by Adam Croft
‘I can think of a couple.’
Frank sat silently for a few moments. ‘How is everyone?’ he asked eventually. ‘The team, I mean.’
‘What does it matter? You’ve made it perfectly clear how much they mean to you. If you gave the slightest shit about them, we wouldn’t be here having this conversation.’
‘Look, Jack, if you’ve just come here to have a pop and let off some steam, trust me, I totally get that. I don’t blame you one bit. But let’s not pretend it’s anything else, eh?’
‘How long?’ Jack asked, throwing Frank off balance.
‘How long what?’
‘How long have you been working for McCann?’
Frank sighed. ‘I haven’t been working for him. That’s not… It wasn’t like that.’
‘How long?’
‘Why does it matter?’
‘Because I need to know.’
‘Why?’
‘The facts need to come out, Frank.’
‘They will,’ Frank replied, his voice slipping.
Jack looked at him. It was one of those moments where, having known the man for years, he could read a huge amount from the slight variation in his voice. ‘Tell me you’re fucking joking, Frank,’ he said.
‘What?’
‘You’re not going to testify, are you?’
Frank looked away, towards the floor. ‘It’s not as easy as that,’ he said.
‘Yes it is. You know that more than anyone. You and I’ve spent our whole lives trying to put bastards like McCann behind bars. We do this job for a reason, Frank. It’s because, deep down, we know what’s right and what’s wrong. Yes, you might’ve got sucked in and drawn into something you shouldn’t’ve, and yes, you might have fucked your whole career and your life’s work by letting that happen, but my career’s based on knowing when someone’s a good egg or a wrong’un, and I know damn well — as well as you do — that you’re not that kind of person.’
‘What does it matter? It’s done.’
‘No it’s not. It’s nowhere near done, Frank. Sit back and have a look at this. Gary McCann and his criminal empire are still running around out there, doing whatever they like. Do you want to know where he is? He’s sitting at home with his feet up. He’s a free man, yet again. And somehow, somehow, you’re the one banged up in prison for what he did. A copper with years of service putting cunts like him away. Do you really think he gives a shit? Do you think he’s giving you a moment’s thought while he’s sitting at home, sipping his Ovaltine, watching Homes Under the Hammer? Frank, I hate to break it to you mate, but you’ve got no choice. If you’re entire life’s not going to be thrown away and wasted, you need to do the right thing. You owe it to me. You owe it to the team. To the entire police force. To society. But most of all, you owe it to yourself.’
‘It’s not as easy as that.’
‘Yes it is. Don’t let that arsehole get into your head. He’s only got power while no-one challenges it. And right now, you’re the only one who can end that.’
Frank sighed again. ‘Is that all you’re here for? You want me to testify against McCann so you can finally feel like your career’s been worth it?’
‘This ain’t about me, Frank.’
‘Come off it, yes it is. You’ve wanted to send McCann down since day one. Every single time he’s come across our radar, you’ve got more and more desperate. This is what it’s all about, isn’t it? You’re not bothered about redemption or justice. Not in the conventional sense. You just want to get one over on Gary McCann and win gloating rights.’
‘You’re bloody lucky someone’s already torn you a new arsehole, Frank. It means I don’t have to. This isn’t about me. It’s about what McCann has done to me, to you, to Mildenheath. Do you want to go down as the bent copper who enabled a criminal empire, or the man who dedicated his life to fighting crime, got sucked in, but turned himself around and helped bring a major criminal to justice?’
‘Jack, I…’
‘No, Frank. I don’t wanna hear it. I’ve said my bit.’
17
Jack arrived back at the office just before midday, and decided to call a briefing before anyone disappeared off for lunch.
‘Okay,’ he said, ‘I understand DS Knight has appraised you all of how we managed to shatter Dale and Cleo Hulford’s perfect existence for the second day in a row, so full marks to us for that. Steve, how’s the surveillance going?’
Steve Wing leaned back in his chair and sighed. ‘Not much to tell, boss. Hasn’t called anyone, texted anyone. Nothing. He put an “RIP Matt Hulford” post on Facebook and tagged Matthew into it, but as of yet he hasn’t replied.’
A rumbled of laughter rippled round the room. Dark humour was always appreciated in the job, wherever it could be found.
‘Debbie, any other mobile phones registered to Connor or Matthew?’ Jack asked.
DC Weston shook her head. ‘Not that we can find. There might be unregistered phones in use, but triangulation isn’t showing us signs of any devices other than those already known to us as owned by the family. I’d say they probably used their own mobiles for dealing, but kept it on the down low by using encrypted messaging apps. We could probably find out easily enough by asking Connor, but do we think he’d reveal all?’
‘Depends if he wants us to find out who killed his mate, doesn’t it?’ Jack replied.
‘Triangulation’s showing Matt and Connor were at Connor’s house on the night he died,’ Ryan Mackenzie said, shuffling in her chair. ‘Interestingly, it looks like they were telling the truth. Neither phone leaves at any point in the evening. Matt’s goes off about half ten, like Connor said. But it looks like they did stay in after all.
‘Right. DS Knight. We’ve got news back from loverboy, have we?’
‘We’ve got news back from tech forensics,’ Wendy said, not rising to the bait. ‘Matt’s phone’s secured with an alphanumeric passcode. That means both letters and numbers, making it almost impossible to crack. The number of possibilities is huge, and we only need to get it wrong three times before it locks us out permanently. No fingerprint recognition, no facial recognition, so we can’t even make use of that.’
‘Fucking brilliant,’ Jack replied, plonking himself down on the edge of a desk. ‘Can we call the manufacturer? Apple, is it? Ask them to break into it. Or the phone network.’
‘Doesn’t work like that, unfortunately. Apple are notoriously unwilling to compromise the privacy of their users. They won’t unlock phones. Not even for the police.’
‘I got onto Sony, too,’ Ryan said, ‘to find out whether or not Connor’s user account was logged in. It was — from six-thirty until a couple of minutes before ten. Active the whole time.’
‘Right. So they happened to be playing computer games that evening. Still doesn’t give us a whole lot, but it does narrow things down. So we’re looking at the most likely option being that Matthew was either ambushed on his walk home, or that he got home — or at least partway home — realised he’d forgotten his mobile, walked back and was ambushed on the way. But neither walk would’ve taken him anywhere near Mildenheath Woods, would it?’
‘No,’ Debbie replied. ‘Wouldn’t make any sense to go that way. I imagine he’s either been picked up in a car and taken there, or was planning to meet someone. Perhaps that person killed him.’
‘Why would he plan to meet them without taking his phone?’ Jack asked.
‘Maybe he didn’t want to be tracked. If this is all connected with drugs, and if Matt’s smart enough to lock down his phone, use encrypted messaging and so on, it’s not unreasonable to think he’d be well aware we can track cell site data. Maybe he was keeping his powder dry.’
‘Alright. Get onto Connor and the girlfriend again. Find out if he’d arranged to meet anyone. No, scrap that. Tell them we know he’d gone to meet someone. Put the pressure on. We might have some luck with the girlfriend, but Connor’s only ever fessed up when we’ve hit him with what we already know. So w
e go in to him telling him we know Matt’d arranged to meet someone. See what he says.’
The ethics of this approach were questionable to say the least, but none of the team felt the need to question it.
Jack’s flow was broken by the ringing of his mobile phone. He glanced down at it, seeing Chief Constable Charles Hawes’s name on the screen. ‘Right. That’ll do for now,’ he said. ‘Let me take this and I’ll be back.’
Jack left the incident room as he took the call, heading in the direction of the Chief Constable’s office as he answered.
‘Sir.’
‘Jack, have you got a sec to come and see me please?’
‘Already on my way. Be there in two.’
* * *
When Jack reached Hawes’s office, he knocked and entered.
He’d always enjoyed a good relationship with Hawes, knowing a large part of the reason he was still employed was because the Chief Constable was — like him — a dying breed. There’d been various pressures on him to retire for some time, but he’d always kept the right side of the line and had never given anyone any ammunition to push him. In many ways, it had been a lesson in diplomacy and keeping enough people at arm’s length to ensure things kept running smoothly.
Hawes hadn’t been a huge fan of police restructuring and fancy office blocks, either. He’d chosen — unconventionally — to maintain an office at Mildenheath, under the pretences of keeping a watchful eye on an area of high crime, but in reality far more comfortable here than dealing with KPIs and coffee machines at Milton House.
‘Jack, how’s it going?’ Hawes asked, his Lancashire accent still strong.
‘Good, thanks. And yourself?’
‘Can’t complain. Can’t complain. Any luck with the body in the woods?’
‘Not really, sir. He’s not saying much. Didn’t even thank us for lunch.’
Hawes smiled. ‘Customer’s always right, Jack. Even if they’re dead. Especially if they’re dead. Have you seen the social media sites today?’
‘Well, no, sir. It’s not one of my daily habits, I must admit.’
‘Local Facebook groups are going wild. Word’s got out about Matthew Hulford, and the usual keyboard warriors are slating the police, giving us their own bizarre theories and causing general hysteria. We need to steady the ship. I’m being leant on by the PCC to make sure we get a public statement out there sharpish.’
‘You want me to make a public statement for Facebook?’ Jack asked.
‘Not exactly, no. For all media channels. An appeal for information. There are people out there who know what happened. Okay, so a lot of them are probably fruit loops who think Matthew Hulford was killed by a 5G mast or a flu vaccine, but somewhere amongst the noise is someone who knows who killed him. We need to play up the fact he was a young lad with a bright future. Killed on his walk home after playing computer games with his friend. All facts. We can leave out the drugs stuff for now. Alright?’ Hawes asked, in a tone of voice which left Jack with no alternative.
18
Jack looked at Cleo and Dale Hulford as they clung onto each other, ready to sit down in front of the Mildenheath Police insignia. It would quite likely be their first time in front of a camera, and was almost certainly not a situation they ever envisaged themselves being in.
The press conference was to be conducted without any actual press present. Jack and the Chief Constable were determined that the messaging should be tight, focusing on what they needed to know without drawing negative attention towards Matt or his family. It also meant the press wouldn’t be able to ask questions, which was something they wanted to avoid — especially as they were highly likely to focus on the rumours that Matt had been somehow involved in drugs.
Jack, Cleo and Dale sat down behind the desk and waited for the police press officer, Lisa Lewkowicz, to let them know the equipment was ready and waiting.
‘Okay, just a couple of things to remember,’ she said, addressing them all. ‘First of all, look down the lens of the camera as much as possible. Imagine you’re talking to just one person. Don’t act as if you’re talking to a camera, and never as if you’re talking to a group. Imagine it’s one person, sitting in front of you. Keep it personal. If there are things you want to read, try and use them as notes rather than a script, because it’s really obvious if you’re reading something scripted — especially on camera. And most of all, don’t panic. It can be daunting talking to a camera, but just remember we’ve got all the time in the world. If you freeze or get anything wrong, we can just do it again. Absolutely no rush whatsoever, and certainly don’t worry about getting it right first time. It’s really not a problem if we have to do re-takes.’
As Lisa spoke, Jack knew the overwhelming likelihood was that the first take would be the one that was used. The public would perfectly understand if Matt’s parents were a little on edge, nervous or stressed, and it would be far more advantageous to use the first, raw take than put out anything too polished or prepared. That would only have the effect of backfiring spectacularly, making the whole exercise pointless at best, and harmful at worst.
‘Anything you’re not clear on or want to check before we start?’ Lisa asked.
All three shook their heads. Even Jack had to admit he was far more comfortable speaking to a room of people than he was a camera, but he was about as prepared as he was ever going to be.
Jack looked at the camera and waited for Lisa’s signal, before rolling into the introduction he’d mentally prepared over the past couple of hours.
‘Hello. My name’s Detective Chief Inspector Jack Culverhouse, from Mildenheath CID. I’m the senior investigating officer on Operation Artisan, the investigation into the death of Matthew Hulford. Matthew was just eighteen years old when he was found dead in Mildenheath Woods. He’d been murdered. In fact, we believe he was targeted deliberately.
‘On the night of his murder, Matthew had been playing video games with a friend. This was something they did often, with Matthew leaving his friend’s house around ten o’clock and heading home to bed. It was something of a routine, and one he enjoyed. We believe he was ambushed on his way home, taken to Mildenheath Woods and murdered. He had no reason to go to Mildenheath Woods of his own accord, as it wasn’t on his short walk home. As of yet, we don’t know why or how he ended up there. But someone out there, someone watching this, does.
‘His murder has caused the most unimaginable pain to his friends and family, who did not expect or deserve this to happen. Matthew’s parents, Dale and Cleo, are sitting with me here today. Imagine if you will, just for a moment, what they must be feeling. How losing their only child to a senseless act of violence has changed their world forever. Imagine how you would feel if that happened to you or your family. To put things into context, I think it’s important we hear from Matthew’s parents about what sort of man he was.’
Jack looked across at Dale Hulford, who’d elected to speak on behalf of the pair of them, Cleo feeling unable to speak.
Dale took a deep breath, swallowed, then started to speak, his voice delicate with emotion. ‘Matthew was a bright young lad. He always made us proud. He did well at school, and although he didn’t yet know what he wanted to do as a career, my wife Cleo and I have no doubt that he would have excelled at whatever he chose. He was intelligent, resourceful, well-read and could turn his hand to almost anything he wanted. He was also a quiet lad, who enjoyed nothing more than spending the evenings playing computer games with friends, or catching up with the latest TV series. He wasn’t someone we ever knew to court trouble, nor to get into trouble, which is why his death has come as such an unimaginable shock to us. Even finding the right words is impossible. To know that our darling son won’t walk through that door again, won’t sleep in his bed again, won’t wear his clothes again, won’t look at us, hug us or speak to us again, leaves the most painful void in our hearts and souls. Matthew was an only child. We were a close family, and without him we are nothing. As parents, as human beings
, we are begging anyone who has any information which might help to please, please contact the police. You can speak to them anonymously if you wish, but please do pass on anything you have. It might seem small to you, or you might even think it won’t help, but please — please — call. We’d rather ignore something that doesn’t help than miss something which does, and even the smallest piece of information could help us get justice for Matthew and begin to repair the hole in our hearts.’
Dale’s voice faltered just as he finished speaking, and Jack wondered if it made him a bad person that his first thoughts were how well this would play out to its intended audience. Although there were people out there who might have the knee-jerk reaction that Matthew deserved to be killed if he was involved in dealing drugs, most people tended to forget that the murdered person only ever experienced fairly brief pain. Their families — who were often entirely innocent — were the ones who had to live with a lifetime of unimaginable grief, all for the sake of someone else’s daft grudge.
Jack looked at the camera and gave his closing remarks.
‘As Mr Hulford said, it’s often the case that the smallest, most seemingly insignificant piece of information can lead us to discover what happened. And yes, you can remain completely anonymous. You can ring Crimestoppers, or Mildenheath Police directly, and all calls will be treated with the strictest of confidence. There are people out there, watching this, who know what happened to Matthew. They might even have been involved. They may well have had perfectly good reasons for doing so. But I want them to realise that this goes far, far beyond simply harming Matthew. Matthew is no longer with us. He can’t be brought back. Your coming forward will not undo what is done. But it will at least help to bring his parents, his family, his friends, that small amount of comfort in knowing that justice has been done, and allow them to begin to recover from what’s happened.’
Lisa Lewkowicz raised her hand for a moment or two, then pressed a button on the camera and nodded. ‘Okay,’ she said, releasing a breath she’d clearly been holding for some time. ‘I think we’re done.’