A Private and Convenient Place

by Michael G T Stokes

  But she was still anxious. Doyle was now at liberty and a potential source of damaging disclosures. For all she knew he may already have divulged her involvement. That may have been the reason for his release? He would have to be dealt with – and quickly.

  Chapter Forty-Nine

  Dudley Manning waited impatiently on Victoria Embankment close to the Wilford Grove entrance. He was not familiar with the area and had spent more time than he had anticipated looking for the entry. He glanced at his watch then walked over the grass away from the road towards the fast flowing River Trent and threw the butt of his cigarette into the water. He felt the sharp breeze on his cheeks and pulled the collar of his coat closer as he looked into the darkened waters. There must have been a spring tide. The water was high against the concrete banking, almost overflowing. There was no one about. He found the silence almost unnerving. Only the occasional vehicle passing over Trent Bridge in the distance made any sound. He could even hear the clock on the Council House a mile or so distant begin to chime midnight.

  He checked his watch again. She was late. And she had warned him to be on time! He took out another cigarette, lit it then wandered aimlessly onto the tarmacadam road surface. He looked up the long straight of Wilford Grove. There was no sign of anyone. He glanced at his watch again. It was nearly five past twelve. Then he heard something in the distance. The sound of a motorcycle. He turned and saw the headlight moving quite slowly towards him. He stepped quickly behind a tree, just in case the rider was not Maxine. As the motorcycle turned onto Victoria Embankment, it came to a halt. The engine roared for a moment and then fell silent. He watched, quietly, hoping he had not been spotted. Doyle’s words came to him. Yes, he had very intention of watching his back. He remained concealed as he observed the rider dismount and removed her crash helmet. Her long brown hair fell onto her shoulders. He recognised Maxine. Much relieved, he emerged from behind the tree.

  ‘There you are,’ she said as she caught sight of him.

  ‘You’re late,’ snapped Manning. He was cold and wanted the transaction concluded.

  She did not reply. She took a step towards the rear of her motorcycle and removed a black briefcase from the panier.

  ‘Is that it?’ asked Manning, eagerly. He looked along the embankment in both directions. There was no-one else in sight.

  ‘Yes. This is for you, but before I let you have it, I have a question.’

  ‘What question?’

  ‘Does anyone else know about our arrangement?’

  Manning eyed her suspiciously. ‘No, no-one. Why do you ask?’

  ‘Not even Doyle?’

  The mention of Doyle worried him.

  ‘Doyle knows nothing about it. No-one does. It is our little secret.’

  ‘That’s good,’ she said, clicking open the brief case.

  Manning moved closer in anticipation. ‘I hope it’s all there.’

  ‘Do you want to count it?’ she asked, but he didn’t like the tone of her voice. He stopped in his tracks. He was still a few feet from the motorcycle.

  ‘I trust you,’ he said, unconvincingly.

  She looked up and smiled but there was a malicious edge to her expression that was confirmed when she spoke. ‘That is your mistake.’

  Without another word she pulled a handgun from the briefcase, the silencer already fitted. Manning started to back away, onto the grass and towards the river.

  ‘Now wait a minute, what’s all this? I did what you wanted, didn’t I?’

  They were the last words he ever uttered. The first bullet struck him between the eyes but before he collapsed to the ground a second thudded into his chest propelling him towards the river. He fell backwards into the swollen waters.

  ‘I never liked dentists,’ said Maxine as she replaced the gun in the briefcase and made ready to depart.

  Manning’s body would be fished out of the river from under Trent Bridge a few hours later.

  Chapter Fifty

  Wendy Knight was the duty sergeant when the message came through. It was from the deputy governor of the prison near Colchester that Doyle had been released from the night before. When clearing his cell, a document had been found, screwed up on the waste bin. The deputy governor thought it might be important. It was a letter from the hospital that had treated Doyle after the stabbing at Draycott Heath. He had obviously kept it and then thrown it away before he was discharged from Colchester.

  ‘He must have the tests done while he was laid up in hospital,’ said the deputy governor. ‘It seems that he has a very low sperm count. He’s essentially infertile. I don’t know if this is of potential significance, but we thought you ought to know. I’ll fax a copy to you. It’s a bit crumpled but still legible.’

  Wendy Knight thanked him and got on to Hood immediately. He was in the middle of lunch and his wife glared at him as he left the table to answer the phone.

  ‘Really, Harry. It’s supposed to be your week-end off. Whatever it is, can’t someone else deal with it?’ She knew, of course, she was wasting her breath.

  ‘I have to go,’ he said as he put the phone down. ‘Something has come up.’

  Sarah sighed. She’d heard this excuse a thousand times.

  ‘What about Pip? You were supposed to be taking him to the roller skating rink, remember?’

  ‘I’ll be back soon, I promise.’

  Sarah had heard that before too. She sighed again and looked at Pip.

  ‘Don’t fret love,’ she assured her son who had dropped his head in disappointment. ‘If Daddy doesn’t get back in time, I’ll take you.’ She gave her husband a sideways glance as he pulled on his coat. ‘It’ll be a bit difficult and I shall have to take Nicholas with me, but we’ll manage somehow.’

  Hood smiled. “I’ll be back within the hour, I promise.’

  * * * *

  ‘Where’s Doyle likely to be now?’ asked Hood as he arrived in his office at Leicester Central Police Station. He had not been surprised by the verdict in Julia Hamilton’s trial, but his disappointment lingered. The other members of his team were similarly frustrated but did their best to hide it.

  ‘I’ve already done a check. He kept his appointment at 10.30 with his probation officer here in Leicester. He had come in specially to see him. They were together for about twenty minutes. Unfortunately, Doyle didn’t say anything about his further plans for the day. Not that he was prepared to disclose, anyway. And it doesn’t look like he’s been back to his flat yet.’ Wendy Knight sighed as she spoke. ‘Chances are he’s gone looking for Julia Hamilton.’

  ‘I’m certain of it,’ replied Hood. ‘Do we know where she is?’

  ‘She’s staying for the week-end in Nottingham. That’s what junior counsel said anyway. The big hotel on Maid Marion Way.

  ‘The Albany?’

  ‘That will be it.’

  ‘Get on to them. We need to contact her before Doyle does. He must know he’s not her son’s father following those tests. She’ll be using another name but she must have been recognised by somebody. Her photograph’s been in the newspapers every day for the last two weeks and it was all over the TV news last night.’

  Wendy Knight telephoned the hotel immediately. The receptionist confirmed that Julia Hamilton had booked in under the name Blackstone the previous evening. The staff had recognised her at once from her image on the television news. But the next part of the conversation was not what Hood or Knight wanted to hear.

  ‘She checked out this morning, at about ten o’clock.’

  ‘Did she leave a forwarding address?’ asked Knight, looking at Hood.

  ‘No,’ came the reply. ‘She paid in cash and left in a black Mercedes. I think there was someone with her.’

  ‘Did you happen to get the registration?’

  ‘No – but it might be on the CCTV from the front of the hotel.’


  ‘Make sure that’s preserved, will you?’

  ‘Anything you say.’

  ‘This other person? Did you get a description?’

  ‘It was a man. Yes, I’m sure it was a man. He was already sitting in the rear of the car when she left. Twenties I would say, dark hair. He was wearing sun glasses. That’s about it. The car had tinted glass but he wound down the window as she approached, so I only got a glimpse. I thought he might be from the Press. We were speculating here that she might have sold her story to a newspaper. There’s a lot of interest in her case, you know. The car stopped only for seconds. She was in a real rush to leave.’

  ‘And the driver?’

  ‘Can’t say. Didn’t really see him.’

  ‘It was a man?’

  ‘Couldn’t be sure.’

  Knight informed the receptionist that an officer would be attending to seize the CCTV and take a statement.

  ‘I want you to do it,’ Hood instructed her after she disclosed what she had been told. ‘I don’t think this has anything to do with the press. We need to identify the car. It doesn’t look like this man with the dark glasses could have been Doyle if he saw his probation officer at half-past ten in Leicester.’

  He sighed.

  ‘If Doyle does locate her, there could be trouble.’

  ‘And if he doesn’t?’

  ‘Whichever way, I anticipate trouble, serious trouble.’

  Knight nodded in agreement.

  ‘But is it our concern, sir? Why don’t we just leave them to it? We can pick up the pieces later.’

  ‘If only we could, Wendy. If only we could. We owe Doyle something, given the information he gave us. If this ends up in a confrontation with whoever’s been protecting Hamilton, someone could finish up dead.’

  The telephone rang. Hood answered. A body had been found in the river at Trent Bridge.

  ‘Not Doyle?’ said Knight, a look of horror in her eyes.

  ‘I doubt it. Whoever it is hasn’t been identified yet, but from the general description he seems to be too old for Doyle and he’s been in the water for some time. And this is the really worrying bit - he’s been shot – right between the eyes.’

  ‘Sounds like a professional hit?’

  ‘Undoubtedly. And something tells me this is connected to Hamilton. A shooting like this can’t just be a coincidence.’

  He paused.

  ‘Look, Wendy, I’m going to have to get over there. You go to the hotel and deal with the Albany people.’

  He smiled and looked at his watch.

  ‘I’m going to have to ring Sarah. I said I’d be home in the next twenty minutes. I’m supposed to be taking Pip to a birthday party at the roller skating rink. Another broken promise!’

  Chapter Fifty-One

  Before he left for Trent Bridge, Hood contacted Andrew Hooper and asked him to make sure Doyle’s flat in Leicester remained under observation until further notice. There was always a chance he might return there – if he were able. That was what occupied Hood’s mind. He had a dreadful premonition that something horrendous was going to happen to Doyle unless he was found very quickly.

  When he arrived at Trent Bridge, the body, still fully dressed, had been removed from the river and placed on a stretcher within a tented area. A large crowd had gathered near the bridge watching the divers searching the riverbed. Several reporters pressed themselves on Hood demanding to know whether the body had been identified. They, like Hood, had already drawn a connection between the body in the river and Julia Hamilton’s trial. A uniformed sergeant had informed Hood that there was nothing in the deceased’s pockets to identify him with any certainty. His wallet was still in his jacket but contained nothing that indicated who he was. Hood took a deep breath before he entered the tented area. He looked at the grey, lifeless features of the man lying on the stretcher and immediately recognised him as Dudley Manning. The several hours he had obviously spent in the river had not altered his appearance to any notable degree. Neither had the entry wound slightly to the left of his right eye. It must have been a very clean shot to have left so little external damage.

  Hood looked towards the sergeant who had followed him into the tent.

  ‘Nothing to ID him, sir, apart from this letter. The water seems to have removed most of the writing. But it looks like something from the probation service.’ He handed the still damp sheet of paper to Hood. ‘It was in his right trouser pocket.’ The sergeant pointed to the lower sternum. ‘He’s been shot in the chest as well. Someone clearly intended to kill him, whoever he is.’

  ‘I think I recognise him,’ said Hood, quietly, after checking the letter which came from the Warwickshire Probation Service. ‘I saw him on a clip of CCTV recently. I think he’s Dudley Manning. He was discharged from Draycott Heath Prison about three weeks ago on parole licence. But that will have to be double-checked before we release his name. He must have family somewhere. We must speak with them first.’

  ‘Any idea who could have done this, sir?’ asked the sergeant. ‘Do you think it could be connected with that recent trial in Nottingham?’

  ‘I’m almost sure it is, sergeant. Manning was in the public gallery on the first day of the trial and tried to gain admittance on a subsequent occasion. He was also in the same prison as Michael Doyle for several months. We’ve been looking for him for the last few days.’

  ‘Well, you’ve found him, sir, but he’ll tell us nothing, not now.’

  ‘Any sign of the pathologist?’ asked Hood.

  ‘He’s on his way. We’ve had to drag him from the golf course at Birstall. It’s Dr Kennedy who’s on call. He’s not very happy about it. He was playing particularly well today, apparently.’

  Hood was not in the least sympathetic.

  ‘I was supposed to be taking my son roller skating this afternoon. That’s off the agenda too.’

  ‘Goes with the job, eh sir?’

  ‘It certainly does.’

  Chapter Fifty-Two

  Sunday lunch in the Hood household was underway. The difficulties of the day before had been forgotten. Hood had promised young Pip that his next birthday party would be held at the roller skating rink. He’d also promised to don a pair of skates himself.

  ‘I was pretty good at it when I was your age,’ he told his son. ‘I still have my old skates somewhere.’

  His son gave him a meaningful look then made a face towards his mother.

  ‘You can’t wear those old things,’ said Sarah. ‘They’re out of date. We don’t want you embarrassing the poor boy.’

  Hood laughed. He realised how much he loved being with his family. Not like when he’d returned home late the evening before. His children had gone to bed, but not Sarah. He’d received a very frosty reception from her.

  ‘Honestly, Harry. You promised you’d be back hours ago. It had better be something pretty serious. Pip was really disappointed.’

  ‘Did you take him?’

  ‘Of course. He didn’t want to miss his friend’s party. I had to take Amy and Nicky with me, of course. And you know what a handful Nicky can be. By the way, Pip wants to have his next birthday party at the roller rink, too.’

  ‘Does he? We’ll have to see about that.’

  ‘I’ve already promised him that you’ll organise it.’

  Hood frowned.

  ‘We’ll see.’

  He sighed.

  ‘I’m really sorry, love. But it was rather serious.’

  ‘And only Chief Inspector Hood could deal with it of course!’

  Sarah’s tone was heavy with sarcasm. He acknowledged the truth of her remark but protested the unusual circumstances that had kept him away so late.

  ‘It’s probably connected with the Hamilton case.’

  ‘But that’s all over, isn’t it? She got away with it – just like you said sh
e probably would.’

  ‘We found a body. In the Trent at West Bridgford. He’d been shot – twice.’

  Sarah seemed quite shocked. She forgot all about her husband’s failure to get home sooner.

  ‘Do you know who it is?’

  ‘We do. A man called Dudley Manning. A known associate of Michael Doyle. It’ll be on the TV news later. We’ve confirmed his identity with his ex-wife.’

  ‘Do you think Doyle could be responsible?’

  ‘Possibly, but unlikely. He’d been in the river for some hours. Dr Kennedy reckons he was shot around midnight on Friday. We know Doyle only travelled up from Colchester late on Friday night. He’d have had to change trains twice and wouldn’t have arrived back until pretty late, but we haven’t excluded him. Not yet. We’ll need to talk to him first. At the moment we have no idea where he is.’

  ‘Sounds a bit too professional for Doyle. He’s not a killer, is he?’

  ‘Probably not, but it’s got something to do with the Hamilton woman. I’m sure of it.’

  ‘Where is she now?’

  ‘We don’t know. She left the hotel around ten o’clock this morning. Where she went, we have no idea. We can only pray that Doyle doesn’t meet up with her.’

  Chapter Fifty-Three

  Michael Doyle took a taxi to the address he’d been given in East Leicestershire. He was more than a little apprehensive about going there. Jules had phoned him that Sunday morning and asked him to meet her in the afternoon. She promised him she would be alone. Both the address and the immediate area surrounding the small village where the house was situated were unknown to him. Even the taxi driver had to ask a passing pedestrian for assistance in locating it. The former manor house had been unoccupied for over a decade. It was situated down an unmade private road, a considerable distance from any other dwelling. A very private if inconvenient place.