Payback

by R. C. Bridgestock

  ‘Once he’s locked up, then the work will begin. We may yet need to do some surveillance because, when we go for him, I don’t want anything left to chance.’ There was fire in her eyes, and in her belly. A fire she’d never thought possible. ‘OK, let’s do it.’

  The level of adrenaline racing through her body had just risen ten-fold. They had evidence to arrest and charge for the Jean Weetwood enquiry, which would give them some breathing space to wait for further results if they hadn’t yet got the necessary evidence to connect Danny Ray to the murders.

  Charley felt an almighty surge of euphoria. At last, the journalist was going to get what was coming to him; and the nice thing for her was, he didn’t have a clue they were on to him, thanks to Roper, who she was also going to keep in the dark lest he feel obliged to make enquiries of his own with Danny – as he no doubt had the last time she had put her trust in him.

  She savoured the feeling, even started to fantasise over how the arrest would be conducted. Should she invite him into the police station on the pretence that she wanted to see him? He would come in to the station willingly and she could have him arrested on site. A press release was imminent. The murder investigation had hit a wall with no new evidence to share and with one person in custody pending trial. Any SIO would be looking for something to bring the case back to the front pages, in the hope of catching another believed to be involved. She shook her head and dismissed the thought. Nah. It wasn’t public enough – behind closed doors with no paparazzi? That would be too good for him. She wanted him to be scorned, forcibly dragged out of his bed. She raised her eyebrows – or out of his car, much more appropriate in her mind. The greatest gift of all was that the decision would ultimately be hers.

  Charley paced the floor waiting for the fingerprint department to come back to her. She berated herself for having been so easily persuaded by Roper not to pursue a conviction for the aggression Danny Ray had shown towards her. Letting her confused emotions and embarrassment get in the way of speaking out had led to Danny Ray being free to rape Jean Weetwood.

  She had been young in service at the time, with a natural desire to fit in and be accepted on his shift of all-male officers. Had her naivety clouded her judgement?

  She was well aware from Marty’s teaching in the early days that bad cops didn’t fear rejection by other bad cops; they were afraid of good cops.

  ‘The slope of wrongdoing is steep and slippery, and it is important not to step onto it at all,’ Marty had said to her and Kristine.

  She’d learned that Roper tolerated wrongful conduct by officers. He involved newcomers in soliciting bribes from pub landlords, bar owners and restaurants on their beat – money, cigarettes, drinks in exchange for turning a blind eye. He, in turn, turned a blind eye to his officers drinking on the job, sleeping on duty in secret places, accepting sexual favours from prostitutes, knowingly using too much force on suspects, filing false reports. She would never partake in any of it and he hadn’t liked her for not conforming; he was used to getting his own way.

  Her thoughts roamed as she waited for the reply from the fingerprint department. She’d asked them to check Danny Ray’s marks against those found on the thank-you card delivered with the whisky to Wilkie in the incident room, as well as against the marks lifted from Solomon Myers’ flat.

  Could the journalist really be the mastermind behind the recent murders? Had he been at the first murder scene, waiting for her to arrive? He had been under her feet as an aggressor, but was he a killer? What was the saying: keep your friends close and your enemies even closer. Is that what he had been doing by courting Commander Roper? Should she tell Roper? Should she put her trust in him again? Her thoughts sent a multitude of ideas and feelings reeling through her brain, all evaporating under a cloud of trepidation. Or was he already aware of Danny Ray’s indiscretions and was Roper the person who was trying to fit in to his world and be accepted? She shook her head. No, no, no … surely not … please, no.

  Despite the restlessness of her mind, Charley felt riveted to the spot as she waited, her body tense. Drumming her fingers on the desk, she returned her attention to the well-thumbed copies of the Jean Weetwood file. It wrote of a brutal attack, a stranger rape where the young woman had been left for dead. Charley considered herself lucky to be alive, but to think another woman had suffered at the hands of that man made her heart sink. Beads of perspiration appeared on her brow; palpitations hammered in her chest. She read through the file once, before skimming through it yet again, hoping against hope to find the missing piece of the puzzle. She just hoped she wasn’t being blinded by her own desperation.

  She had hoped for good news from the fingerprint department, but when news came it was not what she wanted, or expected. The only full print of Danny’s found at the flat was from a plug. Her heart skipped a beat at the news. ‘But that’s moveable. It doesn’t necessarily put him at the flat,’ she said. ‘I need to prove he was actually inside the flat.’

  ‘We’ve lifted a partial mark from the inside of the mobile phone cover.’ There was a pause. ‘Hmm … But I guess that doesn’t put him where you’d like him either?’

  Charley shook her head. ‘They’re good enough for court purposes though, the fingerprints?’ She sounded desperate even to her own ears.

  ‘Yes, yes. They’re good enough for court purposes.’

  ‘And the thank-you card?’ she asked, hopefully.

  Neal sounded defeated. ‘Again, we have partial prints, though you can be assured they are his.’

  That revelation brought a heavy weight to the pit of Charley’s stomach. ‘Damn,’ she said through clenched teeth. She put the phone down and questions chased each other around in her head. She’d failed dramatically, diverting the police enquiries into all manner of irrelevant paths along the way to satisfy her desire for revenge.

  How did the pieces fit in the puzzle? The prints on the inside of the mobile phone cover where photos of the victims were stored were most definitely a bonus. It had been found in Solomon’s house – and maybe it was Solomon’s, maybe it wasn’t – but why would Danny Ray’s fingerprints be on it? Had he supplied him with the device?

  On the day they’d arrested Solomon Myers, the journalist had had time to go to the flat. Had he known of the arrest? Was the gift of whisky planted to distract them? An assumption, but was it him who’d tried to kill Wilkie? Did he think the detective suspected somehow that he was involved, if so, of what?

  When the team returned, she updated them with the fingerprint news from HQ before asking for their findings. They had Danny’s home address, a property known as The Starlings, on Union Road in Slaithwaite, where it was believed that he lived alone. They had confirmed a private mobile phone number, on which Charley immediately wanted enquiries to find out who he had been ringing and texting, along with a cell site analysis around the times of the murders.

  ‘His car, boss – not his work vehicle – would you believe it’s a grey VW Golf?’ Annie chipped in with the result of her enquiries. ‘And now we have the registered number.’

  ‘Get on to an ANPR operator and research the number urgently,’ Charley said. ‘I want a meeting in half an hour to discuss the arrest strategy.’

  ‘You have a plan?’

  ‘Yes – to make it as painful and public as possible for Danny Ray!’

  Annie’s eyebrows rose. ‘Is it imminent?’

  ‘I can’t risk anyone else being attacked, or word getting out so, yes, it needs to happen sooner rather than later. Even though I think he’s probably more the brains than the brawn behind these recent murders, what we now know is that he is capable of so much more than we had previously been able to prove.’

  Half an hour later, Charley stood in front of the team for the briefing. Sergeant Jack Cooke, who would be receiving the prisoner in the custody suite, had been invited. Fail to plan, plan to fail: her mantra – with everyone and anyone who was likely to come into contact with him in the room, there were to be no su
rprises. Head held high, back straight, she delivered her strategy with a confidence and determination that she hadn’t allowed herself for a long while. She reeled off her requirements to a team who hung on every word.

  ‘I want a uniform arrest team with protective gear. We will follow in once the suspect has been restrained and removed. I want POLSA search teams on standby to move in with me to the inside of the property, but I also want them to search the outside. From today I want surveillance on the house, with CROP men buried in the grounds, if it is deemed necessary. I want Danny Ray located and a mobile unit to follow his every move. Once we’re ready, the decision to strike will be made, his car seized and taken away under cover on a low loader. His place of work needs searching: his office, his desk, his locker. I want no stone unturned. I am hopeful that, as this is our local newspaper, we will get total co-operation from its editor, but I’m not taking any chances so a warrant will be obtained immediately.’

  Charley walked back to her office leaving the officers busy with their personal tasks, which would ensure her instructions were adhered to, to the letter. Annie followed her.

  ‘What’s next,’ she asked eagerly.

  Tears welled up in Charley’s eyes. ‘I just want justice so badly,’ she said, turning to the young officer.

  Annie looked at her quizzically, ‘You OK?’

  Charley cringed inwardly. The guilt was all hers. If only she’d had the courage to do what she so often asked of others: to tell the police all they knew … If only her boss had not brushed her off, but had acted on the revelations. She knew that the fallout from her decisions would be on her conscience for the remainder of her days. She just hoped that, this time, her decisions were untainted by impulse or desperation.

  Her mood spiralling, she turned to her computer. Her smile was forced as she focused on the screen. ‘I’m fine. But I’ve decided to call Danny and invite him in to see me tomorrow in regard to answering his comments in his recent article. If he answers, then we’ll have him on our radar via cell site analysis.’

  As she gazed past Annie and into the incident room, she could see that most of the team sat behind their desks, either gazing at their computer terminals or talking on their telephones, seeking updates or agreements to their requests.

  Her eyes back on Annie as she put her phone to her ear, she listened to the ringing. His mobile went to voicemail, so she left a message suggesting a meeting late the following morning, at a station convenient to him. If he wasn’t on their radar by then, at least she knew he’d be coming in.

  Annie briefly raised her eyebrows at her.

  A few minutes later, Charley’s phone chirped to life. Her mouth went dry and her heartbeat increased. Immediately, she recognised her sergeant’s voice, and a wave of disappointment flashed through her.

  ‘Ray’s vehicle had been flagged up on ANPR as an interest sighting,’ he said. ‘Have you been informed by HQ yet regarding the name they have designated for the operation?’

  ‘No,’ Charley said, the briefest sigh of disappointment in her breath. It took her a moment to regain her composure as she listened to his words regarding the setting up of the command room from where the operation was to be co-ordinated.

  ‘Thank goodness Roper’s left the office,’ said Annie.

  ‘Left?’ replied Charley. Suddenly, she felt more optimistic. ‘Really?’

  ‘I was talking to Becky. Apparently, he’s going straight from some meeting or other for a golfing trip while his office is being refurbished.’

  The smile in Charley’s eyes didn’t go unnoticed.

  ‘So there is a God,’ she said.

  ‘Ah … I get your drift. He won’t be able to argue the cost of the overtime until it’s over?’

  Charley faltered ‘Yes, of course … absolutely!’

  ‘And – bonus –’ her eyes twinkled, ‘that nice, new, young uniformed chief inspector will be in the command room,’ she said, beaming. Charley smiled at the young woman as, fist in the air, Annie pulled an invisible cord. ‘Kerching!’

  More than two hours passed. The teams were sorted and observations were in place.

  The observation team reported back. The Starlings was a large, old, semi-detached house with a lean-to vinery, newly planted. It was surrounded by a walled garden with remnants of whitewash on the south side where a glass house had once stood. The garage door was ancient, dried out and rotten in parts. It was pretty obvious from a quick inspection that no vehicle could possibly be kept inside and, with no car on the driveway, it was also obvious that Danny was out and about in his own vehicle.

  Because of the information that had come to light on the rape, he was deemed to be a threat to the public and, as it was the police’s job to protect the public, it was imperative that they locate and neutralise that threat with an arrest as soon as physically possible. But, with Is to dot and Ts to cross, and with paperwork needing to be duly signed by the correct level of command, a warrant put in place and the threat of the custody clock ticking once they had done so, Charley was more than aware that timing was crucial every step of the way.

  The sound of a text being received on her mobile encouraged her to take a look at the screen. Danny had accepted her offer to meet at the station and suggested eleven a.m. the following day. Directly, she picked up the phone. ‘Can you locate this mobile?’ she asked the cell site team.

  A motorcyclist was the quickest surveillance unit to despatch in the attempt to locate Danny Ray. His car was parked at Blackroyd Foot, Crosland Moor, but on arrival the motorcyclist confirmed that he was nowhere to be seen.

  A dedicated channel was opened up to speak over the airways and the next voice Charley heard was that of the motorcyclist. ‘Do you want me to stay with the car?’

  ‘Yes, please. We have no further instruction other than to keep him under observation,’ came the immediate reply from the control room operator.

  No further news was forthcoming for some time and Charley began to feel more and more discouraged and emotionally drained the longer she sat at her desk waiting for news. She went through the case file with a fine-toothed comb. She could not afford any doubt, slip-ups, or unforeseen ramifications further down the line, not with a journalist of long standing on the local newspaper being involved. With one suspect in the traps, and one of their own publicly vilified, both the local and national newspapers would have a field day at her expense.

  ‘Target seen walking out of a cul-de-sac to his vehicle.’ The news over the airways made her sit up straight. She listened intently as the motorcyclist gave his commentary. From his observation point, he could see Danny sitting in his vehicle. He noted a young woman he knew to be a police officer walk from a house and get into her car, under Danny’s watchful eye. His voice faltered. Charley held her breath. ‘Who is she, Andy?’ she asked, tapping her fingers on the wood veneer. Danny then appeared to follow the police officer’s car at a distance in his own vehicle and the motorcyclist, Andy Day, stayed on their tail. When the police officer’s car turned into the police station yard, Danny did a U-turn and the waiting team were on his tail, to the Bradford Road.

  Unaware of the attention she had been getting, Susan Vine contacted the control room, signing on for duty.

  Danny Ray didn’t go back to his home address, but headed for the woods over the hill and to the stables. The team could see there was a light on inside the house there, but the stable yard was in relative darkness.

  If there was a light on inside the farm house, was Kristine inside, Charley wondered? Her fists clenched. If she asked the team to approach him now, she could risk the operation’s successful conclusion. But could she be putting her friend’s life in danger by allowing him his head?

  The surveillance team reported eyeball on the door. No attempt on Danny’s part was made to knock. Was he watching Kristine? And if so, why? Some twenty minutes later the grey Golf moved off, unaware of the follow. Charley gave a sigh of relief. It was nine p.m. when he was reported to have arrive
d home. He drove his vehicle onto the driveway and went inside his house alone.

  The decision was made that, unless Danny Ray was called out on a job, he had more than likely worked his hours and wasn’t expected to go out again that night. However, his house remained under constant observation. Whilst inside alone, he was no threat to anyone. At midnight, the teams were stood down until four a.m., so they could strike by means of forced entry at four-thirty a.m. Although stood down, a contingent remained in the police station, putting their heads down for a few hours of fitful sleep; going home was not an option taken by many.

  Charley was prepared for her stay in her office. She was close to completing her first murder investigation as the SIO, but she was aware it wasn’t over yet. How could she have been so naïve as to think that, if he had assaulted her – someone he had known all his life, his childhood girlfriend – he would stop there? How many other people had he attacked before and after? The unknown answer didn’t bear thinking about. Was she really such a bad judge of character, or had he been hoodwinking her all her life? How many people could she have saved from trauma by his hand? She couldn’t dwell on that now. All she could think about was making sure she had all the evidence she needed to put him behind bars for good.

  Charley sank back in her chair and shut her eyes. Tomorrow was going to be a very long day. She looked around her dishevelled office and remembered her promise to go and see Winnie. It was too late now, but she’d go as soon as she could.

  Chapter 23

  Even though Charley’s office door was ajar, the room had become unbelievably hot. She was irritated. How were officers supposed to remain focused and wide awake on a night shift when the working environment was akin to a Turkish steam room? It was three in the morning as she looked at herself in the mirror. Her face was pale and drawn and although her trousers hadn’t creased, her shirt was highly crumpled – not surprising, since she’d tossed and turned all night. She stretched out her aching limbs, splashed cold water on her face and ladled water in the palm of her hand to reach the back of her neck, slick with oily sweat. After blotting her skin with paper towels, she sprayed deodorant under her arms and brushed her teeth.