by Trevor Negus
Feeling happier about the whole situation, Dawson said, ‘I’ve provided a kettle and coffee-making facilities, and there’s a disabled toilet you can use across the hallway. None of the staff ever come down this end of the building, so you shouldn’t be disturbed.’
‘That’s great, thank you.’
‘Have there been any developments in the case, Sergeant?’
‘Please, call me Andy. None that I can discuss with you now, I’m afraid. Suffice to say, we’re treating the disappearance of young Emily as a priority, and we hope to locate her very soon.’
Dawson was long enough in the tooth to know when he was being fobbed off.
Not in the least put out by the rebuff, he simply said, ‘In that case, I’ll leave you to it. I’ve marked the three columns of files accordingly. I’ll come back down in a couple of hours and see how you’re getting on.’
‘Thanks.’
Andy Wills closed the door, turned to Simon Paine and said, ‘These piles are big enough, but I’ve got to be honest, I thought there’d be a lot more paperwork than this to wade through.’
‘Me too.’
Andy said, ‘I’ll start on Rebecca’s old cases. You can get cracking on Sebastien’s special recommendation pile.’
‘Cheers. I think this is going to be a long day.’
42
1.00pm, 11 October 1986
The Arboretum, Nottingham
The building was an ancient three-storey tenement block that had stood empty for years. None of the doors or windows were still intact, and weeds grew between the bricks. Most of the roof tiles were missing, exposing the bare wooden trusses of the roof.
Rachel turned to Brian and said, ‘Are you sure this is the place? It looks too bad to even be used as a squat.’
‘According to the misper file, this is where Emily was found last time she was missing. Let’s see if anyone’s home, shall we?’
The detectives walked through the open doorway and into a large room. It was dark apart from the light filtering through the open doorway and the single window. Someone had attempted to tie a sheet of red plastic over the window space, so everywhere was cast in a strange red light. The walls were full of graffiti, and there was an overpowering stench of urine and faeces.
There was ample evidence of drug use. Dirty needles and foil wraps were strewn amongst the rubble and the empty fast-food cartons that had been discarded all over the floor.
In one corner of the room was a dirty, single mattress covered by a pile of old dust sheets and cardboard boxes.
One of the dust sheets moved a fraction.
Brian turned and whispered to Rachel, ‘We’re in luck. I think someone’s home.’
As he stepped towards the covered mattress, Brian turned and said, ‘Watch where you’re putting your feet. There’s all sorts of crap on the floor over here.’
After negotiating a path through the mess, Brian kicked the base of the mattress, hard.
From beneath the dust sheets and cardboard, a voice shouted, ‘Fuck off!’
Brian kicked the mattress again.
This time, the top dust sheet was flung back. Brian was surprised to see two people under the covers. One man and one woman.
The woman appeared to be totally out of it. Her face was ashen and gaunt. Her eyes had rolled back in her sockets, and her lips were black and drawn back across her teeth. The eerie red light that filled the room made her appearance look even more macabre.
Rachel said, ‘For fuck’s sake! Is she okay?’
The man sat up and said angrily, ‘She’s okay. Who the fuck wants to know, anyway?’
Brian said tersely, ‘We’re the police, shithead! What’s wrong with her?’
‘Nothing’s wrong with her, man. She’s just coming down, that’s all. She only scored half an hour ago.’
Rachel said, ‘I’m calling an ambulance, boss. She doesn’t look good.’
The man sitting next to the semi-conscious woman said, ‘There’s no need for that. She won’t thank you for it, and neither will the ambulance crew. You’ll see; in five minutes, she’ll start coming round.’
Brian ripped down the red plastic sheeting covering the window and had a good look at the man doing the talking. He was obviously a drug abuser as well. He was painfully thin, with a skeletal face hidden behind matted dreadlocks. There was a strange, jaundiced colour to the parchment-like skin stretched across his cheekbones.
The clothes he wore were little more than a collection of assembled rags.
Brian said, ‘What’s your name?’
The man curled his lip and said, ‘Don’t get all heavy, man! We ain’t doing anything wrong.’
‘You just told me she’s high. Last time I checked, using controlled drugs was still illegal.’
‘There’s no drugs here now, though, is there?’
The addict grinned a brown-stained, toothy grin.
Brian chuckled, smiled back and said, ‘Fair enough. You’ve beat me this time, kid. Just tell me your first names so I know who I’m talking to.’
‘My name’s Breezy, and my girl’s called Heart.’
As he said her name, the woman stirred and blinked. As soon as she opened her eyes, she started coughing violently. By the time her rasping coughing fit had stopped, some colour had returned to her face. She muttered in a croaky voice, ‘What’s happening, Breezy?’
He turned to her and said, ‘Chill, sweetness. It’s the filth, but they’re cool.’
The woman, who looked like a female version of Breezy, but with more piercings in her face than Rachel had ever seen on a single person, began coughing again. It was a hacking, rough cough, and Rachel asked, ‘Are you sure you’re okay? I was just about to call you an ambulance.’
The woman stopped coughing long enough to say, ‘I’m fine, sweetheart, never better.’
Breezy smiled the same toothy grin and said triumphantly, ‘Told ya!’
Brian said, ‘I’m glad your lady’s feeling better, Breezy. I need some help from you.’
He chuckled and said, ‘Like that’s ever going to happen. Breezy don’t talk to no Babylon policeman. Ever.’
Brian said patiently, ‘All I want you to do is look at a photograph of a young girl and tell me if you’ve ever seen her here before. That’s not grassing, is it?’
‘Ain’t gonna happen, man. Ain’t looking at no snapshot of anybody.’
Brian reached inside his jacket pocket and came out with a ten-pound note.
He held the banknote in front of the addict’s face and said, ‘Not even one with the Queen’s head on?’
As soon as Heart saw the cash, she said, ‘Breezy, are you seeing that, man?’
‘I’m seeing it, lover.’
Brian said, ‘Want to see the photo now?’
Both the addicts nodded vigorously.
Brian took the photo of Emily from his jacket pocket and held it in front of Breezy and Heart.
Heart said, ‘That’s the chick who was here with Fat Daz.’
Breezy said, ‘Yeah. Bang on, girl. That’s deffo who it is. I remember her being with Fat Daz that time. They were smoking dope upstairs until the feds arrived, and he scarpered.’
Brian retrieved a second ten-pound note from his pocket. He held out the banknote and said, ‘I’ll make it twenty if you tell me who Fat Daz is.’
Heart said, ‘That’s the only name I’ve got, lover. That’s what everyone calls him. He comes here sometimes to sit and smoke weed. He always brings loads of free burgers, fries and shit like that.’
Breezy said, ‘He works at Maccy Dee’s in town. He brings us the stuff they can’t sell. Everyone knows Fat Daz. He’s a blinding geezer.’
Rachel said, ‘Which McDonald’s?’
Breezy said, ‘I think it’s the one on Angel Row. He’s some sort of gaffer in there.’
Brian handed over the two crisp, ten-pound notes to Breezy and said, ‘You are going to buy food with this cash, aren’t you?’
Breezy grinned an
d said, ‘Sweet, man. Yeah. Food, right. Of course.’
Brian turned to Rachel and said, ‘Come on, Rachel. I fancy a Big Mac.’
43
2.30pm, 11 October 1986
Mulberry Chambers, The Ropewalk, Nottingham
DC Paine turned another page of the thick file he was reading. ‘This one looks interesting, Sarge.’
‘What have you got?’
‘It’s a bloke called Sam Jamieson. He’s just been released from the Armley jail in Leeds after doing a seven-year stretch for an armed robbery.’
‘What’s the connection?’
‘Rebecca Whitchurch prosecuted the case. Jamieson was the getaway driver. He never got out of the car, but he still got seven and a half years.’
Andy Wills sighed. ‘Sounds a steep sentence, but pretty run-of-the-mill stuff for a prosecutor.’
‘There’s a lot more to it, though. This bloke, Jamieson, has always maintained his innocence. Throughout the trial and afterwards, while he was serving his time.’
‘Yeah, him and every other con who’s inside the nick.’
‘He even refused early release rather than admit any guilt.’
‘Now that has got my interest. You don’t see that very often. Go on.’
‘Jamieson has also made numerous threats against Rebecca Whitchurch; he blames her for being found guilty and getting sent down.’
‘Again, that’s not unusual.’
‘No, but this is, Sarge. There’s a note in the file that says Jamieson also blames Whitchurch for the death of his thirteen-year-old daughter, Vanessa.’
Andy Wills put down the file he was reading. ‘Now you’ve got my full attention. What’s the circumstances around the girl’s death?’
Before the young detective could answer, there was a knock on the door.
The door opened, and Sebastien Dawson stepped inside. He closed the door behind him and said, ‘How’s it going, gents?’
Andy Wills said, ‘Great timing. What can you tell me about Sam Jamieson?’
Dawson sat down before saying, ‘I’m not surprised you’ve picked him out. It wouldn’t surprise me one bit if he was involved in this business with Rebecca and her daughter.’
Simon Paine said, ‘What can you tell us, Mr Dawson? The information in the file is quite scant. It just says Jamieson blames Rebecca Whitchurch for his own daughter’s death.’
Dawson stroked his chin thoughtfully, then said, ‘This was a very tragic case. Obviously, out of professional courtesy, I’m not going to get into the minutiae of the trial with you. It’s not for us to discuss whether or not it was a sound conviction.’
Andy Wills said, ‘I sense a “but” coming.’
‘The fact of the matter is this: Sam Jamieson was serving time in prison for an offence he’s always maintained he had nothing to do with, when his teenage daughter died from a drugs overdose. For a long period after that tragic event, Jamieson railed against the system inside. He was involved in countless assaults, against prison officers and fellow inmates. He became an extremely dangerous individual.’
‘And that violence is the reason you think he could be involved in Emily’s disappearance?’
‘No, Sergeant. It’s what happened next that has me worried.’
‘Go on.’
‘Suddenly, for no apparent reason, Jamieson changed. I mean really changed, in every way. Almost overnight, he became polite; he became compliant; he even enrolled on a psychology degree course. Which, by the way, he subsequently graduated from, with a first. Jamieson isn’t stupid at all.’
Andy was puzzled. ‘Why does that make you worried? It sounds to me like he’s tried very hard to reform.’
‘Sergeant, I’ve spent many years studying the human psyche. It’s my theory that Jamieson only changed because he no longer blamed the system. I believe he found a new target to focus all his anger upon.’
‘Rebecca Whitchurch?’
‘Precisely.’
‘Has there been any contact between Jamieson and Rebecca Whitchurch?’
Dawson hesitated and glanced away.
In that split second, Andy Wills knew there had been some sort of contact. He said, ‘When?’
Dawson looked a little flushed around his collar. ‘Three years ago, a letter was received in chambers. It was from Jamieson. In the letter, he made veiled threats. Basically, he wrote that he didn’t care how long it took him, he would get even with Rebecca.’
‘And you’ve never showed that letter to Rebecca, have you?’
‘I made a qualified decision at the time, Sergeant. I thought it best not to show her the letter back then, and I still do. After all, at that time, Jamieson still had many years to serve in prison. I thought it would just die a death, so to speak. I must admit, ever since Emily disappeared, that letter’s been at the back of my mind.’
‘Have you still got the letter?’
Dawson looked down at the floor and shook his head. ‘I destroyed the letter over a year ago. When nothing followed the first correspondence, I thought it was an empty threat.’
Andy Wills muttered, ‘Jesus, what a mess.’
He paused a moment, then said, ‘With your permission, I’d like to take this file with us so we can delve a little deeper into Sam Jamieson. I think we need to identify his current whereabouts. Is that okay with you?’
‘It’s the least I can do, Sergeant. I would prefer the entire file to be photocopied so we can keep the original in chambers.’
‘That’s fine. I think we’re done for the day. DC Paine will be back tomorrow morning. I still want him to go through the remaining files.’
‘No problem. I’ll meet him the same as today. Pass me over the file, and I’ll get it photocopied.’
‘Please don’t omit anything. I want the whole file. We both know you should have disclosed that letter to Rebecca Whitchurch.’
Sebastien Dawson wrinkled his bulbous nose and sniffed. ‘You’ll get the whole file, Sergeant. There really is no need for your clumsy veiled threat. Don’t forget, I didn’t have to mention that letter in the first place. Like you, all I want is for Rebecca’s daughter to be found.’
Andy smiled. ‘I’m glad we understand each other.’
Dawson snatched up the file and left the room in a huff.
Simon Paine asked, ‘Do you think Sam Jamieson has something to do with the girl’s disappearance, Sarge?’
‘I’ve no idea, but it sounds like he has genuine cause to hold a serious grudge. As soon as Dawson brings the file back, we’ll call it a day. I want to get back to Mansfield. I’ve got some digging to do.’
44
2.30pm, 11 October 1986
McDonald’s Restaurant, Angel Row, Nottingham
Brian and Rachel walked into the fast-food restaurant and sat down. From their seats, they scanned the wall-mounted menu. Brian said, ‘What do you fancy? My treat.’
Rachel replied, ‘I’ll have a cheeseburger, small fries and a Fanta orange drink, please. Thanks, boss.’
‘Don’t worry, Rach, it’ll be going on expenses. I’m not made of money.’
The detective inspector was still laughing as he made his way to the counter to order the food. Rachel looked around the restaurant. It was half empty; the lunchtime rush had obviously finished.
A young girl, wearing one of the fast-food chain’s uniforms, came over and began wiping the table where Rachel sat.
Rachel smiled. ‘Worked here long?’
The girl smiled back and said, ‘Been here a couple of months now. The money’s helping me to get through uni.’
‘Cool. What are you studying?’
Happy to talk to a friendly customer, the young girl said, ‘I’m in my first year at Nottingham Trent, studying for a biology degree.’
‘That’s amazing. I hope it goes well. That’s not a Nottingham accent, is it? Where are you from?’
The girl had finished cleaning the table and nervously looked at the front counter.
Rachel quickly
said, ‘Sorry, I don’t want to get you in any bother.’
‘Nah, it’s okay. The boss is out at the minute. He’s not back until three o’clock, and he’ll be leaving for home again at half past four. It’s okay for him to skive off, but he doesn’t like us chatting to customers. Bristol, that’s where I’m from, by the way.’
‘Enjoying life in Nottingham?’
‘Yeah, it’s great. I’m really enjoying it.’
‘You don’t sound too impressed by your boss, though. What’s he like?’
She leaned forward and pretended to wipe the table again before saying in a conspiratorial whisper, ‘Mr Treadgold’s a bit of a pig. Everyone here calls him Fat Daz. He must eat four or five Big Macs every shift.’
Rachel pulled a face and said, ‘Eww, gross! Is that why he’s called Fat Daz?’
The girl shrugged, laughed and walked off.
Brian returned with a tray of food and drinks. He placed the tray on the table, sat down and said, ‘I wonder if Fat Daz does work here.’
Rachel took a bite of cheeseburger and said, ‘He does, and he’ll be in at three o’clock.’
‘And precisely how do you know that?’
Rachel laughed and said in a whisper, ‘Trust me, I’m a detective.’
Twenty minutes later, Rachel was just finishing her Fanta orange when the door to the restaurant opened and an extremely overweight man walked in. He waddled past the two detectives and made his way slowly over to the counter. He opened the door marked ‘Private’ at the side of the counter and walked in.
A few seconds later, the fat man emerged on the other side of the counter. He began pointing angrily and talking to the staff.
Brian said, ‘I’m guessing that’s Fat Daz.’
‘I don’t think it could be anyone else, boss.’
‘I think we should watch him and follow him when he leaves work. I want to see where he takes us. Have you got any plans tonight?’
‘Nothing planned tonight. My little bird also told me that Fat Daz will be leaving work around four thirty. Why don’t I fetch the car and park outside while you order us a coffee to go?’