The Amen Cadence

by J. J. Salkeld

  ‘Nice girl, was she?’

  ‘Lovely.’

  Neither officer spoke as Copeland drove them back to the station, despite Boyle’s constant enquiries.

  ‘Save it for the tape, Vince’, was all that Pepper said, making sure that Boyle heard her calling ahead to make sure that the duty solicitor would be available.

  ‘What do I need a brief for?’ Boyle asked, but Pepper just turned on the car radio, and started singing along to ‘I do not hook up.’ Copeland already knew how awful she was, and Boyle quickly found out.

  The interview room was hot but, by way of compensation, the tea that the PC who was helping out on the custody desk made for them was anything but. It should all have balanced out, somehow, but it didn’t. The drink could only have been made less palatable if it had a teaspoon of gravel in each cup. Copeland noticed that the Duty Solicitor didn’t even pick up his mug, but then he was a regular visitor. With so many local lawyers having abandoned legal aid work he was one of the few who carried the load these days, and it showed. He was probably only in his sixties, but Copeland always thought he looked at least eighty.

  Pepper led the interview, and Copeland didn’t mind at all. Pepper’s style was straight and hard-edged at the best of times, and these were definitely not the best of times.

  ‘You know Linda Taylor don’t you, Vince?’

  ‘Oh, aye, Pepper. Known her for years. She’s your bosom buddy, isn’t she?’

  ‘And when did you last see her?’

  ‘Let me think. She’s been gone for a good while, has Linda. But then you’d know all about that, wouldn’t you, love?’

  ‘And why would that be?’

  Boyle smiled. His teeth were still good, but his breath wasn’t.

  ‘Because you’re her best mate. Why, what did you think I meant?’

  ‘Stop pissing me about, Vince, and answer the question. When did you last see Linda?’

  ‘I don’t know, not exactly. It’ll be weeks, months, maybe. I don’t keep a diary, like.’

  ‘And where did you last see her?’

  ‘Around town somewhere. That supermarket where she used to work, maybe. They have some cracking deals on that strong German lager in there, did you know that?’

  ‘So it was Carlisle? It was somewhere in Carlisle where you last saw her?’

  ‘Aye. Where else would it have been?’

  Pepper looked at the Duty Solicitor, who nodded resignedly and whispered something to Boyle. He listened, then turned back towards Pepper.

  ‘Look, love, I’m not trying to piss about here, but I’ve no idea where your mate is. Sorry, but I don’t.’

  ‘Let’s talk about Birmingham.’

  ‘All right. If we must, like.’

  Copeland was watching closely, and Boyle didn’t seem at all surprised by Pepper’s line.

  ‘Have you ever been there?’

  ‘Oh, aye. I’ve been all over, me.’

  ‘When were you last in Birmingham?’

  ‘Let me see. Last week it would have been. Aye, last week.’

  ‘And why were you there?’

  ‘A day out, like.’

  ‘How did you get there?’

  ‘On the train. It’ll all be on CCTV, I expect.’

  ‘Have you ever been before?’

  ‘Aye, probably.’

  ‘But not recently? You haven’t been to Birmingham in the last year or two, say?’

  ‘No. It’ll be longer than that, like. Years, I expect.’

  ‘And where did you go when you went down last week, exactly?’

  ‘Those big shops. You know, in the centre. Knocks bloody spots off Carlisle, they do.’

  ‘And did you go anywhere else?’

  For the first time in the quick-fire Q&A exchange there was a pause for thought.

  ‘No. No, I didn’t. Not that I remember, anyway.’

  ‘Well, take your time and think it through. Did you go anywhere else? You know we’ll find out if you’re lying.’

  ‘Maybe you could, and all. But I didn’t go anywhere else.’

  ‘What were you wearing?’

  ‘Jeans, a t-shirt. Oh, aye, and my baseball cap.’

  ‘You always wear one of those?’

  ‘No. Just fancied it that day, like.’

  Pepper nodded and sat back.

  ‘Do you know what facial recognition software is, Vince?’

  ‘No, love. I’m not keen on the computer job, to tell the truth. I see them down the Job Centre, like, but that’s about all.’

  ‘Well, it’s software that maps the features on people’s faces automatically, so that they can be traced from lots of different CCTV feeds, completely automatically.’

  ‘Really? Bugger me sideways, like.’

  ‘Some people try to fool the software by wearing hats.’

  ‘I see, aye, clever. But you don’t think I’d do owt like that? Why would I, love? I wasn’t on the rob.’

  ‘No, it’s not clever, actually. Not clever at all. Because you know what we do, when some shitty little con tries that one on? We just track the hat instead. Works every time, does that.’

  Copeland wondered, briefly, if Pepper was telling the truth, or was just looking for a reaction from Boyle. If it was the latter, the tactic wasn’t working. He just sat there, showing them his big, white teeth.

  ‘All right, Vince’, she said after a long cold stare, ‘let’s talk about Dai Young. You know him, do you?’

  ‘Aye, everyone knows Dai.’

  ‘And you work for him?’

  ‘No, love. I’m on the dole. It’s because I’m allergic, see. Allergic to work, that is.’

  ‘So you don’t do any favours for Young, anything like that? Informally, you might say.’

  ‘I doubt he needs any help, love.’

  ‘Answer the question.’

  ‘No, I don’t do any favours for Dai Young. Jesus.’

  ‘Did you go to Birmingham to find, or observe, Linda Taylor?’

  ‘So that’s where she went, is it?’

  The Duty Solicitor leaned in again.

  ‘I didn’t go to observe her, or owt like that.’

  ‘Did you know she was there, before just now?’

  ‘No.’

  Pepper’s questions had been relentless, rapid-fire, but now she paused. Vince was used to the silent stare, like the coppers had been turned to stone, but he knew very well that they always came back to life eventually, worse luck, if you just waited them out. And, sure enough, it was Pepper who spoke next.

  ‘You haven’t asked what this is about, Vince. I find that pretty strange. Suggestive, even.’

  ‘Call me Sherlock, love, but I’d say it’s about Linda Taylor. Has something happened to her? I do hope not, what with you being her best mate. Her protector, I suppose you’d say.’

  ‘Where were you yesterday, Vince?’

  ‘In Carlisle, all day.’

  ‘And you’ve got witnesses?’

  ‘Of course. I’m not a bloody hermit. I’m a very sociable bloke, me.’

  ‘How about last night?’

  ‘Pub ’til closing, then back to a mate’s for a drink and a bit of a smoke, like. Home about two, if I remember rightly, which I probably don’t.’ Boyle laughed, and his chest rattled like frost-shattered stones sliding down a fell side.

  ‘Anyone vouch for you at home?’

  ‘Aye, the missus. I woke her up. Not that she was complaining, like.’

  He winked and laughed again, and he didn’t even expect Pepper to join in.

  ‘All right, Vince. We’re going to need a list of everyone who saw you yesterday, with the where and when. You know how this works.’

  ‘No problem, but you’re wasting your time. I never touched Linda Taylor. Why would I want to do something like that?’

  Afterwards, when Boyle and the Duty Solicitor had left, Pepper and Rex sat in the interview room.

  ‘He’s a bit brighter than he looks’, said Pepper, ‘not t
hat it would be hard.’

  ‘You think so? Hasn’t he just admitted that he was in Birmingham at about the time that Linda told you that she saw him there? That’s pretty suggestive, isn’t it?’

  ‘Aye, but it proves nowt. Even that old fossil in the suit told us that. No, it was a smart play by Vince, I reckon, because we’d have found out anyway. When we build his timeline for the last week or two we’d have found out about his little away day then, wouldn’t we? And he was clever to keep his distance from Dai too. We’ll struggle to prove that link, we both know that, because everyone who knows either of them lies for sport. And as to him having actually done it, we can forget that and all. There’s not a chance in a bloody million.’

  ‘Do you want me to check his alibi anyway?’

  ‘Aye, but concentrate on building his timeline for yesterday, then cross-check a couple of data points against CCTV to confirm. It won’t take five minutes. Because believe me, the kind of places that Vince Boyle hangs out in are always well covered by CCTV. It’s a kind of cause and effect thing, I reckon.’

  Rex smiled. ‘You’re on. Do you reckon your mates in West Midlands will do the same? Pick him up on CCTV when he was down there, I mean? See if they can follow him?’

  ‘They’ll try, I expect, but they’ll get nowhere. He’ll have strolled about for half an hour, then picked up a cab from somewhere. Tracking him wouldn’t be cost-effective. It would take two officers days to piece it all together, and even if they did the best they’d have is half a chance of a conspiracy charge sticking, and only then if we nick whoever did do it, and can connect that person back to Vince. So it’s all down to us, I reckon.’

  ‘You really think it was someone from up here who killed Linda, not some local psycho from down that way? Have we got any cons out on the street at the moment who’d be willing to bash a woman’s face in with a bit of scaffolding? That takes a special type of nutter, Pepper, and we both know that Dai didn’t do this himself. Not a chance, I’m afraid. He may be crazy, but he’s not that stupid.’

  Pepper looked down at her notepad. ‘Aye, you’re right. I’ll call that DCS and find out what else he wants from us. And I’ll tell him that although we can’t prove anything we can be pretty sure that Young was behind this, and that Boyle was down there on a recce of some sort. So that’s something, anyway.’

  ‘All right, fair enough. But we should at least entertain the possibility that it was just a co-incidence, about Boyle having been down there. We don’t want to over-egg this one, Pepper. Imagine how you’d feel if we sent West Midlands’ whole investigation off in the wrong direction. Maybe Linda got herself mixed up in something down there, something that we know nothing about.’

  ‘Like what?’

  ‘I know, it’s not likely. I was just saying…’

  ‘Aye, I know what you’re just saying, Rex, and there’s something I need to say to you. Something that we need to talk about, actually.’

  ‘You want to go back upstairs?’

  ‘No, this will be fine.’

  Copeland got up, and walked over to the interview room door, turned, and leaned his back against it.

  ‘Like that, is it?’

  ‘Like what? You don’t even know what I’m going to say yet, mate.’

  ‘I know exactly what people have been saying. I’m not stupid, Pepper. What that loud-mouth Lenny Murphy said about me has been all round the nick, I know that. But it was pure bollocks he was talking; that I was just doing Dai Young’s dirty work, nicking Murphy like that. You’ve got to see that much, surely?’

  ‘What about Kelly Michaels though, Rex? She says she knows you, from back in London.’

  ‘I’d never met her before in my life, honest.’

  ‘That’s not what she’s saying to Professional Standards, from what I hear.’

  ‘What? What the hell is she saying, Pepper? This is all bollocks. It’s just racism, is this. No one would take this seriously if I was a white officer, would they? But because I come from the ‘hood, or whatever they want to call it, I have to be dirty. Not all black people actually know each other, for fuck’s sake. There’s not a club you have to join, you know.’

  Copeland took a couple of steps back towards the table, and Pepper didn’t move. She was smiling, and it took a second for Copeland to work out why.

  ‘Oh, I get it. You know I’m not dirty. Christ, Pepper, don’t wind me up. You really do know me better than that, don’t you?’

  ‘Of course I do, love. Do you seriously think I’d have you working with me on the killing of my oldest friend if I didn’t? That bastard killed Linda, and now he’s trying to fit you up, Rex, you’re absolutely right about that. So we’re both motivated to nail the bastard, right? And he must have something pretty strong on this Kelly lass, to get her to go into bat for him like this. Any ideas about what that might be? Could we make her a better offer, do you think? Turn the tables, like.’

  Copeland sat down again, shook his head, and shrugged. ‘What could we offer? And they could have absolutely anything on her. It’s a Ferris specialism, blackmail, topped off with a bit of intimidation. They’re brilliant at it. No, we won’t be able to turn her, no matter what we offered. So what do we do now?’

  ‘Simple. Find our fucking mole, before Professional Standards drag you away for another grilling.’

  Copeland laughed dryly, sharing the joke, until he realised that Pepper wasn’t even smiling this time.

  ‘You’re actually serious?’

  ‘Oh, aye. It’ll be easy, will this. All we have to do is get close, and I mean properly close, to Linda’s murderer, and then our mole will have to stick their head above ground, either to try to save himself, or to risk some desperate move to distract us. Either way, they’ll just have to show out. Dai will force them, because he can’t afford to let us connect Linda’s death back to him.’

  ‘So all we’ve got to do is crack Linda Taylor’s murder, find our mole, and then I’m safe from the professional prejudice squad?’

  ‘That’s right. Got it in one.’

  ‘And do we have any leads to help us achieve all this? Something you’re keeping up your sleeve, maybe?’

  ‘Well, no, not as such. Not yet. But we won’t make any progress if we just stay sat here all bloody day, now will we?’

  Thursday, 18th June

  CID Office, Carlisle Police HQ, 8.25am

  Pepper came in though the office door fast, and she was calling out instructions to the team before she’d even managed to untangle her bag’s strap from the door handle.

  ‘Can I have a quick word, boss?’ Henry called out, and Pepper arrived at his desk at a run.

  ‘How are you, love?’ she asked, because she knew she should, but safe in the knowledge that she wouldn’t get a long, boring answer. Henry was at his desk, grafting, and that was what mattered.

  ‘It’s one of those reg numbers you gave me to check.’

  ‘Aye. Which one?’

  ‘The Kia. It’s registered to a couple called Thompson, who live in Stanwix.’

  ‘Aye, so. Got form, have they? It’s a con’s car, is the Kia. They just love a long warranty. It’s a fact, is that.’

  Henry laughed. ‘Hardly, on either count. That’s the thing though. The registered keeper, Brian Thompson, is over 50 and clean as a whistle. Never had any contact with us whatsoever, and nor has his wife.’

  ‘OK, so he’s a straight employee of that business.’

  ‘No, he’s not. He works at the hospital, in administration. And his wife works in a shop in town. So neither of them had any reason to be there.’

  ‘Maybe I just wrote the number down wrong.’

  ‘No, the registration matches the vehicle. I was going to pop round to his office at the hospital, and have a quick chat.’

  ‘You’d fit right in, love’, said Pepper laughing. Henry’s black eye was actually a deep purple colour, and there was bluish bruising right across his cheek. ‘But I’ll do it myself. Just give me
five minutes to check my email.’

  ‘Am I coming too?’

  ‘No, love. You stay here. Don’t want you frightening the patients, like.’

  Rex Copeland wasn’t due in until noon, but Pepper was pleased to see him coming in just as she was grabbing her coat.

  ‘Rex, with me, please.’

  Henry frowned as he watched them go. If Pepper really wanted him to stay in the force then she had a bloody funny way of showing it.

  The two officers walked down the same hospital corridor twice before they found Brian Thompson’s office. Pepper knocked and walked in. When she badged Thompson all she saw on his face was concern. No fear, no hint of calculation.

  ‘Is everything all right?’ he asked.

  ‘Yes, fine. Don’t worry, we don’t have bad news.’

  ‘Thank God. I just thought…’

  ‘I know. We still have that effect on some people. On the ones who don’t usually have dealings with the police, at least. It’s about your car. And no, there hasn’t been an accident.’ Pepper smiled, as she said it, preempting his concern. ‘Do you drive to work, Mr. Thompson?’

  ‘Sometimes, aye, if it’s wet. Otherwise I walk. Good for the waistline, you know.’

  ‘I do. Have you been out to the industrial estate recently? Visiting a metal fabrication workshop there, it would have been. About something for the hospital, perhaps?’

  ‘No, no I haven’t. I’m an accountant, I don’t have anything to do with metal, or anything like that.’

  ‘How about another family member? Your wife, perhaps?’

  Thompson smiled. ‘My wife? No, certainly not. Metal’s not really her thing. I’m sorry, but I expect there’s been a bit of a mistake here.’

  ‘Does anyone else have access to the car, Mr. Thompson?’ asked Copeland, quickly.

  ‘My son, Micky. He drives it sometimes.’

  ‘And how old is Micky?’

  ‘Eighteen.’

  ‘And he’s at college, is he?’