Eyes bore into Chaddick. They all knew what would follow – his dismissal.
Sam waited until he left the room, then gave an overview of the investigation and the reasons why they were looking at the circumstances surrounding the deaths of Bill Redwood, Scott Green, Davy Swan and Jimmy Marshall.
‘Let’s take one thing at a time. Malvern Close. Three dead outside including one of our own, two dead inside, one shot by us.’
She paced the stage; all eyes followed her.
‘I spoke with the Chief and Deputy Chief earlier. I’ve told them we will review the footage from the helicopter, the negotiator tapes and everything else regarding the police actions at the scene.’
Sam sensed the collective slump; nobody wanted that job.
‘Today.’
The sighs were audible.
Sam stopped in the centre of the room and let the silence become deafening before she spoke again.
‘You are on one of the biggest investigations in the history of the force. The eyes of the country are watching you. There is no room for error, no room for half-baked concentration. If you get a shit job…tough. Shit jobs have got to be done and done effectively and efficiently. We can’t afford to miss anything.’
She let her words sink in before continuing.
‘Be under no illusions. I am not convinced the shooter is Zac Williams. There are inconsistencies with the forensic evidence. Now what I am about to tell you does not leave this room.’
Bums shuffled on seats; backs straightened.
‘We have a witness who throws doubt on Williams being the shooter although in fairness, I’m far from convinced that the witness is 100% truthful.’
Sam started pacing the stage.
‘It may be the witness is more frightened of other people than of us.’
Sam turned to Lester Stephenson, the man who visited Tara Paxman not long after the shooting. ‘We know she is a high-end prostitute so is this man just a punter or something more sinister? I want background checks on him and I want to know everything there is to know about Tara Paxman.’
Sam paused, her head on the point of exploding, a balloon overfilled with information not air about to burst.
She glanced at Shane ‘Tucky’ Walton, hard-backed A4 notebook in hand, ready to write down her instructions.
‘I want the FLOs to establish why all victims were in the vicinity. We need to establish if they were random targets, wrong place, wrong time. Remember, the more we know about the victim, the more we know about the killer.’
All eyes remained on her, heads nodding.
‘I want house to house to establish if anyone saw anything unusual in the days leading up to the shootings, if they saw anything unusual before they were evacuated from the area.
I want us to speak to the Domestic Abuse team, see how often we’ve been called to 2 Malvern Close.’
Sam paused, took a breath, gathered her thoughts.
‘I want Zac Williams’ computer examining. Check his search history. Where and when did he get those newspaper articles? If you haven’t seen the newspapers in question, there are photos of them in the Room.’
Sam looked around. Everyone would share the success if everything went well; she would be out on a limb if it all went wrong.
‘Moving on. I want a fingertip search around the car where Swan and Marshall were found. If someone else was present let’s see if they left anything behind.’
Tucky wiggled his wrist.
‘We’ll let Detective Sergeant Walton have a breather. His shorthand’s not as good as it used to be.’
A ripple of laughter, like a Mexican wave, worked its way around the room.
Shane looked up from his pad, smiled at Sam’s sarcasm.
‘Ready Shane?’
He nodded.
‘Scott Green. Any updates on CCTV?’
Sergeant Russell Willings spoke quickly: ‘Green sprinted straight in front of the bus. He was being chased and his pursuer can be seen tripping over the pushchair. As you know I have a statement from the mother. CCTV didn’t capture his face.’
‘Build?’
‘Stocky. Would fit Swan or Marshall.’
‘Anything from the CCTV on the bus?’ Sam asked.
‘Not at the moment,’ Russell said.
She paused, looked around the room, everyone waiting for her next words.
‘Be aware that you may be in and around the property in Malvern Close for some time. Media interest will be intense. They won’t be able to get near the house but they’ll have their helicopters up, maybe even drones. They’ll come scurrying around corners with their cameras, like lurchers chasing rabbits.’
A laugh and nods of agreement went around the search team.
‘Don’t get caught in their telephoto lenses doing something you would rather the world and their wife didn’t see in the newspaper or tv news…so that’s smoking, eating, scratching your backside…you all know the drill. Look professional at all times.’
Briefing finished she called the Detective Chief Inspector in charge of Seaton St George CID and informed him of Chaddick’s comments about Ed.
Sam explained her proposed course of action.
Ten minutes later Chaddick was standing in her office. No doubt he had a good idea what was coming next.
‘I’m not having the likes of you publicly slagging off Ed Whelan and I’m not having people on this inquiry thinking I don’t stick to my threats.’
Sam watched Chaddick’s face burn like an overheating engine.
She stood up, put her coat on. ‘You’re off the inquiry. I’ve spoken to your DCI. He’s expecting you back pronto.’
Sam walked past him without another word. No point in launching into a tirade. Mission accomplished as far as he was concerned.
Chapter 39
‘So, the accountant,’ Harry Pullman said, breathing in the damp sea air. ‘Maybe I can help you with that retirement fund.’
They had both walked across the car park.
‘How’s that?’ Ed said, pulling on a blue woollen hat.
‘You tell me where Tara is.’
‘Why would I do that?’
‘Five grand. No questions asked.'
‘Why do you want to know?’
Harry Pullman’s smile had something unpleasant at the edges. ‘Five grand loses you the right to ask, but let’s just say the accountant’s employer might be interested in her whereabouts.’
Ed stared at The Victoria Hotel.
Or you want to know where she lives.
‘How would I get the money?’
‘I’ll pay it into any account you want.’
Ed ambled across the car park back towards ‘Doris’, hands in pockets, deep in thought.
‘My taxi’s here in five,’ Pullman shouted. ‘You better decide sharpish.’
Ed turned and walked back.
‘Ten grand.’
He put his hand in his pocket, pulled out a slip of paper, and handed it to Pullman.
Harry examined it. A handwritten note, in blue ink: account number, sort code, mobile number.
‘You had that ready you bent bastard.’
‘We both knew what you were coming here for. You want to know where she is; it’ll cost you ten grand. But don’t take too long. She won’t be where she is forever.’
‘How the fuck did you get an account in the name of Chris Waddle?’
Ed smiled. Years ago, as a young detective, all of his informants had the names of Newcastle United players.
‘Easy when you know how. And before you ask, the answer’s no. You get nothing until I’ve got the cash. Ring that number when the money’s in and I’ll tell you where she is.’
Sam had travelled to see Paul Adams’ wife with the three post mortems of the apparent suicides complete by lunchtime.
Swan and Marshall had no physical injuries, just smoke inhalation in their lungs. Sam wanted toxicology reports to establish if there were traces of any substances in either body
.
Scott Green had suffered multiple fractures to his right arm, ribs, and right leg and a head injury had caused massive bleeding on the brain. The injuries together resulted in a heart attack.
Erica Adams, thin, arms pasty white and with red blotches all over her face, was sitting in an armchair leaving the grey fabric settee free for Sam.
Sam doubted she’d slept since Paul’s death.
‘Nobody’s told me what he was doing at that house,’ Erica said. ‘Is it a big secret?’
Sam had known the question was coming. The answer might be better heard from someone close to the couple but lying was not an option.
‘It’s not a secret Erica. Truth is we don’t know why he was there. Not really.’
‘What does that mean? Who lives there?’
Erica’s questions had the frantic air of a parent looking for a lost a child. Without drawing breath, she continued. ‘On television it said a young woman lived there. Why did she say Paul was there? It can’t have been police business if you don’t know so what business was it?’
‘We’re still checking.’
Erica stood up and took her tall, gaunt frame to the window. ‘I’m not stupid. If he wasn’t there as a detective, was he sleeping with her?’
Sam couldn’t find it in herself to forgive Paul Adams in that moment.
‘I don’t know.’
Erica turned and lunged forward, face contorted, lips trembling.
‘Does she say they were sleeping together,’ she shouted.
Sam looked up from the settee.
‘Yes. I’m sorry.’
‘Thank you!’ Erica’s bean-pole body sagged. ‘Thank you for being honest. More than that bastard was.’
‘I’m sorry I’m having to tell you this.’
Erica nodded; her shoulders heaved under the weight of the tears that finally fell.
When Sam stood up the raised palm of Erica’s outstretched arm almost hit her nose. Sam took the hint, sat back down.
‘How long?’ Erica demanded.
Sam slowly shook her head, voice quiet. ‘I don’t know.’
‘How long,’ Erica screamed, the blotches on her cheeks gone, her whole face now a mass of red.
‘Not long according to the girl.’
Erica’s next two questions came in a whisper.
‘What’s she like, the girl? Have you seen her?’
‘I’ve met her…but I’m not sure what you want me to say’
‘Is she attractive?’ Erica asked, voice a little louder.
‘That’s subjective Erica and not helpful. Some people would say she’s attractive, some wouldn’t. Same goes for you and me.’
Erica sat back down, took a tissue out of the box on the floor, blew her nose.
‘Excuse me.’
She bowed her head, clasped her hands, and cried.
After a few minutes she cleared her throat.
‘Sorry to take it out on you.’
Sam relaxed into the back of the settee. ‘That’s okay.’
‘Would you like some tea?’ Erica asked.
‘I’m fine thanks but…can I ask some questions. I don’t want to be insensitive but it might help.’
Erica nodded.
‘How was Paul these last few months? Was he himself?’
‘He seemed tired, stressed, but I thought it was the job not that he had another woman.’
Tears ran down her face.
Sam waited while Erica blew her nose into a tissue and took another out of the box to wipe her eyes.
‘None of this is your fault,’ Erica voice shaky. ‘Paul told me how good you were. Great detective, great boss he used to say.’
Sam’s nod was barely noticeable as Erica’s raw-rimmed eyes travelled up and down her.
‘He never told me you were gorgeous as well.’
Sam shuffled in her seat. Her cheeks were burning now.
‘Ask me anything you want,’ Erica said now. ‘My husband’s dead. Whatever he was doing before he died doesn’t really matter does it? Not like I can scream and swear at him is it, tell him to get out, tell him he’s destroyed his marriage? It’s cost him his life.’
Erica suddenly jumped up and rushed from the room, her ‘sorry’ a barely audible whisper as she flew out of the door.
Sam heard retching; a tap running. She sat and waited.
When Erica Adams returned she was holding a blue fluffy towel against her face.
‘I suppose I can have pink towels now,’ she said, sitting down. ‘Paul would never have pink towels in the house. Too girlie he used to say.’
Sam let Erica finish, waited until the towel was on her thighs, fingers playing with it like a child curling the edge of a comfort blanket.
‘Suppose I can do what I want now. Only me here.’
Sam felt sorry for her, was touched by her pain, but she couldn’t be her counsellor, couldn’t even be her FLO. Sam needed information and she needed it now.
‘You said Paul seemed tired, stressed. Any idea what that was about?’
‘Not really.’
Sam scanned the birthday cards on the windowsill, eyes honing in on the big one in the middle that said, ‘To the Woman I Love’.
Fucking hell Paul what you were thinking?
Erica saw Sam looking at the cards.
‘Crazy day of all days for it to happen, but I’ll never forget the date will I?’
Sam shook her head. She had no words.
‘Did you have any money worries?’ she asked, needing to get Erica focused.
‘No.’ Erica dabbed at her eyes, shook her head. ‘Quite the opposite really. We always had plenty and we never skimped. Paul was always taking me to nice places, smart restaurants and lovely hotels for weekends away. Whenever I asked if we were okay money wise, he just used to laugh and say ‘of course’.’
‘Did Paul look after the finances in the house?’
‘Yes.’ Erica smiled, glanced at her parents’ wedding photograph on the occasional table. ‘Not like my mother. She took dad’s wages off him every week and then gave him pocket money.’
Sam nodded. Shock, stress, and emotion often caused people to babble about nothing in particular. She would let Erica continue, her questions could wait a few seconds.
‘Dad was still getting pocket money the day he retired,’ Erica said. ‘Mam looked after the money. The chancellor with the iron fist dad used to call her.’
‘But you didn’t take after her, running the finances?’
‘No, I just left it to Paul. He always said he’d look after me and I believed him. He was always surprising me. Nights out, fancy holidays.’
Erica stood and picked up a shoe box Sam had already noticed by the side of the armchair.
‘I found this at the bottom of his washing basket,’ Erica said. ‘I wanted to smell his clothes.’
Sam didn’t need words. Her face asked the question.
‘We had separate baskets. Paul didn’t like his clothes mixed up with mine.’
She passed the green ‘Crockett and Jones’ shoe box to Sam and sat back down.
It felt heavier than a pair of shoes.
Sam remembered reading somewhere that Daniel Craig wore a pair of Crockett and Jones in ‘Spectre’, the James Bond movie that had just been released.
She put the box on her lap, lifted the lid, and clamped her mouth tight to keep her face from showing emotion.
‘Have you seen this before?’
Erica, hands clasped again, shook her head.
‘Do you know where he got it?’
Erica’s hands shot up to her eyes as the tears returned, her breathing so fast Sam thought she was hyperventilating.
‘What’s he done? Where’s that from? Who’s he mixed up with?’ the words a torrent.
Sam was staring at a safety deposit box. It wasn’t long and thin, it wasn’t made of metal and it didn’t need two keys to open it, but it was full of neatly stacked, banded bundles of red fifty pound notes.
&n
bsp; Chapter 40
‘Can we just go for a walk?’ Tara had pleaded. ‘I’m getting cabin fever in here.’
Bev had switched off the tape. An hour’s break wouldn’t do either of them any harm.
‘It’s beautiful,’ Tara was saying now as they turned right out of the pub. ‘I could be really happy here.’
The footpath was damp, the mist low over the fell tops, but it had stopped raining.
Bev looked around.
‘In the middle of nowhere? Not for me thanks.’
Tara spread out her arms. ‘Quiet, fresh air and best of all, a gangster-free zone.’
Bev smiled. Tara might be brash, cocky even, but she was the one with a price on her head.
They walked past a primary school, gaudy paintings stuck to the windows, the perimeter fence newly varnished and heavy with moisture.
‘Imagine going there,’ Tara said. ‘Beats the shit hole I went to. Not a needle in sight I bet. We had dealers at the school gates selling tenner bags of heroin.’
They continued towards Glenridding.
‘What was your childhood like then?’ Bev asked.
‘Usual I suppose.’
Bev put her hand on Tara’s. Both stopped, faced each other.
‘Dealers at the school gate? Not what I’d call usual.’
‘Usual for me and my mates. My mum was on her own but she did her best… at the beginning.’
Tara walked, linked arms with Bev.
‘I never met my father,’ she said. ‘Don’t know anything about him. My mother wouldn’t talk about him.’
Tara looked up at the fells to her right, the mist moving like a slow motion sea.
‘Your mother have boyfriends?’ Bev said.
They walked a few steps, Bev waiting for an answer, Tara considering what to say.
‘A few. Only one interfered with me if that’s what you mean.’
Bev hadn’t expected that answer but when it came she wasn’t surprised. Too many years in the Job to be surprised by anything anymore.
‘Want to talk about it?’
‘Not really.’ Tara turned her head, looked straight ahead. Bev did the same.
They walked in silence for about twenty metres.
‘I was thirteen.’ Tara’s voice was steady, quiet.
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