by Bill Kitson
Now they were in possession of the full facts from the post-mortems a further meeting was held in the early evening. O’Donnell listened as Fleming updated her. ‘The heroin was the cause. I won’t tell you what the substance used was, for one thing I can’t pronounce it, and I certainly can’t spell it, but I’ve copied you both in on the e-mail. Mexican Pete has warned all local A and E departments of the likelihood of more cases, he’s described the symptoms to look out for and told them what antidote to use. Fortunately, it’s fairly easy to treat – if it’s caught in time. The victims we found were unlucky that they were unable to get treatment. We’ve already heard of two more cases, but the patients have been detained as a result of the warning and hopefully, should recover. I’ve sent Viv Pearce to interview them and try to discover if they use the same dealers. In the meantime, we’ve set up a raid for tonight on a man known as Greasy Palms who, on information from the girl who found the bodies, we believe supplied the victims at the derelict house.’
‘In that case, once you’ve got him under arrest I’ll get straight on to the media. I’ll make sure a warning goes out in all the bulletins on TV and radio and appears in tomorrow morning’s papers. It’s at times like this I wish we had a dedicated press officer to deal with such matters, but not to worry. You’d better get to work and hope you find that dealer and seize the rest of that filthy stuff.’
Clara had been examining the laboratory report. ‘By the way I read this,’ she told them, ‘it seems as if the substance was introduced deliberately. Does that make it murder?’
‘It’s a tricky point,’ O’Donnell responded, ‘and I think the problem would be proving intent. Whoever was responsible might claim, via their legal representative, that there was no intent to kill anyone. If they added the foreign substance merely to make extra profit, they could claim that they were unaware of any potentially harmful side effects. I think the very best we could hope for was a charge of manslaughter, but the other problem we would face is identifying who actually cut the poison with the heroin.’
‘We might get lucky,’ Clara said.
As they were leaving the chief constable’s office, O’Donnell’s secretary stopped them. ‘DC Pearce would like you to ring him at Helmsdale as soon as you have a minute,’ she told Clara.
‘Use the phone in my office. I’ll round up the arrest team whilst you’re talking to Viv.’ Jackie suggested.
‘Hello, Viv, how did you go on at the hospital?’ Clara asked.
‘Both patients were very weak and had bad vomiting and diarrhoea,’ Pearce reported, ‘but they both confirmed that they bought the gear from the man you’re going to see, the one called Greasy Palms. But that was only part of the reason I wanted to speak to you urgently. ‘I’ve had some success, or rather the IT people have. You know that idea Maureen Riley had?’
‘She raised a query about Patrick Newsome’s phone didn’t she?’
‘That’s right. Well, they’ve been working on it for a couple of days now, but they’ve only just had a positive result. I have the details here. What do you want me to do?’
‘Nothing, for the time being. Head for the address of the drug dealer and meet us there. When we’ve raided that place, we’ll talk about this further. I think you may have to set your alarm for very early tomorrow morning. Alternatively,’ she added, ‘the way things are happening around here, you may not see your bed tonight. Better buy your Lianne a hot water bottle.’
The team that gathered outside the target premises consisted of Fleming, Mironova and Pearce, plus four armed officers along with a couple of uniformed men and a sniffer dog.
Much to the surprise of the detectives, the front door was unlocked. They rushed into the house, and had some difficulty locating anyone inside, until one of the armed men opened the door of the toilet situated on the half-landing between the ground and first floors. Sitting there, his face a picture of abject misery was the dealer. ‘Found him,’ the officer shouted. ‘He’s on the throne. No problem with resisting arrest, not with his trolleys round his ankles.’
Fleming gave the go-ahead for the search once the suspect had been moved to a more comfortable seat in his living room. Clara stared at him, remembering the girl’s description. It was certainly accurate, she thought, noting the oily complexion that gave rise to the man’s nickname. As Fleming administered the caution, Mironova’s phone rang. ‘Yes, Professor?’ She listened for a few minutes, thanked the pathologist, and ended the call. She looked at Fleming. ‘I think I might buy a lottery ticket tonight, because I reckon my luck’s in. Which I reckon is more than I can say for this guy.’
She turned her gaze to the suspect. ‘That was the pathologist who conducted the post-mortems on three people who we believe you supplied with drugs last weekend. Drugs we now know killed them. Guess what? He’s just heard that the forensic team have lifted a partial fingerprint and possible DNA from the drug packets. And that fingerprint could be a match for you. What’s more, they believe that when processed, the DNA will be identifiable, if we get a matching subject.’
If finding the dealer had been easy, discovering drugs on the premises was difficult. The team believed their luck had run out. In the bedroom the sniffer dog ran round the room, across the bed tucking its nose under the pillows as it moved. It searched the corners and round all the furniture before stopping, stock still, beside a fitted wardrobe, barked once and sat down. One of the officers opened the door and allowed the dog access. The dog stood, its tail wagging furiously. The officer shone his torch inside and noticed some light-coloured particles reflecting in the beam. He bent closer, and was able to make out a join in the base. It looked as if the panel had been sawn in two. There seemed to be no reason for this bit of DIY, so he pressed one side of the panel. It shot up, almost catching him in the face.
He shouted for the detectives to come. They clustered around the wardrobe.
‘Bingo!’ Fleming said, as she looked at the neat array of three parcels all obviously ready for distribution with only one package open. Alongside them, lay a set of digital weighing scales and small plastic bags. ‘If the analysis of this little lot matches the stuff found at the derelict house, I think we might have enough to charge him with manslaughter.’
‘Particularly if his DNA eventually proves a match to the heroin wrapper,’ Clara suggested. ‘In fact, I think we ought to push for a murder charge.’
‘I agree with the chief constable, though on that point. I don’t think we could make that stick.’
‘No, but he won’t know that. And even if his solicitor argues the point, if Greasy Palms thinks there’s a chance he’ll get life, he might be prepared to do a deal and give us the next link in the supply chain.’
‘I like the idea. It’s certainly worth trying. Now, let’s get him to Netherdale and inside a nice warm cell.’
It seemed as if Clara’s head had barely touched the pillow before her alarm was summoning her from a deep sleep. It was still dark outside. Hardly surprising, she thought, glancing at the clock. Half past four in the morning is not exactly the best time to be up and about. She dragged herself out of bed and sleepwalked into the shower room. Her only hope was that the effort and sleep deprivation would be worthwhile. Yesterday had been highly successful, was it too much to hope that their run of luck would continue today?
The team was in position shortly before dawn. Fleming gave the instructions. Clara stared at her, mildly envious that Jackie never looked tired, never appeared less than immaculately groomed. ‘We go in through the front door. Two armed officers first, then the two uniforms, and finally DS Mironova and me. DC Pearce will go round to the back of the house with the other two armed officers.’
‘Are we going to knock first?’
‘I don’t think so. We’ll use the big red key.’ Fleming gestured to the door enforcer, a mobile battering ram held by one of the uniformed men.
Patrick Newsome was dreaming. He and Sharon had been walking when the thunderstorm struck. Now it was
raging all around them. He could hear the thunder. Loud, and getting louder. It must be quite close now, because he could feel the house shake with every reverberation.
He wasn’t sure if it was the sound of the thunder that finally woke him, or the noise of Sharon’s screams. He sat bolt upright in bed, blinking in the sudden brightness. For a moment, he thought it was due to a flash of lightning, until alongside him, the duvet clutched to her chest, Sharon screamed again. As the sleep cleared his befuddled brain and his eyes became accustomed to the light, Patrick saw the cause of Sharon’s terror. He couldn’t say he blamed her for being afraid. The sight of a stranger in your bedroom is unnerving: more so, when the stranger is pointing an automatic machine pistol at you. It would be enough to make any woman scream, even though the man’s flak jacket is clearly labelled ‘Police’.
As he was digesting this unwelcome development and what looked to be the end of his romantic idyll with Sharon, Patrick noticed that the bedroom they shared seemed to be suddenly rather crowded. Another gun-toting police officer plus two further ones in uniform had also arrived. Behind them, two people in plain clothes. Now Patrick was by no means averse to the presence of attractive women in his bedroom, in fact given the opportunity, he positively encouraged it, but he was far less enthusiastic when they were waving warrant cards that identified them as police officers.
‘Will you do the honours this time,’ Fleming invited Mironova.
Clara smiled. ‘Patrick Newsome, you are under arrest....’ she reeled off the caution. ‘Now I’d like you to get dressed so that we can transport you to your new accommodation.’ She glanced at Sharon. ‘You’ll be near your wife, Patrick. I’m sure she misses you – far more than you’ve been missing her by the look of things.’
Fleming and Mironova supervised the collection of Newsome’s belongings, and after they watched Sharon get dressed, removed her from the house and placed her in the back of a police car. Sharon was protesting loudly enough to attract the attention of any of her neighbours who had managed to sleep through the previous disturbance. ‘What are you taking me in for?’ she complained. ‘I haven’t done anything wrong.’
‘No?’ Clara smiled. ‘Sharon Meehan, I am arresting you for harbouring a fugitive.’ When she had added the caution, Clara continued, ‘That will be the first charge, we’ll have to see how it develops from there. Playing it by ear, I think they call it.’
If Sharon was aggrieved, Patrick was far more resigned. As Pearce was supervising Patrick’s installation in a police van, Newsome was unable to restrain his curiosity any longer. ‘How did you find me?’ he asked. ‘I didn’t tell anyone where I was going, and nobody knew about Sharon and me.’
Pearce smiled. ‘Blame it on technology,’ he said. ‘You have a GPS tracker installed on your mobile. We knew your number from the text your wife sent you, so once your phone was switched on, all we had to do was locate it from the signal.’
As he watched the uniformed officer secure the van, one of the others approached him. ‘What shall I do with the mutt?’ the man asked.
‘Sorry?’ Pearce frowned at the strange question.
‘There’s a dog in the kitchen. It’s a Border Collie and seems quite a friendly animal. I’m not sure if it belongs to him or her, but we can’t leave it here alone, obviously. We don’t know how long they’ll be away.’
‘Oh, I see, better put it in your van and take it to the local shelter. There’s a PDSA branch in Netherdale. I think that’s the closest. Ask them to look after it for the time being. Explain the circumstances and tell them it should only be short-term. I feel sure at least one of these two will be out on bail soon.’ Pearce made a mental note to record the dog’s presence on his report.
After they reached Helmsdale, Patrick Newsome was made to empty his pockets, and the contents, together with his other possessions were listed by the custody sergeant. Viv, who had a considerable amount of jobs to do, wrote a quick note on a post-it and placed it on Lisa Andrews’ desk. He knew she would action it when she arrived for work that morning. Anyway, it wasn’t the most urgent thing they had to deal with, by any means.
Clara had been trying to deal with Sharon Meehan, listening to her constant denial of wrongdoing and her insistence therefore that she didn’t need a solicitor.
‘Sharon, if you calm down a little we can soon get to the bottom of this. So why don’t you explain to me exactly why we found Patrick Newsome in your home?’ Clara’s frustration was beginning to show.
‘He’s a friend.’
‘A friend? I would have thought he’s more than that, looking at where we found him, wouldn’t you say? Or perhaps you’ve gone back on the game? Short of money are you?’
‘I’m not on the game anymore!’ Sharon looked shocked at the suggestion. ‘He’s a friend, I told you. He was just staying a while.’
‘I see. And how long have you known him?’
‘Years, we go back a long way.’
‘Former client?’
‘No, nothing like that.’ Sharon was becoming annoyed. Her relationship with Patrick was genuine and this police officer was trying to humiliate her. But there was no way she would drop Patrick in it, she knew nothing as far as they were concerned. ‘He wanted somewhere to stay away from that wife of his. Visits me sometimes when she gets too much for him to put up with.’
Further questioning didn’t reveal anything that Mironova thought would be of use, so she decided to release her. There wasn’t anything she could prove and the CPS was unlikely to find sufficient to bring to court.
Viv joined Fleming and Mironova who were discussing Newsome’s arrest and how to proceed against him.
‘Given where we found him, and the company he was in, I think it might be a good idea to interview Eileen Newsome again before we speak to her husband,’ Clara suggested.
‘What do you have in mind?’
‘If one of us should happen to let it slip, quite accidentally of course, during the interview with Eileen, where her husband was when we arrested him, and how much he appeared to have been enjoying himself before we so rudely interrupted, I don’t think Eileen would be best pleased, and might give us far more ammunition for when we interview Patrick than we have at present.’
‘Clara, you have a really devious mind.’
Viv pointed to Nash’s office. ‘They say if you live with them, you get like them, and Clara’s worked with Mike for a long time.’
Chapter nineteen
Lisa Andrews eyed the mound of paperwork that had been placed on her desk. It seemed as if she was going to have to pay for the rest day she had just taken. Before she could tackle any of it, she spent half an hour listening to Clara, who brought her up to speed with the events.
‘I seem to have missed all the excitement,’ Lisa remarked ruefully. ‘I don’t suppose there’s much left for me to do, is there?’
‘I wouldn’t be so sure.’ Clara pointed to Lisa’s desk.
‘I was trying to ignore it, in the hope that it might disappear. But I guess it won’t go of its own accord, so I’d better get started.’
Lisa began examining the paperwork and discovered that the vast majority of it referred to one subject, and that she had been the one responsible for generating it. The large sheaf of papers held together with a bulldog clip had been sent through by Tom Pratt. His covering note explained that these were the details of all motor caravans registered in the area. Tom pointed out that the list might not be one hundred per cent complete, because if someone had done their own conversion on a van, and neglected to inform DVLA, the vehicle wouldn’t appear on the list.
She began scanning the first page, more than a little surprised by the number of vehicles there were. Halfway down the fourth page she saw a name that seemed familiar, although Lisa couldn’t immediately remember why. She highlighted the entry, before continuing to scan the remaining pages. Without finding anything else of note she returned to that one entry and made a mental note to check the name with the others.
Lisa picked up the message left by Viv. ‘Lazy bugger,’ she muttered whilst conceding that he probably had enough to keep him busy. She headed for the custody suite and asked for Newsome’s mobile phone explaining she wanted to see if there were any names in the contacts list that might be of interest.
The phone was fully charged but when she tried to access it, the home screen flashed up a message requesting a password. She switched it off. If Newsome kept quiet it would have to go to the tech boys. She glanced at the rest of the property. There were two credit cards, and Newsome’s driving licence. Lisa’s approach was thorough. She noted it was an HGV licence and the date of Newsome’s one endorsement, which was for speeding. The only other items were his wallet and a key ring with several keys.
She picked up the key ring, and examined it. It took a few moments before she realized the significance of what she was looking at. She frowned, in an effort to remember what she had heard and read regarding the arrest of Eileen and Dwayne Newsome and the search of their house. She thought for several minutes, before ringing Tom. ‘It’s Lisa, I need you to check something for me, if you would.’ She explained what she was after.
‘Let me bring the file up on my screen and I’ll have the answer for you straightaway.’ Tom came back on the line. ‘No, Lisa, there’s nothing wrong with your memory,’ he told her. ‘Why did you want to know?’
She explained, adding, ‘I’d better have a word with Clara before she interviews Newsome. She may want to ask him about this.’
Clara’s upbeat frame of mind was in no way diminished by what Lisa had to tell her. ‘What gave you the idea Newsome might have kept something back from us?’