by David Evans
“So what’s been happening today especially that’s made you feel so knackered then?” Souter asked.
Strong shook his head. “You know, looking back, this morning seems a long way off now.” Souter waited for his friend to carry on. “I only wanted to speak to a suspect and we end up bringing him into custody, along with the three Eastern European women he’s had working for him in a dodgy massage parlour. That’ll mean Immigration will get involved … no doubt, Inland Revenue … Times like these, I could do with a cigar.”
Souter chuckled. “How long now?”
“Three weeks, five days and …” he glanced at his watch. “Twenty-two minutes.”
“Good man.” Souter took a drink from his glass. “Is this massage parlour business connected with your Albanian girl?”
Strong leaned back in the seat. “Yes. And the guy I brought in was her supposed boyfriend.”
“A serious suspect?”
“Not sure. There are other parties involved. At the moment I need some hard evidence, which I haven’t got.”
“What about these other two herberts you’ve been looking for? Any joy tracking them down? Who was it now … Baker and Chapman?”
Strong put his head back and closed his eyes for a few seconds. “Disappeared off the face of the earth.”
Souter was even more impressed with Sammy. If the police were struggling to track down this mystery cousin but she had at least narrowed the field, he wasn’t going to pass that on. “Talking of disappearances, have you got anything for me on Maria? Sammy’s bound to ask.”
“She still lodging with you?”
“No, she’s staying at Allison’s.”
Strong shook his head. “You found yourself a diamond there, mate.”
“I know. It was a bit awkward at first when she found out I’d let her stay at mine for a night but … we’re solid.”
“I’m glad for you. But no, nothing on your Misper. I asked the officer in charge today. He’d been back to see Gazza I think, but he doubts he could get any better images of the van.”
The sirens of an ambulance disturbed the conversation and Souter followed the flashing blue lights’ refraction through the pub window as it passed by. “It doesn’t look good, does it?” he said, after a brief pause. “I mean, it’s been too long. I know you get these girls moving on, drifting through life, but when Sammy tells me how close they were … she would have been in contact with her somehow.” He looked at Strong who nodded understandingly. Souter finished his beer. “One more?”
“I’ll get these,” Strong said and got to his feet. “I’ll only have a half, I’m driving and I haven’t had anything to eat since a sandwich at lunch time.”
At the bar, Strong was served by a pimply youth of about twenty. He bought a couple of bags of crisps, a pint of Timothy Taylor Landlord for Souter and a half of Tetley for himself. He also learnt that the answer to question eleven was The Jordanaires.
“So,” he said, settling himself back in his seat, “what did you want to run by me?”
Souter looked puzzled.
“When you rang this afternoon,” Strong reminded him, “you said there were a couple of …”
“Oh, yeah, sorry.” Souter lowered his voice and leaned in across the table. “Well, I nipped in to see Susan today.”
“Oh yeah, how is she?”
“They let her out this afternoon. Gillian collected her. Alison and Sammy have popped over to see her tonight. But she wants me to keep her up to speed with the events at the farm. I was just wondering when I could report on the schoolgirls’ discovery?”
Strong opened one of the crisp bags and offered some to Souter, who declined. “You know there’s reporting restrictions at the moment. The families need to be informed first and the forensics team needs to carry out their work with minimal distractions and interruptions. I’ve been invited to a team briefing in the morning in Pontefract so I would expect you’ll know shortly after that. I think they’re planning to move the bodies to the mortuary in the morning.” Flynn had told him as much. “And there’ll probably be a press conference in the afternoon.”
“I’d better get a head start on the rest of the pack.” Souter looked concerned.
“DCS Flynn said you would.” Strong offered the crisp bag again. This time Souter took a couple.
“It’ll have taken them a while to move the bodies.”
Strong finished some crisps before he answered. “I think they want to gather as much evidence in-situ. You know what these scientists are like.”
Souter crunched his crisps and washed them down with a gulp of beer. “The other thing was Baker’s father.”
“What about him?”
“It’s Robert, isn’t it?”
Strong was curious now. Souter knew something and he seemed to be testing the water. “What do you know?”
A loud cheer and laughter drifted through the bar from the other side. Souter reached in for another crisp. “No, nothing really,” he said in an innocent tone. “It’s just this afternoon, I came across a report on his retirement last year in the archives, that’s all.”
“Retirement? If it hit the Post, he must have had a fairly decent position then. What did he do?”
“Worked at De la Rue, you know, the printers.”
“The bank note specialists. What as?”
“Some sort of designer, I think.”
Strong felt the familiar effects of an adrenaline rush. “Like I said, it must have been a senior position to warrant a report in the papers.” He took a drink of his beer, hoping he didn’t make any obvious reaction to what Souter had just told him. His mind was buzzing. If Baker senior had the skills and knowledge, he would be the obvious source of good quality fake documents, like those registration papers accompanying the stolen vehicles. He thought again of Baker’s reaction to questions about his son, Gary, and Chris’s visits to the massage parlour. He definitely knew more than he had told him. He needed to speak to him again.
“Thought that would interest you,” Souter said with a grin. “That’s why I thought you might like to see a copy. Here.” He took a folded up piece of paper from his pocket and handed it across.
Strong opened it and read the article. When he’d finished, he folded it back up and put it in his jacket pocket. “Thanks for this,” he said, “Interesting that from a fairly normal, reasonably wealthy family, a scrote like Gary Baker can emerge. Plus his brother, of course, involved in something so wrong, he gets himself topped.” Strong rubbed his eyes.
Souter smiled to himself. What Robert Baker had done for a living certainly caught his friend’s attention, no matter how he tried to cover it.
“Sorry, mate,” Strong said, “I’m going to have to go. I’m starving and I’m knackered. Laura’s got some shepherd’s pie to heat up for me, and I can hear it calling me.” He stood up to leave. “Listen, why don’t you and Alison come round for something to eat, sometime soon? Laura only said this morning how she hasn’t seen you for ages.”
“Sounds good to me. I’ll check with her and give you a call.”
“See you.” With that Strong left the way he’d come in, got into his car and drove home. First thing in the morning, he’d get one of the team on Baker’s case – address for one thing. For now, he was looking forward to some food.
* * *
Laura was sitting at the dining table going through some paperwork when Strong arrived home. He took off his jacket in the hall and looked in at the doorway.
“Hi,” she said. “Hungry?”
“Starving.”
“Hi, Dad,” Amanda called from the lounge, the sound of the television in the background.
He walked to the lounge doorway. “Hi, sweetheart. Got your shortlist for universities sorted?”
“Not really. Still working on it.” She turned on the settee to face him. “God, you look knackered.”
Strong lifted a finger. “Hey. Enough of that sort of talk.”
She smiled and turned
back to her programme.
Laura came up behind and put her arms around him. “She’s right, though, you look tired. Your tea’s in the microwave. I’ll warm it up.” As she went into the kitchen he took off his shoes and put on some slippers. When he joined her, he sat down at the kitchen table.
“Had a busy day?” Laura asked.
“There’s just so much going on.” He rubbed his eyes with the heels of both hands once again. After a pause, he looked up at his wife. “Jennifer would have graduated by now and Mary probably looking forward to her second year, if they’d been clever enough.”
“Those two schoolgirls?”
Strong nodded. “I know they’re not my case, but I can’t help being interested.”
“Is that what’s taking up your time?”
“No. It’s the more seedy side of life.”
“Your Albanian girl?”
“She got involved with some nasty people – sex trafficking I suspect now.”
The microwave pinged, prompting Laura to walk over, test the food and set it going again. She leaned against the worktop.
“We’re really lucky here in Britain, aren’t we?” Strong looked off into space for a second before focussing back on his wife. “She reminded me a lot of Amanda, you know. Imagine if she had to leave England just to get a basic standard of living; risking all sorts of exploitation. I know there is some poverty here, but nothing like some of the conditions in countries like Albania, Estonia, Latvia and the other former Russian satellite states. Nobody here feels compelled to travel abroad for a better life.
The microwave pinged once more and Laura dished up.
“Wow, we are in a melancholy mood aren’t we?” she jibed.
“No, it’s just … do you know, this is delicious,” he said, taking the first mouthful of food.
“Do you want something to drink?”
“I’ll have a mug of tea later. I nipped for a pint with Bob on the way home. He seems to be settled.”
“At the moment,” Laura added.
Strong laughed. “Yea, I know. His track record isn’t the best but Alison seems good for him.”
“She’s got that young girl staying with her now, though, hasn’t she?”
“Sammy, yes.” Strong looked off into the middle distance for a second. “There’s still no news on her friend either.”
“How long is that?”
“Must be … ten days.” He paused to eat more of his shepherds’ pie. “I was thinking, what are we doing Sunday? Maybe ask them round for lunch. You were only saying, you hadn’t seen him for months. And I don’t think you’ve met Alison yet.”
“I haven’t, no. Sunday? No, nothing planned. That’d be nice.”
“Okay, I’ll call him tomorrow.”
50
Friday
By contrast to the impressive Victorian stone building housing Pontefract Magistrates Court, the Police Station behind it in Sessions House Yard was the epitome of the architectural carbuncle that had once exercised Prince Charles so much. Brick ground floor elevations between concrete columns with precast concrete panels above did nothing to inspire visitors, not that most visitors would be looking for inspiration, certainly not of the artistic kind. At least there were a couple of traditional Police blue lamps either side of the public entrance.
Strong parked in one of the bays to the side and, after announcing his presence at the front desk, was buzzed through to make his way upstairs to the murder room that had been set up in one of the larger first floor offices.
Before he could enter, DCI Walker strode up the corridor to greet him. “Colin, glad you could make it,” he said, offering a hand. “I hear you’ve got your hands full yourself.”
Strong knew that he and Peter Walker were about the same age, but balding, being shorter and heavier set, gave Walker the appearance of being much older. He’d met him a couple of times over the years on various courses and thought he was a straight talking ‘what you see is what you get’ sort of copper. “Good to see you again, Peter,” he said, shaking hands. “Yes things have been hotting up back at Wood Street. I don’t know if I can add much to your enquiry but I appreciate the invite.”
“Well, I’m just about to bring everyone up to speed, so if there is anything that springs to mind, just join in.” Walker opened the door and ushered him into the room where around ten CID officers and a couple of uniforms were assembled.
Over the course of the next fifteen minutes, the history of the disappearances of Mary Duggan and Jennifer Coyle were reprised. Various items of clothing found on the bodies clearly identified them as belonging to the girls. Memories of Strong’s mother ironing name tags onto the collars of his school shirts were dredged from his subconscious. The families had been told, and the bodies were being removed that morning. A press conference was being called for three o’clock but, with a nod towards Strong, Walker indicated that the Yorkshire Post would be reporting the find in their earliest evening edition, ahead of the pack.
“Is that for the benefit of the journo that found the bodies?” a voice from the front asked.
“It is, Dean,” Walker responded.
“But is he not considered a suspect?”
“Technically, I suppose, but it would seem unlikely. Jim, Paul, you interviewed him yesterday, didn’t you?” Walker addressed two detectives standing beside Strong. “What did you make of his story?”
“Bit unbelievable, sir,” one said, “but then the girl, Susan, said exactly the same thing. The two girls just appeared to her when she fell into the basement.”
“Colin, can I bring you in at this point?” Walker said. “Gentlemen, for those of you who don’t know, DCI Colin Strong is leading another murder investigation which seems linked to the discovery of our two bodies. In fact, their find was reported to him in the first instance. Colin, what do you make of this?”
Strong decided there was nothing to be gained by recounting the tangled tale of events which had led to the discovery of Susan in the basement of the farmhouse and the subsequent investigations into the use of the new barn building by the Baker brothers and Steve Chapman. “The only link between my investigations and your enquiry is purely location,” he said. “For what it’s worth, I wouldn’t consider Robert Souter a suspect. He was acting on what Susan Brown had told him. In fact, I hold my hands up here, he’d actually come to see me before to report what Susan had told him. Like you, I thought it sounded a bit far-fetched and I didn’t think I could spend precious resources to investigate, not when we’d got other aspects unfolding. To be fair, he trawled the newspaper archives to check what he’d been told and came to the conclusion that there was no way Susan could have known some of the things she said without the experience she had. Eventually, he decided to have a look for himself.”
“Okay, so moving on,” Walker said, “any forensic evidence we can consider?”
A tall detective standing near the front flipped open his notebook and took up the discussion. “Early indications seem that both girls had been strangled, sir. The small bones in the neck were broken. Jennifer was wearing the white smock dress she wore to school the day she went missing. Mary was also wearing her school uniform. Both girls were missing socks and shoes. We’ll know more once they’ve had a chance to get them back to the mortuary.”
“Thanks, Tim,” Walker acknowledged. “What about the search of the buildings? Anything there?”
Another detective on the far side of the room reported that the house was in a poor state, windows had disintegrated, the lead had disappeared from the roof years ago and there were signs of numerous leaks. There were no personal possessions inside and nothing of any interest to their enquiry so far. “The building had been unoccupied for ten years, we understand,” he explained. “In the new barn, we found some tools and materials that looked as though the place had been used for vehicle repair.”
“That’s right,” Strong interrupted. “The property was used by the group we suspect of changing identitie
s of stolen cars. Two of the vehicles we traced to Felixstowe Docks where we discovered the body of my murder victim.”
“Did you search the other buildings there, Colin?” Walker asked.
“We didn’t. All indications were they’d been locked up and left for years.”
“That would seem so,” the detective resumed. “There was an old barn padlocked up which we forced. Inside we found some rusty farm machinery and, under some tarpaulins an old tractor and a maroon Mitsubishi pick-up.”
Strong pricked up his ears. “Was there any registration plates on that?” he asked.
The detective looked round. “No, probably taken off years ago. Seemed to have bits missing off it, as though it had been raided for spares at some point. Same with the tractor.”
Strong walked towards the front. “Should still be able to identify it through chassis and engine numbers though, provided the engine’s still there.”
“Yeah, it’s still there.”
Walker joined in. “What are you thinking, Colin?”
“Just something someone said to me … rings a bell. Can you check back through the original files when these girls went missing? There might be mention of a maroon pick-up seen in the vicinity of both disappearances.”
“Frank, can you follow up on that?” Walker instructed. “What do we know about previous owners of the property?”
“Last tenants by the name of Collinson, sir,” one of the officers who’d interviewed Souter replied. “They were there when both girls went missing. Both dead now, though.”
“I can help you there too, Peter,” Strong offered, “You might want to talk to the Clay family who work the adjoining farm. They gave me some background when we were looking into the stolen cars. Apparently the Collinsons had a son, Stanley.”
“Thanks for that, Colin,” Walker said. “Jim and Paul, can you get out there and take statements from the Clays? And see if we can trace this son.” He tidied up some notes he’d brought with him. “Right, Tim and I are off to the mortuary. Everyone else, you know what you’re doing?” Acknowledgements were mumbled. “Good.” He turned to Strong. “That was really useful, Colin. Thanks for coming.”