Payback

by R. C. Bridgestock

  ‘I don’t know, boss,’ answered Mike.

  ‘Well, find out. Push the boundaries.’

  An hour later he came back to her. ‘The quality of the film can’t be enhanced in this country.’

  ‘Does that mean it can be in another?’ When she put the telephone down, she stood and looked out of the window, suddenly feeling the need to escape. She grabbed her coat and headed out of the door. She needed time to think, and a place to think things through – her brain felt scrambled. ‘Why have CCTV if the quality is shite!’ she grumbled as she left the building, yearning to get away from the confines of the bricks and mortar.

  Charley hopped in her car. She found herself driving over the moors before she realised she had gone further than she had planned. At Hell Fire crossroads she glanced over her shoulder: a decision needed to be made as to her direction. She saw her riding gear on the back seat and was instantly drawn towards Willowfield Stables. She missed riding, hungered to be around horses, but still couldn’t find it in her heart to visit the police mounted section when she knew Eddie wouldn’t be there to greet her. Kristine hadn’t been able to ride since she’d had her back operation, but Wilson, her ex-police horse, needed exercising and Kristine had given her an open invitation to ride him. The decision was a no-brainer. Just being around horses for a while would be enough, for now.

  Charley had helped transform Wilson, a reluctant, girthy horse, into a happy, willing partner. He was excited to see her and as ready as she was to get out into the open moorland.

  ‘Still no trace on the drone user?’ said Kristine, hopefully, from where she sat in her wheelchair at the stable door, a manure fork held precariously in her hand. ‘I won’t let it lie. As soon as I get back to work, I’ll have the bastard who killed him.’

  Charley shook her head sadly. ‘I think everyone is of the same mind – Eddie was one of us – but I guess it’s hard for other police officers who’ve never had an animal as a partner to understand the bond.’

  Kristine looked downcast. ‘As time rolls on, I feel less reassured that we’ll find the culprit, don’t you?’ Suddenly, she was distracted by the actions of a young stable hand. ‘Hey, you! Don’t you ever give water to an overheated horse you bloody moron!’ she shouted. Wilson goggled at his mistress. Did she mean him? Kristine sensed his angst, slowly put the fork down and manoeuvred her wheelchair towards the horse. He wasn’t troubled in the slightest by the motorised chair.

  Charley spoke to him in soothing tones as Kristine reached out to touch his upper leg, first making contact with her fingertips. She rubbed his chest when Charley threw the saddle upon his back and he put his head down to nuzzle Kristine’s head. Charley tightened his girth with a confident pull on the straps. Wilson swished his tail and gave a deep, satisfied sigh when Charley mounted him. Heels down, head up, she sat deep, interlocking her feet under his body for balance. The women’s eyes locked before Charley and Wilson departed, no thanks from either party necessary.

  Charley felt good to be alive, to taste the fresh air, to feel the cold wind against her face. She raced the fluffy white clouds. Where they would take her, she did not know, did not care. Together, horse and rider trotted, cantered and galloped across the moorland as one. She gritted her teeth, her own sweat ran into her eyes almost blinding her, but she wasn’t perturbed. Her trust was in Wilson and his in her. They galloped on, pounding the moorland where the darkness grew grizzlier, the windchill sharper.

  At the top of Carter’s Hill, Wilson suddenly stopped and would go no further. They stood for a while. Charley could see the police mounted section livery yard from their viewpoint. The track that led to the stables was around the next bend, through a hundred yards of ruts and potholes. Charley’s heart raced and for a moment or two she struggled to catch her breath. She was sweating, her shirt sticking to her back, her face red, her fringe in her eyes. She turned Wilson back and gave him a long rein. The horse shivered, stretching his neck and snorting clouds of hot steam, just as she heard the unmistakable sound of a drone. Charley leant forward and patted Wilson’s neck encouragingly. When she lifted her head back up, she was sure she smelled tobacco. Charley smiled. ‘I know what’s up with you, old man. But Old Peggy is long gone…’

  News buzzed around the incident room. A distributor had provided Wilkie with two local sources who supplied the specific type of netting used to truss up Kylie’s body.

  ‘One is Gibson Horticultural, just off the Bradford Road, and the other a tree nursery in Meltham. The latter is presently being run by Gerry Driver and her partner. Apparently, she bought a cottage with a few acres of land when she retired from the police, and started the place as a donkey sanctuary, but it needed something else to keep it viable and the horticultural business grew organically.’

  Charley was shocked. ‘Geraldine Driver? Big, butch, fiery, ex-detective Gerry Driver? She’s retired? No way!’

  Wilkie nodded. ‘She lamped Roper in a meeting and immediately threw in her ticket before they had a chance to sack her. She’d done her thirty.’

  ‘Who’s she with now?’

  ‘Ex-scenes of crime, Hilary Sharpe from Lancs.’

  Charley shook her head and frowned. ‘I don’t think I’ve come across Hilary.’ Her subsequent smile reached her eyes. ‘But I’m really, really looking forward to catching up with Gerry.’

  Gibson Horticultural, as grand as it sounded, was nothing more than a potting shed converted into a shop, with half a dozen polytunnels hidden from sight by a huge pile of wood shavings and top soil that had been dumped either side of the entrance. A visit by car was only achievable via a single dirt track, which meant negotiating the dips, bumps and potholes so as not to cause serious damage to the vehicle. Serendipitously, Charley had spotted the old wooden signpost, crooked and weathered, the colour of bones, located at the top of the track leading to the livery yard on her ride with Wilson.

  ‘I want research and background checks on both premises before any visits are made.’

  ‘Hear that, Wilkie?’ said Annie. ‘The boss doesn’t want you jumping straight in with yer size tens.’

  Wilkie Connor raised his chin in the air. ‘I’m actually a size twelve – and you know what they say about men with big feet.’

  Chapter 9

  Within forty-eight hours of Charley’s request for Sergeant Percy Shaw to ‘take a look’ at the Shields, they were in custody for cultivating cannabis. Arc lighting and thirty cannabis plants had been recovered.

  ‘People in glass houses, an’ all that,’ Percy said to Charley with a wink. ‘We’ll update the press once we’ve charged ’em, and that will very quickly take the credence out of their previous comments as far as the readers are concerned.’

  ‘I’ll make sure they’re spoken to by someone from the murder investigation team to eliminate them from the enquiries and get their DNA taken and checked as a matter of routine,’ Charley said.

  ‘Kylie had what we thought might be cannabis leaves in her hand, didn’t she?’ Annie reminded her.

  The research on the two premises identified as being suppliers of the tree netting found that they were two small businesses who relied on the goodwill of others and on ad hoc seasonal staff. Although information on the system on Geraldine and Hilary was plentiful, owing to their link with the police force, Mr Gibson, the elderly owner of the horticultural premises and his sole, full-time apprentice gardener, Solomon Myers, did not show up on any of the searches. What did come to light was an altercation where the police had been called to the premises to deal with a dispute between a disgruntled customer and Mr Gibson in which force had been used by Solomon Myers.

  Charley came smiling into the office, rubbing her hands. Mike looked downcast. ‘What’s up Sarge?’ she asked.

  ‘Just contemplating the review,’ he sighed.

  Charley stood by his desk. Her eyebrows knitted together. ‘We’ve done all we can, haven’t we?’

  ‘Yes, but it’s still … Roper told me, he hates the idea
of a review,’ Mike grimaced. ‘He collared me on the stairs this morning. “Pull your finger out, won’t you? There’s a good chap!”’ Mike’s mimicking of Divisional Commander Roper made Charley chuckle.

  ‘And the rest, I bet … I know you well enough to know you’re far too polite to tell me what he said about me behind my back.’

  Mike looked sheepish. When his eyes found her face again, he looked sad. ‘But the truth is, we are no nearer to catching the murderer now than when the investigation broke.’

  Charley frowned. ‘I think you need to get a grip.’ She lifted her hand, counting off each point with her fingers. ‘First of all, I don’t care what the fuck Groper says. Remember, I’m your immediate supervisor, not him, and I think we’re doing just fine. Secondly, I have no problem with anyone coming in to review a case of mine. In fact, I appreciate any help I can get and so should he. This isn’t about me, or Roper, it’s about solving a murder and getting some sort of closure – if that’s what they want to call it – for the victims and their families. And thirdly, as long as we are all working our bollocks off, we know we can’t do any more.’

  Mike looked at her strangely. She smiled briefly. ‘Well, you know what I mean … I’d work my bollocks off if I had any.’

  His eyes were unblinking. He appeared to be processing a new way of thinking that Charley had given him.

  ‘Aren’t we following up every lead?’

  Mike nodded.

  ‘Aren’t we being proactive, as well as reactive, with the resources we have?’

  Mike nodded.

  ‘Then I have every faith that we will catch our killer and, more importantly, so should Roper. As Percy Shaw would say, if we don’t catch ’em on the swings, we’ll catch ’em on the roundabout. Now I don’t know about you, but I fancy a trip out. We need to obtain a sample of the netting from the premises identified. A bit of fresh air will blow away the cobwebs.’ She raised her eyebrows. ‘Fancy a ride?’

  His mood appeared to lighten instantly.

  ‘Which place do you want to visit first?’ she asked.

  Mike put his hand in his trouser pocket. ‘I’ll flip a coin, shall I?’

  ‘And I’ll shout you dinner!’

  Charley and Mike ate their warm meat pies in the car outside the little sandwich shop under the Marsden Railway signage. There was no break in the clouds, but the rain had stopped and the cold, blustery east wind howling through the tunnel was right at their backs.

  ‘An ex-detective and an ex-scenes of crime officer. They would certainly know their way around a crime scene and, let’s face it, Geraldine no doubt hates the way she was treated,’ said Mike.

  Charley looked thoughtful. ‘They’re animal lovers, caring people, served the public for most of their lives – do you honestly think they’d commit murder, and go to the extremes the killer has done to boot, merely to watch us tussle with a complex crime scene? I guess we both know that we should never assume, but I think I know Gerry well enough to realise there’s no way she’d do something like this. For one thing, she probably hasn’t the time: a crime of passion maybe, but not a premeditated sacrificial killing.’

  The animal sanctuary and tree nursery had large, black, iron gates at its entrance. A painted sign requested that they be kept closed at all times. Both overall-clad, Geraldine and Hilary were in a field standing on top of a heap of freshly turned earth.

  ‘Thank goodness we don’t have identity parades any more,’ said Mike, aghast. ‘Could you imagine trying to pick one of those two out of a line-up?’

  The similarity between the two – from hairstyle to colouring, stature and chunky knitted jumpers – was truly remarkable.

  Charley seized Mike by the arm, and the two detectives strode towards the ladies in an amiable way. En route Mike noted a patch of earth that had been raised and untidily replaced and made Charley aware of it by way of a tug at her sleeve and a nod of his head in the appropriate direction.

  As they neared the pair, Geraldine stepped forward with an outstretched hand. ‘Well, to what do we owe this pleasure?’ she said. ‘And you only just returned to the bosom of the police family, Charley Mann.’ Without waiting for a reply Geraldine introduced Hilary, put her arm around Charley and patted her on the back.

  ‘Not much gets past you, does it, Gerry?’ said Charley.

  ‘Come on in,’ she said, turning her in the direction of the house. ‘I’ll put the kettle on and you can tell me what’s happened since I abandoned ship.’

  Mike and Hilary followed in silence.

  ‘I must say, you’re both looking extremely well. Retirement obviously suits you,’ said Charley as she sat down on the comfy farmhouse chairs at the round pine kitchen table. Home-made cookies, lemon drizzle cake and Yorkshire parkin were placed on little cake platters, and tea and coffee quickly served. Charley was surprised by Gerry’s domesticity.

  ‘What you looking at me like that for, young Charley? You shocked I’ve got a domestic side?’ Gerry chuckled. ‘You’re not the only one who thinks I’m odd. We’re not bothered, it means the locals give us a wide berth,’ Gerry chuckled. All of a sudden, her face took on a sadness. ‘Tell me, did they ever get the bastard who flew the drone that frightened your poor Eddie to his death?’

  Charley shook her head sadly. ‘No, but I spoke with Kristine the other day and together we vowed that we’d never stop looking, even if the investigation is officially over.’ Charley’s eyes gave away her sadness. ‘Anyway, enough of the doom and gloom. I hear I missed your dramatic exit?’

  ‘Ah well, I wasn’t going to let Groper get the better of me.’ Gerry pulled a face. ‘I was just missing that knock-out blow you have.’ Her eyes blazed. ‘The red mist came down. I kid you not; I could have killed him that day. Better I leave and keep my pension intact, I decided, so I chucked in my notice before he could report me for insubordination. Although he didn’t, because he’s a wimp, and if they’d asked why I lamped him, I would have told them. All them years I suffered his prejudicial abuse.’ Gerry threw her arms up in the air. ‘I’m gay! Hurray!’ she hollered. Her voice lowered to almost a whisper. ‘Big deal. Did I tell him who he could shag? Him a married man an’ all.’ She took a deep breath. ‘Now, I’m waiting for the Karma … I believe in Karma.’

  ‘Me too. And Hobgoblins. I noticed your jug by the door.’ Charley winked at Gerry.

  Mike smiled, tutted and shook his head. He looked more relaxed than Charley had seen him yet, and years younger when his smile was genuine.

  ‘You might well mock, my lad, but she knows,’ Gerry said, pointing to Charley. ‘She knows the power the little people have.’ Gerry gave Charley a knowing look and a wink. ‘Brought up like I was, she were.’ She leaned forward as if to share a secret. ‘They were the good old days … on the farm.’ Hilary tapped Gerry’s hand that sat idly on the table between them, encouraging her to help her clear the table with a tilt of her head towards the sink. There were mumblings of thanks and a clatter of crockery as Gerry stacked the cups and removed the empty side plates to the draining board to wash later. When she had finished, she sat back down, put her elbows on the table and ran her fingers though her short, cropped hair before looking at Charley. ‘Enough chit-chat,’ she said, giving her a perfunctory smile. ‘What can we do for you?’

  Charley fingered the netting in her pocket, took it out and handed it to her. Hilary peered over the table and Gerry passed it on.

  ‘Do you use this type?’ said Charley.

  ‘Yes, yes we do,’ Hilary said, reaching for her glasses that were hanging around her neck on a chain, and placing them on the end of her nose. ‘It’s not cheap. You wouldn’t get your big retail DIY places stocking this. Us old-timers, we’re savvy enough to know the cheapest is not usually the best.’

  ‘It’s in the barn outside. Feel free to take samples of what we’ve got, no doubt you’ll want a snippet or two, for the file,’ Gerry said.

  Hilary stood and headed towards the door. Charley beckoned Mike to
follow.

  ‘Do you want to know what Roper said to me that made me want to hit him?’ said Gerry, when they were alone.

  Charley nodded.

  ‘I’d been to a fatal, on the unlit road at the bottom of Peggy-in-the-Woods. I’d taken the dying declaration in front of the paramedics. He wanted to know the ‘ins and outs’ because he wanted to do the media stuff. I asked him to give me a minute to compose myself and he said, ‘I once had a dog like you, Driver. No matter what kind of enticement you offered it, or punishment you gave it, that bitch would not come to heel. I had no option but to shoot it in the end. What does that tell you about you and me?’

  Charley was quiet on the onward journey.

  ‘You OK?’ Mike asked.

  She took a deep breath. ‘Just thinking about man’s inhumanity to man not always being physical,’ she said. ‘Any further thoughts about the ladies being involved in the murders now?’

  ‘I’ll bare my arse on the town hall steps if they’ve anything to do with it,’ he said.

  She laughed. ‘I’ve heard a few people say that and rue the day.’

  ‘Before CCTV?’ Mike’s smile was broad.

  ‘Of course. You won’t catch me tempting fate.’

  ‘Shame,’ he said.

  Peggy-in-the-Woods was the name given to the road that cut through Gibson’s folly, a legendary haunted patch of woodland. A signpost peeking out between the overgrown trees that lined the entrance from the main road announced Gibson Horticultural to the officers. At right angles to the old road, now a footpath into the woods, the unmade road opened up to a single dirt track that they found to be made as much of pot-holes filled with hardcore, as grit and soil. The car rocked. Back and forth it went and side to side like a cradle. Intermittently, they passed piles of logs, branches, bark mulch, soil and bricks. There were a couple of small copses of trees that cleverly screened the dilapidated, ivy-clad old buildings. The saturated, roughly made car park was no more than a large clearing full of muddy puddles of all shapes, sizes and depths. The remnants of Old Peggy’s hut caught Charley’s attention and she pulled up beside a cluster of ferns at its entrance. A couple of rusty cups could be seen still hanging on the ivy that swamped what was left of the structure. In silence they got out of the car. All was still, deathly quiet.