by Chris Ould
That’d put the cap on it, Sam thought bitterly. That’d really make Mulvey’s day. Not just “I’ve found the bag”, but “I’ve got a suspect” as well. So Sam said nothing; just stood there and fumed silently.
And then, suddenly, Mulvey tensed and shifted. Sam looked and saw three black kids – two of them older and taller than the other – coming along the rear service road towards them. They didn’t seem to be taking much notice of their surroundings, chatting and walking shoulder to shoulder as they ate from chip trays.
“Keep still,” Mulvey hissed.
Sam could feel the PC’s anticipation as he watched the boys coming closer. And it did look as if they might be heading for the bin shelter, or at least going to pass by.
Mulvey let them cross the road and then, when they were only a couple of metres away, he stepped out.
“Stop there, lads. Keep still.”
The smaller boy jumped visibly and took a half step back as Mulvey strode quickly towards him. The two older ones reacted but stood their ground.
“What’s the problem?” one of them said.
“Just stand still,” Mulvey told him, ignoring the question as Sam came and stood to one side. Mulvey’s tone was hard and no-nonsense, but more aggressive than it needed to be in Sam’s opinion.
“I’m PC Mulvey, this is TPO Marsden. You want to tell us what you’re doing here?”
“Going home.”
“Which is where?”
“Cloudsley House.” He gestured to the block on the east side of the estate. “Why’ve you stopped us?”
Again Mulvey ignored the question and took out a stop form, then a pen.
“Name?”
“Listen—”
“Name,” Mulvey repeated, cutting him off.
Sam knew that Mulvey didn’t have the right to be chucking his weight around like this. He also didn’t have any right to make them account for themselves if they didn’t want to.
The boy took a beat, as if he might argue again, then he said: “Ryan Atkins.”
“You?” Mulvey asked the smaller, more nervous boy.
“Charlie Atkins.”
“And you?”
“Barclay Davis.”
“Right. So where are you coming from?”
“Church,” Ryan Atkins said before the lad called Barclay could answer.
Mulvey gave him a look. “Yeah, right.”
“Ask Reverend Michaels. Holway Road Baptist. Check it out if you don’t believe me.”
“Oi! Don’t get arsey with me, okay?” Mulvey said sharply. “How long were you there?”
Sam could see the boy’s stance stiffening and there was a new note of defiance when he spoke again: “Since seven. We were at choir practice.”
“All of you?”
“Yeah.”
Sam could tell that Ryan Atkins’s growing truculence didn’t sit well with Mulvey, but then the PC’s attention was taken by a patrol car coming round the corner. It was followed a short distance behind by a second, unmarked car.
Mulvey looked at the vehicles, then decided. “You can finish this off, right?” he said to Sam, handing him the stop form. “NFA.”
And before Sam could respond, Mulvey was heading off towards the cars.
Sam watched him go and felt like spitting. Then he looked back to the three lads.
“So can we go now?” Ryan Atkins said.
“Listen,” Sam said, trying to engage them. “We think something might have happened round here earlier. If you saw anything…”
“We didn’t,” Ryan said without hesitation. “We weren’t here, I told you. So can we go now or what?”
Sam held his gaze for a second, then looked at the stop form. Mulvey hadn’t even entered the date or the time, and if Mulvey couldn’t be bothered then Sam didn’t see why he should be either. NFA: No Further Action.
“Okay,” Sam said. “Sorry to hold you up.”
Without even acknowledging that Ryan Atkins nodded to the others and they moved away.
Sam wadded the stop form into a ball and shoved it into his pocket, then turned and headed towards the police cars and the officers around them. He could see Mulvey leading DS Woods into the bin shelter and knew exactly what he’d be saying as he showed him the shoe and the bag.
By the unmarked car Holly Blades was standing on her own. Because there was no one else to talk to, Sam crossed towards her.
“Get anything from the victim’s friend?” he asked.
Holly nodded. “Ashleigh definitely left the house earlier than her mum thought – just after six. That means there was nearly an hour before she was run over.”
“Right,” Sam said. Holly waited for him to say more, but he didn’t. Instead he seemed distracted, as if he was thinking about something else.
“So what was that?” Holly asked, gesturing to the place where Sam had been talking to Ryan Atkins.
Sam shook his head. “Nothing,” he said. “Mulvey just stopped them cos he’s a twat.”
Holly was surprised by the word and Sam’s bitter tone. “Mulvey is?”
“Yeah.”
“Why?”
Sam paused, already regretting that he’d revealed his feelings. “Doesn’t matter,” he said. Then he saw Sergeant Stafford emerge from the bin shelter and head their way.
“It looks like it is Ashleigh’s bag and shoe,” Stafford said when he reached them. “We’ll cordon it off till Forensics arrive and then see what they can get.”
“What about witnesses?” Sam asked. He gestured up at the block of flats above them. “Someone up there might have seen something.”
“There’ll probably be a door-to-door,” Stafford said with a nod. “But not tonight. What shift are you two on tomorrow?”
“Earlies, Sarge,” Holly said.
Stafford nodded. “Okay, in that case you both need to clock off. I’m heading back to the nick to give Inspector Harris an update, so you can come back with me. Fill in your day sheets but leave your individual logs till tomorrow, okay? You need to get home.”
“We could stay if we’re needed,” Sam said.
Stafford shook his head. “You’ll be more use tomorrow. Come on.”
He gestured them towards his car and as Sam followed he could see Mulvey coming out of the bin shelter like it was his own personal property.
15.
SECTION HOUSE
22:04 HRS
Holly closed the front door of the Section House with her foot and went along the hall to the door of Sam’s room.
“I’m back!” she called out, knocking hard on the door so she’d be heard over the music inside. “Mushy peas or beans?”
As soon as they’d changed into their civvies at the station and walked back to the house they’d tossed for who went to the chippy – Holly had lost.
In Sam’s room the music dropped in volume, but only a little. “Don’t care,” he called back. “Gimme two minutes.”
“Okay, but I’m not waiting,” Holly said, moving on. She was starving.
In the kitchen she shrugged off her coat and looked for plates. Stuck to the cupboard door was a note from Yvonne in thick felt pen: Who is cleaning bathrooms this week? Do it!!
At one time the unattractive semi-detached house would have been occupied by a regular officer and his family, but since the introduction of the Trainee Police Officer scheme the ground floor had been converted to provide four rooms for TPOs, plus kitchen, lounge and bathrooms.
Upstairs there was a self-contained flat which was occupied by Yvonne Dunlop, who got it at a reduced rent in exchange for being in general charge of the house – hence the message about bathroom cleaning. Yvonne was responsible for making sure the TPOs kept the place decent, didn’t break the house rules and behaved responsibly. She never had much trouble doing it, either. None of the four teenagers living there wanted to cross Yvonne, on duty or off.
Holly put plates on the table and started to unwrap the food. Apart from Sam there was no one else i
n. The other TPOs – Tommo, who should have cleaned the bathroom, and Shiny Chris – were both on late turn at Barwick nick, and Yvonne hadn’t clocked off yet. She might still be at the hospital, depending on Ashleigh Jarvis’s condition. Holly would have liked to know what that was.
As she dished out the chips Sam wandered into the kitchen. His hair was wet from the shower, uncombed.
“You’ve got beans,” Holly told him.
“Okay,” he said flatly and went to the fridge in search of a drink.
Holly sat down and started on her chips. She was hungrier than she’d realised and she ate quickly before the food could get cold.
After a moment Sam sat down at the opposite side of the table. He pulled the tab on a can of Fanta and slurped it.
“Two seventy,” Holly said. The cost of his pie, chips and beans.
“Okay.”
“Don’t forget.”
“I won’t.”
They ate for several minutes in silence then, until finally Holly had had enough of it. Sam could be irritating when he held forth on a subject he thought he knew all about, but this complete silence wasn’t like him. Plus he looked like he was brooding over something.
“Okay, so what is up with you?” Holly said in the end. “Something is.”
Sam finished chewing his mouthful, then said: “It’s just Bob Mulvey. He’s a—”
“Yeah, you said that already,” Holly told him. “Why?”
Sam shook his head.
“Okay, please yourself,” Holly said. She wasn’t going to play cat and mouse.
Sam picked up a chip, then changed his mind and chucked it back on his plate. “You know who found the bag and stuff in that bin shelter?” he said
The fact that he was asking the question gave Holly the answer. “You?”
“Yeah. Only Mulvey calls it in like it was him.” The indignation in Sam’s voice made it clear just how bitter he felt. “I wouldn’t have minded if he’d said we found it. But he was nowhere near – he wasn’t even there.”
“You didn’t tell Staff?” Holly asked.
Sam shook his head and put on a whiny little-boy voice: “Sarge, it was me, Sarge, not him, Sarge.”
Holly nodded. “Yeah, that wouldn’t’ve been good.” Sergeant Stafford wasn’t exactly fond of people who complained. The way he saw it, life was unfair and if you couldn’t deal with the small stuff you wouldn’t be much use when the big stuff came along.
“So what are you going to do?”
“Nothing,” Sam said grimly. “Except make sure that next time I call it in. Sod Mulvey.”
He skewered a chip with his fork and bit it decisively. As he did so Holly’s phone rang. She looked at the screen: Mum.
For a second she debated, then pressed a button. “Hi.”
“Hi. It’s me,” her mum said.
“Hold on a sec.”
Holly stood up and gestured to their plates. “Will you clear this up?”
Sam nodded. “You finished?” he asked.
“Yeah.”
“Okay.” He started moving the last of her chips to his own plate and Holly headed off towards her room. “Hi,” she said into the phone again. “Sorry.”
“It’s not too late for you is it?” her mum said.
“No, it’s okay. I’m on earlies tomorrow though, so I’m heading for bed in a few minutes.” She let herself into her room and closed the door behind her.
“Who’s there with you?”
“Just Sam.” Then she added: “Yvonne’s upstairs.” Her mum had liked Yvonne when they met and Holly knew she worried less if she thought Yvonne was around.
“Oh. Good,” her mum said.
“How’s things at home?” Holly asked, sitting on the bed and unlacing her boots with one hand.
“Oh, you know – okay.”
Holly paused and assessed her mother’s tone, trying to work out how okay “okay” really was.
“No…problems?” They both knew what the euphemism referred to and although she always felt obliged to ask, it was times like this – when she was tired and just wanted to get to bed – that Holly hoped it wouldn’t be the start of a much longer, more emotional conversation.
“No, no, everything’s fine,” her mum said. “What sort of day have you had?”
Holly relaxed a little at that and pushed her boots off. “It was all right. Nothing much. We had an RTC – Road Traffic Collision.”
“Oh dear. Was anyone hurt?”
“No, it was fine,” Holly said. “Nothing major.”
In her head she saw the image of Ashleigh Jarvis lying in the road with no shoes on her feet, the probable victim of an accident and a rape.
“Listen,” she said. “Can I call you tomorrow? I need to get to bed. Is that okay?”
“Of course, sweetie. Just as long as you’re all right.”
“I am,” Holly said. “I’m fine.”
SATURDAY
1.
MORNINGSTAR RD STATION
07:34 HRS
It was only just getting light as Holly turned the corner into Morningstar Road. She had her hands pushed deep into her coat pockets and her hat was pulled down over her ears against the icy breeze.
“Hol?”
The call came from behind her. When she turned to look she saw Sam jogging after her, his breath coming in clouds. Although he had a scarf wrapped round his neck he seemed too lightly dressed for the cold morning.
Holly waited till he was alongside her then carried on towards the station.
“Aren’t you frozen?” she asked.
“Nope. Got my thermals on.”
“Too much information, ’specially this early.”
Sam chuckled. “Did you see Yvonne this morning?” he asked then.
“Uh-uh. Why?”
“Just wondered if they’d got any further last night – you know, on the rape case.”
Holly nodded. She’d been wondering the same thing more or less from the moment she’d got out of bed.
“Suppose it’ll depend if the victim came round and told them what happened,” Sam went on. “We’ll probably be off it anyway though. I haven’t done the same thing two days running since we got here.”
“No, me either,” Holly said flatly.
The frontage of Morningstar Road station was red-brick Victorian, with tall windows which emitted a sickly yellow light. However, behind the original structure, a larger and more modern building had been erected on the site of demolished houses and shops. This was where the majority of the station’s work was done, and there was no public access to the car park and Custody Yard which surrounded it.
At the rear gate Holly swiped her security card through the reader and when the lock clicked she held the gate open for Sam to follow. Under the gaze of several security cameras they crossed to the main building and entered the nick through heavy glass doors.
Inside it was warmer and the station corridors were getting busy with late-turn officers who’d come in to finish off reports before the end of their overnight shift. A lot of them looked tired and hassled. Unless you were on authorised overtime you wanted to get your paperwork done before the eight o’clock changeover so you could clock off on time and get home to bed.
Leaving Sam in the corridor, Holly entered the female locker room where it was quieter and smelled of an odd mixture of perfume and cleaning fluid. Her uniform and personal effects were housed in a dented metal locker near the showers and, after dialling the combination, she pulled out her gear and started to change.
On the whole there was a relaxed and fairly friendly atmosphere in the locker room, but even so, Holly still didn’t feel she knew the regs well enough to enter into much of the gossip and chit-chat that went on around her. You didn’t have to be in there for very long to realise that the female PCs could be every bit as raunchy and tasteless as the men, but Holly also knew that some of the women tended to moderate what they said when she was around – in particular about sex and booze. Whether
that was because they were being protective or because they weren’t sure how she’d take it, Holly couldn’t tell.
Once she’d pulled on her uniform sweater Holly set about tying her hair back in a ponytail. As she did so she caught part of a conversation between two unseen women in a row of lockers on the far side of the room.
“So how old was she?”
“Fourteen? Something like that.”
“Well, old enough round there then.”
“Nah, come on…”
“No, I’m not saying she wanted it. I’m just saying if you’d got any sense you wouldn’t be wandering round the Kaddy Estate on your own in the dark. I mean, that is asking for it. You need more sense than…”
Holly lost the rest of the conversation in the clang of a locker being closed and a sudden influx of noise from the corridor as the women went out. She finished tying her hair and closed her own locker.
Would the other PCs have thought differently if they’d seen Ashleigh Jarvis lying in the road? Probably not. Did it matter? Again, probably not. Holly knew that everyone here would tell you the same thing: don’t get emotionally involved, stay objective. It was the only way to deal with the job.
She finished tying her hair and closed her own locker, quietly.
As he pushed against the door into the canteen Sam almost walked into PC Bob Mulvey.
“Whoa there, tiger!” Mulvey said like he was the first one to ever use the phrase.
“Right,” Sam said. He made to move on but Mulvey continued to block the door. “Where’s your girlfriend?” he asked, looking along the corridor.
Sam knew he meant Holly – yet another lame joke – but he didn’t want to give Mulvey the satisfaction of acknowledging it.
“Still in bed, probably,” he said.
Mulvey frowned. “She should be in by now.”
“In?” Sam looked puzzled. “Why?”
“I thought she was on this morning. Sergeant Stafford reckons she is.”
“Why’d he think that?” Sam said. “He doesn’t know her.”