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

by J. S. Spicer

  CHAPTER FIFTY SEVEN

  Travers woke feeling better the next morning. After leaving the hospital the night before he’d made a few calls. Once he was satisfied all was being done that could be done, and knowing that forensics were all over Hugh Bishop’s Volvo, he’d headed home and gone straight to bed.

  After days of frustration in one night they’d bagged both their number one suspect and the missing car. There were still questions to be answered, and even more concerning still the missing Jennifer Kim, but at least now he had some pieces of the puzzle at last.

  He headed to the station first. As he’d hoped and expected Carrie was waiting for him with the initial feedback on the Volvo.

  “Just a preliminary email so far,” she told him. “It’ll take time for the official reports.”

  “Time we don’t have,” he said.

  “I thought you’d see it that way.”

  “What have we got?”

  “First off blood was found on the back seat.”

  Travers felt his guts clench; he was sure Jennifer had been in the back seat of that Volvo. If the blood was hers it meant she was injured at least. Carrie seemed to read his thoughts, or maybe his grim face.

  “It wasn’t a large amount, and it’s too soon to know if it’s a match for Jennifer.”

  “Maybe its Aubrey Davis’ blood,” Max offered. “He was in the car accident.”

  Carrie shook her head. “There was no blood anywhere else, just on the far left-hand side of the rear seat. Also, the forensics team found fingerprints, but only one set was a match for Davis. They lifted it off the boot handle. None of his prints were on the steering wheel or handbrake, nowhere like that.”

  “Maybe he wore gloves.”

  Her head was drifting from side to side again. She almost looked sorry for him which annoyed him for some reason.

  “He wasn’t wearing gloves when the emergency services got to him.”

  Max gave her a hard stare. Carrie either had more information or at least a theory; sometimes she liked to drag these things out, showboat a little, but he preferred to get right to the point.

  “They only found the Volvo but it had clearly been in an accident with another vehicle, and there were traces of blue paint found.”

  “Aubrey’s van.”

  She nodded. “That’d be my guess. Davis was found several yards from the Volvo, but that doesn’t mean he was driving it.”

  “So, whoever was driving the Volvo took his van.”

  “Yep. After they’d run him over.”

  CHAPTER FIFTY EIGHT

  It was late morning when Travers returned to Blackbridge General Hospital.

  He heard her before he saw her.

  The waiting room was full of faces both scandalised and embarrassed by the woman throwing a tantrum like a five year old. Gemma Collins was facing down two weary-looking nurses and a pissed off constable. She was yelling at the top of her voice; she liked an audience and didn’t want anyone to miss out on her outrage. The constant swearing was rough and colourful and as he approached Travers saw an old lady nearby go pale at Gemma’s unbridled vocabulary.

  He had the situation summed up in the few steps it took to reach the small group at the centre of all the attention.

  Gemma was getting more and more worked up. The others couldn’t get a word in. It might get ugly. She wasn’t about to back down so the outcome would probably involve her being handcuffed.

  Travers decided to take a gamble.

  Gemma didn’t see his approach. The first she knew of his presence was when he laid a gentle hand on her shoulder. She gasped and flinched. Seeing Travers she shrugged his hand away in disgust.

  “Any news?” he asked quietly, deliberately ignoring the histrionics of moments ago. He looked from Gemma to the nurses. They all stared at him dumbly. It was the constable who answered.

  “Mr Davis is awake.”

  “Good. Can I see him?” He held up his ID.

  “Yes, that should be fine,” said the older of the nurses.

  “Lead the way.” He gave her an encouraging smile.

  As the nurse turned she smirked spitefully at Gemma. Even as she began to bristle once more Travers turned to her, said ‘coming?’, and strode after the nurse.

  On route to Davis’ room there were some weak objections about Gemma not being next of kin. Travers rode over these easily; Gemma was helping with their enquiries and her presence was required. The smirk had fallen from the nurse’s face and Travers had probably lost any good will he might have had with her, but he didn’t care.

  From the beginning this case had been unusual. Maybe an unusual case called for unusual tactics.

  Aubrey Davis looked terrible. His eyes were unfocussed and his face scratched. One leg was in plaster and he was a patchwork of bruises. A doctor hovered protectively over his patient when the nurse showed Travers and Gemma inside. The doctor was a compact man, spectacled, with the habit of thrusting his hands deep into the pockets of his white coat every time he spoke.

  “What are his injuries?”

  “Mostly to his left side, broken ankle, concussion. Luckily no internal bleeding. All consistent with being hit by a vehicle. Then there’s the wound on his right shoulder.”

  “What about it?”

  “That’s different. A knife puncture. Not too deep but there were the beginnings of an infection so we’re treating that.”

  “He was stabbed?”

  “The injury looks two or three days old I’d say, but I’m sure Mr Davis can tell you more about it. Now, if that’s all.” He smiled stiffly and took his hands back out of his pockets. “Keep it short, OK?”

  Gemma was all over Davis before Travers could manoeuvre around the bed. Tears streamed down her cheeks as she took his face in her hands and kissed it all over.

  As usual she was overdoing it, but Travers was glad to see the tears were genuine.

  “Knock it off, Gem.” Aubrey Davis didn’t look as pleased to see his girlfriend as Max had hoped, or maybe it was the presence of a policeman that was souring his mood.

  “Aubrey, I’m Detective Inspector Travers. May I?” Travers indicated the chair by the bed. He took Davis’ indifferent look as assent.

  Travers took his time settling into the seat, straightening his jacket and retrieving his notebook and pen. Gemma’s eyes darted from her boyfriend to the policeman in quick succession. Travers could almost hear her mind spinning, no doubt getting ready with alibis, excuses, or maybe just more expletives to throw at him. Davis was a different story. He just watched Travers with a steady look. It was a look of resignation. There was no fear behind those eyes.

  “So, Aubrey.” Travers flipped open his notebook to a clean page. “Stabbed and run over in the same week. Things really haven’t been going your way, have they?”

  One side of Davis’ mouth twitched for a second in what was almost but not quite a wry smile. “You could say that.” His voice was weak and raspy. He reached for water. Gemma jumped up to help but he waved her away impatiently. As Aubrey took a few sips he regarded Travers over the lip of the glass. “Maybe if you guys were doing your job this wouldn’t have happened to me.”

  Travers saw shrewdness now as Aubrey replaced the glass. His voice too had regained some strength and clarity.

  “So, it’s the fault of the police that you’re in the hospital?”

  “I was being a good citizen and look where it got me.”

  Travers stayed quiet. Davis had something to say after all; might as well let him get it out.

  “That missing girl, what’s her name?”

  “Jennifer Kim.”

  “Yeah, her. I think I know who took her.”

  “Would this be the same person who did this to you?” Travers pointed to Davis’ cast with his pen. “Why didn’t you report this person to the police?”

  “Because you were after me for that robbery. Which is bullshit!”

  “You’re denying you stole that safety deposit box?�
�

  “I stole nothing. And you can’t prove otherwise.”

  Travers kept his face impassive but that familiar sick feeling was creeping back in. Davis was right. He had plenty of reason to believe this was the man behind the crime, but no solid proof.

  “I saw someone though, hanging around.” Davis wanted to get his story out. Travers suspected it might be a pile of crap, but there was still Jennifer to consider. He couldn’t ignore any possible leads.

  “Near the bank you mean?”

  “Yep. There’s a café on Market Street I sometimes go to. Spotted this guy a couple of times; he was just loitering you know, and watching.”

  “Watching the bank?”

  “Dunno. Maybe. Or maybe he was watching the girl.”

  “Can you describe this man?”

  The wry smile was back, this time more than just a twitch. “I can do better than that.”

  As Max drove back through the town and towards the bridge he felt like Aubrey Davis had got the better of him. The guy was no idiot. He’d volunteered the information about being at the café and also offered up another possible suspect. He’d even helpfully supplied Max with the man’s name and address.

  Joseph Myers.

  Max knew he had to check out Myers but he wasn’t letting Davis off the hook. When he’d thrown out Carol Bishop’s name he’d seen something register. Aubrey Davis’ words didn’t match the look on his face. He denied knowing Carol, said he didn’t remember meeting her at Green Meadows, but Travers saw a flash of something; perhaps regret.

  Whatever lies Davis was spinning, the truth was somebody had stabbed him and run him down with his own van. If that person was this Joseph Myers, and if he did indeed have Jennifer, then he could be a very dangerous person.

  Travers was taking no chances. After getting Carrie to verify Myers address he arranged for a couple of patrol cars to meet him there.

  CHAPTER FIFTY NINE

  Gemma spent almost an hour alone with Aubrey before she was turfed out by the same bitchy nurse. After the detective had left Aubrey had been different, silent and withdrawn, curled inside himself, his lips pressed stubbornly together and his gaze anywhere but upon Gemma. But she could be more obstinate. She’d dug in and stuck it out. Staying calm for a change she’d just talked to him in a low voice; small talk, gently chatting about everyday bits and pieces, asking nothing of him. She’d learnt that about Aubrey. If you pushed at him he just got stubborn. Better to tease him out with honey, not vinegar. Soon his resolve crumbled and she was able to get bits and pieces out of him. She poured him water, held his hand, and when he did speak she listened, which she could do when the need arose.

  Eventually he opened up.

  He told her how it had all began, how Carol Bishop had approached him with an offer that seemed too good to refuse. She supplied him with all he needed to get into the bank, even the safety deposit key, all of this to steal her own jewellery.

  Gemma couldn’t believe that mousy woman had had the balls to plan it all. She even experienced an unfamiliar sensation; shame. Aubrey had seen Carol Bishop’s pain and her fear of her husband. He’d stepped up to help, albeit with the incentive of a big fat pay day for his trouble. Still, she’d worked next to Carol for weeks. She’d found her irritating and insipid and had resented her; she certainly hadn’t pitied her. For the first time in her life Gemma wondered if perhaps she was a little too self-absorbed. This inward examination didn’t last long though. Other considerations clamoured to the forefront.

  For one thing she had to bite her tongue, literally, to keep her annoyance with Aubrey from spilling out. He hadn’t told her about any of it, hadn’t trusted her before the robbery, nor asked her to leave with him afterwards. He swore he’d planned to send for her once it was safe. He told her all about the meeting he’d arranged to sell the jewellery; she knew of this contact of his from past jobs. Aubrey made it sound like he was keeping her out of it to protect her, just until he had cash in his hands. But could she believe that?

  Her irritation was briefly stifled as Aubrey told her about Joseph Myers; the man who’d stolen the jewellery and tried to kill him.

  Gemma had probed deeper. She remembered the photograph the policeman had shown her of Jennifer Kim, the missing woman. Aubrey claimed not to know her, yet he’d risked his own safety because he believed Myers was involved in her disappearance.

  It was a lot to take in, so when the nurse, with crossed arms and a sour face, had told her it was time to leave, in truth she’d been ready to go.

  Gemma wasn’t happy when she left the hospital. Instead of heading for the bus stop across the street she decided to walk for a while, letting all her thoughts and feelings roll around, and hoped the early spring air would help clear her head. Weak sunlight leaked through the high cloud and at her brisk pace she soon warmed up. It was good to be outside after being cooped up inside the ward, and the further Gemma got from Blackbridge hospital the more her spirits lifted.

  She’d loved Aubrey. True, she hadn’t exactly been faithful, but was it her fault he’d spent half their relationship locked up? But she’d always been there for him when he needed her, looked after him, let him stay with her.

  Now though she felt used. He’d come and gone as he pleased but what had she ever got out of it? Then, when a big score finally comes his way, she was left out in the cold.

  She almost felt he deserved what had happened to him, but maybe that was too harsh. He’d looked pitiful lying in that bed, bloodied and bandaged.

  He’d described how upset he was that night after the fight at her flat. How he’d walked around for a while before returning to his cold, dreary hideout in an abandoned building. Then, still unable to rest, he’d gone in search of the man he’d remembered seeing hanging around the bank. Aubrey had nothing to do with murder or kidnapping and hoped if the police found the real culprit it would take the pressure off him. Instead he’d been injured and on top of that had lost the jewellery stashed in his hideout.

  Gemma’s feet had begun to protest at walking so far in high-heeled boots. At the next bus stop she halted, leaning against the Perspex and checking the change in her purse.

  She had to decide on her next move. She was sure Aubrey was headed back to prison, again. He said the police had no proof he’d committed the robbery, but she’d heard it all before; assurances and promises.

  The bus came into view, stuttering closer in the mid-morning traffic.

  If only she hadn’t invited Freddie over that night. If she’d known then what she knew now how different things might be. She’d have convinced Aubrey to take her with him, right then and there, and forget about Carol Bishop’s murderer and missing strangers. They could have been miles away by now enjoying all that money.

  Instead Aubrey had caught her with Freddie and they’d got into a fight.

  Then he’d left.

  The bus finally made it and squealed to a stop in front of her. The doors sprang open. Gemma reached for the handrail.

  Then Freddie had left.

  She’d ended up alone that night, crying and miserable after the fight, with neither Aubrey nor Freddie around to comfort her.

  “Oy, love, you gettin’ on or what?”

  She realised she had one foot on the step of the bus and had frozen there. Gemma hauled herself the rest of the way in and paid the fare. She found a seat near the back of the bus and dropped into it. As she gazed at the streets blurring by through the grimy window she cast her mind back to the night of the fight again.

  Freddie Rushton had left her flat within seconds of Aubrey’s departure. She’d tried to pull him back at the time, fearful he was going after Aubrey because he’d taken Freddie’s gun. He’d shaken her loose and barged out. She hadn’t seen him since.

  What if he was the one who had followed Aubrey?

  What if it had been Freddie who took the jewellery?

  CHAPTER SIXTY

  Castle Towers was an ugly grey high-rise crammed full of identica
l boxy units, each of those crammed full of some of the poorest people in the area. Ironic that this was where Gemma hoped to find wealth.

  Freddie had a flat on the fourth floor, which was just as well because Gemma would never risk using one of the stinking, unreliable lifts that were supposed to service the block.

  She’d never liked going there. Not only did he have drug users, pushers and prostitutes for neighbours, but Freddie was a slob. His flat was filthy and stank. He sat around in his underwear drinking, smoking and eating junk food, usually straight out of cartons which could spend weeks littering his living room floor. The thought of Freddie’s creaking bed with the lumpy mattress and stained sheets was usually enough to send her running, but not today.

  Freddie Rushton was an idiot who thought he was smart, and he liked to boast. He thought it impressed the girls. Gemma privately thought an improvement in his personal hygiene would be more impressive, but seeing him had had advantages. He could get drugs, and always had a stash of weed. He usually had some money to take her out, but it also always disappeared as fast as it appeared.

  She hoped that wasn’t the case this time. Freddie had a lot of contacts, but as far as she knew they weren’t the sort of people experienced in fencing stolen jewels. With luck he hadn’t been able to shift them yet; at least not all of them.

  Gemma hurried up the stairs, dodging some vomit she could see beneath the stuttering orange lighting.

  She rapped on the door, tugged her low-cut top even lower, and fixed what she hoped was a seductive smile on her face.

  Freddie pulled open the door wearing a t-shirt and underpants. There was a game controller in his hand. Another addiction of his; it wasn’t unusual for Freddie to play online games all night then sleep away the day.