by Penny Grubb
‘We’re going back across town,’ he said. ‘Sam’ll settle better over there. I want you to go via Michael Drake’s; bring him back with you.’
Davis looked taken aback but nodded. ‘OK. Why?’
‘I want him on record. I want to listen to him. I’ve got Tippet, Yeatman and Kowalski, but I don’t have Drake and Stevenson.’
‘Well, we haven’t been concentrating on them,’ Davis said. ‘Oh and I’ve said not to bring Yeatman in just yet. They were reluctant because she’s so drunk. I told them to see she was safe and leave her be. We’d only be bunging her in a cell to sleep it off.’
Webber shrugged. Part of him wanted to be sure of Joyce Yeatman, but he supposed they’d checked that her inebriation was for real, and he had her on record. Sam had let go of his collar and fixed Davis with an unblinking stare. Davis seemed mesmerised and addressed his next words to the boy.
‘That thing Ayaan said about Kowalski. Could she have been in the thick of things all along?’
‘No, no.’ Webber shook his head impatiently.
Sam too shook his head and said, ‘Nooo …’ making Davis smile.
‘That’s just Ayaan running away with things,’ Webber went on. ‘He goes off on tangents.’
‘What is it you want Drake on record about?’
‘All of it. I want to hear him talking like the others. There are limits to what I can get on with.’ He nodded his head towards Sam. ‘But I can listen to interview tapes. One of them’s lying. I want to work out which one and why.’
‘It’s probably Stevenson and we don’t have her.’
‘No.’ Webber shifted Sam to his other hip. He pulled in a deep breath. Not knowing Edith Stevenson’s whereabouts was tied in with not knowing Melinda’s.
‘This Streetwise thing,’ Davis said. ‘Her and Tom …’
‘Thomas,’ announced Sam.
Davis looked startled.
‘Tank Engine not Jenkinson,’ Webber translated. ‘They approached Jenkinson in Hull months ago. This abortive meeting with Stevenson happened here in York. I don’t think they’re linked. It’s like John said, it’s a mess.’
Davis nodded and let out a sigh. ‘At least I won’t have any trouble with Drake. Ayaan says he does as he’s told. I’ll see you over there.’
* * *
Ahmed jammed Melinda’s phone in his pocket and slithered down the slope. Even grabbing at the tree trunks he could barely keep his footing and had to concentrate not to twist his ankle on the slick mud that underlay the surface detritus.
So now he was going to the bridge … should have gone there in the first place. Where had Melinda Webber’s phone come from? He wasn’t as convinced as he’d been at first that it had been deliberately hidden. The way the breeze eddied and shifted the leaves, it could easily have got covered over. Maybe it had simply landed where he’d found it. But if Melinda had dropped it, then where from, why hadn’t she picked it up and how had it sunk so deep? As he reached gentler ground he paused to look back. Up beyond the tree where he’d found it, that mini cliff edge pushed through the vegetation, and above it the land disappeared into thick bushes. Was there a path up there or was it the railway?
His sliding boot prints had cut deep incisions into the terrain. He hadn’t been trying to hide his tracks, but it wouldn’t be as easy as he’d first thought.
Suppose she’d been up at the top and dropped the phone from there? He didn’t like the feel of it. How could the handset have fallen so far unless it had been thrown? And what was up there? Davis didn’t want him to take any detours. Straight to the bridge and find out what in hell was going on, that had been the order. Edith Stevenson’s name had cropped up. He hadn’t had any detail from Davis, wasn’t sure the DI knew the story himself.
He should know what was up there. He knew this place. He and Cari had walked here on an outing in the summer with her mother and the obnoxious cousins. They’d managed to lose themselves in the trees for the best part of an hour while her mother fretted over the cousins playing too close to the lake. The memory brought a smile to his lips. But he was a long way from the lake here, somewhere at the periphery, couldn’t orientate his memory with the treescape around him. He was thankful, not for the first time, that Cari had no ambition to follow in his footsteps career-wise. What must it be like for Webber having his wife in the same business, getting entangled with people like Edith Stevenson?
But what if Melinda Webber was lying up there injured or worse? It wouldn’t matter whose orders he was under, Webber would never forgive him. But Davis had been adamant. Something was happening on the bridge, get up there pronto.
He tried to kick the worst of the mud off his shoes before he climbed back into the car, but could feel his feet slick on the pedals. It took longer to drive there than it should. He could see the giant struts. They kept looming large up ahead or off to one side, but the road twisted round, the whole structure ducked out of sight, giving tantalising glimpses as he closed in on it.
Something going on became clear as soon as he was on the final straight where the road sprouted multiple lanes towards the toll booths. He looked at the crowded trucks trying to make sense of it, but it wasn’t until a swelling siren and flashing blue light filled his rear view mirror that he realised what was missing. The vehicles crowding the north end of the structure were all in civilian livery. Some sprouted communications discs and television logos but there was no official presence until the patrol car sped past him.
His phone lit up and buzzed in its cradle. Davis. He clicked it to speaker. ‘Just arriving now,’ he said. ‘TV vans all over the show. Do we know what it’s about?’
‘I haven’t heard yet. What can you see?’
‘I’ve only just got here.’ He pulled up clear of the huddle of lorries and watched the patrol car execute a U-turn. ‘I think they’re closing the road.’ He reached into his pocket ready to flash his warrant card, but the local officers ignored him as they left their car askew across the carriageway and began to throw cones out to bar the way.
‘Get through there,’ urged Davis. ‘Find out what’s going on.’
‘OK, I’m on my way.’ He plucked the phone from its cradle, pushing open the door, his stare raking the vista in front trying to home in on the focus of the activity. The wail of sirens swelled from behind him. ‘Cavalry’s here in force,’ he murmured, ‘but I can’t see anything yet.’
A movement up ahead … one figure in a milling crowd. He paused, half-in half-out of the car. ‘Hang on, I think that’s …’
‘What?’ Davis’s voice leaked tension. ‘What’s happening?’
Ahmed stared. Someone had ambled from round the side of one of the big vans, looking neither right nor left, as if oblivious to the pandemonium behind, for all the world a woman without a worry on her shoulders out for an afternoon stroll. He leapt from the car and raced towards her. It was Melinda Webber.
Chapter 47
Webber smiled as he listened to Davis’s words from the handset. What had he said before he left? I won’t have any trouble with Drake. Talk about tempting fate. Drake might have been compliant throughout his dealings with Ahmed but he’d chosen now to dig in his heels. No real surprise. It had been a traumatic last day and a half for the man.
‘What’s his beef exactly?’ he asked into the phone.
Across the corridor Sam sat happily, his sack of toys at his side, drinking in the attention from everyone around him. It had been like flicking a switch. One moment Sam had been sombrefaced clinging limpet like, the grip of his fist on Webber’s collar tight enough to be uncomfortable, then the news had come that Mel was safe. Webber hadn’t immediately known where she was or how she was, but they’d found her and she was safe. And before he’d had time to draw in breath to ask questions Sam was squirming in his arms, shouting ‘Digger!’ and pointing at the rucksack he’d had from Jess, a toy car peeking out of the top. Someone had stepped forward offering to take him and he’d leapt from Webber’s grasp without
a backward glance.
‘Says he’s tired,’ Davis’s voice told him. ‘Doesn’t fancy a bus trip back in the dark this weather.’
‘He can come in his car, for heaven’s sake. Plenty of parking at this time of day.’
‘I already suggested that. He doesn’t have it. It’s in for repairs. I’ve just stepped outside to ring you but I can see where he’s coming from. His wife tried to top herself yesterday morning and now he doesn’t know where she is.’ Davis wanted to leave things to tomorrow. It made sense. Webber knew that he was in no position to be hassling a man whose wife had gone missing. ‘He was going to spend a quiet evening in his garden,’ Davis went on.
‘His garden!’ Webber’s glance shot to the window. It looked benign enough from here but the temperature hovered around freezing.
‘Conservatory,’ Davis amended. ‘Gloomy bit of a lean-to at the back of the house. He showed me. Full of plant pots and such, probably got some hard liquor stashed in the corners. I didn’t ask but I imagine it’s his bolthole when she’s here. And before you ask I’ve had as much of a rummage as I could get away with. He’s not hiding any bodies.’
‘We’re not looking for bodies,’ Webber snapped. ‘Has he been drinking? Is that why he doesn’t want to drive?’
‘No, I don’t think so. I think he was about to settle down when I got here. And I’ve had a look in the garage. It’s empty. It’s not just an excuse.’
‘What’s he doing now?’
‘He’s waiting for me to come back and say that we’ll leave him in peace until tomorrow. If he comes with me, he’ll want to get changed. He’s in his potting shed clothes.’
A rising irritation began to counter the calm within Webber. ‘It’s no big deal. I just want to talk to the guy.’
‘He’s knackered, Martyn, and he’s worried about his wife.’
Webber narrowed his eyes. You of all people should have some sympathy, was that the subtext? He breathed out a sigh. Davis had a point. He had Tippet and Yeatman on record already. Kowalski, too. If he got Drake in, what would he do? Have Davis talk to him probably. He might listen in but he had Sam to consider. Realistically he wasn’t going to get anything done with Drake before tomorrow.
When Webber didn’t respond immediately, Davis added, ‘Edith Stevenson’s on his mind too. He knows something’s gone down. He tried to contact her. Is there anything I can tell him?’
‘Last I heard she was on her way to hospital in Hull. I’ve no idea what’s wrong with her or how she is. Don’t tell him enough that he wants to go and find her. Why was he contacting her?’
‘To let her know that Suzie was on her way. Apparently she found something in the emails.’
‘Found what? Did she think Tiffany Drake was with her?’
‘I don’t know. Drake says he kept clear while she was at the emails, didn’t want to know.’
Webber gave a huff of irritation. ‘Suzie should have had my message by then … and yours.’ He checked the time. ‘Did she contact you before she went off duty?’
‘I’ve not heard a thing.’
‘Hmm, so did Stevenson do a runner because Drake warned her?’
‘I don’t think so. He says he couldn’t raise her.’
Melinda was on her way back with Ahmed. They had skirted round the nub of it which was that Melinda should be back in Hull giving her statement there, but she’d slipped away in the confusion around Edith Stevenson who had been the real focus, and Ahmed had spirited her away from the action. The clock told him they would be here soon. She would want to take Sam straight home. He hoped that she was telling Ahmed everything, because he couldn’t imagine trying to keep her here against her will. He felt uncomfortable. It was Melinda he needed to be listening to, Melinda who should be pressured to stay here and talk. But that wasn’t going to happen.
‘We should go easy on Drake,’ Davis went on. ‘Can’t help feeling sorry for the guy after what he’s been through.’
‘Feel sorry for him?’ Webber heard a level of incredulity in his tone, and knew he was being unfair even as the words emerged. He wanted the loose ends tied before Melinda arrived. ‘You know better than to go around feeling sorry for people,’ he snapped. ‘That’s a sure-fire way to misread a witness. Bring him in. Right now. And sod any dressing up lark. He’s not in his pyjamas, is he?’
‘No but …’
‘This isn’t a fashion parade. We’re not judging him on the quality of his suit. I’ve had enough pissing about. I want this sorted.’
As he clicked the phone on to its rest, his gaze rose to meet Sam’s unsmiling stare from across the corridor. From within the bustle of the game he was playing, the boy had heard his father’s raised voice, picked up his frustration, and highlighted his hypocrisy in that single look. Webber glanced at the now silent handset, feeling ashamed for his outburst, knowing he should ring back, tell Davis to use his judgement. He wouldn’t even be here to talk to Drake when he arrived. As soon as Melinda showed up, he intended taking both her and Sam home.
He stood up and marched through to the big office half expecting Sam to call out and want to come to him, but he’d gone back to whatever game he was playing with the group clustered round him. Far more minders than were needed for one small boy, Webber noted with disapproval, but being in no position to object he simply said, ‘Someone give me the detail on Jenkinson’s sidekick,’ and walked to the far end of the space. Jenkinson’s contact, Emmett, was one of the loose ends he must tie so as to be ready to leave with Melinda when she arrived.
Mimicking him, Sam had a try at ‘sidekick,’ making it sound like ‘psychic,’ which morphed into laughter and shouts of ‘Digger … do it ’gain.’
As he listened to an account of Emmett’s unexpected visit, Webber had to struggle to keep his thoughts on track. His mind kept veering towards Hull and the incomplete story there. The flash point had seemed to be Edith Stevenson, but he didn’t know how or why. All he knew was that she was effectively in custody with someone at her hospital bed. He had to concentrate, had to be done when Mel arrived or she’d take Sam and go. Apart from anything else she didn’t have her car so she’d take his, leaving him a wet trek home by bus. As far as he could gather she’d been in Edith Stevenson’s car and Stevenson had driven Joyce Yeatman’s. How had that come about?
‘Wait a minute,’ he said to the officer who was going through the account with him. ‘You’re saying some man approached this girl Emmett and she says it was the same man who approached Tom Jenkinson? How did she know? I’m sure Jenkinson said he’d met the man on his own; brought the others in later.’
‘Yes, that’s right,’ she amended. ‘Emmett didn’t know the man. He told them he’d met Jenkinson.’
‘And it was definitely a man?’
There was a pause. ‘She said it was a man, but when I pushed for a description, she’d seen very little. Or she wasn’t giving me anything, anyway. My impression was that she was trying to be helpful, but he’d approached her on her way back from school yesterday. It’s a lonely stretch. She was scared.’
‘And he wanted the traffic lights stunt doing again?’
‘That’s what she said. Offered her money. He was in a hurry. Gave her cash with the promise of the same amount again for each junction they disrupted. It’s supposed to be this evening.’
They turned to the street map that was spread out across one of the desks. Webber closed his eyes and tried to feel round the edges of the odd tale. ‘This Emmett girl, she was on the level, was she?’
‘I’d say so. She and the gang of friends spent all day talking about it, then they went together to her mother. It was her mother who brought her in. It was the money that did it.’
Tom Jenkinson’s mystery man had overplayed his hand. He’d given Emmett a wad of cash the size of which had both tied her tongue and loosened it. The amount had scared her into confiding in her mother, but she hadn’t dared to tell the man that the trick had been sleight of hand, that she couldn’t do it
without Tom Jenkinson because it needed practice and precision timing. The best she’d managed had been to tell him she couldn’t do more than one location simultaneously.
He learnt that the girl and her mother had asked for Ahmed. They’d come here not so much as good citizens but because they’d talked it through and decided it would be what Tom Jenkinson would have done. If only Jenkinson had made a similar judgement. He’d clearly been close to it.
Webber looked again at the map. ‘We haven’t had any reports of anything, have we?’
‘No, but he wasn’t wanting it to kick off yet. He’s going for nine o’clock. We’ve got someone out keeping an eye on things, but they’ll miss the rush hour? Wasn’t the whole point to cause major snarl-ups?’
‘Maybe it’s a practice run,’ Webber said.
‘What for?’
He shrugged and listened to the theories fly back and forth as he studied the map. The targets were smaller junctions than the previous ones; in each case a busy main road intersected by a smaller quieter one. Two were T-junctions where the lights were programmed to let out the traffic from the side street on an as needed basis. He felt a frown crease his brow. The kid had been asked to switch the traffic light green on the minor road at nine o’clock tonight. When she’d told him they could only work one junction at a time, he’d allowed five minutes leeway either way, but he’d wanted all three junctions sabotaged.
‘What does he gain from it?’ someone asked.
‘One hell of a smash at this one,’ said Webber, tracing the path of one of the intersections with his finger. ‘Bad visibility. Freezing weather. You don’t get a good view of the major road at the best of times with that high wall. If the main lights aren’t red and there’s something coming down that hill … classic T-bone RTA. There won’t be anyone walking away from it.’
‘But why?’
Webber said nothing. None of it made sense.