Fallout: (A Blackbridge Novel) (The Blackbridge Series Book 1)

by J. S. Spicer

  CHAPTER THIRTY FOUR

  This was the third day in a row that Max had found himself at the heart of a crime scene. Saturday had seen the gruesome discovery of Carol Bishop’s body at the caravan. On Sunday the forensics guys had confirmed she’d been killed in her own kitchen. Now here was another scene, with another body.

  The morning had been hectic, flying by in a blur as Max secured the scene and called in the team. He’d been too busy to even try to process the meaning of it all. His head was spinning when Lyle Banks sauntered in. Glancing at his watch he was surprised to see it was almost midday.

  Lyle skirted around a tech who was checking for fingerprints. He gave Max one of his fake smiles as he peered into the bathroom. “Who’s our victim?” he asked.

  “Hugh Bishop.”

  “The Bank Manager?”

  It wasn’t often Lyle looked surprised. Travers almost enjoyed seeing his colleague’s eyebrows shoot up.

  “What happened?”

  Travers had nothing to offer except for the manner of his death. “Drowned in the bath.”

  “Yeah, I can see he took a dip.” Lyle glanced again towards the bathroom; the tiny room was jammed full of people as they prepared to move the body. Max could hear the sound of the water draining from the bathtub. “You sure of the cause of death; looks like a fair amount of blood.”

  “A blow to the head. Might have knocked him out but it looks likely the water finished him off.”

  “Anything else?”

  “They’ve also found some traces of blood on the edge of that coffee table.” Max pointed to the table a couple of feet from where they stood. On the floor next to it was a handbag, its contents strewn across the carpet. Max recognised it as the same bag Jennifer had had with her at the restaurant on Thursday evening.

  “So,” Lyle took in the room. “There was a struggle in here, then things move to the bathroom where Mr Bank Manager meets his end.”

  “So it would appear.” Max felt the beginnings of a headache tapping at his skull.

  “No sign of the girl, this Jennifer Kim?”

  “Not yet. But her purse, keys and mobile phone are all there.” He pointed to the scattered contents on the floor. “I don’t get it.”

  Lyle snorted. “She wouldn’t be the first girl to shag the boss. I’ll bet he snuck over here for a quickie. Maybe thing got out of hand, or they had a row. So she drowns him then does a runner.”

  “Maybe?” Max wasn’t convinced. He couldn’t picture Jen with Hugh Bishop; but then he barely knew her.

  “Still, funny that she left her purse and keys,” Lyle agreed.

  “We haven’t found Bishop’s car keys. His wallet was in his pocket, but no keys have turned up and there’s no sign of his car in the neighbourhood.”

  “She must have taken it then.”

  Travers nodded but didn’t feel convinced, not by any of it. Why was Bishop at Jennifer’s flat? Could they really have been having an affair? She’d known him a matter of days and now he was dead in her home. Something else was going on, Max was sure of it. Since the bank job both of the Bishop’s had turned up dead. That was no coincidence.

  “You need any help with this?”

  Max didn’t answer for a second. It was so unusual for Lyle to make such an offer. “Uh, thanks, but I think I’ve got it under control. I’ve got Carrie doing a more thorough background check on Jennifer to see if anything flags up in relation to the burglary, plus we’re putting the word out on Bishop’s car, as well as the van owned by Davis. One of those vehicles is bound to get spotted by patrols or cameras.

  Lyle nodded. “Still no luck with Davis?”

  “No, not a sign. I’m paying his girlfriend a visit this afternoon. Uniforms have already been round but maybe I can get something out of her.”

  Travers knew he wouldn’t get anything useful out of Gemma Collins the second she opened the door. He knew the type; drug-skinny and wary-eyed, she’d had plenty of run-ins with the police. She didn’t trust them and she wouldn’t help him find Aubrey Davis. Maybe, if he was clever, and lucky, he could trip her up. The scowl and tightly folded arms didn’t bode well for making it across the doorstep, let alone setting her at ease enough to trick her into telling him something.

  “I’ve already told your lot, he’s not here.”

  Max flashed his winning smile. Her scowl deepened.

  “Any idea where he might have gone? Does he have any friends or family nearby?”

  “Not that I know of,” she replied, still keeping him shivering on the doorstep.

  He had to have friends or acquaintances locally. Travers had checked; Davis was from this neighbourhood. He grown up on these streets and had never moved away.

  “Anywhere he likes to go? A favourite pub maybe?”

  She shifted from one foot to the other, arms still folded. “He’s only been out a few months. He hasn’t exactly had a full social life since you guys locked him up.” She made it sound like it was the police’s fault that Davis had gone to prison, like it had nothing to do with the crime he’d committed.

  “So, how did he spend his time since he got home?” Max knew the question was a mistake before he’d finished asking. Her already irritated features darkened with anger. It was clear that Aubrey hadn’t spent his every waking moment in the arms of his beloved; he’d touched a nerve.

  “I’ve told you all I know.” She was starting to push the door shut.

  “Just one last thing.” She was already uncooperative so he had nothing left to lose. Travers slid a photo from his back pocket. It was a picture of Jennifer Kim. He’d need to get it circulated so they could find her, but perhaps it might come in handy with Gemma Collins.

  “Have you ever seen this woman?”

  Travers saw the conflict in her features right away. There was no recognition there, but Jennifer was an attractive woman. Despite her unwillingness to talk to him there was curiosity written all over Gemma’s face; curiosity and something else, jealousy.

  A brisk shake of the head; more like denial than anything. “Who is she?”

  “Just someone else we’d like to talk to.” Travers flashed his smile again, this time feeling genuine, if petty, pleasure as he returned the photo to his pocket. Gemma hadn’t taken her eyes of it since he’d flashed the image in front of her. “Thank you for your time.”

  As he walked away he heard the door slamming into its frame. At least he’d given her something unpleasant to think about.

  Back in his car he let his head fall back onto the headrest and closed his eyes.

  “Get a grip, Travers,” he muttered to himself. He sighed and rubbed his eyes as if that would help him see the case more clearly.

  He took out the photograph again. What had Jennifer got herself involved in? Was she really mixed up with Davis, or seeing Bishop? He still had a hard time accepting that. But maybe his own feelings were clouding his objectivity. She’d caught his eye right away. Then spending time with her had only increased his interest. She was smart, warm and beautiful. Now she was missing and her boss was found dead in her bathtub.

  His musings were interrupted by the vibrating of his mobile phone.

  “Travers.”

  “It’s Carrie. We’ve had some luck with Bishop’s car. A traffic camera snapped it a couple of miles from Jennifer Kim’s address.”

  “I’m on my way back.” At last, something might be going his way.

  The image on the screen was grainy, indistinct. Travers stared at the pixelated car windows until his eyes watered.

  “Can we clean this up a bit?”

  Carrie shook her head in a resigned way; she’d expected the question. She was also ready for the next one and headed it off. “If we enlarge the image we just enlarge the distortion too.”

  She turned at the sound of Max’s heavy sigh.

  “What difference does it make? We can make out the plate well enough. It’s definitely Bishop’s Volvo.”

  “But we don’t know who’s drivi
ng?”

  Carrie’s chair creaked as she leaned back. “That Kim woman would be my guess.”

  Max gave her a lopsided smile. “But that’s all it is, a guess, an assumption.”

  “Process of elimination,” Carrie persisted. “We find Bishop dead in her flat. Kim’s missing, Bishop’s car is missing. Ergo, Kim took the car.”

  Travers didn’t have time to argue with her over-simplistic logic. “Has the Volvo shown up on any other cameras? This one time and location doesn’t give us any idea where it was going.”

  “Not yet, I’m still trawling through. I’ll call you when I find anything else.”

  “If you find anything.” Travers didn’t doubt the young analyst’s abilities but she was looking for a needle in a haystack.”

  Carrie was undeterred though. She pointed at the screen. “See what lane the Volvo’s in? Its left-turn only and it leads straight onto the dual carriageway. There are a few traffic cameras along that stretch. Now I have a time stamp from this image it should speed up the search.”

  Travers clamped a hand on her shoulder. “Great. Let me know.”

  He turned to go. “Oh, while you’re at it have another look at the CCTV footage from the burglary.”

  Carrie didn’t hide her irritation. She was usually so obliging. She was good at what she did. She knew her way around the technology and had keen eyes, often spotting things others missed. Her eyes were dry and raw from too many hours squinting at her screen trying to find any crumb of evidence Travers could use in his case. She needed a break. She also hated repeating tasks; Carrie Winters didn’t miss things.

  “Why? What do you expect me to find a second time round?”

  “Just anything odd, Carrie. With the Bank Manager showing up dead and one of his staff missing there’s obviously more going on than we thought.”

  She couldn’t argue with that but she only had one pair of eyes. “Which takes priority, this or tracking the car.”

  Travers chewed on his bottom lip as he pondered. In truth having Carrie go over the bank footage again was a longshot. Hugh Bishop and his staff would inevitably show up on the cameras since they went to work at the bank every day. If they were up to anything suspicious it wasn’t likely to have been caught on film, but he was getting desperate. Then again, finding the car might lead them to Jennifer. Right now her safety had to be paramount.

  “Prioritise the car for now. Get to the other footage when you can.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY FIVE

  It was all making sense now; the sneaking off at odd times, the secretive phone calls, the lies. Gemma wasn’t stupid, she knew he was up to something. She’d assumed, just assumed, it was another job. There was always another job. Every time he’d got out of prison he’d made the same tired old promises; he was done with a life of crime, he was going to straighten himself out, get a job and settle down. Every time, every single time, he managed it. For about a month. Then something would happen. He’d bump into an old buddy from prison or hear about a job that was just too good to be true. Every time he broke into a place he was convinced he had a fool-proof plan. Convinced he wouldn’t get caught. His luck had thinned over the years. Now he got caught more and more. He’d spent most of the last ten years behind bars. Gemma had waited. OK, she hadn’t been entirely faithful. Lucky for Aubrey most of her relationship choices had been bad; they’d never lasted. Only Aubrey had lasted. But no longer.

  She’d assumed he was plotting another robbery. She’d even suspected he was behind the bank job reported in the paper. Now the truth had just smacked her in the face, thanks to that smug fucking policeman. Aubrey had been seeing someone behind her back. After all she’d done for him. After all the shit she’d put up with. How dare he?

  Gemma paced the flat chain smoking, fuming, her temper matching the smouldering tip of her cigarette. She was furious but she also felt foolish. Suddenly the glue that had held together their relationship was coming unstuck; the pieces were all falling apart. She started feeling sick from too much nicotine but smoking was what she did when she was upset. As the packet dwindled she grabbed her bag and keys and headed to the off-licence. She checked the cash in her purse. She’d been frugal lately; buying into all Aubrey’s crap about saving up and moving somewhere better. Now she’d splurge. She had enough for twenty Marlboros and a bottle of scotch.

  As she strode along the street she took out her phone, swiped on the screen and dialled Aubrey. She’d tried him a few times since he’d left. Always the same. Putting the phone to her ear once again she got the automated message; his phone was switched off. Who the hell switched their phone off? Aubrey had been so proud of his new smart phone; a real step up from the sort of mobile phone he’d had before his last stint in prison. Gemma had helped him pick it out, then patiently taught him how to use it. What reason would a person have to switch their phone off and leave it off? The image of the woman in the photo swam before her eyes; the fine features, thick dark hair cascading over her shoulders, like in the shampoo ads. Gemma’s hair never cascaded; it was limp and uncooperative. Her skin was grey from years of smoking and she wasn’t getting any younger. It hurt, more than she’d like to admit, that she couldn’t compete with the beautiful woman in the picture. She checked her purse again; maybe she could afford two bottles of scotch.

  He recognised the car first. It was the one from the caravan park. Despite his expectations it still came as a shock when he saw the policeman park outside the flat. He knew Gemma was home. She wouldn’t say anything, he could count on her to send the policeman away with a flea in his ear. Besides, Aubrey had been careful not to tell Gemma anything about this last job. He’d promised he was done with all that and he didn’t want to let her down. He’d meant it this time, he really had. He couldn’t expect her to understand why this job was different. Now, with everything that had happened since the robbery, he was gladder than ever that he’d kept his mouth shut. He didn’t want her involved in this mess.

  He picked up the binoculars. Yes, it was the same copper he’d seen at the caravan. Seeing him again, remembering that day, brought to mind the image of Carol Bishop’s body. He shuddered. It was so vivid. The details so precisely and deeply burned into his brain. He saw her face, a waxy mask, bloody holes for eye sockets, nothing like the delicate and demure face he’d known. He remembered how easily she blushed. She seemed to tiptoe through life feeling embarrassed. She was fragile. At the caravan he’d moved his eyes away from that lifeless face, horrified and saddened by it. Instead his gaze had rested on the flimsy material of her dress. It was covered by an ivy pattern, not bold but quite intricate. He remembered it well. He remembered too the gashes in the material, sliced through, right into the flesh beneath. Mostly though he remembered the blood, no longer red and fresh; instead it was dark, thick, cloying, covering her like a contagion. And then there was the smell.

  He forced his mind to the present. He needed to know what was going on with Gemma and the policeman. His binoculars found their target. She’d answered the door.

  Though he couldn’t hear he saw enough to know their exchange was brief and he never made it over the threshold. Aubrey relaxed as the guy got back in his car and drove off.

  He spent the afternoon trying to keep warm. The best way was to keep moving. Aubrey turned it into a routine. He’d do a circuit round the offices; head down the stairs and out into the warehouse where his van was now hidden. He even jogged round sometimes. It helped with the cold, and with the boredom.

  In between doing his rounds of the building Aubrey would watch. A small crate was his perch. It was the ideal height to observe from the window, keeping him low enough not to be seen from outside. He was becoming familiar with the people in the neighbourhood. Ironic, he’d never bothered to pay any attention to his neighbours before. Now, with the tedium of hiding out, they were suddenly fascinating. The woman in the flat next to theirs was a neat freak. She’d cleaned her windows twice already today and seemed to spend her whole time industriously po
lishing every available surface and object. The guy in the flat above was the opposite he suspected. His curtains opened just before 11am. Not long after he shuffled down the street in tracksuit bottoms and a parker. He returned soon after, carrying a plastic bag from the off licence and swigging out of a can of Special Brew. Aubrey saw him make the same journey another four times during the course of the day. There was an elderly couple a few doors down. They took a stroll in the afternoon, moving slowly, every kerb an obstacle, wrapped up in many layers against the cold. It didn’t matter how long it took to walk around the block; they had all the time in the world. Aubrey liked to watch that old couple; they seemed so connected, so in tune.

  The highlight of his day was seeing Gemma. He watched avidly as she strode down the road and disappeared around the corner. She returned soon after. She was carrying one of those off-license bags like Special Brew guy. Gemma wasn’t usually a solitary drinker. She preferred to go down the pub with her mates. She was a social animal who loved to go out and have fun. Aubrey was more subdued. It had been a constant battle; she’d want to go drinking or clubbing whereas he’d just want a quiet night in front of the telly. As he watched her disappear inside and close the door he felt overcome with sadness. She should be out, seeing her friends, having a drink, having some fun. His departure, the visit from the police, and dear God of course not forgetting his face plastered across the local news, all these things must have taken their toll. As tough as Gemma liked to pretend she was he knew she’d be suffering. Suffering because of him.