by Ernesto Lee
“Steady on there, fella. What’s this all about then?”
“Tell me about Sergeant Cuttler,” I demand.
“What? I don’t know any Sergeant Cuttler. I think you’ve got the wrong man, pal.”
I pull out my warrant card and thrust it into his face.
“Listen, numbnuts, I don’t give a shit about you and your boyfriend here, but I do want to know what Cuttler’s connection is to you and Sir David Partington-Brown. You can either talk to me here or I can have you both banged away for illegal money lending, assault, and corrupting a police officer.”
Scarface laughs at my comment and I ask him what is so funny.
“Corrupting a police officer? That’s bloody hilarious! Cuttler is as bent as a nine-pound note. It was him that came to us, not the other way around. I’d never even heard of this shithole until he called me.”
“So, it was Cuttler that introduced you to Sir David?” I ask.
“You’re a smart lad,” Scarface replies. “Cuttler was given my details by another copper. He called me to say that Sir David was in urgent need of a less-than-kosher injection of cash and could I help.”
“And?”
“And I helped. I spoke to my boss and it was done.”
“Is that as far as Cuttler is concerned?” I ask him.
“That’s it. He took a small commission for the introduction and since then he’s been looking out for us whenever we come here to collect our payments.”
“And he doesn’t intervene when you’re dishing out a few slaps?” I ask.
Scarface smiles and then shrugs.
“He doesn’t give a monkey’s now that he’s got his money. And Sir David’s an educated man. He knew the cost of doing business with us. He should consider himself lucky. We wouldn’t be as lenient with anyone else. Are we done here?”
He steps forward to leave and I push him back with the end of my baton.
“Just one more question, do you know Cuttler’s brother? He’s a detective inspector in Spalding CID.”
“Hang on, let me think for a minute, nah I don’t know him. I never thought to ask about Cuttler’s family tree. It didn’t seem important.”
Laughing, he turns to face Frankie and asks him if he did.
“What about you, Frankie, did you ask Cuttler how many brothers and sisters he had?”
I’ve seen and heard enough already to understand the connection. Henry Cuttler is just a mildly corrupt chancer who stumbled across an opportunity to make a few quid for himself. Lucy and Joanna both seem to know about their father’s dealings with the loan sharks along with Sergeant Cuttler’s connection. DI Alan Cuttler on the other hand seems to play no part in this.
Satisfied that I won’t get anything else useful from Scarface and Frankie, I retract my baton and tuck it away in my inside jacket pocket.
I tell them both they can leave, and Frankie stands up. Both are still wary, though, and they wait for me to step to the side. I gesture for them to pass and as they do, I reach across Scarface’s shoulder. Before he can react, I pull out the small revolver concealed in his pocket and point it at his face.
“I’ve got a license for that,” Scarface protests.
“That’s commendable,” I reply. “Ask me if I give a shit.”
“What is this then?” he asks. “You’re not gonna shoot me. Come on, Frankie, we’re leaving.”
There is no fear in his voice and he clearly thinks that I am bluffing, until I smile and pull back the hammer.
“You’re not a copper. What is this, a bloody shakedown? You’re not gonna shoot.”
I step closer and put the barrel of the revolver between his eyes.
“Oh, I am going to shoot – and I never miss. Not from this range anyway,” I add with another smile.
Frankie is slowly edging away from us, but Scarface is frozen to the spot and his previous confidence has deserted him. I watch as a bead of sweat runs from the top of his head to the base of his chin using one of his scars as a track. He is concentrating hard on the revolver and I know that he is weighing up the odds of disarming me before I shoot him in the head.
The standoff continues for another ten seconds until I deliberately look away for a split second and he makes his move. He lunges for the weapon, but I am way ahead of him. I jump back out of reach and scream for both of them to get down.
“Do it now, get down on your knees, or I will shoot you both dead, I swear to God.”
They comply without question and, convinced that they are about to die, Frankie starts to quietly sob when I tell them that this is the end. I suggest that they might want to say a final prayer and Frankie shuts his eyes and clasps his hands. Scarface is not ready to give up just yet and pleads with me not to kill them.
“Just tell us what you want. You don’t need to kill us. Please, you don’t need to do this.”
I move closer and lean in.
“Unfortunately, I do need to do this. I’ve missed the last bus and I really need to get home.”
Frankie stops praying and opens his eyes. He turns to Scarface and asks him what I am talking about, but Scarface looks equally as confused.
He looks back to me to ask the question, but the end of the revolver barrel is already near to my mouth.
“It’s been nice knowing you chaps, but I must run.”
The words “What the hell?” are barely out of Scarface’s mouth when the back of my skull explodes, and my brains splatter across the alley.
Present Day – Sunday, 22nd April, 2018
Well that was fun and, as long as I don’t need to go back to Tyevale 1972, no serious harm should have been done to the case or the timelines. I doubt very much whether my loan-shark friends will be running to the police to tell tales anyway and, even if they did, who would believe them?
I rub my eyes and then reach for my phone. There are no messages or missed calls and although the sun is already shining through the gap in the curtains it’s only just after seven-thirty in the morning. Hopefully, Cath will have taken my advice and will still be asleep. I’m wide awake, though, and to waste some time, I dress in my running gear and take the lift down to reception. Apart from the night porter manning the desk, reception is completely deserted. I politely nod as I pass him.
After a quick warm up and a few stretching exercises, I jog down the high street, past St Benedict’s Church and out onto the country roads. The outward leg of my run is dull and uneventful. A couple of times, I am passed by cars heading in one direction or the other, but otherwise the roads are deserted. I use the time to reflect on everything that has happened in the last few days.
When I reach the three-mile point, I turn back towards Tyevale and concentrate on the day ahead. Lost in thoughts of the interview with Eddie Wells, I don’t register the sound of the approaching motorbike until it is almost behind me. The road is more than wide enough for most vehicles to pass a pedestrian without any problems and so I keep on running, but as a courtesy I tuck in closer to the side of the road.
The motorbike doesn’t hit me, but as it passes, one of the passenger’s legs catches me behind the knees and I fall painfully onto the road.
Fortunately, I’m not hurt badly and I’m back on my feet immediately. The motorbike keeps going and if I was in any doubt as to whether this was an accident, the lack of a registration plate answers that question. But if this wasn’t an accident, then what was the point? I’m not badly injured and it would have been all too easy to have run me over without witnesses. So maybe, it’s a warning. But from whom?
I watch as the bike continues and then disappears out of sight. When I’m sure that it’s not coming back, I continue back to Tyevale. Back at the hotel, I consider waking Cath up to tell her about the motorbike, but there is nothing either of us can do about it right now, so I leave her sleeping and I take a shower. Other than scraped knees and a bit of grit on the palms of my hands where I fell, I am otherwise unscathed.
For now, I put the episode out of my mind, sp
ending the rest of the morning working on my notes. At midday exactly, I put on my jacket, straighten my tie, and give myself a final inspection in the mirror. Today is going to be a good day, I tell myself.
“Looking good, Detective Sergeant McMillan, and it’s a beautiful day for putting bad guys away.”
Catherine is waiting for me next to her car and she is looking much better for having had a decent night’s sleep.
“Good morning, Cath. You look a lot better today. I take it there were no calls last night?” I ask her.
“Thanks, boss. Nope, a nice peaceful night, thankfully,” Cath replies. “I did get a message from Miller, though. Lucy’s dental records have been tracked down and they should be with the doc and his team sometime this afternoon.”
“That’s great news, Cath. If we can get a positive ID on Lucy before the interview with Eddie Wells, then that should be the final nail in the coffin for both Eddie and Joanna.”
“What about you, boss? Anything new to report?”
In response, I hold out the palms of my hands to her.
“What the hell! What happened, are you okay?”
I reassure her that I am okay and then I explain to her about my run-in with the bikers this morning.
“You think it’s connected to this case?” Cath asks.
“No, I don’t think so, Cath. If anything, I think this is a warning from someone connected to the Network case and most likely connected to the comment for me to call Clive Douglas. Let’s not even worry about it for now, though. Douglas is going nowhere, and we have bigger fish to fry today.”
“Okay, but let’s not get complacent,” Cath warns. “That guy has a long reach and nothing to lose.”
We hit the road and arrive at Spalding Central station by one-fifteen. Thirty minutes later, DI Miller joins us in the interview room, and we get down to work. The upcoming interview tactics are our primary focus, but I’m also keen to know if Miller was able to check out exactly who was amongst the press pack at Meadow Farm yesterday.
“Any luck on those names, sir?”
“Sorry, Sean, no. Everyone came up clean. They all had legit press credentials and none of them remember anyone mentioning anything about DS Douglas. To be honest that’s no great surprise. They were all fighting each other to get a quote from you. Do you think that you might have been mistaken?”
“I did consider that, until this morning,” I reply.
I show Miller my hands and repeat the story of the motorbike.
“Someone is definitely trying to send a message to me, sir.”
Miller takes down the description of the bike and the riders, but we all know that he’s wasting his time. Whoever they were, they were professionals and they and the bike will be long gone. I thank him anyway and we continue with our preparation.
By 4:50 pm, Eddie is yet to arrive, then at 5 pm exactly, DI Miller takes a call from reception to say that he is here.
Miller leaves us to escort him to the interview room and Catherine prepares the tape.
“Make sure that the machine is working properly, Cath. We can’t afford for any screw-ups today.”
“Boss, take a chill-pill. We’ve got this in the bag,” she replies. Then with a grin on her face, she adds. “Speaking of bags, will we be needing any sick bags this time?”
“Ha-ha, very bleeding funny, Cath. Point taken. Go on now, get yourself ready. I can hear them coming.”
Thirty seconds later the door opens, and Miller shows Eddie Wells and the Honorable Jeffrey Morris QC to their seats. I open the meeting by asking Morris if he has received the camera footage and other materials and if he has had adequate time for review.
“Adequate time is extremely subjective, Detective Sergeant,” Morris replies with a raise of his eyebrows. “If you’re referring to the minimum requirement by law, then yes I have. If, however, you want my personal opinion, then no I haven’t. We all know, though, that my personal opinion has no bearing on this point, so let’s proceed, shall we?”
Catherine starts the tape and, as always, leads off with the formalities.
“This interview is being recorded and for the benefit of the tape, the time now is 5:08 pm and the date is Sunday, April 22nd, 2018. This interview is a continuation of an earlier interview with Mr. Edward Wells on Saturday, April 21st, 2018. Present in the room are Detective Constable Catherine Swain, Detective Sergeant Sean McMillan, Detective Inspector Patrick Miller, Mr. Edward Wells, and Mr. Wells’ legal counsel, the Honorable Jeffrey Morris QC. I must remind you again, Mr. Wells, that you are not currently under arrest, but I caution you that anything you say during this interview may be used in evidence against you. Do you understand?”
Eddie confirms that he does, and I start the interview by asking Morris if there is anything that he would like to say before I begin my questioning.
“Thank you, DC McMillan. Yes, I would. Yesterday I was provided with three video files that show an unknown female walking in the street and boarding a bus on the morning of Friday, April 20th. I would like to have these exhibits removed from today’s questioning on the basis that they do not show my client. Nor does he know who the woman in the video footage is. Therefore, I would suggest that they have no bearing on today’s interview.”
“Has your client seen the video footage?” I ask him. “Because if he has, I’d be very surprised if he didn’t recognize his wife. Her face is very clear in the footage taken on the bus.”
Although the second part of my statement was in response to Jeffrey Morris, my answer was directed to Eddie who is now avoiding me by looking at the floor.
“You do recognize your own wife, don’t you, Mr. Wells?”
Eddie sheepishly raises his head, but Morris holds him back from answering.
“You don’t need to answer that question, Mr. Wells. Sergeant, McMillan, we are all perfectly well aware that even if that was Joanna Partington-Brown in these video clips, under law, Mr. Wells is under no obligation whatsoever to answer questions or give evidence against his spouse. Come, come, Sergeant. This is a lesson from criminal law 101.”
We all know this, of course, but we had agreed to chance our arm anyway. It’s not a problem, though. There is more than one way to skin a cat. Miller suggests that we leave the video footage out of today’s interview. Catherine and I both agree, and he confirms for the tape and asks for me to continue.
“Mr. Wells, yesterday, Detective Inspector Miller showed you a photograph of a skeleton that had been discovered on a piece of land owned by you. When you were asked if you knew who it was, you first replied to say that you didn’t know, but then when you were pushed you said that you didn’t know who ‘she’ was. Why particularly did you say ‘she’? Did you think that we had found Lucy Partington-Brown?”
“Don’t answer that, Mr. Wells. DS McMillan, my client already answered that question yesterday. He was nervous and his reply was nothing more than a slip of the tongue.”
I don’t respond to Morris and nor do I push the point. Still staring at Eddie, I ask my next question.
“Later, you were told that a skeleton had been found on your land and had been positively identified as Paul Oliver. You know who Paul Oliver is, don’t you, Mr. Wells?”
“Yes,” Eddie replies.
“And would it be fair to say that he was a friend of yours?” I ask.
“Not so much a friend. He was friends with Lucy mainly.”
“So, you didn’t like him, Mr. Wells?”
“You need to rephrase that question,” Morris interjects. “My client was only loosely associated with Mr. Oliver through his wife’s sister. He neither liked nor disliked him. Please refrain from trying to twist it in any other way.”
“Point noted, Mr. Morris,” I reply.
“So, what did you think when I told you that it was Paul Oliver that was buried on your land, Mr. Wells? That must have been a shock to discover that he hadn’t run away with Lucy after all.”
Eddie looks to Morris for advice and whi
le they confer I ask another question.
“Did you really think that he had run away with Lucy or was it your wife that convinced you to say that? We can all see that she’s a strong woman. You don’t need to take all this onto yourself, Mr. Wells.”
Morris is livid at my interruption and lets his feelings be known. My intention had been to make Eddie angry, but it works just as well if it’s his legal counsel. I know from long experience that anger leads to lack of control and lack of control leads to mistakes. I offer half an apology and then I play my next card.
“Please ignore my last statement, Mr. Wells. For the benefit of the tape, this can be removed from the written transcript. Now, I’d like to show you something that you haven’t seen before.”
I point to the folder in front of Jeffrey Morris and indicate for him to open it.
“Mr. Morris, please refer to the item marked as exhibit AF46 in your evidence pack. This is a copy of an original photograph taken yesterday afternoon.”
I slide my own copy across the table for Eddie to see.
“Mr. Morris, I’m showing your client a photograph of a second skeleton that was discovered directly below the first on a tract of land owned by your client. Whilst we are not yet in possession of a positive identification, it has been confirmed that this skeleton does belong to a young adult female.”
I’ve barely finished the sentence before Eddie turns white and tears start to well up in the corner of his eyes. I wait to let him compose himself, before talking again, but he takes us all by surprise when he speaks first.
“Is that her? Is that …”
Morris interrupts Eddie before he can finish his question and then he hands him a folded piece of paper. While Eddie reads it, Morris tells me that I can carry on.
“Your client asked, ‘Is that her?’, Mr. Morris. He was also about to ask something else. Why did you stop him?”
“I’m his legal counsel, Sergeant. I should have thought that was obvious by now. It’s my job to ensure that he is protected.”