Payback

by R. C. Bridgestock

  ‘For sure. I’ve got officers out visiting a medium who contacted us this morning to say she thinks she might be able to help.’

  Wilkie Connor was slouched back in his chair. He swivelled round to face the pair, rolled his eyes and tutted as he shook his head in disdain. His phone bleeped. ‘They should be charged with wasting police time,’ he said, before swivelling his chair back to his desk to continue his text conversation.

  Charley’s eyes met Mike’s. ‘Great! I for one couldn’t care less who the information comes from, alive or dead, as long as it can be substantiated,’ she said.

  Mike forced a smile.

  Charley bent forward and ran her blunt-tipped finger down the list of names on the papers Mike had shared with her. Her expression was one of disbelief. ‘We’ve seen all those and still nothing?’

  ‘Nope,’ he shook his head. ‘Not one person has given us anything we can use.’ Mike reached out for a blue cardboard file at the far corner of his desk, grabbed it and handed it to her. ‘Here, we’ve also got a list of criminal behaviour for the purpose of identifying our killer.’

  Her eyes lit up and she raised her eyebrows.

  ‘Don’t get too excited. The behaviourist isn’t telling us anything we don’t already know.’

  ‘Well, at least we’ve ticked the boxes, eh?’ she said with a little sigh.

  Charley followed Mike’s gaze as it wandered to the corner of the incident room where a group of four sat quietly at tables of two, opposite each other, attention focused on their computer screens. ‘Intelligence are trawling through recent releases and anyone that has recently come to our attention where a victim has been hanged, where there’s a sexual motive or the victim’s sexuality and/or gender identity is in question.’

  DC Wilkie Connor scoffed and turned his attention from his mobile back to the two of them. ‘Glad I’ve not picked up that action,’ he said, his eyes glowing, but before either had a chance to question his remark, his eyes dulled. ‘On second thoughts,’ he said, a happy look slipping back into his eyes, ‘How’s the overtime budget looking, boss?’ he said, with a wink.

  Charley positioned herself near the window in her office next to the cast-iron radiator, sipping her lukewarm coffee, waiting for the right time. Someone coming through her door would never guess at the annoyance that simmered beneath the surface of the Senior Investigative Officer. Her face wore its normal aloof look, her blonde hair was in its usual tidy bun, her white, long-sleeved shirt was fastened to the neck, her suit as impeccable as ever. But Wilkie Connor had pushed her restraint to the limit, and clearly found it quite amusing, the way he tried to goad her and the taunting in his voice. His time was up. The low heat of the radiator was delicious against her legs, almost sensual, she thought, as she watched the detective stomp through the office in Annie’s direction, gurning.

  ‘Grin, grimace, tongue out, squint; that’s the secret to a good gurn,’ he said.

  ‘Yeah? Well, I’d be careful, because if the wind changes, you’ll stay like that,’ Annie said.

  Undaunted, Wilkie sat down beside Annie, put his arm about her shoulders and gave her an unwelcome squeeze.

  Annie screwed up her face, attempting to pull away. ‘Gerroff!’

  ‘Tell me the latest murder isn’t another tranny?’ he said, collapsing back in his chair with a low moan.

  ‘Detective Constable Wilkie Connor. My office,’ Charley shouted, in a deep, rasping voice which she hardly recognised herself.

  The ex-crime squad officer raised his eyebrows at Annie, got up from his chair and strolled over to the office. He tapped at the SIO’s door gently with his fist and stood in the doorway. It was raining heavily outside, and he noticed the shutter blind on the window to the back yard was closed. Funny how different it made the office feel.

  ‘You called?’ he said.

  Charley stood with her back to him, steadying a pile of old news reports she’d retrieved, and which were now piled on top of the filing cabinet. ‘Close the door. Sit down,’ she said.

  Wilkie walked over to her desk but remained standing. He turned to her. ‘Can we make this quick,’ he asked, jiggling the change in his trouser pocket. ‘I’ve got places to go, people to see…’

  Charley slammed the drawer of the cabinet shut, turned and smiled sweetly at him. ‘Of course,’ she said. As she walked past the door that he’d left wide open, she kicked it shut with her heel before walking slowly towards him. He looked down at his watch.

  ‘Sorry, this won’t take long…’ She held out her hand and he looked at her strangely. As she reached him, she touched his elbow. He froze and in an instant found himself pinned against the wall, the SIO’s long fingers around his neck, her knee to his groin.

  ‘What the hell are you doing?’ he said, in a strange, gargling whisper.

  ‘One more negative comment about transgender people and I’ll break your fucking nose. Do I make myself clear, DC Connor?’ Charley’s teeth were clenched. Her nose to his, warm spittle flew into his face. His body weakened in her grasp and he shook uncontrollably. ‘I’m sorry…’ he managed to squeal.

  ‘Sorry what?’ she hissed.

  ‘Sorry, boss.’

  Charley cocked her head to one side. ‘If you want a fight, just say,’ she hissed. ‘If you want to walk the streets, I can arrange it. Do you understand?’

  Wilkie nodded his head in little jerky movements as her hands moved to his jaw bone. She tilted his head back further and held it for a moment or two, stretching him up to his tiptoes before releasing her grip. He slid down the wall back on to the balls of his feet. Her voice became more normal. ‘I want you on board, DC Connor, but if you’re not going to pull your weight – and if you can’t think before you speak – then say so now and I’ll arrange for you to go back on the beat with immediate effect.’

  ‘No, no … I promise. It won’t happen again.’

  Charley calmly walked the few steps around her desk to the chair and, straightening her jacket, she sat. ‘You’re lucky, DS Blake speaks highly of you. I want an example setting to the younger end. Do you think you could do that?’

  Wilkie ran a hand through his hair and slumped into the chair opposite her. He looked puzzled. ‘Yes, I’m sure I could … Why?’

  ‘Good, because you’re going to be doing some mentoring for me.’

  ‘Really? You – you want me to be a mentor?’

  ‘You’re qualified, aren’t you?’

  ‘Yes, I have been for years. But the others, they’ve never given me the chance. Thank you,’ he said, with a note of sincerity in his voice.

  ‘So, from now on, do we have an understanding? I don’t want to fight with you, and you don’t want to go back to walking the beat, do you?’

  Wilkie nodded his head subserviently. ‘I don’t mean any of it, y’know, boss, it’s all bravado.’

  ‘Off you go, then, to whatever you were late for. And remember, next time there’ll be no warning, I’ll smack yer one and thereafter you’ll be wearing a uniform.’

  Wilkie Connor jumped up and hurried to the door. He opened it to see a few inquisitive faces looking up at him. He stood tall, straightened his tie and walked to his desk. ‘I’m going to be a mentor,’ he said to Annie.

  Charley looked at herself in the mirror. ‘You’re a bully, Charley Mann,’ she said. ‘But sometimes you just have to communicate with them in the only way they understand.’

  The concave line at the side of the skull told the pathologist that the young man had been hit with something heavy.

  ‘Something like a piece of lead piping. Approximately one and a half inches in width, or about four centimetres, I would suggest. But, deadly as the wound looks, it didn’t kill him,’ said Old Man Butterworth, concluding the three-and-a-half hour post-mortem examination. ‘He’s been strangled. And, I’m sorry to say, you have another murder, DI Mann. Back in the seventies,’ said the wiry old man with the trademark side whiskers he called mutton chops, as he walked back to the office with
Charley, ‘…long before you were a twinkle in your parents’ eyes, I and the senior police officer would be going down the pub about now and getting pissed. It was a bit of a tradition. But we’re supposed to be more professional these days, aren’t we – more’s the pity – and we have to appear impartial,’ he said. Playful wrinkles appeared around his grey-blue eyes and she likened the look to Marty at the front desk, who often reverted to a mischievous mood in her presence.

  Charley frowned. ‘How impartial can we be when we both want to see the guilty get locked up and the innocent go free?’

  ‘I think I’ll drink to that,’ he said.

  ‘And I think I’ll join you!’ she replied.

  A couple of thoughts ran through Charley’s mind. Was this the work of the same killer? Or could it be that there were two killers using the same method to attack their victims, at the same time, on her patch? It seemed highly unlikely. She had nothing to connect the two killings at this stage other than a hunch that the murder scenes were both dump sites and both victims had been strangled. She spoke on her hands-free whilst moving her car, and updated Mike Blake.

  A large glass of red wine, as calm as a mill pond, stood on the highly polished, dark wooden counter of the dimly lit wine bar and Old Man Butterworth was accepting a large glass of brandy from the big, blonde, high-coloured, high-bosomed bar person in exchange for a twenty pound note when Charley arrived. She hesitated in the doorway for a moment or two to let her eyes adjust to the light before weaving in between the leather sofas, round-topped tables and stools towards them. It was apparent the old man hadn’t seen her because when she arrived to stand at his side, his face brightened in a sudden smile. ‘I was just telling Helga about our little drinky poos. Mind you, we wouldn’t be drinking these in THE day,’ he said, to Helga, nodding towards the glasses on the bar. ‘It’d ’ave been pints of Tetley’s then, for her and me. And none of those…’ He looked slightly aghast at the tiny bowls of peanuts, pretzels and olives dotted around. ‘The landlords knew how to treat us back then. There’d be piles of thick dripping bread to greet us, on huge platters, with an abundance of salt atop. And black pudding too,’ he said, in a softer tone.

  Charley chuckled. ‘Were they trying to kill you off, d’you think?’

  ‘Well, it never did me any harm.’ He held his glass up to her and she raised hers to his. ‘Cheers,’ he said. ‘And good luck with the enquiries.’

  Charley slid onto the bar stool beside him. ‘Waiting for the lab results is a ball ache for us,’ she said.

  Butterworth gave her a questioning look. ‘Seriously?’

  She looked down and stroked the rim of her glass. ‘Seriously. Waiting for forensic to enable us to move on can feel like waiting for God at times.’

  He took a sip of brandy. ‘Well, he’s never let me down yet,’ he said, patting her arm. We’ve done all we can for now. The victim’s DNA and fingerprints have been taken. Swabs, and…’ he pulled a face. ‘Well, I don’t have to tell you…’

  ‘There was no evidence whatsoever to suggest to you that the guy had been involved in any sexual activity, was there?’ asked Charley.

  Butterworth shook his head. ‘No, would be my answer.’

  ‘I’ve just spoken to the team. The condom containing the sample found at the scene is at the lab and it’s being forwarded for DNA comparison.’

  ‘And I would have thought the origin of the condom packet found beneath the corpse will be the subject of a priority enquiry, along with the syringe too?’

  Charley’s eyebrows went up in momentary surprise. ‘You should have been a detective.’

  Butterworth sucked on his false teeth. ‘My pater told me that by choosing a job I enjoyed I’d never work a day in my life and, being a lazy bugger, I did as he said; about the only time I ever did,’ he chuckled. ‘And, now, I can say I am living proof that having an interest in a subject makes learning easier.’ He paused in thought for a moment, then leaned forward. ‘Where will you begin, when trying to find out where a particular condom packet might have been purchased from, Inspector?’ he said, in a whisper.

  Charley briefly raised her shoulders in a shrug. ‘The usual, shops, pubs, clubs…’

  Suddenly, the double doors swung open and a group of people came bursting into the bar, laughing and jostling one another. The noise caused Butterworth to turn up his nose. His eyes scanned the room for Helga. ‘Where is the wench when you need her to show a bit of authority?’ he said with a freezing stare as he spotted her on the other side of the room. Helga, struck between the shoulder blades by that concentrated stare, turned suddenly about, and discovered Butterworth, his arm in the air to get her attention, as if she needed to be flagged down to know that the noise would be unacceptable to him, a regular.

  Charley instantly recognised some of the growing crowd as local press. She jumped off her stool, drank the rest of her wine in one gulp and forced a smile towards her companion. The wine warmed her as it went down. ‘Thank you for the drink, but right now I think I had better make tracks,’ she said, with a throw of her head towards the noisy corner. ‘The press office needs an update.’

  Butterworth nodded understanding. She picked up her bag, threw her coat over her arm and, before he could say Jack Flash, she was out of the door.

  ‘Is it true you’ve another body?’ She heard the dulcet tones of Danny Ray the instant she stepped outside into the cold night air. She turned to her left and saw him standing against the building, one foot to the wall, the other in the gutter. He took a long drag of the cigarette that was pinched between his finger and thumb.

  ‘I’m pleased to hear the native drums still work,’ she said as she passed. He lurched forward, threw his tab end away and proceeded to follow her across the car park.

  ‘It’s my job,’ he said. ‘Come on, short quote for an old friend?’

  With shaking hands, she pressed the button on her key fob that deactivated her car alarm. The beep appeared louder than normal to her ears. She berated herself for parking so far away, under the trees and out of sight of the main road. The warm feeling in her stomach gone, it left a void for the butterflies now doing somersaults. As she neared her car, she heard the quickening crunch of Danny’s shoes meeting the asphalt behind her. Reaching the door, she hurriedly opened it and, swinging her bag before her, jumped into the driver’s seat, reaching out to pull the door towards her. As she did so, Danny lunged forward and caught the door handle, gripping it tightly. Charley’s heart beat ferociously against her chest. She looked up at him. ‘Didn’t you get the message last time we were here?’

  Danny’s eyes remained unblinking.

  ‘Have you forgotten I had you on your fucking knees, right here in this car park, and I swear,’ she said through gritted teeth. ‘I swear, I’ll do it again.’ Charley put her keys in the ignition and started the engine. She tugged at the car door. ‘Let me go,’ she spat at him.

  ‘How could I forget? I tried to explain … You wouldn’t listen.’

  She caught her breath.

  His eyes softened. ‘OK, OK. I admit, I was jealous … But you shouldn’t have lied to me.’

  Her nostrils flared. ‘I lied because I knew how you’d react … and you shouldn’t have followed me.’

  ‘I acted like any other red-blooded male would if he thought his girlfriend was cheating on him.’

  ‘Cheating? You knew I was going to a colleague’s leaving do … I should have known when I caught you looking at my phone that night, and then, conveniently, my purse went missing and you’d no cash you could lend me.’

  Danny scoffed. ‘He was trying to get into your knickers. I’m a bloke – I know these things.’

  ‘Richard was my partner and he’s married, for Christ’s sake. Grow up! Now, if you want your precious quote, I suggest you speak to the press office. I’m busy.’

  ‘I could always make something up…’

  His reply almost made her laugh out loud. ‘Oh, you’re good at doing that Danny, I’ll g
ive you that.’ Her eyes were like steel. ‘Tell you what, why don’t you do your damnedest. I’m past caring,’ she said and, catching him off guard, she gave one almighty tug on the door and the wet handle slipped from his cold fingers. He stumbled backwards. Shifting the gearstick into first, Charley slammed her foot down on the accelerator and concentrated on negotiating her exit. At the mouth of the car park she stopped and slammed the door shut. She glimpsed him in her rear mirror, sitting where he’d fallen. It brought a smile to her face.

  Chapter 8

  Charley walked into the makeshift incident room with the air of a woman who had something on her mind. Ellen Tate lingered by the doorway, pulling at her sandy-coloured hair as she silently watched the computer experts diligently rigging up extra computer terminals.

  A whistling Dick the handyman delivered a cart-load of office equipment and Tattie searched with fevered eyes for a place for him to unload it. The room was cramped, with old, wooden stacking desks and chairs taking up most of the floor space, and no cupboards or shelving to speak of. There were only two telephones, but Charley knew most detectives used mobiles. Her mind wandered as she waited for the rest of her team to join her.

  Annie carried two mugs of tea into the room, bearing her usual sunny aura. ‘About time,’ Charley said in a quiet voice as she took the hot drink from her.

  ‘The sooner the HOLMES team are established the better,’ she continued, her voice rising as she moved over towards the window where the boards already being put to use for the enquiry were propped up neatly against the wall. ‘On the positive, turning the conference room into a second, temporary incident room means that both investigations are under the same roof which makes it easier for me to maintain an overview.’