Body by the Docks: detectives investigate a baffling mystery

by Diane M Dickson

Jordan pulled away from the kerb and set off for the junction, his head whipping left and right. There was a group of lads on the corner, smoking and larking about, pushing at each other and kicking a can around. He pulled over and shouted to them. “Hey, guys. Have you seen Eddie?”

  “Who?”

  “Eddie McCardle?”

  “Never heard of him, mate.” One of them began to swagger towards the car.

  Jordan didn’t have time for this. The back and forth of a conversation that was probably never going to lead anywhere. “Thanks.” He pressed the button to close the window and the tyres gave a chirp as he drove off. One of the lads picked up the can and flung it after the car. It missed but he could hear them laughing and jeering behind him. He glanced into the rear-view mirror as one of them jumped into the road, legs bent and arms jerking up and down, hands flicking into his armpits. They all began to make monkey noises. He could turn back, arrest them for racial crimes, but he’d seen it all before and now was not the time.

  Eddie had gone. Jordan heard the wail of sirens as backup arrived, but he knew they were too late. Unless they had a piece of unbelievable luck nobody would see him. He could try and get approval for a full-on search with officers on foot knocking on doors and peering into bin stores and sheds, but even before the thought was properly formed he dismissed it. They had no proof Eddie McCardle had killed his mother. He had disappeared from his home in Spain around the time of the murder, there were the flowers that Jordan was convinced were left by him, but it wasn’t proof of anything and DCI Cross would never go for it. They needed a conversation with him, of course, and he could have him for assaulting a police officer but there were more important things going on right now.

  His shoulder ached a bit but nothing to bother about too much. His back was another matter. It was as if he had a tight band around his lower body. Moving was painful and difficult and he dreaded trying to clamber out of the car.

  He turned towards Picton Road. He’d go back to the station, take a paracetamol and regroup. His phone rang. As he pulled it out of his pocket, he winced with the pain caused by the slight twist on the seat.

  “DCI Griffiths, hello. What’s happening?” Jordan said.

  “Call me Dave, please. How are things your end?”

  “Pretty dire, to be honest.”

  “Oh, right. Well, I might be able to cheer you up a bit, or at least give you something else to think about. I’ve received some information. It could be important. Be best if we could talk face to face, it’s complicated.”

  “Okay, shall I meet you somewhere?”

  “I’m on my way home soon, leaving for Spain in the morning. I really need to speak to you immediately. Would it be a pain for you to come to me at St Anne Street?”

  It was one of those questions with only one optional answer. He really liked David Griffiths but at the end of the day, when a DCI suggested you went to him, there was no argument and all he was doing right now was driving around empty streets. He saw a couple of patrol cars doing the same thing.

  “Yes, of course, no problem. I’ll be there in about quarter of an hour.”

  “Great – I’ll buy you a coffee and a bun in the canteen.”

  Jordan managed a laugh, but he really didn’t need this right now. He was sore and frustrated and tired. He was worried about Jakey.

  He had been tired before, but right now he felt exhausted to his bones. Molly was still missing. Her son was in hospital, and he didn’t feel they were any nearer to finding who killed Mary McCardle. In fact, everything had become more complicated as time went on.

  He shook his head and took a deep breath. The slight movement jarred his back and fire shot down his leg.

  He couldn’t be injured, there just wasn’t time.

  Chapter 51

  “Bloody hell, mate, what happened to you?” DCI Griffiths was waiting in the foyer of the police station as Jordan walked stiffly from the car park.

  “I fell down some stairs. It’s okay really.”

  “Well, it doesn’t look okay. It looks painful. You’ve got a bruise on your face as well, and your jacket’s torn.”

  “Oh, sod it. Sorry, sir, I didn’t know.”

  “Don’t worry about that. Do you need me to get you to the hospital? Do you want to see our nurse?”

  “No – really…” He paused for a minute. “Actually though, do you think she could give me some painkillers? I haven’t got much time but a couple of paracetamols would be great.”

  Griffiths took out his phone. “I can ask her, but I doubt she’ll agree without you having an examination.”

  “Oh, look, don’t worry. I’ll be fine. I’ve got a lot going on. The baby has turned up.”

  “How do you mean, turned up?”

  “Left outside the McCardles’ house in a cardboard box.”

  “Is he okay? Jesus, come and sit down before you fall down. You can tell me about it when I’ve got you a drink. Coffee?”

  “Brilliant.” It was harder sitting down than remaining standing up, but Jordan lowered himself slowly onto the chair. Every muscle in his back was tense and screaming.

  “Here, coffee, and as promised, a bun.” Griffiths put the mug and plate holding an iced pastry on the table. “And here, Shirley behind the counter always has a couple of these. You’re not allergic or anything are you? I don’t want a disciplinary because you’ve pegged out on the canteen floor.” He handed over a sheet of white pills.

  “Paracetamols?” Jordan asked.

  “Yep. But honestly you should probably see somebody.”

  “I will, when I have time.” He was trying to brush it off but every time he moved it was excruciating. He popped three of the pills from the blister pack and swallowed them with a gulp of coffee. “So, this news?”

  “Yeah. We’ve been tracing the owner of the truck that brought in the guns. We have him now. No moves have actually been made against him, but we are watching him very closely. He’s in a place called Malgrat de Mar on the coast of Spain. It’s not very far from Barcelona, that’s where I’ll be flying to. It’s a holiday resort, very popular. The transport company is based outside the town, of course. A medium-sized operation, a bit scruffy and low key. There is no doubt it’s where the truck came from originally. As I’ve said earlier, he could have stopped somewhere on the way and interfered with the load. But with the customs seal on the trailer unbroken, chances are he didn’t. We are yet to prove one way or the other whether the driver was in on it or just an innocent mule. He’s playing dumb at the moment. Now we get to the interesting bits.” Griffiths paused to take a gulp of his coffee.

  “The trucking company is owned by a pretty influential businessman. Señor Neron Santos. He has quite a few strings to his bow. A hotel on the seafront. A little shopping mall. Some bars…” He paused now and waited.

  Jordan shrugged his shoulders, and then the penny dropped. “You don’t mean, Eddie McCardle’s?”

  “Bingo!” The DCI slapped the tabletop causing a couple of people to turn and look at them.

  “Bloody hell. We were told he owned his own bar.”

  “Well, we are still rootling around in the details. However, it seems he rents it. Nominally anyway, but even that could be a cover for double dealing. Anyway, that’s not the end of it. He is also on the books as the owner of an estate agency. It seems very unlikely, so we’re looking into everything there as well.”

  “Oh right. That’s never been mentioned. Although Molly did say he had rented a villa for the whole family when they visited. So, that makes sense if he had access to property. Probably the family didn’t know.”

  “The agency is actually the more interesting side of things as far as we’re concerned, and it may well begin to explain some of what is going on right now.”

  “How so?” Jordan leaned forward and winced as his back reminded him the problem was still very much there. He hissed through his teeth. “Bloody hell. This had better sort itself soon. I haven’t got time for it.” />
  “Are you okay to go on?”

  “Yes, of course. Tell you what though, when I get my hands on bloody Eddie McCardle…” He gave a short laugh. “Well, let’s just say he’s not my favourite person right now.”

  “Sorry, I don’t understand?”

  “The stairs I fell down, they were at the McCardles’ and… well, let’s just say he has to take some of the blame.”

  “He’s in the UK? You’ve seen him?”

  “Yeah. We had an idea he was, didn’t we?”

  “Of course. But, are you sure?”

  “Ninety percent.”

  “Hang on – take a look at this.” Griffiths pulled out his phone and scrolled down a couple of pages of images. “Is this him?”

  Jordan glanced at the thumbnail, obviously a passport photograph from the serious expression on McCardle’s face, but there was no doubt it was the same man who had squared off against him at the top of the staircase. He nodded. “Yeah absolutely. I lost him but he was in the house. I was going to start a major search but didn’t think Cross would go for it. Might be a bit different now. Can you forward the image on to my people? Mark it for the attention of Beverly Powell. I’ll give her a heads-up.”

  Both men concentrated on their phones as Jordan messaged Bev telling her to expect the email and to ensure the image was printed out and distributed. He was itching to get on to Cross and start the major search but needed to know everything there was to know first.

  As if he had read Jordan’s mind, Griffiths clicked off his phone and continued the conversation. “I expect you want to move on that pretty quickly, so I’ll cut this short. We very strongly believe that, apart from the illegal arms shipments, the businesses are being used for money laundering. Expensive property deals are ideal for that. We’re arranging to access their bank accounts and what have you, but it all takes time. We have to move carefully until we’re sure just who’s involved and who we’re dealing with. It’s big this, Jordan. Very big.”

  Jordan whistled quietly. “Bloody hell. He’s a heavy hitter then, Eddie?”

  “Oh yes, we need him bringing in. I was going to suggest you coming over to Spain with me, but you just talked yourself out of a trip. I want you to get on with trying to find him. We’ll help as much as we can.”

  “To be honest, right now sitting on a plane for a couple of hours and carrying baggage wouldn’t be very pleasant. Shame though, I would have enjoyed some sunshine.”

  “Ah well, you win some, you lose some. Realistically, though, I doubt I’ll see much sunshine. Not much outside at all probably,” Griffiths said.

  He began to gather his things together. “Look, I was on my way out but come on up to my office and I’ll give you a quick precis of everything we've got. I’ll introduce you to my sergeant and if you need any backup you can speak to him. We need to find this bloke.”

  “But Mary McCardle, Molly?”

  “Collateral damage. We are assuming he has done something to upset some pretty nasty people. There’s a reason he’s run – has to be and you were right at the beginning of all this when you thought poor old Mary was just a warning. Not by the people we thought, though, as it turns out.”

  “After all this time hiding from the thugs in Ireland because of the father, they’re being made to pay for things the golden boy of the family has done.”

  “I reckon that’s about the size of it, yes. Bloody rotten when you think about it.”

  “Doesn’t look too good for Molly.”

  “No – especially as the baby has been brought back.”

  Jordan tried to stand. His body wasn’t very amenable to the movement and in the end, he had to push himself up with both hands flat on the table and straighten slowly before he could turn and follow Griffiths out of the canteen. He moved like an old man and the pain turned his stomach. He wished he hadn’t eaten the pastry.

  Chapter 52

  The painkillers helped a little but Jordan was awkward and stiff when he moved. Driving didn’t do him any favours and as he pulled into the car park at Wavertree and prepared to try and clamber out and stand, he wished deeply that he was at home in bed. He shook the self-pity aside. Time enough for that when he’d found Molly McCardle.

  He had made phone calls all the way back from St Anne Street. The DCI had not been happy to be disturbed and less than pleased with the idea he was going to have to come into the station. Jordan had tried to dissuade him and rather had the idea he simply didn’t want to pass up the chance of giving him a reaming.

  “So, what you are telling me, DI Carr” – Cross stopped to take a slurp of coffee then wiped the back of his hand over his mouth – “is that you had this bloke. This bloke who we now know is a real arse – money laundering, arms smuggling, and God knows what else – you had him, and you let him go.”

  “I don’t think that’s fair, sir.”

  “Well, did you have him?”

  “At the time I wasn’t a hundred percent sure who he was. The situation was fluid. In the event, I admit he bested me and made a run for it. I did start a search immediately and I went out myself to try and find him. Unfortunately, it was unsuccessful. Either he was hiding, or he had a car. I can’t say and I was called down to speak to DCI Griffiths who wanted me there urgently. I had to leave the search to officers on the ground. But we have more information now and most importantly we have an image of him. What we need to do, I think, is increase the parameters of the search, get some more troops out there looking for him.”

  “You do realise what that’s going to do to the overtime, don’t you? My budget is going to be shot to hell. I can’t believe this. You had him and now this.”

  He would not apologise.

  The DCI was being a complete asshole and Jordan was damned if he would apologise. He replayed the events in his mind. Yes, he could have acted differently, he could have dashed upstairs and hoped to catch Eddie off guard. He could have waited in the hallway for Eddie to come down. He could have done quite a number of different things. But he hadn’t, he’d cocked up and this was all hindsight. He stood in silence and watched as Richard Cross collared another shortbread and stuffed it into his mouth, chewing furiously.

  “If that’s all, sir. I should go and get on with this. Are we going to put out an appeal for information in the media?”

  “What is it with you and the bloody television, Carr? It’s always the same, every damn thing and you want it on the box. Yes, okay – it might help to mitigate your screw up if we can find him quickly. I’ll get on to the communications department myself. You can go.”

  It took all his reserves of strength for Jordan to turn and walk out of the office without limping or leaning on the chairs he passed. But he couldn’t give Cross any excuse to take him off the case and the injury would be exactly what the DCI would use. The painkillers had taken the edge off and, provided he moved carefully and didn’t jar his body, he could cope. He would cope because, in spite of the current situation, this was all starting to come together. He had to stick with it.

  Rosalind Searle had taken over waiting with Gary at the hospital and Terry Denn was already back in the office co-ordinating the search and allocating tasks to the support workers. “Are we asking for the helicopter?”

  Jordan hadn’t mentioned air support specifically to DCI Cross, but he had the go-ahead to organise the search. “I reckon so. It’s dark out there now, they will have the best chance of seeing him quickly with the infra-red if he’s hiding somewhere. I’ll get on to that.”

  “Okay. We’ve got a team out on foot and an alert out to the cars and any who are able have been diverted to the area.”

  “Okay, excellent work, Terry.”

  “May I speak freely, boss?”

  “Of course.”

  “It’s all a bit late, isn’t it? I mean how long is it since you saw him? I know you got out searching right away but you couldn’t see him. A couple of patrol cars were there within minutes as well, but they had no joy.”


  “What are you saying, Terry? Don’t get me wrong, I agree, but it is what it is. We have to do something. There is an all ports alert out, that was sorted by Serious and Organised. I thought I’d go back to the house and work from there. Ros is at the hospital and aware, on the off chance he makes his way to his brother. We have requested the CCTV from the shops in Picton Road and any others in the area. That’s ongoing now. We’ve contacted the bus and train companies and have people monitoring their cameras. If he’s moving, we’ll find him. We have to.”

  “He may have gone to ground, boss. I guess he could hide away for days. After all we didn’t even know he was in the country. He knows how to stay below the radar.”

  “Yes, that’s true. When she can, Ros is going to have a word with Gary and see if he has any idea where his brother might go. You know, from back when they were kids. But until we know the baby is okay, we have to be a bit sensitive about interviewing his uncle. I’m sick about this to be honest. I could have had him, and I didn’t, so any ideas would be welcome.”

  “What about the port? The office in the warehouse?” Terry asked.

  “Already covered by Serious and Organised.”

  “Right. So, it’s just keep on looking until we find him.”

  “Basically.”

  Jordan’s phone rang. “Carr.”

  “Hi Jordie. It’s your favourite forensic expert.”

  “Hi there, Viv. What can I do for you?”

  “Ask not what you can do for your forensic examiner and yadda.”

  In spite of it all Jordan had to laugh. “Okay, what can you do for me?”

  “It’s your cardboard box.”

  “Sorry?”

  “Makeshift baby crib – come on – keep up.”

  “Oh right. Yeah, a lot has happened in the last couple of hours. Sorry.”

  “Well, I thought it might cheer you to know that in among the nappies and the blanket was a tissue with residue.”

  “Okay.”

  “Turns out to be breast milk.”

  “Oh – so…?”

  “Yes, when they put the baby in the container, which can’t have been long before he was dropped off, I reckon, given the condition of the box and the clothes we have. Your missing girl had fed him – ergo…”