The Burning Man

by Edward Figg

  Baxter’s voice could clearly be heard out in the hallway. He came into the kitchen, looked at Tanner, then at Hollingsworth’s white dust-covered hair. His eyes went to the shotgun which had now been placed on the table and then up to the hole in the ceiling.

  He blew out through his lips, making a whistling sound. ‘It was Wilson who held-up the service station,’ he said. ‘I tried to warn you he was armed, but your phone went dead.’

  Hollingsworth pointed to the crushed heap of electronics that lay on the floor. ‘It was ringing until he used it as a football.’ He heaved a big sigh. ‘I don’t mind telling you — I came bloody close to a change of underpants. My heart’s still pounding. We’re glad you turned up when you did though. I thought he was using the same bluff he pulled at Singh’s place with that carrot stunt.’

  ‘It couldn’t have been Wilson that pulled that off because he was still in Derby. He didn’t get down here until Wednesday. Did you read all the briefing notes Derby sent?’

  Hollingsworth admitted only briefly scanning them. ‘Not all of them. No.’

  His thoughts went back to when he first saw Wilson standing in front of him. It suddenly dawned on him. ‘Now I understand why it didn’t fit him. He was wearing Clarence’s costume. Clarence was the one that did Singh’s shop.’ He shook his head. ‘Well, bugger me. No wonder Clarence was nervous when we came to the door. He thought we’d come to nick him. That’s why he looked so relieved when we asked for Wilson.’

  ‘If Wilson had have kept on running and not come back here, they both might have gotten away with it.’ added Baxter.

  ‘Two birds with one stone. Not bad for a morning’s work,’ said PC Tanner, as he slipped the cash box into an evidence bag. He’d already bagged up the shotgun.

  ‘I think we can safely leave this lot to wrap things up here. You two deserve some breakfast.’ He looked at his watch. The cafeteria would not be open for another hour yet. ‘What do you say, Corner Café? It’s on me. Full English?’

  ‘You’ll get no arguments from me,’ said Tanner.

  ‘I’ve lost my appetite,’ added Hollingsworth, as he stood gazing up at the hole in the ceiling. ‘But I’ll try to force something down.’

  ‘I bet you will,’ said Baxter, with a smile. ‘I can’t imagine you refusing food.’

  As the three walked along the garden path, the sun appeared over the rooftops. It was shaping up to be a typical autumn day. The air was crisp with a slight chill in the wind. After earlier hearing the sirens, residents that had been tucked up snug and warm in their beds thirty minutes ago were now out in their gardens, standing in their dressing gowns watching all the activity and speculating to one another over garden walls.

  The trio ducked under the overhanging branch — the same one they walked beneath when they came in earlier. Then it was too dark to notice, but now it was visible. Hollingsworth looked at the tree and its lemons and smiled. ‘So, that drunken old sod was right after all. One up for Gummy!’

  Chapter 17

  Monday 7:35 a.m.

  Marcia Kirby had a noticeable spring in her step and was humming to herself as she walked across the parking area into the Kent Street Police Station that morning. After she’d climbed the stairs to the second floor, she headed directly to Carter’s office. She thought about the two days she’d spent with Dave Penrose.

  That weekend, they had spent time walking hand in hand together along the cliff tops at Dover. She recalled the first evening when, like children, they had walked barefoot along the water’s edge. The sea had been so still with only the occasional small wave flopping lazily onto the beach. They picked up pebbles and skipped them across the surface of the sea. Kirby also remembered their time spent making love in his flat down by the harbour.

  Saturday morning, just after breakfast, they drove out of Dover, through the historical village of Temple Ewell and up Lydden Hill. Nearing the top, they found the sign directing them to Wootton. With a bit of guidance from one of the locals, they found Compton Furniture tucked away down a narrow lane. It looked like a fortress. A high brick wall surrounded it, with a security camera fixed above the main entrance. ‘So, they got a security camera. Wonder if they’ve got more on the inside?’ Penrose had said, as they had driven slowly passed.

  It was Kirby who spotted it. ‘There, at the end of the drive. It’s a red pickup!’

  Before heading back to Kingsport on Sunday afternoon, they sat in the bright sunshine, high on the clifftops, looking down on the terminal and watching the ferries set out across the channel to France. It all seemed so long ago.

  Now, standing in Carter’s office with Dave Lynch and Mike Reid, Kirby said, ‘We could even go in posing as a prospective customer because they had a sign outside saying, Viewing by Appointment Only. Later, when we went back to the flat, we did this Google Earth search.’

  She pointed to Carter’s computer screen. ‘As you can see, the satellite view shows six buildings and this house. The fields surrounding the farm belong to another farmer, and he’s got animals grazing on it. So, what are they doing behind those walls?’ She took a breath. ‘It's registered to a business called Boutique Tables. They specialise in making them from exotic timbers for the high-end market. Everything from banquet to coffee tables. I've checked them out; they've got a webpage. The smallest coffee table will set you back at least eight hundred quid.’

  ‘Expensive coffee,’ said Reid.

  She took out her notebook and read from it. ‘It’s owned by a Spanish national by the name of Rafael Garcia. The business address is in Barcelona. It’s also his home address. We’ve checked him out with Interpol — nothing. He’s a well-respected businessman; squeaky clean.’

  ‘Well, with that camera they could well be running a drugs lab in one of those buildings. And by Viewing by Appointment it would mean that whoever went there would have watchers with them,’ said Dave Lynch, looking at the images on the screen. ‘Or maybe it is just there as a normal security measure.’ He stepped back from the desk and sat down.

  ‘You say you saw a red pickup. Did you see the bike?’ asked Reid, who was standing beside her.

  ‘Because of the camera, we thought it best we didn’t stop. We didn’t want to alert any watchers. We just drove slowly past the gates. It was hard to see in because there was a building in the way. I did see a red pickup but no signs of a bike. Dave’s going to have a word with his boss, DI Marchbanks, and see if they can put some kind of discreet surveillance on the place.’

  ‘They're using this business as a front,’ said Carter. He looked at the three of them, slowly stroking his chin. ‘I could let DCI Carver know, but what good is that to us? He’d likely go in mob-handed. No, on second thoughts I’ll leave Carver right out of it. We want the man that drives that red pickup. He’s our main suspect. Carver can have what’s left.’

  ‘What about this Rafael Garcia character?’ asked Reid.

  ‘Remember, Mike, we’re looking for an Irish man, not a Spaniard,’

  ‘Yes, I know that, boss, but what I meant was where is he now? The Spaniard I mean.’

  Carter looked back at the images on the screen and said. ‘Good point. Get someone to check with immigration. Get his travel details.’ Picking up the file, he pulled out a single sheet of paper. ‘Just one more thing before you go. I got the Mary Lampton autopsy report back this morning. The blow to the head would have first rendered her unconscious. She was then injected with a lethal dose of Fentanyl, causing death. It was four times the strength that put Ajmal Hakim to sleep. With that strength inside her, she would have been dead in minutes. She also had a considerable amount of alcohol in her system but not enough to render her incapable. Her liver showed severe cirrhosis. She was living on borrowed time.’ He returned the paper to file and tossed it on the desk.

  ‘So, we now know for sure that he committed both murders,’ said Kirby.

  Yes, Marcia. We need to redouble our efforts on trying to find him. He’s out there somewhere. Ok, that’
s about it for the moment,’ Carter said. ‘I’ve got a press release to prepare. After that, we’ll go and see Eades. I want both of you in on that one.’ He looked up at the clock. ‘Let’s make that in about an hour.’

  After the pair had filed out of the room, Carter stood, picked up another file and walked across toward Hollingsworth’s desk.

  When Luke Hollingsworth entered the CID office that same morning, everyone stood up and applauded. They patted him on the back and told him it was a good result. A little later, the unsuspecting Hollingsworth was summoned down to the cafeteria by the manageress. It turned out that the service station attendant, Carl Rigby, was a cousin of hers and, knowing Hollingsworth’s love for food and in front of half the station, she presented him with a gift-wrapped fried egg sandwich all neatly tied up with a red ribbon.

  He now sat perched on the edge of Jill Richardson’s desk relating his weekend exploits to her. ‘Being on the wrong end of a shotgun is something I don’t want to do again,’ he said. ‘It was bloody scary I can tell you. Mind you, when they brought Clarence downstairs, he was as white as a bleeding sheet. Little wonder really, especially after nearly having your balls shot off.’

  ‘Wilson could be in for a nice long stretch,’ she said. ‘Once he’s done his time for the robbery, they’ll take him back to face the other charges at Derby.’

  Richardson’s phone buzzed. She reached across her desk and picked it up. After a few moments, she said, ‘That's brilliant news, thanks.’ She put down the phone and smiled. ‘Well, this should make your day, Luke. That was the lab. The plastic raincoat that Bear found in the dumpster had Clarence Evans’s prints all over it. They also found fibres on the shoes. They match the fibres taken from Evans’s living room carpet. The rest of the house had linoleum. So that's pretty conclusive they’re his.’

  ‘Great. Evans will have trouble wangling his way out of that one.’ A look of concern spread across his face. ‘I should have picked up on it back at the house when I first saw him wearing that bloody costume. It never dawned on me at the time. I should have remembered what Singh had said about the man that robbed him. He had a Welsh accent. Wilson’s was from the north of the country.’

  Carter walked up to Hollingsworth and tossed the file on the desk. ‘I hope you're not resting on your laurels, Luke, because Superintendent Watkins wants some action on these. The local press has been asking questions. Over the last three months, there have been ten break-ins on our patch alone. Have a look at them a bit more closely, will you, Luke, and see if there's anything that ties them together. There’s been a few outside our area that match our profile so don't worry too much about those. Let them investigate their own. It’s all here in the file. Every bit of stuff taken was brand new. Hi-Fi systems, tellies, computers and the like. Quite a few of the items were still boxed up. The owners hadn’t even had time to unpack them. Whoever was responsible for stealing these, knew they’d been recently purchased, so they may have had inside information. Look into that side of it. They’ve all been taking place during daylight hours while the owners are away from the house.’

  Hollingsworth picked it up and opened it. ‘Yes, I did see some of these reports. Uniform has been dealing with the statements. I believe PCs Hobson and Miller have been doing a bit of work on them. I’ll have a word with them and see if they’ve picked up on anything.’

  Carter walked away. After a few steps, he stopped, turned, and said, ‘Good result this morning, Luke. Superintendent Watkins asked me to pass on her congratulation. Well done.’

  ****

  Detective Constable Bill Turner took the steps leading up to the building two at a time, pushed open the glass door, and entered the lobby. He made his way over to the lift and rode it up to the second floor, stepped out and followed the directional signs along the passageway to the laboratory. Near the end of the passage, he found what he was seeking. The notice on the door read, Restricted Area. Next to the keypad on the wall, another one read, Please Ring for Attention. He pressed the button and waited. After a short time, he heard footsteps approaching from behind the frosted glass doors. A woman opened it. She was wearing a white lab coat. Turner recognised her. She was one of the technicians he’d seen working on the excavation site at Oare.

  She took off her safety glasses. ‘Yes, can I help you?’ She smiled.

  ‘I’m DC Turner,’ he said showing her his ID. ‘I called to see Tim Bryant. He left me a message; said he wanted to see me.’

  ‘Ah, yes. DC Turner? The remains found from over at Oare. Your case I take it? Very interesting. Tim’s got it all ready for you. I’m Laura, by the way, Laura Townsend, his second IC.’ She held out her hand. Turner shook it.

  ‘Nice to meet you, Laura,’ he said. ‘I remember seeing you at the dig.’ He looked around. ‘There seems to have been a lot of changes since I was last here.’

  ‘Yes, we’re having a total makeover. When were you last here?’

  ‘Eighteen months ago, at least. You were in the other building then. The one across the road.’

  ‘When the three forces combine, we’ll have to handle three times the amount of forensics, so we needed more space. Anyway, come through. We’ll show you what we’ve pieced together. Tim’s in here.’

  She held her ID card up to the sensor on the wall. The door clicked open. He followed her through.

  She started to explain. ‘Since moving out of the old building, each section now has its dedicated space. The old building, if you remember from your last visit, was cramped. We had to combine all the departments in two small areas. Now there are departments on all three floors, we can get results much faster. There’s a biology section for the examination of biological evidence and the development of DNA profiles; a toxicology section for the examination of blood and urine for ascertaining the presence of drugs, alcohol, and other foreign substances. We have a fingerprint section, a trace evidence section, and a firearms section. We do ballistics firing down in the basement. The chemistry section is used mainly for the examination of narcotics. The arson, forgery, and vehicle examinations are still carried out in the old building across the road.’

  ‘Very impressive,’ he said.

  ‘Ah, here comes Tim.’

  ‘How did you get on with Professor Thorp?’ he asked, as he got near. ‘She sent her report through to me. No doubt you got one too. She told me she dropped in to see you.’

  ‘Yes, she did come in. A very knowledgeable lady that’s for sure. Yes, I got a copy, but I’m afraid it won’t be of much use to us. We had a nice long chat over coffee, but those twenty-five years rule out looking at missing persons from that era. They weren’t too good at record keeping back then and a lot of the paper records from that time have either been lost or shredded.’

  ‘Well, we can help you. Can’t we Laura?’ He gave a smug look and winked at her. ‘Come over here and take a look at what we’ve taken from that trench — I think you’ll be quite surprised.’ They walked over to a bench full of sealed plastic exhibit bags. ‘We took forty-eight pieces from it. Mostly tiny fragments of woollen material and small bits of metal and bits of leather.’

  Turner walked along the bench, picking up the items and examining them.

  ‘From what we’ve managed to establish so far,’ said Bryant, picking up one of the bags and looking at it. ‘is that your man died sometime between 1917 and 1919!’

  ‘Is this what all these bits tell you?’ said Turner. ‘And from these, you’ve narrowed it down to that short a period?’ He raised his eyebrows. ‘Professor Thorp said twenty-five years. How come you pinned it down to two years?’

  ‘You don’t look convinced,’ said Laura Townsend.

  Bryant answered Turner’s question. ‘Yes, we got it down to a year. It’s because of what we found. Bear with me while I go through it,’ he said. ‘Firstly, we have these wool fibres. We had quite a time identifying them. We now know where the wool has come from. We can even tell you it came from a factory in Leeds. They made army unifor
ms. It wasn’t until Laura here managed to enhance an inscription on one of the finds that it all started to fall into place. From that, we found we now have most of the story.’

  ‘Inscription. What inscription?’ said Turner.

  ‘This was amongst the remains.’ He took out a partly corroded metal disc from one of the exhibit bags. ‘It’s the back of a pocket watch. A fob.’ He handed it to Turner.

  Turner examined it closely. ‘I don’t see anything on it.’

  Laura Townsend said, ‘We used a special technique that enabled us to remove the corrosion, layer by layer, allowing us to get to the base. It was then cleaned and magnified.’ She picked up a file from the bench top and took out a photo and handed it to him. ‘It’s not all that clear, but you can make out most of what’s been inscribed on it.’

  Turner looked at it and held it close to his face, then moved it away. ‘I can just make out an L and a small letter, a ‘T' then an R and there’s a BE something, and another T, then space, then what looks like an L and an A, then something and a G. There’s a date which looks like 1916.’ He screwed up his eyes, trying to focus on the other words. ‘The letters RF and an O or maybe a C? What’s that below it? It looks like a poorly drawn symbol from a playing card. A club maybe? Or possibly even a cloverleaf?

  ‘We think that could be a maple leaf,’ she said.

  He looked closer and slowly nodded. ‘It’s a maple leaf. Is that what you reckon? It’s possible?’

  ‘We played a game of scientific scrabble and filled in the missing blank letters, and we’re now sure that the remains found in the trench are those of Lieutenant Robert Lang. The letters, RFC stand for Royal Flying Corps.’

  Turner repeated the words. ‘Royal Flying Corps?’

  Townsend continued. ‘He was Lieutenant Robert Lang, a Canadian in the Royal Flying Corps. And, being an officer, I think we can safely say with all certainty he could well have been a pilot. The fob watch was maybe a present when he got commissioned in 1916. Or even a birthday.’