Payback

by R. C. Bridgestock

  ‘Do you live at Flat 23, Red Brick House, Meltham alone?’ she asked the prisoner.

  ‘Yes,’ he said.

  ‘Does anyone have access to the flat other than you?’

  ‘No,’ he replied.

  ‘Are you sure?’

  The prisoner frowned. ‘I’ve just said no, haven’t I?’

  ‘Yes, but I don’t think that’s true, because one of your neighbours said that someone has been in your flat since your arrest, prior to us arriving to search the premises. How do you explain that?’

  Solomon smirked. ‘A robber?’

  Charley glared at the giant of a man before her. ‘I don’t think you quite understand the seriousness of your situation, Solomon. You’re under arrest for murder. So, let’s start with the murder of a young black man by the name of Stewart Johnson, shall we? Do you know anyone of that name?’

  The prisoner shook his head. ‘No,’ he said, followed by a sigh.

  ‘His body was found at the bottom of Four Fields. I believe you know the area owing to the fact you planted lots of trees there recently?’

  Head down, Solomon twiddled with his thumbs. ‘Don’t know him.’

  ‘Can you explain how a condom found next to the body contained your DNA?’

  His eyes flew upwards to meet hers. He looked from the SIO to Annie, then turned to his solicitor. He clenched his fists. ‘No way. They’ve fit me up. I’ve seen it in films.’

  ‘Explain to us how the condom got there?’ Charley continued. She saw a flash of panic cross his face.

  ‘How should I know!’ Again, he turned to his solicitor. Beads of perspiration appeared on his top lip.

  ‘I’d like to take a short break, while I speak to my client about the implications of the condom,’ said Mr Parish.

  When they returned, Solomon looked pale. His lips formed a straight line. His head hung down, his chin to his chest. All questions put to him were met with silence.

  ‘For the purpose of the recording, the prisoner refuses to answer,’ Charley said over and over again.

  Annie tried to engage him in a conversation, but still he remained silent. All planned questions asked, he was returned to his cell.

  ‘Bloody solicitor! It’s obvious he told him not to talk to us.’ Annie looked downcast.

  Charley raised an eyebrow. ‘Not right at the moment, Annie, but we will continue questioning him, we’ve a lot more to put to him yet.’ Her eyes were bright. ‘It would be easier if he spoke to us and gave us some explanation, I give you that, but we’ve got to accept that isn’t going to happen. We’ll prove what took place with hard evidence. After all, these days an interview is for nothing more than to allow the prisoner to give us their view on the matter. It’s early days. In all honesty I didn’t expect him to roll over and give us an admission, did you? In fact, it would have shocked me if he had, especially with a solicitor advising him.’

  Charley was back in the incident room collating the day’s events in readiness for the debrief. The information from the team at Solomon’s workplace was forthcoming: soil samples had been taken which included some that had been washed away into a pile by the jet wash. Swabs had been taken from marks on the walls and the roof. The consensus from the experts was that if there was anything to find, they should have collected some traces of evidence, but Charley knew only time would tell.

  The pick-up truck had been fingerprinted, according to Wilkie, and the rear swept into one sample bag. What they had found was traces of green netting which had snagged on the hinges of the rear tailgate. ‘It’s being checked as priority,’ the DC said. ‘I still can’t believe anyone in their right mind would buy a monster of a truck like that for someone like Myers to use.’

  From Solomon’s flat, they had found several pieces of period women’s clothing, condoms, DVDs and video cassettes and an uncharged mobile telephone. All these had been seized and labelled as exhibits. Someone would have the task of watching the DVDs and videos to make sure the content was what it said on the sleeve and determine if anything in them might be relevant and have some bearing on the case.

  Ricky-Lee looked pleased with himself as he booked the exhibits into the property store. ‘Who was the supplier of his netting, I wonder?’ he said. Charley immediately wrote down the question, to raise for further investigation.

  ‘I took a statement from Myers’ neighbour, with regard to her hearing someone in the flat between the time of his arrest and the police search,’ he said.

  ‘Pity she didn’t see anyone.’

  ‘Indeed, but she’s adamant that she heard someone moving round the flat, which might account for the missing electrical equipment and the state of the bedroom.’

  ‘How do you know anything is missing?’

  Ricky-Lee shrugged his shoulders. ‘I suppose I don’t know for sure … just gut instinct when you see leads plugged into live electrical sockets and nothing attached. The flat’s now sealed and the locks on the doors have been changed.’ There was a twinkle in his eye. ‘Guess what, we also found the newspaper with your picture on it, on the front page.’

  ‘No doubt a few hundred others got a copy of the same paper, so I’m not going to worry about that too much.’

  Ricky-Lee raised an eyebrow. ‘Just saying…’

  With a suspect in custody, they needed to prioritise the exhibits. Automatically Charley looked up at the clock and adrenaline warmed her from the inside out. ‘Jesus,’ she said.

  ‘Even he can’t stop the custody clock ticking,’ said Marty from the front office, who had delivered the afternoon mail. ‘Where you at?’ he asked.

  ‘One interview over and another planned for later this evening,’ Charley said, as she flicked through the post.

  ‘Then I guess you’ll be bedding him down for the night?’

  Charley nodded. ‘Yep, eight hours sleep if he wants it, three square meals a day and a nap whenever he wants one, too.’

  Marty chuckled. ‘Who says crime doesn’t pay?’

  Even at this early hour Charley knew it was likely that she would be seeking the Divisional Commander’s sanction for a further twelve hours’ detention. And if thirty-six hours wasn’t sufficient time to obtain proof of the prisoner’s involvement in the murders, sufficient to charge, a trip to the Magistrates’ court would be necessary for the approval of a further thirty-six hours. At the most, Charley had three days to charge or release Myers from custody, and at each stage of seeking approval to grant her further time on the clock, she would have to show that all enquiries were being carried out diligently.

  Charley was pleased with the efforts of the team. She couldn’t have asked for more professionalism and she thanked them all for their sterling work at every opportunity.

  Wilkie Connor was just about to leave the debrief with the others when Charley collared him.

  ‘I need a word in your shell-like. My office, now,’ she said, and he followed her into the DI’s office. She shut the door behind him.

  ‘Do you like working here, DC Connor? I thought we had an understanding?’ Charley said, feeling suddenly weary. She slid behind her desk, sat down and arched her back in a stretch. Finding his face, she looked directly at him. He sat on the edge of the chair opposite her, trying to guess where this was going.

  ‘I know what this is about. The whisky…’ he said, in the hope of taking the sting out of her tail.

  Her eyebrows were raised in question. ‘Looks like payment for a good deed to me,’ she said. ‘So, tell me, what on earth could you have done to be worthy of such an expensive gift?’

  Miserably, Wilkie shook his head. His eyes found hers and he looked hurt at the accusatory tone of her voice. ‘I know how it looks,’ he said. ‘That’s why I’ve already asked CSI to fingerprint it.’ He lifted up his arms and showed her the palms of his hands. ‘Your guess is as good as mine!’

  She held his gaze, unflinching.

  His voice went up an octave. ‘Ask them! Everyone who knows me, knows I’ve got beer goggles
.’

  Charley looked at him with a satisfied expression. ‘OK, calm down. I believe you.’

  His shoulders dropped; he still looked pensive.

  ‘But, if someone is trying to set up one of my team, I want to know who and I want to know why.’

  The detective rubbed his temple with the pads of two fingers. ‘You and me alike! Don’t you think I’ve racked my brains? I can’t think of anyone who would think I deserve…’ He looked sheepish. ‘…who can afford…’

  ‘Let’s wait and see if CSI can come up with anything. I want an update on any developments. Do you hear?’

  The muscle in Wilkie’s jaw flinched. His eyes didn’t leave Charley’s face as he rose from his chair. Emphatically he nodded his head; hurriedly he retreated to the door. ‘Deffo, boss. Deffo,’ he said. ‘And,’ he turned and grinned. His hand remained on the door handle for a moment. ‘I don’t like working here; I love working here.’

  Wilkie exited, closing the door quietly behind him. Charley sighed deeply. She rubbed her tired eyes and looked down at the neatly stacked pile of papers on her desk. The day job didn’t stop just because she had two murder investigations to deal with. She put the first document she picked up on the non-urgent file, the second on the filing pile and a copy of the monthly stats document to enable HQ to see what she was doing in the bin. Slowly she lifted the next document, which was of great interest to her. This gave her, in writing, the expert’s opinion on the soil samples found on both bodies and the information confirming their belief that they had been in the same place at some stage, which was just about all she had to connect the killings. She sighed again. There was a vast amount still missing from the jigsaw and she desperately needed more evidence to support her theory that Solomon Myers was involved in the murders.

  She looked up at the clock. The second interview was to commence in half an hour. There was no evidence to suggest any sexual acts had taken place, and there was no evidence at this time that Solomon Myers knew either Stewart Johnson or Kylie Rogers. Let’s face it, she didn’t have any evidence to show he was the murderer, but she had enough not to allow him to walk free.

  Twenty minutes later, Annie Glover walked with Charley to the interview room. She had been told that Solomon Myers was on his way up from the cell area. It was pitch black outside and the station was uncomfortably warm and quiet. This time when they sat opposite Solomon Myers and his solicitor Charley was in no doubt that the prisoner was acting on his brief’s instruction to say nothing. ‘No comment,’ he said, in a rhythmical fashion as each question was put to him by the detectives.

  Having been told he had cried when he had been placed in a cell earlier in the day, Charley was interested to see how he coped with spending a whole night in the confined space, with just a toilet, a plastic-covered, two-inch-thick foam mattress, a blanket and no privacy. Would it weaken his resolve?

  Chapter 14

  ‘According to a witness, a dark-haired lady in a long black worsted skirt, wearing a lace shawl about her shoulders and a bonnet on her head, and carrying a wicker basket, was seen apparently disappearing into the hedgerow off the Bradford Road just after Monday's accident,’ DC Ricky Lee informed his audience at the end-of-day debrief.

  Tittering and rolling their eyes, the staff in the office mumbled among themselves.

  Ricky-Lee’s voice rose above the noise. ‘Was the driver distracted?’

  The mumbling stopped and all heads turned towards the detective constable once more.

  ‘More importantly, one of our own reported seeing a lady of the same description when he was exercising his dog that same afternoon. I was told she looked to be floating, her pace was so quick along the path. Again, his recollection of events was that she appeared suddenly, as if from nowhere, only to disappear again just as quickly. Knowing the ghost story pertaining to the area, he admitted to me he got the dog back into the van and fled quite sharpish.’

  The drumming of Charley’s car tyres on the dry asphalt road changed quite dramatically to the specific crunch of the gravel in the stable yard. She’d hardly slept as she tried to process all the information chasing round in her head.

  ‘Cock-a-doodle doo.’ She heard the resident rooster crow. At the quickening of her heartbeat, she switched off her headlights and grimaced, looking up at the farmhouse windows. Thankfully, she saw no lights turn on, so she pulled on her handbrake and turned off the engine. As always when she drove at dawn or dusk, she was extremely glad to arrive at her destination, because even though the sky might be bright, the road surface, pedestrians and other vehicles were shrouded in shadow. Maybe the light had played the same tricks on the witness who came forward after the accident on the Bradford Road and the officer who had been exercising his dog close by at Peggy-in-the-Woods. Both were adamant they’d seen the figure of a woman. Perhaps the ‘woman’ had been Solomon Myers in disguise? But how had he got down to the road without being seen in his dressing-up garb?

  Charley got out of the car, stood with her back to the door and breathed in deeply, embracing the approaching dawn. All was calm and quiet. There were no human beings around, only equine friends to greet her. The dog had abandoned its kennel, it seemed, and the cats were nowhere to be seen. She smiled to herself. Oh no, she knew where they’d be: snuggled up on their owners’ bed.

  Wilson stood at the stable door, his head cocked, his ears twitching. There was a rustle of straw as he moved impatiently from side to side inside his stall. He blew out steaming air with a whoosh and his lips curled back to show his teeth in what appeared to Charley to be an attempt at a smile. She grinned back at him and, leaning forward, she put her nose to his over the stable door. His neigh when she unbolted it and let herself in was more of a snicker. Wilson greeted her playfully, nudging her person in search of a treat. He was rewarded with a mint. She heard the clock chime and brushed him aside to locate his tack in the darkened stable. With fingers trembling in her haste, she tore the saddle from the rack and took the bridle from its hook.

  Finally, her feet were in the stirrups and, crouching low in the saddle, she urged Wilson on. He was alert to her indecisive mood. After trotting out of the stable yard, she gave the horse his head and he chose to lead her up the trail across the moorland to the north of Peggy-in-the-Woods. A cool wind laden with moisture blew down the unmade road, lifting the strands of the bay horse’s mane and sighing through the tops of the trees. Once on top of the hill, Wilson put his nose high into the air, his mane fluttering, his tail raised. He broke into a ground-gathering canter. As one, they pounded across the springy turf; it seemed as though they were covering miles. They were going at a fair speed when they came across a dry-stone wall, but rather than panic, she loosened the reins and Wilson aimed for the rise in the turf and soared a foot over the wall. Charley was breathless but exhilarated as they slowed down to a trot. She gathered her reins and together they picked their way through a field full of boulders. Then, winding their way through the trees, she let Wilson stretch his head after the exertion. She could feel the heat from his sweating body. Giving the gelding a solid pat on the neck she leaned forward in the saddle to whisper into his ear. The wind was now behind them as they ambled down the soil path to the side of Gibson’s solid perimeter fence. There was no doubt about it, Mr Gibson took security very seriously. Looking ahead from her elevated position, she could see that the path led down into a small coppice of trees. Beyond it, she could hear the sound of cars on the Bradford Road below.

  Now on the level, she pulled Wilson to a halt. His front legs spread out to the sides. He leaned back. His ears tipped forward and stiffened, his nostrils flared; he’d been spooked by something and was just seconds away from bolting, she could feel it. He pawed the ground impatiently and she squeezed his flanks with her thighs. The animal obligingly walked on.

  At the bottom of the path, she saw that the fence around the horticultural site sported high, spiked railings with barbed wire on top. Bewildered, she considered the cost of the sec
urity keeping the public out. There was a man-made dip in the earth that left a space between the fence and the woodland and the snicket appeared to lead around the corner. She jumped down from the horse and tied his reins loosely to a tree. Stroking his neck to soothe him, and willing him to be quiet, she braced herself and set off to investigate. Ducking under the low branches of a large oak she soon saw a door in the fence. It seemed to have no keyhole. Puzzled by this, she grabbed its handle and pulled. At first it seemed to be stuck fast, then she pulled harder and the door popped open, its hinges making no sound as it swung open. She stuck her head through the opening, to be confronted by a thick hedge with an opening wide enough for her walk into. She listened. Feeling for the miniature torchlight in her pocket, she turned it on and flashed the light into the distance. Something appeared before her. The shadows cast on the polytunnels walls were eerie.

  At Wilson’s neighing, she turned away and shut the door behind her. Keeping the flashlight on now to show the way, she saw steps cut into the hillside leading directly down to the main road. Was this the place where the witness had seen the woman ‘disappear’, she wondered?

  Charley looked at her watch as she and Wilson clattered back noisily into the now inhabited stable yard. She pulled the panting gelding up at the entrance to the field. He snorted and dipped his head to smell Bwyan, his spotted Shetland friend, who lifted her nose to nuzzle his mouth. At eleven hands high she was the little to his large. The stable hand took Wilson’s reins from her, rubbed him down and walked him to the field where she could hear him braying. She turned to see his ears pulled back as he galloped away. Bwyan followed until the gap between them increased too much and, sensing it, Wilson galloped back to her, bucking and rearing as he did so. As the two came together, Wilson lay down and rolled onto his back.