by David Evans
“Here we go,” Souter said, nodding to the black Mercedes that drew to a halt outside the house.
Jed Robinson looked up and down the street before pressing the key fob in his hand. The car squelched and the hazard warning lights flashed quickly three times, confirming the central locking had engaged. Satisfied, Robinson walked up the path and let himself in through the main door. Moments later, the room door could be heard opening through the receiver.
“Don’t bother knocking, then,” Sammy said.
“You get your privacy when you pay for it. You got my money?” Robinson asked.
“I’ve got what it’s worth.”
“I hope you’re not pissing me about. I told you what would happen. Now, as I see it you and that other tart owe me eight hundred exactly. And that’s what I mean to have.”
“Well, I reckon we owe two weeks rent on this … this room. And by my reckoning that’s worth about a hundred tops.”
Robinson sniggered. “I really didn’t think you were that stupid.” He took a step closer to Sammy. “Now, we have an agreement – two hundred a week each and that’s eight hundred by anybody’s reckoning.” Another step closer. “So, for the last time, have you got it?”
Sammy pulled some notes from her jeans pocket and threw them on the bed. “There’s a hundred. And I quit.”
Robinson grabbed her by the throat as she tried to rush past him. “Well that’s just not good enough. I’ve invested in you and that scummy little mate of yours. You owe me.” He looked down at her then slowly raised his eyes, all the while, a tight grip on her throat.
“You’re hurting me,” Sammy struggled to say.
He looked down once more and squeezed her breast. “There again, I’m willing to take a payment on account. You were always the sexier one.”
As her knee smashed into his groin, the door burst open and Souter and Wilkinson rushed in to witness Robinson rolling around in agony on the floor, unable to speak. Wilkinson began taking photographs. Souter bent down and grabbed Robinson by his jacket lapels and pulled him into a sitting position with his back leaning against the bed. Robinson’s eyes were tight shut and both hands never left his crotch. Souter picked up the money and held it in front of Robinson’s face. “You see this,” he said. “You see this, Mr Robinson?” he repeated, this time forcing the man’s eyes open. “This is all you’re getting. And if it were up to me, you wouldn’t even get half of that. Now you listen good. Your business with Sammy and her friend is finished. You ever try and make contact again, we’ve got some interesting information that will be all over the newspapers and in the hands of the police. Have you got that?”
“Who the hell are you?” Robinson struggled to ask.
“I said, have you got the message?” Finally, Robinson nodded. “Good. Let’s go.”
Sammy, Wilkinson and Souter left the room and closed the door. In the hallway, the same pimply youth Souter had spoken to when he first visited looking for Sammy appeared.
“Got a problem?” Billy asked him.
“Didn’t hear anything,” he responded, turned and rushed up the stairs.
As they walked across the street to the Toyota, Sammy turned back. “Just one last thing I need to do,” she said. From the front garden, she lifted half a brick and lobbed it through the Mercedes windscreen. As the alarm sounded, she ran to Wilkinson’s car, jumped in the back seat and they sped off.
39
The mobile rang in Strong’s pocket just as he was bringing Detective Chief Superintendent Flynn up to speed with developments in Felixstowe. He had also reported on his visit to Baker’s widow and father. He pulled out his phone and saw the number on the display. “DCI Halliday, sir,” he said to the Superintendent.
Flynn nodded and Strong pressed the green button to take the call.
“DI Strong, what the fuck d’you think you’re doing conducting an interview with Baker’s family without my say so?”
“It’s DCI, Frank, and it wasn’t an interview, more of an informal chat. Certain information had come to light concerning the murder of Helena Cryanovic, which is my enquiry,” he retorted.
Halliday spluttered at the end of the line. “It’s only Acting DCI and when I tell Flynn how you’re fucking up my enquiry, he’ll have your bollocks.”
“Well, I can put him on now if you like, I’m sitting in his office.”
There was a pause on the end of the line. Flynn nodded for Strong to pass the phone to him. “Frank,” the DCS said, “we’ve got to work together on this. Now DCI Strong had a positive connection between his case, the murder of the Albanian girl, and your Baker murder.”
Flynn paused and Strong could hear Halliday whinging through the mobile, but not exactly what was said.
“So how is the Baker enquiry coming along?” Flynn asked.
Again, Strong could hear the voice at the other end, quieter now, so impossible to make out the response.
“Well, what I can tell you Frank,” Flynn cut in, “is that DCI Strong has my full backing on this. I can clear it with the Assistant if you like but …”
More chatter from the other end.
Finally, Flynn wound up the call. “Just remind me again, Frank, when are you due to retire?” After a pause, “It would be a shame if it left a sour taste… Of course, I’ll make sure Colin keeps your boys in the loop. And, no doubt, your team will do the same.”
Flynn pressed the red button and handed the mobile back to Strong. “He’s upset about what’s happened to Jack,” Flynn said. “He was Frank’s prodigy in a way and I know he blames you. Personally, I don’t know anyone else who does. Just try to work with him on this one, Colin. You heard my side of the conversation there.”
Strong stood up. “Thanks, sir. I appreciate that.”
“’Night, Colin.”
“Sir,” he said and left.
40
Wednesday
It was a bright sunny morning when Souter and Sammy approached Leeds General Infirmary. The news the day before was encouraging. Everything seemed to go well with Susan’s operation. Souter had intended to visit yesterday but with the events of the day, time ran out.
They squeezed some antiseptic gel onto their hands from the container that had newly appeared at the ward entrance, rubbed them together and made their way in.
“Hi, Belinda,” Sammy greeted one of the nurses at the desk.
She looked up from her paperwork and smiled. “Hello, Sammy. Back to see your friend?”
“If that’s okay.”
“’Course it is, love. She’ll be delighted to see you. She seems a lot better today. She was even complaining of being bored.”
“Operation went well, then.”
The nurse lowered her voice. “Can’t really tell you ‘cause you’re not a relly. But yeah, doctor thinks she’ll be fine. Probably out in a day or two.”
“That’s great,” Sammy said, and was off into the ward, Souter following.
Susan was propped up against her pillows reading that morning’s Yorkshire Post.
“Now this is more interesting,” she greeted them, folding up the newspaper. “Sammy, Bob, good to see you. Nothing much exciting in here.”
“Nothing much going on,” Souter replied. “Anyway, how are you? Still lolling about in bed, I see.”
She grinned. “I’m hoping to go home tomorrow. Well, I say ‘home’. I’ll actually be staying with Gillian for a while. I’m being sorted out with crutches this afternoon.”
“That’s great,” Sammy said. “Here, I got you some Jelly Babies.” She put a bag of sweets on the locker by the side of the bed.
“Oooh, lovely.” Susan then looked at Souter.
“Ah,” he said, “and I got you these. A brand new reporter’s book and fancy propelling pencil. So you can start your articles.”
Susan chuckled and shook her head whilst Sammy and Souter drew up chairs on either side of the bed and sat down.
“So what made you decide on doing a journalism course?�
� he asked.
Susan raised her eyebrows. “Well, there’s a question. I was always interested in reading. You probably saw the bookshelves when you met Gillian at the flat.”
He nodded. “I noticed some interesting stuff, yes. That was you, was it?”
“Mum read a lot too, so all the classics were hers. I quite like mysteries, so things like the Sherlock Holmes compendium were mine. I’ve always been interested in finding things out – nosy little kid, I suppose.” She laughed, then her face grew serious. “But there was one defining incident, if I’m honest. After Mum died, it hit me hard and I basically pissed about at school.”
“I can understand that,” he said. “It must have been traumatic.”
Susan looked to Sammy and back to Souter. “It was, yes. So I left school when I was sixteen and got a job, well a series of jobs. As time went on, we had to rely on my input more and more. Dad became ill. You know about that.”
Again, Souter nodded, content not to interrupt and let Susan continue.
“It was when I was working in a petrol station on Leeds Road. I was on my own one afternoon when these two sods came in shouting they wanted money and fags. One of them jumped the counter. I didn’t get paid enough to be a hero, so I moved out of the way and let them get on with it. It was very frightening. Fortunately, the CCTV footage was good enough to get useful images and they were soon caught. But that was also my first encounter with the press. The reporting was creative to say the least. But it brought home to me that I didn’t want to spend a lifetime in dead-end jobs. They say that if you read, you can write. And English was my favourite subject at school, so I looked into doing a GCSE at night class. Then I started looking at how I could become involved in journalism. But I want to report accurately. I think that’s what the media should do.”
Souter smiled. “That’s what the vast majority of us try to do, Susan, I can assure you.”
She brightened. “Anyway, what about the girls?”
He hesitated. “You mean…?”
“Yes.”
“Well, I saw Mary’s brother, Paul on Sunday.”
“I tracked him down,” Sammy put in.
Souter carried on, “And what you said about the cast on his arm … it was true.”
Susan’s lip began to tremble and her eyes moistened. “They’re down there,” she said quietly, “I’m sure of it. Lying here, I’ve had a lot of time to think. It was so real.”
Souter and Sammy exchanged glances.
“They were frightened. They just wanted to go home.” She looked earnestly at him. “Did I tell you they were both bare-footed?”
“No you didn’t.”
“Have you ever had any experiences like this before?” Sammy asked.
Susan looked off into the middle distance for a moment. “My mum … just after she died. I thought I heard her voice one night. I was in bed. I thought I was asleep but … She just asked me to look out for Dad. And a few years later, I knew what she meant.” A tear trickled down one cheek.
Sammy took hold of her hand.
Susan turned to Souter. “Are the police going to search? I mean, what Mary’s brother said … it all adds up.”
He shook his head. “Paul’s been trying to see Colin, DCI Strong, but he’s tied up at the moment on a murder case where a body was discovered down in Suffolk.”
“But there must be someone else he can speak to. Mr Strong can’t be the only detective in Yorkshire.”
“No, but he would be the best one because of how this has come about. I had a big enough job trying to convince him you weren’t delirious in the first place. And there are inexplicable elements to it all.”
“If I could get out and about, I’d search the place myself. Why don’t you look?”
“I’ll come with you,” Sammy added.
“You’ve got your interview to prepare for, young lady,” Souter said.
“But …”
“No buts. Alison’s gone out on a limb to get you this opportunity.”
“What’s this, Sammy?” Susan asked.
“Alison’s managed to get me a meeting with her boss to see if I’d be suitable for a junior post in their office. Secretarial type stuff but using computers too.”
“Sounds good, especially after all that’s … well … Good luck for that. When is it?”
“Twelve o’clock.”
“I’ll keep my fingers crossed.”
“Sorry to interrupt you guys,” the nurse from the ward station said, approaching with a medical trolley, “but I need to attend to the patient.”
“That’s okay,” Souter said, “we need to be off anyway.”
“Yep, I’ll see you later.” Sammy gave Susan a hug.
“Look after yourself, and do what they tell you,” he warned.
“Best of luck.” Susan held up both hands with crossed fingers. “And you get back out there,” she said to Souter.
41
Souter stood in the middle of the farmyard and looked up at the dilapidated stone-built house. This was the first time he’d been back since he had found Susan. The day was overcast but bright. A warm breeze blew a plastic bag around the abandoned yard. Thoughts of spaghetti westerns and tumbleweed drifting down the main street passed through his mind.
The house had once been a substantial home on two floors. Intricate stone details to the windows and door openings combined with the porch and bay window above gave a pleasant symmetrical look. Substantial chimney stacks adorned each gable with a red tiled roof between. Some of the tiles were missing and the lead had long since been stripped by some enterprising thieves. Walking around the side, there were more vacant windows, guttering hanging down and buddleia growing out of the stonework in several places where the downpipes had fractured. At the back, a flat-roofed, single-storey extension to the kitchen marred the building’s appearance. Chunks of render had spalled from the grey blockwork and the back door was missing. Completing his circuit revealed similar deterioration to the other elevation. Finally, standing back outside the front porch, he checked his torch and took a careful step inside.
The building was exactly as he’d last seen it when the paramedics brought Susan out. He bent down and peered through the large void in the hall floor to the basement. Carefully retracing his steps of a week ago, Souter made his way around the perimeter to the open door leading to the basement. Once more he ventured down the stairs. A musty, stale aroma permeated the room. He stood and looked up at the gaping hole in the floor above and wondered how Susan’s injuries hadn’t been more severe. It was a drop of over six feet and he could only think that the way the timbers had failed, in a slow progressive manner, had saved her from a more catastrophic result.
As his eyes got used to the darker conditions, he began to gauge the position of the external wall at ground floor level relative to the front wall of the basement. So far as he could tell, they lined up. He walked over and stood with his back to it before switching on the torch. Straight ahead was the wall Susan had ended up leaning against. Taking his bearings once more through the gap in the floor above, he estimated this to be in line with the back wall of the hall. Panning the beam to the right, he picked out the side wall, more or less where he expected it to be, below the outside wall. To the left, another brick wall ran across, in line with the dividing wall between the hall and a front room above. In the middle of this, was a panelled door that he hadn’t noticed before.
He walked over, turned the handle and pushed. After a bit of resistance, it opened. The room behind had the benefit of some light from a small grille that had probably been a coal chute when first built. This also allowed a slight breeze to waft through, bringing with it an odour of dust and decaying timber. With the benefit of his torch, he could see that the room ran the full depth of the house front to back. This left the area behind the room where Susan fell and the rear of the house, assuming the basement ran below the total footprint of the building.
Then the beam picked it out. A doorway, o
r it had been a doorway, now closed up with grey blocks and rough mortar. This was in stark contrast to the other brick walls.
He walked around the room, empty apart from the dust of decades and an array of spiders’ webs. In the room where he’d discovered Susan, he looked all round once more. Apart from the stairs, no other way in to that level and no signs of any other blocked up doorways. There must be another room to the rear, he thought.
Making his way back through the doorway, he approached the blocked up opening and began to examine it. He took a key from his pocket and scraped at the surface of one of the blocks. It seemed relatively soft, like those used more for insulation than solidity. He’d need something bigger.
He returned from his car with a screwdriver. It was the largest he had with him. He began to scrape away at the surface of a block at eye level. It would be a slow process, but it was working. After a few minutes, he’d excavated a pit the size of a golf ball, after five, beaded in sweat, a cricket ball could have been forced into the void. Finally, after about ten minutes, he’d broken through, a hole about two inches in diameter. He raised his torch and peered inside.
* * *
In the front interview room on the ground floor of Wood Street Police station, Strong and Souter sat either side of the table.
Half an hour earlier, Souter had finally tracked him down by phone. “We need to talk,” he’d said. “This is important.” Souter appeared agitated.
“So what’s so urgent, Bob?”
“Did you ever manage to speak to Paul Duggan?”
“Not yet, I’ve only just got back from Suffolk. Things are moving fast.”