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

by J. S. Spicer

  As soon as Aubrey had hauled himself into the attic he knew why Myers hid away up there, and it had nothing to do with the porn.

  Everywhere he looked there were pictures; photographs. They were plastered to rigged-up boards around the edges of the loft space, tacked onto the beams with drawing pins and even strewn around the floor. The photos were taken in different places, from different angles and at different times of day.

  But they were all of the same woman; the woman reported missing in the news.

  Myers was clearly, and disturbingly, obsessed.

  By the time Aubrey left the house he knew he’d called it wrong. He should have followed Myers when he had the chance. Myers had taken the car when he killed Hugh Bishop. At the same time he’d kidnapped Jennifer Kim. Then, to top it all, he’d stolen Aubrey’s stash. It stood to reason he had another hideout somewhere. If Aubrey could find out where he was holding the girl he was sure he’d find his backpack hidden in the same location. But what if he really had missed his only opportunity? What if Myers had ditched the Volvo? It could prove tricky to follow him on foot, especially now Aubrey was injured.

  He returned to his van, feeling sick and empty and helpless. He just had to wait it out, sitting on Myers’ doorstep and hoping for his luck to turn.

  His first break came just half an hour later. Slouching down in the passenger seat of his van he watched through one of the wing mirrors as the black Volvo came back along the street. As it turned into the alley behind the houses he could make out Joseph Myers through the windscreen. From the glimpse he saw of him he could tell Myers wasn’t happy about something.

  Good. It was about time that bastard had a bad day instead.

  CHAPTER FORTY NINE

  Unbelievably her situation had worsened. After her capture and degradation outside she’d been dragged back to the same damned room. Only now he wasn’t taking any chances. Not content with locking the door he’d gone further. A length of chain had been found. One end of this had been secured to the floor next to an old-fashioned radiator in the corner – the one that had never yet provided any heat. He’d torn back a section of carpet and fixed the chain to the floorboards by hammering in several three inch nails. The other end, to Jennifer’s horror, he had tied around her neck and secured with a small padlock.

  More mortifying still was the bucket.

  She would be allowed no more bathroom visits; her escape attempt had revoked such privileges. He’d carefully measured out the chain, ensuring she could make it as far as the bucket, but not as far as the door or window.

  Jennifer had just let him; let him drag her back inside, let him chain her up like an animal. She was still reeling from the fear and humiliation that had taken hold out in that field; lying naked, exposed to the air and the sky, and to him.

  But he hadn’t touched her. Not in the way she’d dreaded. He’d just stared at her for the longest time, drinking her in with hungry eyes. She’d almost been thankful to return to the house; at least until this new low. It was inhuman.

  He checked her new bindings several times, tugging at the fixture on the floor and testing the lock at her throat.

  Finally, satisfied, he left.

  She heard him leave for certain this time. Whether she’d attuned to the house and her environment or whether because he was making more noise she wasn’t sure, but she clearly heard the front door bang shut.

  Moments later she made out the distant sound of a car engine, which quickly faded then disappeared.

  When Jennifer was certain he’d gone she allowed herself to cry. She didn’t fight it, but let tears and snot stream down her face, her body shaking violently with the sobs.

  She wallowed in her own pity and despair for some time, until, exhausted by her misery, she curled into a ball on the hard floor.

  The light was fading before she stirred again. She hadn’t slept, she’d just lain there, drained of thought and feeling as the afternoon sun had skimmed the walls, its shifting beams marking the passage of time. Now much of the room was in shade with only a few final rays clinging on to illuminate the corner.

  Jennifer sat up. She was tired of thinking about her predicament and wondering what would happen. As she shifted position on the floor something dug into her hip. Reaching into her robe pocket she extracted the small teaspoon she’d used to eat the soup.

  Minutes later she was on her hands and knees by the radiator, trying to prise loose the long nails that secured the chain to the floorboards.

  CHAPTER FIFTY

  Gus Travers swirled his evening tipple of scotch around the cut glass tumbler. This was his treat. When Penny was alive he’d had a problem which, despite all her efforts and support, had tainted their marriage, lost him his job, and alienated his son. Penny had stuck with him through it all, though God only knew why. He’d cleaned himself up in his later years but the guilt didn’t go away. He just tucked it into a corner of his consciousness, trying to keep it small and contained. He certainly didn’t need to feed it, to allow it to grow and gain strength. That would be dangerous.

  Max could sometimes have that effect. He knew his son didn’t mean harm by it, but now, sitting across the room sipping from a beer bottle, Max kept dropping his gaze to the whisky. Condemnation was in that gaze.

  Gus chased the guilt back to its dark and dusty corner. It was 9pm. He’d measured his shot carefully; he always did. This was what he was allowed; no more, no less. He would savour it, make it last. Then he would tidy up, lock up, go to his room and read until sleep came. That was his nightly routine nowadays.

  “Have you been sleeping?”

  The question was unnecessary. Gus could see from the dark circles and sickly pallor of his son that he was either ill or suffering sleep deprivation. Given Max’s job, his current high profile case, and the recent break up with Lorraine, it was easy to guess which.

  His son tried to shrug it off. “Just been busy.”

  Gus didn’t mind the company of his only child, in fact he welcomed it. But it had always been the same between them. If Gus reached out, Max retreated, usually behind a dark look of distrust.

  “You must take care of yourself, you know.” He tried again. Max was obviously troubled, but drawing him out could be tedious.

  “You’re right. Think I’ll go to bed.” Max drained the rest of his beer, set down the bottle and started to rise.

  “Sit down, lad.” Gus put down his own drink. He was almost surprised when Max obliged, lowering himself back into his seat. Gus could see the conflict. Butting heads over every notion, decision and facet of their lives was their normal and preferred method of communication. Tonight felt different.

  “Come on, Max. I can see something’s bothering you. I’m guessing it’s this case you’re working on.”

  Max picked up the beer bottle again, just for something to do with his hands. As he picked absently at the label he avoided his father’s eyes.

  “I think I’ve messed up. Nothing makes sense.” Max threw the briefest glance from beneath lowered lids to gauge his father’s reaction. Admitting to making a mistake of any kind to Gus Travers left a bad taste.

  Gus nodded and folded his hands in his lap. “Well, sometimes it helps to have a sounding board. Why don’t you tell me what you’ve got so far?”

  He watched the conflicting emotions chase across Max’s face as he shifted uncomfortably in his chair. It was sad to realise Max had to be desperate before he was willing to confide in his own father.

  “OK.” Max put the bottle down again and leaned forward, propping his elbows on his knees. “Let’s start with Aubrey Davis. You’ve seen the newspapers I take it?”

  Gus gave a slow nod. “Released from prison several months ago; a jewel thief I believe.”

  “Correct. So he wasn’t initially on our radar. This started out as a bank job, not really Davis’ thing.”

  “Go on.”

  Max stared at the carpet as he gathered the threads of his thoughts. “The only thing stolen w
as the contents of one safety deposit box. It turned out that this safety deposit box belonged to Carol Bishop, the Bank Manager’s wife.”

  “The unfortunate couple who were murdered?”

  Max nodded. “Today I found out that Carol Bishop inherited some valuable jewellery from a deceased aunt.”

  Gus raised an eyebrow at his son. “Well, I’d say that tidies things up a bit at least, wouldn’t you?”

  Irritation flashed in Max’s eyes. “Don’t pull the professor act on me, Dad, OK?”

  “I just mean, Aubrey Davis wasn’t an obvious suspect at first. But now the discovery that jewellery may have been inside that safety deposit box makes more sense. He found out about their existence and stole them.”

  Max was shaking his head before his father had finished speaking. “There are easier ways to steal jewellery than breaking into a bank. He had to get by some sophisticated security to even get near the safety deposit boxes. Plus, how would he even have known they were there?”

  “I don’t know how he knew, Max. But I think it’s safe to assume someone told him. Maybe someone even hired him.”

  “Dad, if you want to break into a bank you’d hire a bank robber, someone with experience of that kind of thing. Davis has a record for breaking and entering, but its different when its residences, even shops. They don’t have the same safeguards that a bank does.”

  “Stop focussing on the things that don’t fit, Max. What would be the advantage of a career jewel thief being the one to break into that bank?”

  Max sat back to think about it. “I suppose he’d be able to fence the stolen goods. Aubrey Davis would have plenty of contacts he could use to move the jewels.”

  “There you go,” Gus told him.

  Max didn’t look any happier though. “It still feels all wrong; Davis is criminal, but he doesn’t have any convictions for violence, let alone murder. Now I have two bodies and a missing girl on my hands.”

  “And you’re sure he’s the one responsible?”

  “For Carol Bishop’s murder? Yes. I saw him with my own eyes; he was at the caravan where her body had been dumped.”

  “I suppose, he could have found out about the jewellery somehow, so targeted this woman. Her husband was the Bank Manager, so she’d be able to give him insider information about security and so forth. She would also have had her key to the safety deposit box. If he took that from her it made the job that bit easier.”

  Max ran his hands over his face. He looked more tired than ever.

  “What else is bothering you, son?”

  He looked at Gus through the gap in his fingers for a moment before dropping his hands again. “We found CCTV footage of the person driving Hugh Bishop’s car away from the scene of his murder.”

  “I’m guessing it wasn’t this Davis fellow, nor even the missing girl?”

  “Correct. It was another man, and I have no idea who he is or how he’s mixed up in any of this.”

  “I suppose the obvious answer is that Davis has an accomplice.”

  Max stood, suddenly, sharply, his irritation flaring. “But why kill Hugh Bishop? The jewellery’s already gone. By now it’s probably been sold on, maybe broken down and redistributed. Why go back for the Bank Manager. He must have known something, so they silenced him.” Max was pacing now; a difficult pursuit in Gus’s cluttered study.

  “And the girl? They didn’t kill her, did they? Maybe she’s another accomplice.”

  Now Max’s doubt looked almost tragic. Gus saw the pain behind his eyes as he spoke. “I think she was hurt, possibly even unconscious, when she was taken.”

  “You think she’s innocent then. Another victim, not an accomplice?”

  He started to nod then threw his arms up in surrender. “I just don’t know. When I met her there was nothing off about her. I even thought she might help with some insight into the bank and its other staff, since she was so new there.”

  “You like her,” Gus had seen Jennifer’s picture in the newspaper; a beautiful, young woman. Now she was missing, possibly in danger. Max wanted to rush off and save her. He needed her to be innocent; he just couldn’t be certain that she was.

  “I have work to do. Goodnight, Dad.”

  Max was already through the door when his father called him back.

  “Son, the path ahead has too many branches for you to know which one to follow. Maybe you should take a few steps backwards instead.”

  “Dad, I don’t have time…”

  “The jewellery, Max. That’s at the heart of all this. How did Aubrey Davis find out about the jewellery? Discover that and I’ll bet the other pieces will start to make sense.”

  In the shadows Gus couldn’t make out Max’s expression. “Goodnight, Dad.”

  As the door shut he had no idea if he’d helped or not, but he’d tried. More importantly, when he needed someone to talk to Max had come to him.

  CHAPTER FIFTY ONE

  Travers was stiff from sitting at a desk so long, and his eyes were dry and raw from staring at the computer screen. He stretched and reached for his coffee; cold.

  With no break in the case, and no sign of Aubrey Davis or his blue van, Travers had had no choice but to start digging through the files. They’d been following up on every known associate, every family member, friend, anyone at all he might conceivably turn to for help. Every turn was a dead-end full of stony stares and tight-lipped faces. He kept coming back to the girlfriend, Gemma Collins. They had a pretty long history together. Every time he’d got out of jail Davis went back to her, and she took him back, despite rumours of other boyfriends coming and going in-between. Travers was determined to have another crack at Gemma. If there was a weakness she was it.

  He pulled up her file again, this time focussing on Gemma Collins’ criminal record, hoping something useful would flag up. Perhaps if he had something on her he could rattle her cage enough to let something slip through.

  It was petty stuff; drunk and disorderly, shoplifting, nothing serious. She’d been in trouble enough to warrant a stint of community service, but the file wasn’t helping him.

  Travers snorted in disgust as he read part of her community service had been working in a local care home; how was that punishment. He started to close the file, then stopped, his finger frozen above the mouse button.

  “Carrie!”

  She wheeled into view across the office. “Yeah?”

  “Carol Bishop; what’s the name of the place where she worked?”

  “Um?” Travers saw her scoot her chair back to her workstation. By the time she’d tapped a few keys to bring up the information he’d crossed the few feet to her desk.

  “Green Meadows Care Home,” she told him.

  A grim smile spread over his face. “The same place Gemma Collins did her community service.”

  Carrie’s eyes widened. “You think Gemma was directly involved?”

  “I think she’s a definite link between Davis and the Bishops, and I think I’ll have another chat with her.”

  “Maybe you’ll get past the doorstep this time,” she smirked.

  Travers chewed his bottom lip. “Actually, get one of the uniforms to bring her in.”

  “Are we arresting her?”

  “Not yet. But if she knew one of our murder victims then I’m not about to give her any more wiggle room.”

  Strip lighting in the ceiling made the interview room bright. The walls were a drab greeny-grey colour, the floor tiles a tepid beige. The room managed to be both bland yet ugly. Sitting on a plastic chair on the other side of the narrow table Gemma Collins was doing her best to look arrogant and unconcerned, but Max could see past the false bravado. She slouched in her chair but he could see the tightening in her shoulders and below the table noted the repetitive flexing of her foot.

  Max had kept her waiting, naturally, not just for the power-play but to give him time to prepare. Gemma was used to speaking to the police, but he’d bet she was expecting this to be about Davis. Ultimately it was
of course, but Travers wondered how she’d cope when the spotlight was shining on her for a change, and not just for nicking stuff from the High Street or getting into it with someone after she’d had a few.

  He opened up his file, taking his time to smooth down the corners of the manila folder and straighten the pages within.

  He looked up, offered a thin smile. Gemma folded her arms across her chest and sank lower in her seat.

  “Thanks for coming in.”

  “Like I had a choice.”

  Good, she was pissed off. He thought back to her belligerence during their last meeting, when she’d kept him standing outside, and allowed himself a moment of satisfaction.

  “I’d like you to cast your mind back if you would, Gemma.” Her eyes had found a point on the wall behind him, as if bored already. “To before Aubrey was released from prison.”

  Her eyes snapped back to him, flying wide with surprise for a second or two before she recovered her composure.

  “What the hell is this about?”

  Max looked down at his papers, carefully sifting through for a moment. He didn’t really need to refer to the file, it was a ruse, purely designed to play for time so he could make her sweat.

  He selected a sheet of paper at random. “I believe you worked at Green Meadows Care Home.” Glancing up again he looked her straight in the eye. “As part of your community service?”

  He saw the surprise he’d hoped for. But she also looked confused, which worried him.

  “You remember that don’t you?”

  “Yeah, so what?”

  “How long did you work there?”

  She shrugged her shoulders and kept her arms tight across her chest. Travers waited.

  “A couple of months,” she finally told him.

  “What kind of work did you do there?”

  “Cleaning up other peoples shit mostly.” She sat forward abruptly, her arms unravelling onto the table. “Why are you asking me about that? I did my time there, it’s done with.”