by Anita Waller
Marsden paused and looked around the room. ‘This is the important bit at the moment. That house belonged to Bethan Walters, the student who almost died in the back alley in Eyam. The fire-raiser obviously thought she was there, and I think that was the reason for the fire-bomb at the bottom of the stairs. The front room downstairs was Bethan’s bedroom. I think he had been there earlier, snooping around. We need to saturate that road, find out if anyone saw anything. It only needed a glance through the bay window downstairs to show him it was a bedroom, so he could then plan accordingly. And keep an open mind. I only said he because it’s easier, but it could just as easily have been a woman. Right, I want at least four of you on door-to-door. Dave, you’re in charge, take another three with you, and make it thorough. I believe whoever set this fire killed Anthony Jackson and almost killed Bethan Walters. Let’s get the bugger off the streets.’
Dave Irwin held a thumb up and turned to select three colleagues. He enjoyed door-to-door work and could always get people talking. It was good to know his boss recognised that.
‘And don’t spend all day chatting, Dave,’ Tessa called as she left the room. ‘We need results quickly.’
She pulled her keyboard towards her and brought her screen to life. Then sat and just stared at it. What next?
Why was it so important to kill Bethan Walters? Marsden needed to talk to her again, but maybe at the station, put some pressure on her. Marsden was only guessing, but her guess was that Bethan had to die because the killer had known her, and so presumed she would eventually remember him. Or her.
She pulled up the reports that had already been filed and read them once more. There was nothing new to excite her, to make her think why did we miss that first time around.
She concentrated particularly on the interviews with Bethan Walters but could find nothing that made her stop and think. Was she really unable to remember, or was she holding something back?
Had she really not escorted Anthony Jackson before? Marsden then pulled up the report they had received from the escort agency, where they listed every one of Anthony Jackson’s escorts, and Bethan had been the third one.
Marsden made a note of the previous two girls and picked up the phone.
The agency was helpful, once she had said they would be helpful over the phone or they would have to come down to the station and be helpful.
‘Caroline Boldock and Gaynor Isaacs,’ the disembodied voice said, and then gave their addresses and telephone numbers to a smiling DI.
‘Thank you. I’ll get back to you if I need further information.’
Tessa quickly typed the information into her computer, aware that she might not remember what had been said, and her illegible handwriting wouldn’t help her.
She rang the telephone numbers and made arrangements for the ladies to come down to the station, an hour apart.
Both agreed reluctantly, having became very aware that it wasn’t a request, more an instruction.
Kat recognised that Leon was worrying about their welfare; he would be away from home the following night, leaving three helpless females in the house. All three had burst out laughing when he had said it, causing laughter to come from him as well.
‘Four years we’ve been married, and you don’t know me yet?’ Kat grinned. ‘Get on with you, Leon Rowe. I’m as tough as old boots. Stop worrying, we’ll be okay, we’ve got our secret weapon… Nan.’ She had taken to calling Doris by the name Mouse used, and she was now Nan to both of them.
‘You’ll lock all the doors and windows?’
‘All of them,’ she promised, ‘and set the alarm. We’ll be absolutely fine.’
14
Caroline Boldock gave her name to the desk sergeant and sat down to wait on possibly the most uncomfortable bench she had ever sat on. She read all the notices posted around the small waiting area and slowly realised just how dangerous it was to be alive in these days of drug dealing, burglary, car vandalism and suchlike.
After twenty minutes of continually checking her watch, she approached the sergeant for the second time.
‘Yes, miss,’ he said, knowing exactly what she was going to say.
‘Have they forgotten me?’
‘Oh, I wouldn’t think so, miss. DI Marsden will get to you when she can.’
‘But I need to be on my way soon.’
The smile disappeared from his face. ‘Really? I’m sure DI Marsden will take that into consideration. A note of caution though, Miss…’ he checked his pad, ‘Boldock, I would recommend you don’t voice any complaints to the DI. She’s not known for her patience.’
Caroline returned to her seat and said no more.
A further fifteen minutes passed before the door at the back of the reception area opened. Hannah Granger looked around.
‘Morning, Miss Boldock. Can you follow me please.’
Caroline followed Hannah down a long corridor until they reached the end room. The walls were mud grey, and the large window on one of the walls was blacked out, letting in no light. A table and three chairs took centre stage.
‘Am I in trouble?’ Caroline asked, beginning to feel uncomfortable and nervous.
‘I’m sure I don’t know.’ Hannah smiled. ‘DI Marsden will be with you shortly.’
Hannah and Tessa stood at the observation window and watched Caroline. She was fiddling with her nails, clearly worried. They waited five minutes, then walked into the room.
‘Miss Boldock, Caroline, I’m sorry to keep you waiting. We had a bit of an emergency. I’m DI Tessa Marsden, and this is my colleague, PC Hannah Granger.’ She put her file down on the table and reached across to shake Caroline’s hand.
Tessa pressed the button on the recording equipment, said the names of those present, and then smiled at her victim.
‘Right, Caroline, you’re not in any trouble that I am aware of. We want to talk to you about Anthony Jackson.’
‘O… kay… Who’s Anthony Jackson?’
Tessa and Hannah glanced at each other. ‘You haven’t heard about the man killed in Eyam?’
‘Oh, him! Yes of course I have. I just didn’t recognise his name. It’s not ten o’clock yet, you know, and I’ve had to travel from Sheffield to Chesterfield to get here for nine, so excuse me if I’m a bit slow.’
Tessa tried not to let the grin show. This young lady had a bit of a temper.
‘So,’ Tessa continued, ‘we suspect you may know him as Anthony Parkson.’
There was silence for a few seconds, while Caroline digested the information.
‘My god,’ she said eventually. ‘He’s Anthony Jackson? The dishiest bloke I’ve ever had to escort, and he’s dead?’ Her voice rose marginally higher.
‘I’m afraid so,’ Tessa said, her eyes on the young woman in front of her, watching for signs of unease, lying, withholding information. She saw nothing except shock.
‘Yes. The Newland Escort Agency advised us that you are one of only three girls who provided escort services for Mr Jackson.’
‘You’re making it sound dirty.’ Caroline’s tone had changed. ‘Don’t knock something you know nothing about, DI Marsden. I only provide an escort service, I’m not a prostitute. Some men, and some women, don’t have partners they can take along to functions, and that’s where we step in. We perform the actions of a partner, for the business side of their lives.’
‘You’ve never slept with any of these men?’ Tessa was curious.
‘I didn’t say that. You’re asking about Anthony Parkson… Jackson. I didn’t sleep with him. If any of the others die, then please feel free to interview me again.’
‘So where did you go?’
‘We went to the opening of a gallery, owned by a friend of his. I can’t remember the name of his friend, but the gallery is Poseidon, and it’s on the main road leading out of Matlock Bath. It actually opened on my thirtieth birthday, so I can even be accurate about the date; 23 of May 2016, if that helps.’
‘Thank you,’ Marsden responded, ma
king a note on the piece of paper attached to the front of the file. That confirmed the information given to them by the agency. ‘And afterwards?’
Caroline took a deep breath, then spoke slowly and calmly. ‘He drove me home to Sheffield, and I have no idea what he did after that. It definitely didn’t involve me.’
Marsden gathered her papers together and stood. ‘Interview terminated,’ she said, and switched off the recorder. ‘Thank you for coming in, Miss Boldock. If we need to speak to you again, we’ll let you know.’
Caroline watched as the policewomen walked out of the room. She stood as the young constable who had been to one side all the time, moved to escort her out of the building.
She wasn’t happy. That interview could have been done over the phone, for all the help she had been. She wouldn’t have minded a couple of hours in bed with Anthony Jackson, but it simply hadn’t happened. He’d been the perfect gentleman. Even when he’d disappeared for ten minutes to talk to that quite delicious-looking black man, his words had been, “Susie will keep you company while I just go and have a quick word with Leon.” After his return he hadn’t left her at all until he helped her out of his car at the end of the evening.
Gaynor Isaacs told a very similar story; out to a function and when the function had finished he had driven her home. Her evening out was a thank you party he had organised for his employees to show his gratitude for their hard work. She could remember meeting a couple of pharmacy managers, girls who worked behind the counter, and assorted staff from his main warehouse, but there had been nothing memorable about the evening. He stayed at the function about two and a half hours, then took her home.
Tessa thanked Gaynor for her time, apologised for the long trek out from Sheffield, and sent her on her way.
‘What did you think?’ Tessa and Hannah were taking a break with a cup of coffee and a chocolate digestive.
Hannah thought for a moment. ‘I think they were telling the truth. They had no reason to lie. And Jackson obviously didn’t hire them to sleep with them, so I guess he must have thought Bethan Walters was pretty special.’
‘She is. Stunning to look at when her face isn’t covered in bruises, and very articulate. I can imagine any red-blooded man being attracted to her.’ Tessa picked up her cup, her face thoughtful.
‘It’s so puzzling. Why didn’t the killer drive them to their destination? He could have killed them both there, and they wouldn’t have been found for some time. Instead they’re killed in a back alley that runs behind a pharmacy that’s not one of Jackson’s pharmacies. And yet Rowe is denying knowing him. Says he knows of him, because he’s in the same business, but that’s all.’
‘What business?’ Hannah threw the thought into the ring.
‘Pharmaceutical. You’re thinking…?’
‘I’m thinking pharmaceutical in a different way. Having a string of pharmacies is a bloody good cover for non-prescription drugs.’
‘Turf war?’
‘I don’t know.’ Hannah looked down at her hands. ‘We haven’t found any logical reason for his death, so maybe he was killed as a warning to somebody else.’
‘Leon Rowe? That’s a scary thought. Beth, who is clearly on somebody’s hit list, is staying at his home.’ She looked at Hannah, thoughts racing through her mind. ‘I need you to check every last little thing about Leon Rowe. Everything. If there’s anything the slightest bit dodgy, we’ll bring him in.’
Hannah nodded, and stood. She picked up her cup and left.
Brian held up the bottle of Glenfiddich, and Leon shook his head. ‘No, I’m good thanks. Until this Jackson business is put to bed, I need to stay sober. Have you heard anything from anywhere?’
Brian shook his head. ‘Not a thing. It’s gone very quiet. Too quiet, if you ask me. For months he’s been wanting to talk terms with us, wanting in, and to be honest I was starting to think it made sense. He’d a lot of contacts, and a lot of investment cash. I was almost at the point of thinking you and I needed to talk, to consider our options. This could have been massive for us.’
Leon nodded. ‘Exactly my thoughts. So who the hell has taken him out? Who’s the third arm? There’s nobody else around here until you start getting up towards Newcastle and Freddie Greggs’s set-up, and he’s getting too old to be expanding. He was making noises about retiring, so I can’t think he’s behind it. Somebody down south?’
Brian poured himself a small measure of the malt whisky, before answering. ‘Could it be somebody in Jackson’s organisation?’
‘It could, I suppose, but he was adamant he was a one man business. He hadn’t even got a partner, a Brian of his own. He was gob-smacked that we work so closely together, he said we could never trust each other fully, not in this business.’ Leon looked at Brian. ‘I trust you. There’s nothing you don’t know about me. I have to have complete trust in you.’
‘It’s always been like that, ever since we were kids. No need to think it will ever stop. God, Leon, we’ve been together for ever,’ he said with a grin. ‘It’s the main reason I didn’t want Jackson coming in with us; our relationship, whether working or social, is special, and he would have changed the dynamics. But I was seriously playing with the idea he could come in on a limited deal, I’d even made some notes to talk it over with you. I’ve destroyed them, in view of what happened. Didn’t want any nosy police turning up doing a search and finding any connection to Anthony Jackson.’
‘And Terry? Has he been paid?’
‘Well paid. He said the bodies would only surface if somebody took a St Bernard into Ecclesall Woods. Let’s hope he’s right. I’ve given him a bit more responsibility as well, that always makes sure they keep their mouths shut.’
‘Good. I’ll make sure I drop in at George Reynolds’ house, tell his wife I’m looking for him because he’s not answering his phone, and then give her some cash to keep her going. They’ve a couple of kids, so I don’t want her being without money.’
Leon left the distribution hub feeling marginally better. Brian was always the logical, forward-thinking one; even if he didn’t have charisma, or imagination, he was unfailingly reliable, and Leon never had to worry about either the legitimate business or the darker one.
Leon headed towards Sheffield United’s ground; Beth had said her home was close by the ground, and he wanted to see the damage for himself. He guessed he would find it easily, and he did.
It was a mess. It was still enclosed within crime scene tape, and he pulled up further along the road. The roof had caved in, but the basic structure of the building was intact, even though it was ingrained with soot. He hoped the two girls had died quickly, they would have been terrified if not. He got out of the car for a short while, and walked around the building. He didn’t stay long but drove home, deeply thoughtful. Beth and Nan weren’t going anywhere for a while.
15
‘I need to get my car back. I’m not happy it being down there, and me a million miles away,’ Mouse said. She bit into her scone and sighed. ‘These are wonderful, Nan.’
‘When are you meeting the insurance people?’ Doris asked.
‘Tomorrow. Ten o’clock at my very poorly house. Kat’s taking me down, because I don’t want you in that place. It’s got to be dangerous and you’re a doddering old woman.’
Doris hit Mouse with the tea towel, and Kat spluttered her tea all over the table.
‘Right,’ Doris said, a glint in her eye. ‘I’ll go with you, and I’ll drive that thing you call a car back here. You’re not well enough to drive it yet, that shoulder is still giving you problems.’
Mouse stood and walked around the table, bent and kissed Doris on the top of her head. ‘You’re a star,’ she said. ‘I’d have been fine driving it as long as I didn’t have to go around any corners. You won’t speed in it, will you?’
Doris laughed. ‘Mouse, Minnie’s a Mini that was built some time in the stone age. And when do I go faster than national limits?’
‘All the time.’
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‘Okay, maybe a little bit, I’ll give you that.’
‘Kat, can we follow her home?’
‘Of course. Heaven forbid we should have a Lewis Hamilton travelling back from Sheffield.’
Doris smiled and said nothing further on the subject.
The area around Bramall Lane was always busy, thronged with thousands of people on match days, but at half past two in the morning it was devoid of humans, just the occasional cat slinking along in the shadows, or an infrequent dog bark.
The night was warm and he wished he hadn’t had to wear black. He had walked for around half a mile, carrying his backpack and prepared to run if he saw any sign of a police car. The moon had helped; it was a mere crescent, emitting very little light. It was almost as if he had planned it that way, but this night was happening because the silly bitch hadn’t been in the house when he had razed it.
And now, by calling in a favour, he had found her car just a minute’s walk away from her destroyed house. He’d no idea where she was, but eventually he guessed she would need the little red Mini. He could wait.
He’d had to shell out a fair amount of money for the motion-sensor bomb, and the instructions had been explicit. They had to be. It would hardly have fitted in with his long term plans to have blown himself up while trying to destroy Bethan Walters.
He cursed the fact that the Mini was parked underneath a street lamp; Sheffield’s street lighting was notoriously bad since they had replaced all the old sodium lamps, and was only efficient if parked directly underneath the light; the Mini was lit up so brightly it glowed. He stepped into a gennel and opened his backpack out of sight of anyone. He took the device out of the bag, held it for a moment and then moved towards the street again. A cat brushed against his jeans and he froze. He gave it a kick and the cat ran.