by David Evans
Souter turned to Sammy, checking there was nothing else she wanted to ask, then back once more to Tracey. “Have you any idea what might have happened to Maria?”
“No idea. Maybe she went down to London. Christ, I don’t know. She was your mate, Sam.”
“One last thing,” he said, “Have you heard of any other girls going missing?”
“Girls get in and out of this game all the time.”
“I’d heard there had been a couple go missing in the last few weeks,” Sammy joined in.
“Not heard nothing like that.”
Souter started the engine. “Thanks for your time.”
They drove back and dropped Tracey off where they had picked her up. There was no sign of the BMW or the tall dark haired girl.
“You take care,” he said as she got out.
“Whatever.”
Souter felt an air of depression as he drove back to Sammy’s place. Her road seemed more run down than he’d noticed earlier. Several young mothers were pushing children in scruffy pushchairs, some dragging a reluctant toddler along as well, and all with a mobile phone clamped to their ear.
Sammy made him pull over about a hundred yards from her building.
“I’ll walk from here,” she said.
“Is my presence a problem for you?”
She paused with her hand on the door handle. “It’s just better for me. Thanks for coming round. I’m not sure we’re any further forward. Tracey wasn’t much help, was she?”
“At least it confirmed what she’d told you earlier – and we now know the white van we’re looking for has a rusty passenger door.”
“Needle in a haystack, though.”
Sammy got out and Souter watched her walk down the road. After a few minutes, she passed two hoodies. One turned to look at her then said something to his mate. They both laughed and Souter tensed once more.
He put the car in gear and slowly set off, passing Sammy about twenty yards from her flat. With a quick glance towards her, he accelerated down the street. The uneasy feeling of hostile eyes on him made him shudder.
12
Four o’clock and Strong was back out at Meadow Woods Farm. The place was buzzing with Scenes of Crime officers in white suits. Stainmore and Ormerod met him in the yard.
“We got the keys from the agents and had a quick look round,” Stainmore told him.
“And?”
“A variety of tools, welding equipment and car paints,” Ormerod said.
“So, a little car repair business?”
“Maybe, but there’s all the materials necessary for producing number plates including a selection of numbers and letters as well.”
“Hardly grounds for all this activity.”
“It’s more what isn’t here that struck me.”
“And then, of course, there was this,” Stainmore said, before Ormerod could add any more. She held up a plastic evidence bag. “In a rubbish bin, discarded items we think came from the Subaru Sports that was nicked from an address in Wooley just over two weeks ago.”
“How have you tied that in?”
“When the owner reported the theft, he gave us some fairly detailed information about what was in the vehicle. For instance, he told me that he was virtually addicted to Werther’s Originals. Voila, dozens of Werther’s sweet wrappers.”
“Hardly conclusive. The guys who work here might be big fans.”
“He also said there would be three car parking receipts from the multi-storey in town, including the dates and rough times.”
“Getting better,” Strong said.
“Then the clincher, a parking fine made out in the vehicle’s registration number, which he said he’d collected the day before it was nicked, and would be in the glove box.”
“Now we’re getting somewhere.” Strong had a satisfied grin on his face. “At the very least, it looks like the car was cleaned internally here.”
“I assume we pull in Chris Baker, guv?” Ormerod asked.
“Oh, yes. But let’s have his brother and Chapman in as well. And keep them separate, don’t let them see one another. BT confirmed a call from Susan’s land line to Chapman on Saturday afternoon. So, for me, that confirms she heard that message and somehow worked out who had left it.”
As Stainmore made a call, Strong strolled over to the farm house. He turned at the front door and studied the layout of the yard.
Ormerod joined him. “You think Susan Brown and this little operation might be connected?”
“Not sure yet, Luke. I don’t think she was involved with them. But I don’t believe in coincidences either. I just hope they weren’t responsible in some way for what happened to Susan.”
Strong carefully made his way past the front door and stood to one side on a firm piece of flooring. Kneeling down on his haunches, he looked into the gaping hole Susan had made when she’d tumbled through. If only he’d come inside this morning, Susan might not be in such a bad way. He stood up and shuffled back out into the open air.
“She must have made the connection between Chapman’s message and this location, guv,” Ormerod said when his boss rejoined him.
“Let’s not take anything for granted, Luke. It’s a theory, but I’d like to hear what the little scrotes have to say first.”
* * *
Chris Baker sat at the table in Interview Room 2. About thirty years of age, he was dressed in a suit and shirt but no tie. He was surprised when Newell and Kirkland had turned up at his house just before six but he’d agreed to come to the station with them voluntarily.
Strong and Stainmore were conducting the questioning, Strong happy for Stainmore to take the lead.
“As I said earlier, Mr Baker, you’re not under arrest,” she said. “You’re just here to answer a few questions, help us with our enquiries. You’re free to leave at any time.”
“So what do you want to know?” Baker responded.
“Can you tell us what line of business you’re in?”
“Insurance. I work at the call centre for Olympia. Why?”
Strong made notes as Stainmore continued with her questions. “I understand you rent a small industrial building out at Meadow Woods Farm, the other side of Pontefract?”
“Well … it’s to help my brother out.”
“Your brother?”
“Yeah, Gary. You lot know all about Gary, seeing as you put him away enough times. I just thought I’d give him a helping hand.”
“In what way?”
“He likes tinkering with cars. With his record, he struggles to get a job, so I thought he would appreciate somewhere to do a bit of maintenance work.”
“I see. So he’s running a small business from there?”
Baker leaned forward, arms on the table. “Look, I told him he’d have to get all the proper paperwork sorted out; insurance, tax, that sort of thing. Now I don’t know if he’s …”
“Mr Baker,” Strong interrupted, “we’re not the Inland Revenue. We’re not here to look into whether or not he’s registered for tax or anything like that. We’re just trying to establish what activities were being conducted there.”
“Activities? What do you mean activities? Look, if he was up to something dodgy, it was nothing to do with me.”
Stainmore took up the questioning again. “When did you last visit Meadow Woods Farm?”
“I’ve only been there once. When we went to look at it. See if it was suitable.”
“Suitable for a vehicle repair workshop?”
“Yes. Look, what’s going on here?”
“Simply routine enquiries. So, let me get this straight, you rented the building for your brother to carry out car repairs and you only ever visited the premises once.”
“That’s right, yes.”
“Was the business successful?”
“I don’t really know.”
“Well, did Gary pay you rent for the property?”
“No. Like I said …”
“Mr Baker, we know ho
w much the rental agreement is. It might not be a great deal but could you afford it on your salary from the call centre, along with your other outgoings? I mean, you do have a mortgage, don’t you?”
“Well, yes. Okay, he did pay me a good bit towards it. I just didn’t want to get Gary into trouble, that’s all.”
“But if it’s a successful business and it’s making money, how would that get Gary into trouble exactly?”
Baker shrugged.
“Unless, of course, it wasn’t successful, not in the accepted sense.”
Baker became agitated. “He told me he was doing up cars, that’s all I know.”
“Okay, Mr Baker, thanks for your help.” Strong stood up. “If you don’t mind, DS Stainmore here will just take a formal statement before you leave. If we need to talk to you again, we’ll be in touch.” He paused at the door. “Oh, one last thing … Gary, has he got a nickname?”
“Nickname?” Baker looked puzzled. “Well his mates call him Gaz.”
“Thank you Mr Baker, you’ve been most helpful.”
13
With mail collected from the box downstairs clenched between his teeth, Souter unlocked the door to his flat and struggled inside. He was carrying his briefcase and a fish and chip supper he’d bought on the way home. Two months ago, he moved in to this new one-bed apartment near Wakefield’s Westgate station. Alison was a regular visitor but she still based herself in her cosy stone-built terraced house in Ossett. It was still early days in their blossoming relationship and the arrangement suited them both. Souter was as happy as he had been in a long time.
Dropping the briefcase and the post in the lounge, he dived into the kitchen, grabbed a plate, knife and fork, brown sauce from the cupboard and was straight into his food. He’d been looking forward to this since the idea popped into his head around four o’clock. Two mouthfuls in, his mobile rang. It was Alison.
“Hi, gorgeous,” he said.
“Not interrupting, am I?”
“No, of course not.” Souter stood up, phone wedged between ear and shoulder. “I’m just in.”
“I’ve had Gillian round for the past hour.”
“So what’s the latest on Susan?” He switched the oven on and put his plate inside as he listened to Alison’s response.
“She’s obviously worried but the doctor told her Susan is as well as can be expected. They’ve operated on her leg to set it and there are a few complications they’re worried about. Something called compartment syndrome, obviously infection and the chance of a deep vein thrombosis. She’s still unconscious but we hope to know more in the morning.”
“I knew DVT was a risk, infection too, but I’m not sure what compartment syndrome is. Hopefully, it’ll all be academic in a couple of days.”
“It’s something that causes muscle damage.” Alison sighed down the phone. “But we can only wait. Gillian’s just left to go back to the hospital.”
“Let me know if there’s any news.”
“What I’m wondering is,” Alison said, “what was Susan doing out at that remote spot anyway?”
“I’ve a feeling it’s all to do with that answer message.”
“The one you didn’t let us hear.”
It was Souter’s turn to sigh. “I was only trying to protect Gillian. I didn’t want to worry or upset her any more than she already was. It was obviously a miscall. Whoever it was, left it for someone else. I wouldn’t mind betting that Susan, pumped full of enthusiasm for this journalism course, thought there might be a good story in it. How she connected that with Meadow Woods Farm, I don’t know. But I’ll bet Colin does.”
“I just hope she wasn’t attacked by anyone.”
“It didn’t look that way. From what I saw, it just looked like an accident. She fell through the rotting floor.” He adjusted the temperature on the oven. “Apart from hospital visits, how was your day?”
Alison lightened up. “Just the usual boring stuff. What about you?”
“Same here. I did spend most of the afternoon with a prostitute, though.”
“You what!”
Souter laughed. “Knew that would get a reaction. No, seriously, this young girl came to see me yesterday about her missing friend.” He proceeded to tell Alison about his concerns for Maria before relating the conversation with Tracey.
“It’s a murky world,” Alison said.
“I know, I’ve seen my fair share.” He switched the kettle on and put a tea bag in a mug. “Anyway, are you coming down tonight or do you want me to come up and see you?”
“I know what you’re after Mr Souter, but you’ll have to wait,” she chuckled.
“You’re not turning me down are you?”
“I’m up early tomorrow. I’ve got to be in Manchester for eight-thirty. One of those waste of time courses we’ve got to attend.”
“I feel rejected.”
“Don’t worry, big boy, I’ll see you tomorrow night. I reckon I’ll need some love and attention after Manchester.”
The kettle boiled and the conversation drew to a close.
14
In the CID room, Strong and Stainmore were enjoying a coffee when Ormerod and Darby came in. They had been interviewing Gary Baker.
“How did you get on?” Strong enquired.
Ormerod held a video tape in his hand. “Action replay, if you want, guv.”
“Let’s see it, then.”
Ormerod placed the cassette in the video machine, pressed ‘play’ and sat down.
The tape began with the usual formal introductions of those present, date and time. Baker, with a buzzed head, was wearing a white tee shirt and jogging bottoms. The duty solicitor was seated beside him.
“So, Gary … or is it Gaz?” Ormerod began.
He smirked. “It’s Gaz to my friends.”
“Okay, Gary, let’s just start by telling me your connection with Meadow Woods Farm?”
He hunched forward in his seat, nervously playing with his hands. “I do a bit of car repairs and maintenance up there, that’s all.”
“On your own or …?”
“Me and Steve.”
“That would be Steve Chapman.”
“That’s right.”
“I thought he’d already got a job?”
He leaned back and began to nibble the thumbnail of his left hand. “Well, yeah. He helps me out on an evening, sometimes weekends.”
“So it’s not a full-time job.”
“I’m still building it up.”
“And how long have you been working there?”
“About two months.”
“What sort of work is it you do?”
“Bit of servicing, small repairs, that sort of thing. Nothing too complicated.”
“You got much on at the moment?”
Again, more nail nibbling. “Er … no, not right this minute”
“That would explain it then,” Ormerod said, leaning back in his seat.
“What?”
“Why we didn’t see any cars there. I mean, normally you’d expect to see two or three vehicles around the place. Maybe one inside you were working on.”
“Well, yeah, things are a bit slow just now.”
Ormerod leaned forward. “So what was your last job?”
“What?”
“You know, what was the last job you carried out?”
He paused, looked down in his lap and studied his hands. “Well, I … er, we serviced my van.”
“But that’s your own. You didn’t make any money out of that.”
He perked up again. “Then there was Chris’s car.”
“Chris? Would that be your brother, Chris?”
Once more, Baker slumped in his chair. “That’s right.”
“But he’s renting the place for you.”
He stared at Ormerod. “But … how’d you know …” Looking away, his voice dropped. “Well, yeah, but it’s still a job.”
“So how are you making money, then?”
“We do a bit.
It’s not good but we get by.”
Ormerod leaned back in the seat and chuckled. After a few seconds, he continued, “Ever do any work on more upmarket cars?”
“No. We’re not equipped.”
“Nothing like Mercedes, Range Rover …?”
“Out of my league.”
“Or say, a Subaru Sports?”
Baker paused. “Nah.”
“Funny that, Gary, because we’ve found evidence that one has been there within the past two weeks.”
“Don’t know nothin’ about that.”
“But there’s only you and Steve work there, you told us.”
“Well … yeah.”
“So if it wasn’t you then Steve must have dealt with it.”
“Suppose.”
“You don’t seem too concerned by that.” Ormerod turned to Darby. “Don’t know about you, John, but I’d be a bit pissed off if my so-called mate was involved in something dodgy on my premises.” He turned back to the suspect. “Especially if I’d got a record like yours, Gary.”
Baker merely shrugged.
“You know what I think? I think you knew fine what was going on. I think the pair of you have been lifting cars and moving them on.”
Baker seemed to relax. “Is that all this is about?”
Ormerod paused the tape. “That response surprised me, guv,” he said.
“Yes, it was a bit of a change of attitude. What he’s said makes me think we’re missing something. Play it on.”