by John Nicholl
‘I’m not happy with the situation either. But, there’s fuck all I can do about it. I’ll know more when I’ve seen the chief super. Now piss off and get on with those house-to-house enquiries.’
‘Okay, boss, I’ll give you a shout if we come up with anything useful.’
Gravel got on with some paperwork and kept his eye on the clock. At 8:15 a.m. precisely he picked up the phone. ‘Trevor, it’s Grav. Have you given any further thought to last night’s discussion?’
‘I haven’t revised my position.’
‘I’ll see you outside the super’s office in ten minutes.’
The two experienced detectives stood outside their head of department’s door like apprehensive schoolboys awaiting their head teacher. Gravel knocked reticently, and waited respectfully for the chief super’s response.
Detective Chief Superintendent Graham Chapman had arrived in work unusually early. He had his in-laws staying for a week’s holiday from Devon, and had used work as an excuse to escape the house. He knew his wife would make him pay at some later date, but he told himself it was probably worth it. He smiled when he heard the knock on the door. It was a good day to be in work. ‘Come in and take a seat, boys. I’m assuming this has got to be important, or you’d have made an appointment. No worries, what can I do for you both?’
The two men glanced in each other’s direction, each waiting for the other to reveal his cards.
‘Come on, boys, for Pete’s sake. What’s the delay? Trevor, you make a start.’
Simpson began outlining the salient facts and the potentially conflicting priorities of the two overlapping investigations. But, before he had the chance to say very much at all, the chief super intervened, as he often did. It was uncanny. His efficiency and total dedication to his role meant that almost nothing that happened in the division was ever a surprise to him. ‘Trevor, let me stop you there. I’m already fully conversant with the facts. I’ve read the relevant paperwork and seen the computer records. Let me summarise. Interrupt me if I get anything wrong.’ All three men knew that wasn’t going to happen. ‘Firstly, the paedophile ring is a top-priority investigation that’s going to be high profile in the papers, on TV, that sort of thing. There’s inevitably going to be a great deal of unwelcome media interest from the gutter press. You know what the parasites are like. If there’s a potential criticism to make, they’ll make it. We have to get it right, and be seen to get it right. We have enough solid evidence to arrest and charge five suspects as of now. I believe that’s how the CPS put it, Trevor?’
‘That’s correct, sir.’
‘The situation may well improve as things progress. Or at least, let’s hope so. You seem to be well on top of it. We can’t jeopardise the enquiry, there’s far too much to lose. The chief constable would not be a happy man. All arrests need to be carefully coordinated so as not to give any potential for the destruction of evidence or interference with witnesses. I shouldn’t need to tell you that. It’s bloody obvious.’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Secondly, we have the missing seven-year-old lad and the attempted murder of his mother. Another high-priority case. A child’s life may well be on the line. I see your dilemma, Grav. But, this business with Fisher, it’s speculative at best. The witness is old with poor eyesight, it was dark, and she’d taken a sleeping tablet. Not exactly the most reliable witness, I’m sure you’d agree. Any half-decent defence barrister would tear it apart. You know that. On the other hand, we know that Fisher’s van was seen in Eden Road the same night. Fisher has been named by one child as part of the ring investigation, albeit her description was less than accurate, and there’s nothing to corroborate her allegations. It’s far from certain. As of now, there isn’t enough to arrest him as part of the first wave. That situation could change, of course, as the investigation progresses. But we can’t base our plans on possibilities.’
Gravel shook his head discontentedly, but the chief super wasn’t finished.
‘Don’t lose the will to live just yet, Grav. There may be a way around this if we use some imagination. I realise Galbraith lives in Eden Road and that both men are implicated to varying degrees in the ring. Could be significant, but probably not. As of now there’s nothing to suggest either man has, or ever had, Anthony Mailer. At this stage we don’t know the identity of the second man in Fisher’s van, but I’m sure you’ll both agree that Fisher and Galbraith seem highly unlikely bedfellows. That said, it’s a remote possibility we can’t afford to ignore. What I suggest is this. Dr Galbraith will be arrested along with the other primary suspects at a time to be agreed by tomorrow’s planning meeting. I propose that the time will be early on Thursday morning.’ He checked his desk diary. ‘That’ll be the thirteenth. Each arrest team will be accompanied by trained search officers, with dogs where available. We’ll go through each house with a fine-tooth comb. That takes care of Galbraith. Now for Fisher. As I’ve already made clear, there isn’t enough on Fisher to justify arresting him as part of the first wave. I don’t want the bastard arrested and then released without charge. That doesn’t help anyone. Agreed?’
The two inspectors nodded their agreement as the chief superintendent continued his soliloquy, ‘Fisher does, however, have a long history of dishonesty offences that is well known to you both. I’m sure there has to be some outstanding matters that would give reasonable grounds for paying him a visit. Searching his property and any vehicles he may own would be entirely justified. Get it done today, Grav. Even if you find nothing to charge him with, you can at least have a good look around and establish what he was doing in Eden Road at that time of the morning. Make no mention of any allegations relating to children at this stage. Do you understand where I’m coming from?’
‘I do, sir.’
‘Before we finish, boys, this conversation didn’t happen. Understand?’
Both men nodded in unison.
‘Off you go, boys. Best if you both go to tomorrow’s meeting. Keep me informed of all developments. Like it or not, the next few days could decide our professional futures. Close the door on your way out.’
‘What do you make of that, Grav?’
‘Could be a lot worse. How the fuck does he do it? He knows what I’m thinking before I do sometimes.’
‘Beats me, I’ll see you tomorrow.’
‘Cheers, Trevor.’
Gravel picked up the phone and dialled. ‘Clive, I’m back in the office. Fisher’s back on. We’re looking for stolen goods.’
‘Receiving? What the…?’
‘I know, ask me no questions and I’ll tell you no lies. Be back here at ten, and we’ll pay our Mr Fisher a visit.’
‘Morning, boss, have we got time for a hot drink before we go? It’s fucking freezing out there.’
‘I don’t see why not, I’ll put the kettle on. You’ve got the warrant I presume.’
Rankin tapped a jacket pocket and nodded.
Gravel poured the boiling water and added milk and sugar. ‘There you go, Clive, my boy, get it down. We need to make a move in five minutes. Any developments I don’t know about?’
‘Nothing as yet, maybe we’ll have more luck this morning.’
The DI finished his coffee, placed the mug down on his desk, and stood up to leave. ‘Let’s hope so, Clive. Let’s hope so.’
The inspector took a bunch of keys from a desk drawer and threw them to Rankin. ‘I’m knackered, you can do the driving.’
Clive Rankin manoeuvred the unmarked police car through the large grey-painted wooden gates that led into Wayne Fisher’s shambolic scrapyard about twenty minutes later. There were mangled vehicles of every kind piled high on either side of the enclosure, and a large, black and rusty corrugated iron building which served as an office and workshop at the far end, where metal was weighed and cash changed hands. Fisher’s white van was parked directly in front of the structure.
Fisher identified the car as a police vehicle long before recognising the two officers in the front seats
. He swore loudly, but was ultimately resigned to what he saw as a regrettable occupational hazard. Regular visits from the police were inconvenient, but an unavoidable part of the job.
Fisher looked around his yard and grinned. As it happened, on this occasion, unusually for him, he had no stolen goods on the premises, other than various indistinguishable pieces of scrap metal that would be impossible to identify. There was very little, if anything, to worry about.
Fisher approached the police car just as Gravel and Rankin were stepping out and closing the doors. ‘Mr Gravel, Mr Rankin, lovely to see you both again. What can I do for you two fine gentlemen?’
The inspector glared at him accusingly. ‘You can stop taking the piss. I am not in the mood.’
‘Oh, don’t be like that, Mr Gravel. I’m always happy to help the police.’
The DI turned to Rankin. ‘If he’s trying to wind me up, he’s doing a fucking good job of it.’ He strode towards Fisher and poked him hard in the chest, causing the Irishman to lose his balance and stumble backwards. ‘We’ve received information that you have stolen items on the premises. Anything you want to tell us before we have a look around? Wasting my time will not do you any favours.’
Fisher got back to his feet and brushed himself off. ‘Stolen goods? No, nothing like that, Mr Gravel. I’m a good boy these days.’
‘We’d love to stay here all day and listen to your fucking jokes, but we’ve got work to do.’ He stepped forward, placed his face an inch or two from Fisher’s, and stared into his eyes. ‘Several churches in the area have had the lead stripped from their roofs in recent days. That makes me extremely unhappy. I fully intend to nail any bastard who played any part in it. We’ll look around the yard. When we’ve done that we’ll look at your office, and when we’ve done that we’ll have a good look at your van. If there’s anything to find, we’ll find it. Anything you want to tell us? Now would be a good time.’
All of a sudden Wayne Fisher wasn’t feeling quite so confident. Constables searched, sergeants possibly, but detective inspectors didn’t get their hands dirty. They had people to do that for them. What the hell was going on?
He felt his heart pounding in his chest. What were they really there for? This wasn’t about scrap metal. Why the hell did Galbraith need use of the van?
Gravel and Rankin spent almost two hours searching without finding anything to suggest that Anthony Mailer, or any other child for that matter, had ever been anywhere near the scrapyard. Both men had, however, noticed that Fisher became edgy, nervous even, when they examined the vehicle. They looked at every inch of the van, but found nothing at all, which seemed significant in itself. The outside was its usual rusty dirty mess, but the inside was absolutely immaculate. Someone had clearly taken a great deal of care to clean it.
Fisher had no idea why Galbraith had insisted he repeatedly clean the van’s interior as he supervised, and he hadn’t asked. It was best not to know the answer to some questions.
‘Right, Wayne, we’re going to impound the van so that the SOCO boys can have a good look at it.’
Fisher’s stomach was doing somersaults. He really didn’t need this level of police attention. ‘Oh, come on, Mr Gravel. You haven’t found a thing, have you? I had fuck all to do with the church jobs. I need the van to make a living, for fuck’s sake.’
Grav glowered. ‘What were you doing in Eden Road in the early hours of Sunday morning? I’d think very carefully before answering, if I were you. I’m not in the mood to take any more of your shit.’
Fisher was very close to tears. What the hell could he say to that? He had to come up with something. ‘There’s got to be some mistake. I had a couple of drinks, watched television, and crashed into bed for the night. I didn’t leave the house.’
The inspector laughed dismissively. ‘Oh come on, even you can do better than that, surely? You were stopped by a police officer. He made a record of your index number. You were ordered to produce your fucking documents. Now try again!’
Fisher’s face appeared to drain of blood. How the hell was he supposed to respond to that? He could confirm he was driving. He could invent some crap explaining where he’d been. He could try to blag it. That was one possibility. But, what the hell was Galbraith doing? The man was a total psycho. He could potentially implicate himself in something he wanted no part of. It was a no-win situation. ‘Look, Mr Gravel, I don’t need this kind of hassle. I’ve got the documents in the office. You’re welcome to see them whenever you want to. I can get them now if that helps.’
‘What were you doing in Eden Road?’
‘I need the van for the job. Give me a break, please.’
‘I’ll ask you again. What were you doing in Eden Road? You can tell us here or at the station. It’s your choice.’
Fisher began trembling as his earlier bravado melted away like an ice cube in the hot summer sun. Receiving, theft or a bit of burglary were one thing, but this had to be something more serious, a lot more serious. Whatever it was, he wanted no part of it. Say nothing. That was the only option left open to him. Say nothing.
Grav glared at him. ‘I’m waiting. Stop pissing me about. I am losing patience fast, you thieving bastard.’
Fisher didn’t respond.
‘There was another man in the van with you. Who was he?’
‘I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about.’
‘There was a man in the passenger seat when you were stopped. He was seen by an officer. Who was he?’
Still no reply.
Gravel turned and walked away for fear of striking his suspect. ‘Enough! Cuff him, Clive. Let’s get the bastard arrested and in the car. We’ll have a final look around this shit-hole and search the house on the way to the station. Radio through to the SOCO boys and get that fucking van collected.’
Rankin drove while his boss sat in the back, repeatedly asking Wayne Fisher the same two unanswered questions. ‘What were you doing in Eden Road?’ And, ‘Who else was in the van?’
Fisher sat tight-lipped, and didn’t speak at any point of the journey. It seemed the sensible approach.
The inspector was all too painfully aware that his was a fishing expedition with very little bait. Unless they got a lucky break, the morning’s work was going to achieve fuck all that would help find Anthony Mailer or bring his mother’s attacker to justice. It was possible, even probable, that they were wasting their time. It was time they just didn’t have to waste.
37
‘Fisher’s still asking for his call, boss.’
Gravel shook his head and snorted disdainfully. ‘The bastard seems to understand the legal system as well as I do.’
‘It seems so.’
‘Let him make his call, Clive. And then lock him up and let him sweat a while.’
‘Any news from DI Simpson?’
‘Fuck all as yet. I’ll give him a bell to see how things are progressing. Look, why don’t you have a quick cup of tea in the canteen, and I’ll give you a shout when I’m ready for Fisher’s interrogation?’
Wayne Fisher looked behind him and then to each side of the room, before finally picking up the phone. Unless the pigs had some unlikely high-tech snooping device hidden somewhere, it was safe to make the call.
His hand hovered above the dial. What the hell was Galbraith’s number? Was it five-nine-six or nine-five-six? Nine-five-six, that was it. He dialled frantically and listened to the ringtone.
Cynthia Galbraith answered the phone almost immediately and was slightly out of breath when she said, ‘Hello, who’s speaking, please?’
‘My name’s Fisher, Wayne Fisher, I’m a friend of your husband. I need to speak to him.’
‘I haven’t heard him mention your name, Mr Fisher.’
‘Is he there?’
‘Yes, but he doesn’t like to be disturbed.’
What the hell was wrong with the woman? ‘This is urgent, lady. He’d want to hear what I have to say. Just tell him I’m on the phone, please.’
Cynthia was suddenly aware that her hair was sticking to her forehead. What if it was urgent? The man seemed angry for some inexplicable reason. Maybe it was a male thing. Perhaps taking a message was the preferable option. ‘I really don’t want to disturb him when he’s working. If you know my husband as you claim to, you will understand that he wouldn’t appreciate it at all. Can I take a message?’
‘This can’t wait. I don’t know how I can make myself any clearer. This call is extremely urgent. I need to talk to him now, please.’
‘I suppose I could ask him if he wants to speak to you.’
‘That would be great. Please do that.’
Cynthia stood at the entrance to her husband’s secret world, staring at the forbidden grey concrete steps, and for the first time ever, she dared to descend, step by slow determined step towards the white steel security door at the bottom. She hesitated on reaching the door, solely tempted to retreat back to the comparative safety of the kitchen. But instead, after a few seconds urging herself to act, she knocked on the cold metal, softly at first, as if hoping he wouldn’t hear her, and then harder, time and time again, until he did.
When Galbraith opened the door, the two of them stood like silent statues, intensely focused on one another for a full ten seconds before Cynthia finally looked away. As the doctor raised his right fist to punch her, she took a rapid backward step, and raised both arms defensively, before blurting out, ‘Wayne Fisher’s on the phone. He says it’s urgent. I’m sorry, he said I had to interrupt you.’
The doctor stopped dead in his tracks. Why the hell was Fisher contacting him? It had better be good.
He lowered his arm without striking, and pushed past Cynthia on his way up the steps.
Cynthia didn’t move at first, but then she took a single step forward. Should she put her head through the doorframe and peep into the prohibited, glaringly bright room? It would be informative. But, what if he came back and caught her looking? That degree of danger was unthinkable.