‘What about Sunny?’
‘Oh, yes. I think we’ll have another long talk with him, don’t you? And his mates. This thing clearly stretches a lot further than we thought it did. It’s more than just four blokes and seven girls in Wytherton. It sounds like some sort of exclusive club. We’ll have to try and worm as many names and locations as possible out of Sunny and the others, as well as the girls themselves and the cousins in Dewsbury.’
‘Can I sit in on the interviews?’
Annie didn’t say anything.
‘Go on, boss. Please! I promise I won’t say anything.’
Annie let the silence drag on a while longer, then she said, ‘Well, you’d be no bloody use to me if you didn’t chip in now and then, would you? But it’s going to be complicated. We’ll need to work out a strategy. Are you sure you’re up for it?’
14
Banks was still trying to guess from Chief Superintendent Gervaise’s tone on the telephone what he was likely to be walking into when he went up to her office, as requested. At least she was alone in there, he thought with some relief, after he had knocked and entered. No Adrian Moss, Superintendent Carver or ACC McLaughlin. She even offered him coffee, which he accepted, and they sat down at her circular glass conference table, not the more formal desk.
‘Guess, what, Alan,’ she said. ‘I’ve had a call from the chief constable.’
‘I was wondering when that would happen. I’m surprised it took so long.’
‘Apparently, Danny Caxton’s lawyer Bernard Feldman called and complained about police harassment. He’s had two visits in the last two days, apparently, one of them from you.’
‘So what do we do, pack up our tents and go home?’
‘Hold your horses, o ye of little faith. If you want the short version, our lord and master told him to sod off.’
‘He what? The CC told Feldman and to sod off?’
‘And Caxton. Uh-huh.’
‘So they never played golf together.’
‘The CC had a message for you, too.’
‘What?’
Gervaise leaned forward. ‘ “Put the bastard away.” So it’s my brief to ask you if you’re any closer to doing just that. What’s brewing, in other words? Are we going to put the bastard away?’
Banks scratched his temple. ‘Well, to be honest, I’ve been preoccupied with Annie’s case this past little while – as you might have noticed – we’re very short-staffed.’
‘Budget cuts, Alan, budget cuts. Make do and mend.’
‘I know, I know. I was lucky to get the promotion when I did, blah-blah-blah. Even so, things have been a bit hectic, as you know.’
‘So you’ve made no progress?’
‘I’m not saying that. No need to take your coffee back. I’ve had my team of highly trained elves working on it night and day.’
‘And what has DS Jackman come up with?’
‘She’s been digging deep into Caxton’s past, and she’s come up with plenty since we talked to him yesterday. You know we think he was involved in the murder of Tony Monaghan?’
‘Yes.’
‘Naturally, there’s no hard evidence. It’s all disappeared, if it ever existed. But we do have a little more powder to add to our arsenal.’
‘Circumstantial?’
‘Most of it is, yes. But there are witnesses. Linda Palmer. Simon Bradley.’
‘OK. So what did your “elves” dig up?’
‘Three things of immediate significance, I think. In the first place, remember Linda Palmer saw that photo on the front page of the Yorkshire Evening Post for the twenty-seventh of October, 1967, just two weeks after Monaghan’s murder? It shows Caxton, with a big cheesy grin on his face, handing over a cheque – well one of those enormous, fake cheques, if you know what I mean – for £10,000 for the Police Widows and Orphans fund. As you can imagine, that was a lot of money in those days. We’ve got a bit more on it now.’
‘Where did this money come from?’
‘Caxton raised it through telethons and fund-raising drives, personal appearances and the like.’
‘Well we can hardly fault the man for raising money for charity.’
‘It’s not so much that, it’s who’s in the picture with him. I’ll have a copy sent up to you later. For a start, Caxton’s handing the cheque to Chief Constable Edward Crammond, who Simon Bradley told me was behind axing the investigation into Monaghan’s murder around the time the picture was taken. Also present was Detective Chief Superintendent Dennis McCullen, DI Chadwick’s SIO on the case.’
‘Are you saying that the charitable donation was a bribe?’
‘No, not at all,’ said Banks. ‘You couldn’t do things like that, even then. It’s just one of a number of things that show how closely Caxton was linked to the local constabulary at the time. He was known to be a mate of Crammond’s, same golf club and all, best seats at Headingley for the test match every year. Winsome’s still digging to see if she can find more.’
‘It’s not much, though, is it,’ said Gervaise, the tip of her pencil against her Cupid’s bow lips.
‘What do you mean? Not worth a refill?’ Banks held out his empty cup.
‘Cheeky bastard.’ Gervaise grinned. ‘But you can get it yourself.’
Banks did. ‘So that’s one investigation we’ve still got going on,’ he said. ‘Caxton’s relationship with local men of influence, especially high-ranking police officers. And you can bet that’ll spiral when the other counties get as deeply stuck into their investigations as we have and start looking for lost statements and the like.’
‘Are you saying that Caxton was involved in Monaghan’s murder and got Crammond to put a lid on the investigation?’
‘Something like that, yes.’
‘It had better be more than “something like” if Adrian and the press ever get hold of it, let alone if it goes to court.’
‘I realise that. But there’s more. Simon Bradley mentioned a witness, a student who was crossing Hyde Park the same night Monaghan was killed. From what Bradley can remember, the lad saw two men carrying a third between them. He appeared drunk, but could have been dead. It could have been Monaghan.’
‘Could have been? Did he get a good look? Does Bradley remember the details? Can we locate this student?’
‘No. But Bradley does remember the young lad said the men were scary enough that he made sure they didn’t see him. He said he thought they were bruisers of some sort, a couple of burly blokes with no necks and shaved heads.’
‘And?’
‘And after a bit of digging, Winsome came up with the Stott brothers, a couple of burly blokes with shaved heads and no necks, one of whom was a boxer.’
‘And they were?’
‘A couple of local Leeds villains, muscle, enforcement, mercenary. Both dead now. One by violence. Winsome’s trying to find out more about them, but the one link we do have is that they were bouncers at a Bradford disco Caxton part-owned around the time of Monaghan’s murder. They also ran a Leeds boxing club he supported. One of his “youth” projects. Apparently the disco was a place Caxton used to like to visit, we think because he liked the young girls it attracted. But as I say, Winsome’s digging deeper. There’s definitely a connection. Caxton knew the Stotts, and he could have hired them to kill Monaghan and make it look like a gay murder. They were known to favour flick knives, as well as their fists.’
‘Was Monaghan killed by a flick knife?’
‘We don’t know,’ said Banks. ‘All the files have disappeared, including the post-mortem report and forensic examinations, if there were any.’
‘Pity. It’s still “could have”, Alan. And good luck to DS Jackman. After all this time, she’ll need it. You know we’ll never be able to prove that Caxton hired a couple of deceased thugs fifty years ago, don’t you? You said three developments. What’s the third? I hope it’s a bit better than the last two.’
‘Tony Monaghan’s widow. You remember, Winsome said she was fol
lowing up on that? Well, she discovered that Ursula Monaghan remarried in 1974 and became Ursula Pemberton. She was widowed for the second time in 2009, natural causes this time, and she now lives just up the Northumberland coast.’
‘She’s still alive?’
‘As far as Winsome could gather. She checked the electoral rolls and DVLA in Swansea. Ursula Pemberton still votes, pays her council tax and has a valid driving licence. Think about it, if she was in her twenties in 1967 she’ll be in her seventies now. That’s not so old.’
‘The sad thing is,’ said Gervaise, ‘I can remember when it was.’ She fingered a paper clip. ‘It’s still not a lot, is it, and some of it’s a bit of a stretch. There’s not much you can do with any of it in court.’
‘I know. It’s all part of a bigger picture we’re building up. We’ve got the CPS onside.’
‘I understand that. I just hope the picture turns out to be what you think it will be, and you haven’t forgotten to take the lens cap off, or just pointed the camera at your foot.’
Banks spread his hands. ‘Well, that’s about where we are. You asked.’
‘And Linda Palmer?’
‘Linda Palmer will stand up. She’s working on a sort of written memoir of her time in Blackpool. I suggested it. I thought it might bring back a few more details.’
‘And has it?’
‘Dunno. I haven’t seen it yet. We were busy identifying Monaghan from the photo and finding out who he was.’
‘Well let’s hope it jogs her memory.’
‘We’ve got enough to go on, already. Especially with the other cases Non-Executive Director Burgess told me about. He wanted to be “Special Agent” so he’s a bit disappointed with his rather dull title.’
Gervaise laughed.
‘It’s a bit of a mouthful, I know, but I don’t know what else to call him.’
‘From what I hear, “Dirty Dick” will still do nicely.’
Banks smiled. ‘That all, ma’am?’
‘For the moment. Keep at it, Alan. Putting my reservations aside, we’ll be jumping for joy if we can get Caxton on a conspiracy to commit murder charge as well as rape.’
‘Can we talk to Albert?’ Annie asked Sinead Moffat when she opened the door.
‘You two again. I didn’t think you’d have the bloody nerve to show your faces around here after what you’ve put us through.’
‘Sinead, I’m sorry about the press and the house search and all, but it’s out of my hands. Surely you must understand we have to do these things when something as serious as this happens? And as for them,’ she gestured towards the pack of reporters beyond the gate, ‘it’s their job, too, like it or not.’
A small crowd had gathered across the street, and Annie heard a shrill voice shout, ‘When are you going to do something about those Pakis instead of harassing poor honest decent folk? When are you going to put a stop to those murdering bastards?’ The crowd roared its approval.
‘You’d better come in,’ said Sinead. ‘Before that lot stone you to death. Albert’s in his room. Just go on up. And don’t be too hard on the lad. Remember he’s just lost his sister.’
Annie and Gerry climbed the stairs of 14 Southam Terrace and knocked on Albert’s door. They could hear music from inside, but it was playing quietly, and Albert quickly opened the door and asked them in.
‘It’s not a very big room, I’m afraid,’ he said, turning the radio down, ‘but there’s a couple of chairs. Sit down. What is it?’
Old clothes were draped over the upright chairs, and Albert quickly scooped them up and dropped them in the laundry basket. Annie felt a bit queasy about sitting where Albert’s dirty underpants had been, but she swallowed her pride and her bile. The room was at the back of the house, so they couldn’t hear or see the crowd of neighbours and reporters, just the slate roofs of the houses across the alley. Albert had his window partially open, which was a mercy, as he was smoking. He sat close to the window and the smoke curled in the air as it caught the draught, which whisked it outside.
‘Is it true that you’ve got them in custody?’ Albert said. ‘The bastards that did our Mimsy?’
‘It’s true that we’re talking to some people, yes, but there’s no proof that any of them killed Mimosa yet.’
‘I hope you deport them. They probably cut off people’s heads for killing people back where they come from.’
Annie sighed. ‘They come from Wytherton, Albert. Unless things have changed since this morning, I don’t think there’ll be any deportation or decapitation.’
‘You know what I mean.’ He cast a glance at Gerry’s sling. ‘You look as if you’ve been in the wars. What happened, trip over your truncheon?’
‘Baton,’ Gerry muttered. She leaned forward, as if to share a confidence. ‘As a matter of fact, I was set on by four lads not far from here. Asians. I think one of them was called Tariq. Know anyone by that name?’
Annie had expected her to blush or offer some sort of reproof, but instead she had to congratulate her DC for knowing an opportunity when she saw one, and for seizing it.
‘It figures,’ said Albert. ‘They’re getting everywhere these days, spreading like a pestilence, like a plague of rats.’
‘Tariq? Mean anything?’
‘No, but I can find out for you. Want him sorting out?’
‘That’s all right, thanks,’ said Gerry. ‘We’ll deal with him.’
‘I’m sorry for what happened to you, but what do you expect? They’re animals. They got no respect for their own women, so you can’t expect them to have any for ours. I told you before, you can’t trust the bastards, now maybe you’ll start to see what I mean. It was them all along, wasn’t it?’
Annie looked at Gerry again, worried she might show her revulsion about being thought of as one of ‘ours’. But she didn’t. She just said, ‘I see,’ and rubbed her shoulder. Annie found herself wondering whether Albert was laying it on so thick to divert them from any suspicions that he might have been involved.
‘How can I help you this time?’ Albert went on. He beamed at both of them, the picture of youthful innocence.
‘The last time we talked,’ Annie said, ‘you told us you didn’t know about Mimosa’s association with Sunny and his crowd until recently.’
‘That’s right. Day before she went missing, if I remember right.’
‘And you hadn’t told your family or any of your mates about it?’
‘No. I didn’t want them taking the piss out of me for having a sister who hung out with Pakis. Besides, it’s none of their business.’
‘And you really had no idea before then that Sunny and his friends were exploiting Mimosa, along with a number of other young girls from the estate?’
‘No. How could I know that?’
‘Did you ever get the impression that she was frightened at all? Being made to do anything against her will?’
‘No. She’d always brazen it out, would Mimsy.’
‘OK,’ said Annie. ‘Can we go back to that Tuesday night, the twenty-first of July?’
‘The night it . . . you know?’
‘Yes. The night it happened. Now, you told us before you were at Paul Warner’s—’
Albert stubbed out his cigarette. ‘Yeah, like I told you. We had a few bevvies in the Hope and Anchor, then went back to Paul’s for a few more. You can ask him.’
‘We have, Albert, and he says you were there.’
‘Well, then?’
‘You stayed there until what time?’
‘Well, I woke up there the next morning with a fuck of a headache. I can’t remember what time it was, but it was late.’
‘You didn’t go out again after going back to Paul’s from the Hope and Anchor? Neither of you?’
‘No. I’ve told you all this. We just chatted about stuff, you know, watched DVDs, played some music.’
‘Do you remember much about the evening?’
‘To be honest,’ said Albert, ‘I’d had a few jars earlier a
s well, before the Hope and Anchor. I was pretty far gone by my third Special Brew.’
‘So you don’t remember much?’
‘No. Just waking up on the couch, like, with a—’
‘Yes,’ said Annie. ‘With a fuck of a headache.’
Albert pointed at her and giggled. ‘You got it.’
‘Any drugs?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Was it just alcohol, or did you take any drugs?’
‘Like what?’
‘I don’t know. Coke, amphetamines, marijuana.’
‘The wacky baccy? No, I don’t do that stuff. It makes you stupid. And Paul’s not into drugs, either.’
‘Were you fit to drive?’
‘I should say not.’
‘I understand you do a bit of driving on the side, though.’
Albert’s eyes narrowed. ‘What do you mean?’
‘Driving. You know.’ Annie stuck her arms out and mimed turning a steering wheel.
‘I know what you mean, but what are you getting at?’
‘Do you or don’t you do some driving for a man called Jim Nuttall?’
‘Jim?’
‘Yes. He’s got an auto parts business in Stockton. Specialist stuff. For collectors and the like.’
‘I know Jim, yeah. So what? What did he tell you?’
‘Do you make deliveries and pick-ups for him?’
‘Yeah, but it’s all legit stuff. It’s nothing do with drugs or anything. I just help out now and then. Us unemployed people got to take what we can get, you know.’
‘I’m not saying it isn’t legitimate, Albert. Did you have a delivery on Tuesday, during the day?’
‘Well, yeah, as a matter of fact. I was in Sheffield in the afternoon. Got back about an hour or so before the meeting, parked the car at the back of Paul’s, as usual, and got a couple down me in the Hope and Anchor.’
‘And Wednesday?’
‘Sunderland. Afternoon. I was a bit late. I had a f—’
‘Yes, you’ve told us, Albert. Why didn’t you tell us about this before?’
‘I don’t know. It didn’t come up, did it? And I’d just heard about Mimsy. I was gutted.’
‘Are you sure it wasn’t because Jim Nuttall told you not to mention it to anyone, that he could get into trouble for paying you cash under the counter and not running it through his books?’
When the Music's Over: The 23rd DCI Banks Mystery Page 39