I said, it’s just a hypothesis … which is all you’ve got. Unless you’ve uncovered something solid this afternoon that you haven’t bothered sharing with me?’
Gail looked flustered at that. ‘Look, if your job is to imagine these sorts of things, fine, you’re earning your money. But mine’s to try and figure out what actually happened. Now presumably there’s an evening meal waiting for you somewhere. Why don’t you go and find it?’
‘What about Mervin Thornton, this farmer from Woldingham? What do we know about him?’
‘We, as in Surrey CID, don’t know anything, because according to that Coroner’s Office report – the one you’ve got in your hot little hand – he died through misadventure. There was no crime and no criminal investigation.’
Heck eyed the report again, wondering if maybe in this case he was taking things a bit too far. Had this material landed on his desk back at SCU, he’d probably have dismissed it out of hand. There’s no obvious, identifiable link – and lack of evidence is not evidence in itself. Next case. So why was he taking a different tack now? His gut told him there were too many coincidences here, but was there something else too? Gemma had sent him down to Surrey almost casually, not expecting he’d uncover much. She’d also said he wasn’t underappreciated, that his talents weren’t taken for granted … at least not by her. In the light of his recent disputes with her, perhaps this was a chance to prove how ill-advised taking him for granted could be.
‘Listen Heck,’ Gail said, making an effort to sound conciliatory. She took her shades off and placed them on the dashboard. ‘I know you’re here to do a job – but it seems to me that you’ve already done it.’ She indicated his paperwork. ‘Leave those with me. I promise I’ll cast my eye over them, but I honestly think that it’s a waste of both our time.’
Before he could reply, a set of large, hairy knuckles beat a tattoo on her driver’s window. They jerked round, shocked, neither having noticed Ron Pavey come red-faced across the car park.
Gail powered her window down again. ‘What do you want, Ron?’
He leaned in. ‘What do you think you’re doing?’
‘I’m sorry?’
Pavey pointed at Heck. ‘Why is he in this car with you?’
Again, to Heck’s fascination, the tough police girl seemed to melt away.
‘I don’t think that’s any of your business,’ she said, looking to her front.
‘I’m making it my bloody business. The working day ends at five-thirty, my love. It’s now ten to six, so that means you go home to your gaff, and he goes home, preferably permanently, to whatever shithole he calls his gaff. Do you understand me?’
‘Ron, what do you not understand about this being over?’
‘Nothing’s over! And don’t give me that liberated woman crap! You’re where you are, Gail, because I put you there. That means you owe me … and in the light of that, the very least you can do is stop shaking your ambitious little arse at every big city wannabe who comes along with a line of fucking dogshit—’
Heck leaned across, grabbed Pavey’s slime-green tie and powered the window up, trapping it firmly.
‘Heck!’ Gail protested. ‘What do you think—’
But Heck was already out of the car, Gail’s mug of coffee in hand.
Pavey was at first too startled to respond, but now began wrestling with his tie. Finding it jammed fast, he tried to open the driver’s door but, by instinct, Gail locked it.
‘You little shit!’ he snarled, eyeing Heck as he circled the vehicle towards him. ‘You think you’re fucking clever? I’ll show you clever …’ He worked frantically at his knot, but that wasn’t easy, bent forward as though waiting to take it up the backside.
‘Congratulations Ron,’ Heck said.
‘Gail, open this window – open this fucking window now!’
‘In two days you’ve achieved what it takes some villains ten years or more: you’ve pissed me off.’
‘You’ll be fucking sorry for this.’
‘So let me lay it on the line.’ Heck halted close by. ‘DC Honeyford and I are investigating a murder, which is proving unexpectedly time-consuming. So we’re getting increasingly frustrated by your constant interference.’
‘You know fuck all about what’s going on here!’ Pavey snapped. ‘Me and her have a history …’
‘On which subject, your newspaper gag gave everyone a bit of a giggle. So thanks for that.’ Heck flipped the lid from the beaker. ‘Allow me to return the compliment.’ He tossed its contents onto Pavey’s groin, saturating his crotch and both his inside legs.
‘Ahhh – you shit! You fucker!’
The big sergeant finally got himself free and swung round, drawing himself to full height. His sand-coloured hair hung in damp, sweat-sodden strands. The eyes burned in his florid, pitted face. But Heck had learned from long experience that you didn’t flinch from som
eone threatening violence. Most lowlifes who did it were bluffing. This lowlife, apparently, was no exception.
Pavey held his ground, eyes fixed on Heck’s stony half-smile, but not advancing. His big, gnarly hands clenched and unclenched by his sides, but neither balled into a full-blown fist.
‘No,’ Heck said slowly, ‘something told me you weren’t so dumb as to make a complete spectacle of yourself twice in one day.’
Pavey worked his thick lips together, but finally he too smiled. ‘Clever … trying to goad me into giving you a pasting when there’s cameras around and people at windows. But there’ll be time, don’t you worry. Then there’ll just be you and me.’
‘How about an hour from now?’ Heck asked. ‘We’ve both finished work. I’m sure we can find somewhere quiet.’
That was something else Heck had learned. Not only do you not back down, you push on hard and confident; once you’ve got them on the back foot, you advance; force them into open retreat.
Pavey’s eyes widened. ‘You’re a real piece of work, aren’t you?’
‘Don’t let that put you off. If tonight’s no good, I’ll be around a few days yet. You’ll get your chance.’
‘I bloody will.’ Slowly, reluctantly, Pavey backed away. ‘I absolutely will.’
He was too angry to realise how ridiculous he looked, a guy who no doubt valued his rep – his cool, his street cred – now with a huge, wet stain down the front of his trousers. He turned and walked stiffly towards the personnel door, just as two young female PCs came out of it.
‘Too bad you couldn’t find a toilet, Ron,’ Heck called after him.
Pavey could only stand there helpless as the two women walked away, tittering. He threw a final bellicose glance in Heck’s direction and crashed into the building, slamming the door closed behind him.
Heck turned to find that Gail had got out of the car and now regarded him with an odd combination of outrage and reproach. ‘You know,’ she said, voice quavering, ‘I left school ten years ago.’
‘What?’
‘I don’t want macho boneheads flexing their muscles over me, okay?’
‘Are you serious?’
She stabbed a finger at him. ‘DS Heckenburg, I’ll say this once and once only. Despite having you round my neck like a millstone, I’m halfway to cracking this case. So why don’t you just back off once and for all? Bury yourself in a few more accident reports, maybe. That ought to keep you busy. But please, please, please – from this moment on, stay out of my way.’ She turned to get back into her car.
‘Hey, this isn’t just about you, DC Honeyford!’
She glanced back, startled, but now it was Heck’s turn to point the finger.
‘I don’t care if you’re content to be a rubbing rag for some alpha male prat like Ron Pavey. I genuinely don’t. But as soon as it starts hampering my investigation, it becomes a problem!’
‘Your investigation?’
‘I don’t know exactly what your issue is with that guy, but you clearly can’t deal with it, so I had to.’
She rapidly turned pink. ‘Excuse me?’
‘If he sticks his nose anywhere near me again while I’m trying to work, or anytime in fact, he’ll get it flattened. And you can tell him that when you next apologise to him for living.’
‘Oh, you’ve got me wrong.’
‘That makes two of us.’ Heck was aware that he was going too far, but suddenly this persistent dismissal of his thoughts and ideas – from someone who, with the length of time she currently had in, would be regarded as the tea-girl back at SCU – was more than he could take. ‘If you think I’ve come all the way down here to occupy a ringside seat while you and your ex-squeeze have an ongoing domestic, you’ve got me very wrong.’ He waved his handful of crime reports. ‘Now if you’re not interested in this stuff, fine – but if that is the case, then you stay out of my way.’
Chapter 13
The Leatherhead pet shop owner, Larry Briggs, had a small unit in a row of old, run-down shops quite close to the town centre. It was mid-evening when Heck got there, and those few shops that weren’t To Let were already closed – except one. A light burned on the other side of its window, which was now obscured by sheets of crinkly newspaper. The hoarding over the top had seen better days; it was lopsided and painted with flaky lettering, which read:
Pets 4U
Heck tried the front door, but it was locked. He wandered round to the rear, noting from his documentation that it had been at the back where, one night last October, a burglar had forced entry through an upper window. Apparently the car in which the two car thieves had died the following January, a battered old Volkswagen estate, had also been stolen from the back. When he got there, Heck immediately saw why. The rear access road was a blind spot. There was little lighting and no sign of CCTV – most likely the retailers here, those few that were left, had been unable to afford proper surveillance. It was also a cul-de-sac; there was only one way in and one way out, which made it less enticing to vehicle thieves, but if the vehicle in question had been pointed in the right direction that was less of a problem.
As Heck strolled along the street, he read back through the notes. Apparently Larry Briggs had been the owner of two vehicles – his own private car, which he used to get to and from home, and the Volkswagen estate, which was strictly for business. Given the regular vehicle thefts in this district, it seemed odd that he’d been happy to leave the Volkswagen overnight, but he’d explained this by pointing out that, as a single man, he had no means of taking both cars home when the working day was over.
The back of the shop came into sight. Its rear door was recessed between two buttress walls, both about six foot five high and covered with moss. The one on the left had given access to an upper window, which the burglar last October had entered by removing the entire pane with something like a handyman’s knife. Even though the premises had an alarm fitted, which was subsequently activated, this hadn’t stopped the intruder pressing on with his task, which was curious – the only thieves who tended to gamble that the police wouldn’t respond quickly were those who were after something valuable or something specific.
At present, the shop’s rear door was open and a small hired van was parked outside. As Heck watched, a man came out of the building carrying a sealed cardboard box. He was a big, rugged chap in his late forties, with horn-rimmed glasses, a shock of mouse-brown hair, and a heavy beer gut pushing against his sweat-stained T-shirt. Sweat also gleamed on his forehead and in the pelt of hair covering his forearms.
He unceremoniously dumped the box into the back of the van, and turned to face Heck, beating sawdust from his hands. His expression was not welcoming.
‘Larry Briggs?’ Heck asked.
‘And who are you?’
Heck flashed his warrant card. ‘Detective Sergeant Heckenburg.’
‘Oh yeah … come to lock me up again?’
‘No reason why I should, is there?’
The big man gave a wry grin. ‘Not unless it’s a crime to defend your property against light-fingered little bastards. They’d strip the bloody country if we gave them half a chance.’
‘Sorry, I don’t understand.’
‘Why does that not surprise me?’ Briggs turned and headed back inside the shop.
Heck followed him, finding that its downstairs consisted of a single open space, which, though it was still scattered with sawdust and bore that musty odour of animals, was now empty except for a small stack of cartons and boxes, all packed and sealed. One or two posters still adorned the walls, advertising dog food brands or deals for pet insurance; what looked like a budgerigar cage sat alone in a corner, its door hanging from broken hinges.
‘Thieves, Sergeant,’ Briggs said, picking up more boxes, one under each brawny arm. ‘I’m talking about thieves. In the normal world they’d be your bread and butter, but not around here apparently, where they’re free to roam the streets at will.’
Heck followed him outside again.
‘Well there are two thieves who haven’t roamed any streets around here since last January, aren’t there?’
Briggs smiled as he loaded his packages into the van. ‘And there was me, thinking you’d come to update me on the crimes I’ve been the victim of. You know, the burglary last year, the three occasions when my car was stolen – including the last one, when those two little fuckers died.’
‘You don’t sound very sorry about that, Mr Briggs.’
‘I do my best, but somehow I can’t find the tears.’
Briggs went back into the shop for yet more items. Heck waited, again assessing the rear of the premises. The alarm notwithstanding, it looked pretty vulnerable – almost the only one in the row that was occupied, the loading area at the back concealed from passing traffic. Heck had pulled the crime report and associated paperwork on the burglary last October, and quickly read through it again. It was no surprise that it hadn’t been actioned very far. There’d been no witnesses, no local informants had offered leads. SOCO had turned up hundreds of dabs, but those upstairs in the shop matched the elimination prints taken from Larry Briggs himself, while those downstairs were rendered useless as the general public had had regular access to it. As was par for the course, suspects arrested for other burglaries since had been spoken to about it, but though most had been willing to admit other crimes so long as they were taken into consideration, none had coughed to the pet shop job.
Briggs reappeared with more boxes, which he shoved unceremoniously into the back of the van.
‘You going somewhere?’ Heck asked.
‘I’ve closed the business, if you must know,’ Briggs replied. ‘I’ve had enough and I’m moving on. Early retirement beckons, worse luck.’