Payback

by R. C. Bridgestock

  Chapter 20

  ‘Ricky-Lee, I want a statement from Mr Gibson, and I want it made clear to him that he doesn’t speak to anyone regarding its content. That includes Danny Ray. Annie, I want copies of the rental agreement from the estate agency acting as managers for the property where Solomon Myers lives. That will have Danny’s signature on it. I also need them to be told that they must not inform him, or anyone else, of this request.’

  Charley was building evidence. Was there a connection between Danny and Kylie Rogers? Was there a connection between him and Stewart Johnson?

  ‘Mike, get the CCTV team to see if he appeared on any of the seized footage.’

  She racked her brain. Did he wear brown shoes? All the times she had been in the journalist’s company and yet she couldn’t recall the make or colour of his footwear. Why couldn’t she? She berated herself. Call herself a detective! Charley picked up the phone. ‘Marty, are the CCTV cameras covering the enquiry desk up and running today?’ His affirmative confirmation made her smile.

  Her next point of call was the Divisional Commander’s secretary, Becky. Her old school chum wouldn’t let her down. Becky was preparing the afternoon tea tray when Charley caught up with her in the kitchenette used specifically for the command team. She found her staring at a packet of tea. She seized it, ripped it open, plucked the canister from the shelf and emptied the tea into it before she noticed Charley, then smiled.

  ‘What can I do for you, or are you just loitering?’

  ‘Actually, there is something,’ whispered Charley, sidling up to her friend.

  Becky frowned. ‘That sounds ominous. What is it?’ She filled the kettle at the sink, wiped the spout with a cloth and plugged it in before turning round to face Charley.

  ‘I need you to play detective.’

  ‘Detective?’ faltered Becky, in a voice louder than intended. ‘I don’t like the sound of that.’

  Charley put her finger to her lips. ‘Shhh … please. I need your help on this murder enquiry. I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t absolutely necessary.’

  The tension in Becky’s arms made the china cup she’d retrieved from the cupboard quiver in its saucer. With a flash of panic crossing her face she placed it down on the tray as delicately as if it were a newborn baby. ‘If I broke his personal cup, he’d have a blue fit!’ she told Charley.

  With deliberate calmness Charley continued, ‘Remember we used to played Harriet the Spy when we were kids? This is no different, I promise.’ The simile sounded juvenile even to her own ears, but Charley was desperate.

  Becky continued to prepare the tea tray. Head down, she shook it feverishly. ‘I’m sorry. Whatever it is, I can’t. Mr Roper would know instinctively … he knows me too well…’

  A sudden crash and clatter outside in the corridor got their attention. Becky put her hand to her mouth. ‘Do you think he heard?’ she whispered. Immediately her face paled and her hands trembled. ‘Oh, my Lord.’

  Charley held out her hand, palm up, to her friend and listened. In the tiny room there was an absolute silence – a shocked, bewildered silence.

  Suddenly, they heard subdued giggling. ‘She might not be able to help you, but I will,’ said Winnie, head peeping round the doorjamb. She tittered as she walked further into the room. ‘Her face,’ she said, pointing at Becky. ‘I thought you were going to pee yourself.’

  Becky turned towards the door. ‘I’ll leave you two to scheme. But count me out.’

  Charley blocked her path. ‘Just one thing…’

  Becky’s eyes stared past her into the distance.

  ‘…after his meeting with Danny Ray, could you please put the tray, just as they leave it, here on this work surface? You don’t need to do anything else…’ She turned to Winnie and with an arm around her shoulder steered her out of the kitchenette and down to Winnie’s ‘office’. ‘We need to talk,’ she said.

  ‘So, this man,’ said Winnie, with one of her all-knowing looks, ‘I guess he was the reason you left?’

  Charley nodded. ‘Partly…’

  ‘Why? I’ve known you since … what, forever? It’s not like you to run away, even from your mother’s slipper.’

  Charley put her head down. ‘How do you know about that?’

  Winnie shook her head. ‘It’s only a turn of phrase,’ she said sheepishly.

  ‘This was a bit different,’ Charley said, rubbing the palm of her hand with her thumb. ‘I was a stubborn, cheeky little mare.’

  ‘You can’t kid me … I know that look … You fell in love and he was spoken for, right?’

  Charley slowly shook her head.

  Seeing the expression on the younger woman’s face Winnie’s tone softened. ‘So, he was aggressive? Violent? And you reported it, I suppose? I guess you know the drill better than most…’

  ‘I told Roper – Roper was my boss at the time – but, because he’s Roper, he wasn’t interested in taking a domestic incident any further and that was that!’

  ‘And that’s why you left?’

  ‘Not altogether. I was given promotion at the boards and then immediately seconded to London.’

  Winnie clasped her hand warmly.

  ‘And now, you’re back to face the music!’

  ‘Exactly!’ Charley sighed.

  ‘Do you have more empathy with victims after what happened?’

  ‘Without a doubt!’

  ‘So, why do this now?’

  ‘Because at first I thought I might be vilifying Danny Ray because of what he had done to me – that I was desperate to find something to hang on him – but now I realise that Danny Ray might actually have gone a step further this time and be involved in the murder of two people.’

  Winnie lowered her voice. ‘So, what is it you want me to do?’

  ‘We have an opportunity to get his prints and DNA without his knowledge.’

  ‘And today’s planned afternoon meeting could provide you with both?’

  ‘Yes. The cup and saucer he uses will be taken away on the tray by Becky after the meeting, as I requested. I want you to bring the tray to me in my office where we can bag and tag it without Danny Ray’s, or Roper’s, knowledge.’

  ‘How will we know whose is whose?’

  ‘Mr Roper apparently has his own personal bone-china cup and saucer so there is no chance of a slip-up.’ Charley stood at the door, her hand on the handle. ‘By the way, if you see Danny Ray, could you take a look at the colour of his shoes?’ She was thoughtful. ‘Even better, get a picture on your mobile.’

  Winnie looked puzzled. She shrugged her shoulders when no further explanation from Charley was forthcoming. ‘OK. Will do.’

  Charley’s attention was so fixed on the clock face in her office that afternoon that when the telephone rang, it made her jump. Feeling her heartbeat quicken she picked it up. ‘Detective Inspector Charley Mann,’ she said abruptly.

  ‘Prison Liaison at Armley, Officer Tommy Newton. The intelligence report I have in front of me, in respect of one of our inmates, Solomon Myers, states that you are the person in charge of his case with regards to the charges of murder he’s facing. Is that correct?’

  ‘Yes, that is correct. I hope you’re ringing me to tell me he wants to confess all.’ Her attempt at humour was lost on him. There was a long, uncomfortable silence.

  ‘No, sorry. The reason for the call is that he has just attempted to murder his cell mate by strangulation.’

  Charley sat up in her chair. ‘Attempted? He didn’t succeed?’

  ‘Luckily, a landing guard witnessed the attack and was able to intervene quickly. Myers was restrained and the victim has been hospitalised.’

  ‘Will he survive?’

  ‘Detective Sergeant Trueman, who is the officer dealing at our end, tells me that the hospital staff are confident he will.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  Another silence. ‘We are also hearing on the grapevine that there’s a price on Myers’ head.’

  ‘Really? I don’t s
uppose you have any idea who wants him dead?’

  ‘No, but I don’t think we need worry about that for now as he’s in isolation.’

  Charley replaced the receiver and walked directly into the incident room to inform the team. She ensured enquiries were raised to liaise with the prison and collate all the information which would ultimately be merged with his present offences and, finally, recorded the fact that DS Trueman from Wakefield was the investigating officer.

  Shortly before Divisional Commander Roper’s meeting with Danny, Charley’s strategy meeting with Neal Rylatt commenced. The CSI supervisor ran over the items that had been sent for forensic examination and what still remained bagged and tagged in the exhibit store.

  ‘What’s the budget looking like?’ she asked.

  The ever-cautious Neal shook his head. ‘It’s gone.’

  ‘Later today, I want a specific item sent to Forensics.’

  Neal nodded his head.

  ‘Urgent,’ said Charley.

  ‘Who’s gonna pay?’

  ‘It’ll be paid, don’t worry.’

  When her phone rang, she had difficulty hearing the voice on the end of the line.

  ‘The journalist is wearing black, slip-on dress shoes, over and out,’ said Winnie.

  Neal Rylatt’s eyes watched Charley with curiosity. No doubt the withholding of information intrigued him. She fancied he was rather amused at her way of working, but there was no anxious flicker, only trust.

  ‘Thank you. Just let me know when the exhibits are ready.’

  ‘Signing off for now,’ said Winnie.

  Charley couldn’t help but smile, which didn’t go unnoticed by Annie who had just walked over to offer her a fax printout. ‘You heard the news?’ she said, offering the pages, which Charley took and placed on her desk before her.

  ‘News? What news?’

  ‘Wilkie has spoken his first words.’

  Charley’s eyes lit up. ‘Can we go see him do you know?’

  ‘I don’t know, but I can ask.’

  Alone once more, Charley picked up a pen, played with it, put it down again. Then she pushed her chair back, crossed her legs and examined her fingernails. They still bore slight remnants of bright red nail varnish. She found it hard to settle, thoughts of Danny and the colour of his shoes swirling around her head. Why had today’s preferred footwear been so important to her? It made her question if she had been letting her personal feelings about the journalist cloud her decisions.

  She shook her head to clear her thoughts. Evidence told her he was linked in some way to the perpetrator of the murders. He was Myers’ landlord: fact – something Danny hadn’t been forthcoming about in his contact with the police. Eyes narrowed, she scrutinised the pictures of the victim’s faces stuck to her noticeboard. Once she had Danny’s prints she would have them checked against those lifted from the flat. Her heart soared momentarily at the thought, then plummeted. Sharp as he was, he’d have a valid excuse for the presence of his fingerprints; as landlord he was required to do maintenance work. As managers of the rental, the estate agent would be able to verify that.

  Charley put her fingertips together and gazed thoughtfully at the document on the desk. The fax from the prison suggested that Solomon Myers’ attempted murder of his cell mate had almost been successful.

  ‘It took six prison officers to restrain prisoner Myers, a whole wing of trained staff to get him to release his victim, who was on the floor with his trousers round his knees.’

  Charley drew her breath and held it before reading on. Myers hadn’t denied attacking his cell mate, but denied any intent to kill him, which was in total contradiction to what the victim said. Turning the pages, she read on. The victim’s statement revealed more.

  ‘We’d been watching Lord of the Rings on TV and we got into a discussion about elves. He said, “We have a ghost in the woods where I work. She’s famous.” Obviously, I know that can’t be true, so I said, “Are you having a laugh? There’s no such thing as ghosts.” His immediate response to that was, “Shut that fucking cell door!” I knew he wanted a fight, so I said, “OK.” When I turned around after shutting the door, he ran at me and put his hands round my throat. Then he proceeded to throttle me and punch me for a while whilst shouting, “You’re wrong!” He was beating the shit out of me and I don’t remember anything else but waking up in the hospital wing. My head was a bit busted up. I also had bruises around my throat, but I saw it as a victory because I hadn’t backed down. I knew I was right and he’d had to resort to violence because he couldn’t think of a proper argument.’

  Charley’s mind turned to who Solomon’s next cell mate might be. Contrary to popular belief, inmates were not celled up with the same person for their entire time inside. Prisoners could share with up to twenty different people throughout the course of a short-to-medium-length sentence: convicts were regularly moved to other jails, or were taken to attend court appearances, leaving empty beds to be filled. She shuddered. Sharing a tiny living space with someone you knew without the option to leave, never mind a stranger, was definitely her idea of hell.

  Eager to read what the intended course of action for Myers was, she speed read to the end, to the note from Bill Trueman.

  ‘Once we have the full statement from the victim, we’ll give Myers another interview. Then we’ll charge him and ultimately merge our file with yours, if you and CPS are in agreement.’

  Charley considered the likelihood of Myers’ brief asking for separate trials, unless he pleaded guilty. Her snigger was audible. ‘I can dream, can’t I?’ she muttered.

  Winnie stared hard at the CID office door, willing it to remain closed as she walked with trepidation towards Charley, carrying the tray and its precious items. For Roper to have followed her would not be good. Winnie’s round cheeks were blushing red and her top lip held a hint of perspiration.

  ‘In here,’ Charley said, hurrying her into her office. Her entrance made Charley’s heart start to pound.

  Once the tray was laid on her desk, Winnie stood to one side, her clasped hands unusually fidgety. ‘Becky said Danny actually handled them both. Sir Galahad, as he likes to think himself, apparently put them back on the tray for her – the reason, she was certain, was that he’d seen her hands shaking.’

  ‘That’s fine, she needn’t worry. We’ll have Roper’s prints for elimination purposes. Neal Rylatt will need to take your fingerprints,’ she advised Winnie as she carefully picked up the items with a gloved hand and bagged them. ‘And Becky’s too. He’s on his way. He’ll also need a statement from you both and I’ll need to,’ she signed the exhibit label, ‘sign this, as I’m the one who’s bagged them.’

  ‘Becky’s usually in her office until five, she never leaves a moment before,’ said Winnie, standing proud.

  ‘You did good,’ Charley said, beaming. ‘And the best bit is we’ve done it without his knowledge, so, if he is guilty of anything, he’ll not think there’s a need to get rid of anything that might implicate him – such as his shoes.’

  Winnie’s eyes were as excited as a child’s. ‘Working with you gives me so much joy. Being with you is just like being with your dad all over again, he was such fun.’

  ‘Dad?’

  Winnie looked a little flustered.

  ‘I didn’t know you knew Dad so well.’

  Chapter 21

  Morris Flanagan had a reputation as a hard nut – and rightly so. At thirty-six years of age, he was in prison for kidnapping drug dealers and taking hammers to their kneecaps. His hobbies included smoking crystal meth and shooting up heroin. He had a padlock in a sock and had threatened previous cell mates, saying he could smash them with it while they were sleeping and kill them whenever he wanted. ‘But I’m no grass,’ he said when questioned about the assault.

  ‘He’s got bruises on his throat, petechiae erupting on face, body and upper extremities and his eyes are congested. He’s a bloody mess, truth be known; must be in extreme pain, not that he’d
admit it. Sounds awful, but it would be so much easier if he’d died,’ said Trueman, in his telephone conversation with her when he resumed his evening shift at the prison.

  ‘Either way, one thing is for sure: Solomon will be looking at a long sentence.’

  The quickness with which the colour had drained from Winnie’s face, and the sudden dizzy spell that meant she’d needed to sit down, had worried Charley. She hated that she couldn’t be the one to take her home, but she needed to be in the office when Neal arrived so she could hand over the exhibits. Annie reassured her, on her return, telling her boss that she’d left Winnie settled in front of her TV with a nice cup of tea and a couple of Rich Tea biscuits, and had been told ‘not to fuss’. Charley vowed to visit as soon as she could.

  ‘She’s been like a mother to me – to us all here … She never married, no family. She doesn’t need to work,’ she told Annie. ‘I keep forgetting she is as old as my parents would have been had they still been alive, yet she’s still running around after us lot.’