by Trevor Negus
‘Thank you, Ms Drew. You’ve been very helpful.’
‘I know I’ve criticised him today, but I do hope young Freddie isn’t in any trouble. He’s very mischievous and humorous, usually. I think he just let himself down that evening. He’d probably been working too hard or something.’
‘Very likely, Ms Drew. We may need to speak to you again in the future; would that be okay?’
‘Of course. Make a note of my telephone number so I know you’re coming next time.’
The two detectives were both deep in thought as they walked back to the pub car park.
Rob said, ‘It just goes to show, you always need to check everything.’
Glen replied, ‘Doesn’t it just. Fletcher was so plausible when he gave us that alibi. Did he think we wouldn’t check it?’
‘I honestly don’t know. One thing’s for sure, he was definitely up to something before he came here on October 2.’
‘And why leave so urgently at the end of the night? What was the big rush?’
‘Let’s get back to Mansfield and start going through the names on this list. I want to know if anybody else thought Fletcher’s behaviour was strange that evening, or if he said something weird to anyone. We need to establish who else was on his particular table that night. Once we’ve done all that, then I think we’ll need to revisit Freddie Fletcher and have another chat.’
74
12.30pm, 17 October 1986
Nottingham Trent University, Clifton, Nottingham
Sam Jamieson walked into the vast library at Nottingham Trent University. He had some free time between lectures, and he needed somewhere quiet to take stock of his situation and to think.
The warrant executed at his flat and his subsequent questioning by the police had rattled him. It hadn’t deterred him from his path or his long-term goal, but it had most definitely rattled him.
He sat down in a quiet corner of the library and took out a notepad, pen and a random book from his rucksack. He placed them on the table in front of him. He opened the book and placed his pen along the spine.
It was a prop. He wasn’t reading the text. He didn’t want to be disturbed, and if other students thought he was hard at work, then he wouldn’t be approached.
What he needed was a quiet space. He needed time to think things through.
He was pleased he’d offered the line of least resistance to the police when they had called. It had gone against the grain. He had no love for the police, and his overriding instinct had been to fight, to resist. He knew that his decision to cooperate had been the right one.
There was nothing in his flat that could incriminate him. Everything they had seized could easily be explained away. The thesis he was writing was on the subject he had spoken about when they questioned him. So if that crafty cop checked up on him and spoke with his tutors and professors, everything he had said would all ring true.
He smiled as he thought about the little gem he had dropped out to the detectives at the end of the interview. It had been a master stroke to tell them about seeing Dominic Whitchurch kissing the woman in the car. He knew the police would fixate on that and disregard most of his other answers. He had known the registration number of the Volvo, but giving that to the detectives would have made the enquiry too easy. He needed them to waste precious time trying to trace the vehicle.
That cunning detective had worried him though.
Flint by name; flint by nature.
He was like the ancient stone, hard and uncompromising. With his phoney show of compassion at the end of the questioning … he wasn’t fooling anyone.
As far as Sam was concerned, the detective had tried to con him. He had treated him like some juvenile delinquent arrested for the first time. Making the clumsy attempt at questioning him about that letter, like they had it with them.
Now, as Sam thought carefully about the questioning and how he had responded, he was proud of the way he had quickly seen through the detective’s little game. He was even more pleased about the way he had maintained control.
He bitterly regretted ever sending that letter to Mulberry Chambers. The one bonus about the questioning was that he now knew the letter was no longer in existence. If it had been, they would have questioned him a lot harder. It must have been destroyed.
The letter had been a massive mistake. It had been written at a time when his emotions were raw. He had always known it could resurface and cause him problems in the future. Now it no longer existed, he could disregard it.
He pondered on his next move. There was no way he could go ahead as planned. He knew he would still be watched closely by Flint and his cronies. No, he needed a major rethink.
As he sat quietly in the hushed halls of the library, he thought to himself that even if his plans had to change drastically, the outcome would always be the same. He realised that patience was the key. He could easily abandon everything he had done so far. There would be consequences for people he had no concern for, so it could be done.
He picked up his pen and began to scribble on a scrap piece of paper.
Studying for his master’s would take another eighteen months. He could start applying for jobs after another year. Time was the one thing on his side. He had no dependents and only had himself to think about. He scribbled down the names of countries: New Zealand, Australia, America, Canada.
He screwed the paper up and thrust it in his pocket. He closed his book and put it in his rucksack. His next lecture started in fifteen minutes, and he still had to walk across campus to the hall.
He had made his decision.
He would abort the current plan. Whatever the dire consequences of that decision might be for some. He was beyond caring about others. He would complete his master’s first and then resume his quest for revenge. By the time he graduated in eighteen months’ time, that cunning, deceitful bastard Flint would have forgotten all about him.
The very thing that had been his worst enemy when he was wrongfully incarcerated in Leeds prison was now his best friend.
Time.
75
1.00pm, 17 October 1986
MCIU Offices, Mansfield, Nottinghamshire
The sudden noise in the main office made Danny look up from his paperwork. Brian Hopkirk and Rob Buxton were having a loud discussion. Glen Lorimar and Rachel Moore were both chipping in, adding to the general din.
Danny stepped out of his office, saying sternly, ‘What’s all the racket?’
Rob said, ‘Sorry. We’re just discussing work.’
Pleased of an excuse to have a break from the paperwork, Danny grinned. ‘I’m only joking. Somebody put the kettle on. You can tell me how you all got on this morning.’
Glen said, ‘I’ll make the drinks. Everybody want one?’
They all nodded, and Andy Wills shouted from his desk, ‘Coffee for me, Glen, cheers.’
A few minutes later, Glen returned with a tray of coffees. ‘I haven’t sugared any of them. You’ll have to help yourselves.’
Danny took a mug from the tray, sat down and said, ‘Right, let’s get cracking. Rob, how did you get on at Fiskerton?’
‘We’ve had a very interesting conversation with Ms Virginia Drew. She highlighted some major discrepancies in the version of events given to us by Freddie Fletcher. Basically, the little shitbag has lied through his teeth.’
‘How come?’
‘He lied about the time he arrived at Fiskerton on the second. He told us he arrived at three o’clock in the afternoon. That would have made it impossible for him to be in Nottingham when Emily Whitchurch went missing. Ms Drew informed us that Fletcher didn’t actually arrive at Fiskerton until four thirty that afternoon. That would have given him ample time to grab the girl and hide her away. There are other things Ms Drew told us that also raise concerns.’
‘Such as?’
‘He was in a strange mood when he did finally arrive, and was scruffily dressed, as though he had been doing some kind of manual labour.’
‘We’ve got a list of everyone who was at Fiskerton for the card school that afternoon and evening.’
Brian interjected, ‘Rob, it’s a bridge club. Not a card school, you heathen.’
Rob grinned. ‘Sorry to hurt your refined sensibilities, Brian. As I was saying, we’ve got a list of all the players at the bridge club that evening. We’re going to speak to them all and see if we find anyone who can corroborate what Ms Drew told us. I’ve made a phone call to Mulberry Chambers; they’re expecting Fletcher to be back in his office tomorrow. The trial in Manchester should be concluded today. The jury are expected to return their verdict later this afternoon. As soon as we’ve spoken to everyone on the list, we’ll be seeing Fletcher again.’
Danny said, ‘Like I always say, it pays to check everything. Good work. Let me know how you get on with the other card players. Brian, how did you and Rachel get on with the professor?’
Brian said, ‘It was extremely informative, boss. The cave system in the area where the girl went missing is vast, and a lot of it remains uncharted. There are a couple of known entrances to the cave system in that area. There’s one on Peel Street and one on Mansfield Road, but the professor believes there could be numerous other unknown entrances. Apparently, the whole area is a honeycomb of old sand mine workings.’
‘So, what’s your plan?’
‘I want to put search teams down into the caves and look for the girl.’
‘Okay. When can you get that organised?’
‘It’s not possible at the moment. It’s too dangerous.’
‘How come?’
‘Because of all the heavy rain we’ve had over the last few weeks. When the sandstone gets wet, the cave system in that area becomes prone to roof falls. The professor and his assistant were adamant that nobody should enter the caves until the rain stops. They’ll need a couple of days of dry weather then, to be safe enough to enter.’
‘So, for now, you can’t really progress your theory?’
‘Not right now. But as soon as it’s safe, I’d like to press on with the search.’
Danny nodded and then turned to Andy. ‘Any joy on that Volvo enquiry?’
‘I’ve been speaking to the Special Operations Unit observations teams; there is mention on their logs of a dark-coloured Volvo that dropped off Dominic Whitchurch. They had no view of the driver or the registration number of the car. They can’t confirm any activity within the car before Dominic got out.’
‘So, we know nothing more than what Jamieson told us.’
‘No, we don’t. It just confirms that there was a dark Volvo in the area and that Dominic Whitchurch was in it.’
‘Thanks. I want you to give me a hand in the office this afternoon, Andy. These figures for Potter are a bloody nightmare.’
‘Okay, boss.’
‘Brian and Rachel, as soon as you’ve finished your coffee, I want you to go to Richmond Drive and speak to Dominic Whitchurch. We need to know who this woman is who was driving the Volvo. The information from Sam Jamieson is that Whitchurch and this woman were locked in a passionate embrace when she dropped him off on Richmond Drive on the tenth. I want to know who she is and her connection to Whitchurch. Okay?’
‘No problem.’
76
3.00pm, 17 October 1986
Nottingham
Emily Whitchurch sat cross-legged on the floor of the cave, in total darkness. She gripped the Mini Maglite torch in her right hand so tightly that her hand was starting to ache.
There was no way she was going to drop it.
Her hearing, sense of smell, and sense of touch had all become far more acute after living in total darkness for days. She desperately wanted to flick on the torch and illuminate the small cave she was being held in. She resisted the temptation. She realised the life of the batteries needed to be preserved for as long as possible. She knew the torch would be needed soon, when the rats returned.
Shortly after her captor had left yesterday, she had hungrily started to eat the food he had left. The strong smell of the tuna sandwich had obviously attracted the vermin. In no time at all, the voracious rodents had appeared in the main tunnel. She had heard their scurrying first. The sound of their stiff, bristle-like fur rubbing against the walls of the tunnel as they raced to find the food.
When she had flicked on the bright white light, she had been startled by the sheer size of the rats. Some of them were huge, with evil-looking, slanted eyes that shone yellow in the light of the torch.
The rats had retreated from the stark white light, and she quickly devoured the remainder of her food.
Since then, the sound of dripping water in the cave had intensified. It was getting wetter by the minute. The plastic sheet she was sitting on was almost floating on the amount of water building up on the floor of the cave. The small pot cave, in which she had been tethered to a stake, was slowly filling with ice-cold water seeping from the porous walls and roof.
Emily hated water. She felt panic begin to surge within her. As a young girl, she had been left unattended for a minute at a holiday hotel’s swimming pool. She had fallen in and almost drowned before her anxious father had pulled her from the bottom of the pool. As a result of that dreadful incident, she now suffered from an overwhelming fear of drowning. Just the feeling of the inch or so of water beneath her was enough to make her experience feelings of anxiety. If the water got any deeper, those feelings of panic would quickly escalate to ones of sheer terror.
The water was also freezing cold, and she could feel herself gradually succumbing to her body’s drop in temperature.
Her mind was asking searching questions. What if she passed out with the cold and fell face down, in the dirty water? Could she drown in that much water? If she passed out, would the rats return and devour her while she was unconscious?
The thought about the rats caused a far more urgent question to smash into her brain. Where were the rats?
They had been constant visitors to the pot cave ever since she had been incarcerated there. She hadn’t heard any of them for hours. Why weren’t they in the tunnel?
The reason for their absence hit her like a hammer blow. She let out a low mournful cry: ‘Nooooo!’
Almost immediately, large chunks of rock began to fall from the roof, splashing loudly in the water at the base of the pot cave.
She had suddenly realised the reason for the rats’ disappearance. Using some kind of animal sixth sense, the rats knew that very soon the entire roof of the pot cave would collapse. It would be filled forever, with lumps of sandstone and soft sand, burying her alive in the process.
She had heard of rats deserting a sinking ship.
The pot cave was her ship, and the rats had left her to it.
Eventually, the pieces of rock stopped falling, and she was left sobbing quietly in the dark. The only sound was that of incessant dripping water slowly filling the pot cave.
Emily now understood that nobody was going to find her. Nobody would rescue her. She was going to die alone in this cave.
77
6.00pm, 17 October 1986
Richmond Drive, Mapperley Park, Nottinghamshire
It was getting dark by the time Brian and Rachel parked outside De Montfort House on Richmond Drive.
As they got out of the car, Rachel said, ‘So, where has he been all day? Why couldn’t he see us until now?’
‘When I spoke to Dominic earlier, he said he was taking Rebecca to Burntstump Park, to have a walk in the fresh air. He said she needed to get out of the house for an hour or so.’
‘Brian, it’s been raining all day.’
Brian shrugged. ‘Well, the lights are on. Let’s go and have a chat with him now.’
Dominic opened the front door of the house and said, ‘Oh, it’s you. Is this urgent? It’s getting late. Rebecca’s taken a sleeping tablet and has gone to bed; she needs to rest.’
>
Brian said, ‘It’s you we want to speak to, Mr Whitchurch. May we come in, please?’
‘Is this going to take long?’
‘Five minutes, max.’
With a resigned air, Dominic opened the door wide and gestured for the two detectives to come in. He said wearily, ‘Go through to the lounge; you both know where it is. I’m going to get myself a drink. I won’t be a second.’
Brian and Rachel remained standing in the lounge until Dominic returned with a tumbler full of ice and whiskey. He indicated for the detectives to take a seat on the large settee. He sat down in an armchair opposite, took a sip of the fiery spirit and said, ‘You said it was me you wanted to speak to. How can I help?’
Rachel said, ‘After your wife received the ransom demand, you came back from Leicester that night. How did you get back?’
‘I was driven back by a colleague. I hadn’t taken my own car.’
‘What time was it when you arrived here?’
‘It was late. It must have been gone ten.’
‘What’s the name of the colleague who drove you home?’
‘Why is this relevant?’
Brian said, ‘We’re just trying to work our way through all the vehicle sightings that have been logged by the observations team that have been looking out for you. We’re particularly interested in a dark-coloured Volvo that was seen on Richmond Drive the night you returned home.’
‘That would be the colleague who drove me home. Angela drives a dark-blue-coloured Volvo.’
Rachel said, ‘Angela?’
‘Angela Temple. She’s a junior barrister at Mulberry. She was my second chair for the trial in Leicester. She very kindly drove me home and then returned to Leicester for the trial.’