Payback
Page 30
The case against Danny Ray was building at great pace. He was interviewed about recent events in the order they’d occurred. First, the murder and hanging of Kylie Rogers.
He would neither answer any questions nor look at the interviewing officers. Ricky-Lee threatened to forcibly turn him around, but was advised strongly against the action by Danny’s barrister.
‘If you do that, there will be, without doubt, an allegation forthcoming of assault by Mr Ray,’ said Donald Thompson in warning.
Undeterred, the interviewing officers moved on to question Danny about the murder of Stewart Johnson. But nothing changed in his demeanour. The hit-and-run in respect of DC Wilkie Connor was also met with silence. Mike and Ricky-Lee questioned Danny Ray tirelessly. They asked if the photographs on his wall were those of intended victims, and the aerial photos taken by the drone in his garage, but they received nothing back in response.
There was one question that Charley would have liked him to answer, but, as with the rest: ‘Are the brown brogues yours?’ was met with a wall of silence.
The pair of interviewers unloaded all the evidence they had in order to give him an opportunity to respond, but he steadfastly refused.
‘Charge him with all offences and we’ll take him back to court to be remanded in custody until trial,’ said Charley.
She collaborated with Prison Liaison to ensure that Solomon Myers and Danny Ray didn’t meet within the system. She was told it was unlikely in any case, as Solomon Myers would remain in solitary.
Danny’s barrister applied for bail at court, stating that his client would be pleading not guilty. Bail was refused.
‘When all the evidence is laid out before him, he may well change his mind, or there again he may want his last stand to be in a courtroom.’
He had tried to wrong-foot the investigation, and with all his experience had expected to succeed, but he had tripped himself up on more than one occasion. He’d underestimated Charley Mann, just as he had done once before. Her biggest regret was that she hadn’t stepped up to the mark back then and put her faith in her wider police family. It was fruitless to go back to that now. However, she would ensure he’d never again be able to hurt anyone in the way he had hurt her and his other victims.
The media were already in a frenzy and Danny Ray’s trial would no doubt make national news. Over the next few days, weeks and months Charley knew the prosecution file would continue to build; there would be no loose ends, she would make sure of that. All enquiries would be concluded in a timely manner and everything would be disclosed to the defence. The paper file would probably be as tall as her when it was complete, but it would be well worth the effort to see him sent down for good. It would probably be a year before the Crown Court trial, but she knew this would pass quickly and, in the meantime, she, DI Charley Mann, would have to deal with many more crimes.
The Old Moor Cock was where the team, already drunk on success, planned to meet for a drink. Just as she was leaving, PC Susan Vine joined her in the incident room. For a moment she was taken aback to see her own photograph on the boards that Danny Ray had created.
‘Gosh, you never know who you’re dealing with do you?’ she said.
‘No, you don’t, so remember: never assume anything and you won’t go far wrong. If things don’t feel right, or look right, there’s probably a “rabbit off”, as my dad used to say,’ said Charley. ‘Gut feeling people like to call it, don’t they? But me, I just think it’s down to natural instinct and being observant.’
Just then, Ricky-Lee burst into the incident room and whipped his jacket from behind his chair. ‘They’ve already started a tab in your name, boss,’ he shouted. His smile was infectious. He stopped and turned back at the door. ‘You coming, Sue?’ He winked at Charley. ‘I think I’m in there,’ he mock whispered.
She could hear the sound of laughter from where she stood in the pub car park, where the assault had happened so many years ago. But her feeling of triumph was not to last long. Chilled by the voice of someone coming up behind her, she had to force herself to turn. Eyes as dark as midnight stared back at her.
‘You’ve been asking about Winnie, I understand?’ said Roper. ‘She’s asking for you.’
‘Me?’
‘Yes, you,’ he said.
‘Tell me,’ she said. ‘The drone that killed Eddie. Was it really one of ours?’
Roper looked shocked. ‘Was the drone one of ours? That’s too far-fetched even for you,’ he said. ‘And, by the way, if you’re thinking of reporting me for the indecent images, there is no crime to answer, I didn’t pass them on. And, for your information, I’ve handed in my ticket today. So my pension is secure.’
Charley tapped on the door and waited. She knocked again, louder, like a quick double rap on a drum. There was still no reply. She put the key in the lock and reached for the door handle. Darkened by years of use, the door opened easily. There was no sound from inside the house. She entered cautiously and smelt perfume. Blue Grass, the perfume her dad had always bought for her mother.
In the small hallway, she found herself transported to another time, another place, her childhood home. Straight ahead she saw the stairs and she instinctively knew the hall to her right led to the lounge. Stepping onto the threadbare carpet, she peered around the half-closed door. The room was lit dimly by a table lamp, complete with a fringed shade, which shed just enough light for her to make out the room’s furnishings. There were pictures on the bureau, she picked one up. The sight of her dad’s young, smiling face, large as life, stared back at her. His image and the perfume overwhelmed her and she reached for a chair to sit for a moment. On a side table, she saw another framed picture and she picked it up. It was of a young couple: Jack and Winnie in each other’s arms. They could have been no more than teenagers. The sight made her gasp. She touched her dad’s face and a surge of love rippled through her.
Elbow on the chair arm, Charley rested her chin on her hand, trying to sort out what was happening. She had never seen this picture before. Why did Winnie have a picture of the young Jack Mann and why were they together? Her eyes scanned the room, unbelievably similar to the one of her childhood, even down to the snub-armed easy chair, covered in a scarlet velvet darkened by age, which had been her father’s favourite at home.
Hearing a faint thud upstairs, she walked quietly back into the hallway and looked up the staircase to see what she thought was a shadow crossing the landing. Charley opened her mouth to shout, ‘Hey, Winnie’, but the words stuck in her throat.
Reaching the top of the stairs she saw that the streetlight that shone from the outside through the small landing window may well have played tricks: all was quiet and still. Winnie’s flowered apron was draped over the bannister along with her outdoor coat, a scarf and a felt hat. Charley didn’t try to rationalise her snooping, but let herself into the bedroom, where the old lady lay on her back, bed covers neatly tucking her in, safe and sound. Her head was slightly raised on an embroidered pillow, her thinning white hair coiled in pinned curls around her face. Her soft pink lips were slightly open and her expression was peaceful.
As she could have predicted, Winnie’s bedroom was neat and tidy. Only a dressing table set sat on her table, a brush and a mirror, together with Winnie’s signature red lipstick. She noticed a shiny edge of paper protruding from the pages of the book on the bedside table: a dog-eared photograph. Curious, Charley pulled it out. It caught her completely by surprise: Jack with Charley, a babe in arms, he laughing into the camera’s eye.
Why hadn’t Winnie shared their close relationship with her? Had she feared that Charley would pepper her with questions until she’d revealed something that she didn’t want to tell? Charley slipped the photograph back inside the book. She had seen more than Winnie had wanted her to see – and the more she knew, the less she understood.
Charley leant her back against the slats of the bedside chair, realising that the woman whom she had known for so much of her life, who had b
een like a second mother to her, might have plenty of reason to hate her father. Yet, she had obviously loved him enough to let him go…
Long shadows crept across the room, and Winnie slept on. Charley knew she would stay with her as long as was needed. There was no point in waking her. There would be plenty of time to talk when she was stronger. For now, she watched her sleep.
‘We did it, Winnie. We got a result,’ she whispered into the darkness. ‘And Roper’s not all he seemed, but I guess you suspected that too. I hope the new Commander will stay for a while and not just want to make sweeping changes then move on. Just like in life, we need some stability at Peel Street.’
THE END
Published by The Dome Press, 2020
Copyright © R.C. Bridgestock 2020
The moral right of RC Bridgestock to be recognised as the author
of this work has been asserted in accordance with the
Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
All rights reserved.
No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored or transmitted in any form without the express written permission of the publisher.
This is a work of fiction. All characters, organisations and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library
ISBN: 9781912534227
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