Suspect (The Mark Pemberton Cases Book 2)

by Nicholas Rhea

  ‘The snag is that a murder enquiry can take all kinds of directions and it can resurrect all kinds of matters which might sometimes be best left alone. But I’ll be honest with you, Mrs Marsden, I don’t know what else will emerge. No one does. If Pollard and Sykes can’t account for their movements at the material times, then they will be subjected to some intense scrutiny and questioning about the current murders — and the Millgate killing is bound to crop up, with Vic’s part in it. It’s likely that Newton’s troublesome brother will raise the issue again, probably through the gutter press. He won’t miss that opportunity! Quite honestly, I have no idea how the enquiry will develop — we take each day as it comes, Mrs Marsden — but teams of detectives will be unearthing all manner of new evidence. The fact that Sykes and Pollard have used sawn-off shotguns in the past, and that the present spate of killings all involve sawn-off shotguns, means that the names of those men will continue to appear until they have been eliminated. I know that Mr Pemberton will tell Mr Hadley what is likely to happen, but we felt you should know too.’

  ‘I appreciate your visit, Miss Cashmore. I wish other departments would be so considerate. I will make sure those who should know do know.’

  ‘Thanks,’ Lorraine said. ‘You’ve been a great help. You do know that Mr Pemberton is submitting weekly reports on Vic’s progress? Any help we can receive about his state of mind and general health, particularly with reference to his continued employment in the CID, would be appreciated. But I must stress I am not asking for any breach of your code of conduct about confidentiality.’

  ‘Call again, Miss Cashmore. If I can help, I will. My first priority is to the welfare and health of Inspector Hadley.’

  ‘So is mine.’ Lorraine realised she could not pursue any further questions at this juncture. ‘But I must leave now, we have a lot of work ahead of us.’

  She left the humourless Mrs Marsden and returned to the incident room knowing that she had not abstracted any worthwhile information from the welfare officer, but she had established contact and that was important. Lorraine departed with a distinct feeling that she had not antagonised the woman. She would find a reason to visit her again, perhaps in a more relaxed atmosphere.

  Perhaps a well-organised ‘casual’ visit to the Hadley household by Lorraine, coupled with a meeting of Mrs Marsden at the same time, might well produce some useful background information? She might even discover his mental state at the time of Millgate.

  Lorraine returned to the incident room in time for the morning CID conference and noted that Hadley was in attendance. Like all members of the investigation, Hadley was expected to listen to the discussions which inevitably produced new, mainly minor, lines of enquiry, and answers to nagging questions. As the officer in charge of the statement readers, he would see every piece of evidence and be aware of every twist and turn in the hunt for the motor cycling killer.

  One important piece of information which emerged at the morning conference was that the PNC, the Police National Computer, had been asked to provide a print-out of the names of everyone in the north-east of England who owned a modern black motor cycle. This would take several hours — the computer had to search every recorded machine colour by colour, and then print out details of those black ones whose owners’ addresses, identified via their post codes, were within the area in question. There could be thousands of them — and then would follow the mammoth task of interviewing every single owner to establish their whereabouts at the times of all three murders.

  So far as the tyre actions were concerned, DCs Pearson and Addyman had traced all outlets for Italian motor-cycle tyres in this region. They were now examining records for recent purchases, although it was discovered that some machines did come already fitted with that make. But it was progress.

  There had been no useful outcome of the house-to-house enquiries following the Scott death, although further enquiries around Cressford emphasised his long-concealed paedophilic tendencies. Because he was dead, the villagers were prepared to talk to the police. Further instances of his assaults upon children were revealed but no one could explain why he had chosen to sleep out-of-doors that Saturday night. His route to the camping site remained unknown and no one reported seeing him riding upon any of the local bus services. It was likely he had walked the cross-country route between Cressford and Kesterdale, a trek of perhaps two and a half hours.

  While endeavours were being made to catalogue Scott’s past life, Hardisty was coming under close scrutiny by Langbarugh police. Their enquiries showed beyond doubt that he was an active dealer in narcotics, mainly in hard drugs such as heroin and cocaine, but he was always willing to supply a spot of cannabis or other soft drugs if requested — and for a price. Several convictions for drugs-related offences had not deterred Hardisty from his enterprise and he had earned a good living from his dealing; he had a modest semi-detached house although one rumour indicated that he owned a villa in Spain. The CID could not substantiate that one.

  Pearle’s business dealings were also being scrupulously analysed; detectives with fraud squad experience and accountancy skills were examining his business records while others were visiting his friends and business contacts, one question being whether or not Pearle had any known enemies who might resort to such drastic action. To date, none had been found. Enquiries were continuing.

  Perhaps the most important outcome of recent investigations, so far as Pemberton was personally concerned, was the re-emergence of the names of Pollard and Sykes. They, along with Gill, had been quizzed at length about their whereabouts at the time of each murder and none could be regarded as a front runner in the suspect stakes. Each had an alibi for all three murders — but those alibis would be meticulously checked. Now released from prison thanks to remission for good conduct, both Sykes and Pollard were back in Fawneswick and Pemberton announced his intention to talk to them. He felt they were more important than Gill, their getaway driver.

  Meanwhile, he continued to address his audience, mindful of the fact that Hadley was among them, but the early morning raids had enabled him to bring the Pollard-Sykes link into the open. Thus this morning’s raids had paid dividends.

  ‘I’ll do their interviews myself,’ he told them without any reference to Hadley’s past involvement with the convicts. ‘Later today. I want to meet these villains. I want to ask them about the market for sawn-off shotguns, where they obtained theirs, who’s likely to be doctoring these weapons now.’

  What he did not reveal was that his real purpose was to discover what they could remember about the shooting of Joss Newton. If their past reaction was any guide, they would be willing to expound their views on that.

  When the CID conference was over, the next task for Pemberton was to host the daily news conference at 10.00am; this morning’s news would concentrate on the search for the motor cycle rider, for anyone who had seen Scott between his home and the scene of his murder and for any discarded sawn-off shotgun which might have been thrown into a river or pond or been dumped in some unusual place. Places as varied as dustbins, rubbish tips, lakes, ponds, rivers and hedges had to be considered and he asked the reports to highlight their search for the weapon. He produced photographs of similar weapons which were distributed to the waiting news reporters and these were supported by a request that if any member of the public found such a weapon, they should not handle it but should immediately notify their local police station.

  When the main conferences of the day were safely over, Lorraine came into his office, closed the door and told Pemberton of her visit to the force welfare officer, referring to its singular lack of success. She did feel, however, that she had established some kind of rapport with Mrs Marsden which might prove useful.

  Then she announced she was heading for the Langbarugh incident room for the daily liaison visit.

  ‘And I’m going to interview Pollard and Sykes,’ Pemberton told her. ‘I’ll take a sergeant with me. I want an excuse to ask them about Hadley’s behaviour a
t Millgate.’

  ‘Tread carefully. We mustn’t let Hadley know we’re investigating him again, not yet. And make sure Newton’s big brother doesn’t find out. If I can help, I should be back before lunch.’ She smiled and left him to his work.

  Half an hour later, with Detective Sergeant Dave Watson as his driver, Mark Pemberton set off to visit Fawneswick to interview Pollard and Sykes. He had selected Watson because he had been a detective constable at the time of the Millgate raid — he’d been with Swanson in the disguised van.

  ‘Do you think they’ll talk to us?’ Pemberton asked Watson as they moved out of Rainesbury in the official CID car.

  ‘They might, but I can’t see them grassing on whoever shortens shotguns, sir. It’s not just anybody who can safely shorten a barrel — it needs a good deal of skill.’

  ‘If I can get them to talk about Inspector Hadley, that might loosen their tongues, eh?’

  ‘Oh, they’ll talk about that, sir, they would love to revive that episode. My sergeant at the time, Phil Swanson, wasn’t happy about Hadley’s actions, not with the outcome.’

  ‘Tell me why,’ invited Pemberton.

  ‘He smelt a cover-up, sir, because of Hadley’s rank.’

  ‘His rank?’

  ‘Well, he was an inspector and he shot a man. I must say I wasn’t too happy either. I’m still not convinced that Newton was armed, you know. There never was a satisfactory explanation about the guns and the number of cartridges recovered. It smacked of a cover-up, sir, rank looking after rank and all that. No one has ever said what really happened.’

  Having listened to the comments of his colleagues who had been present at the time, and, having known that Pollard had watched Swanson’s approach that morning, Watson then outlined his version of the Millgate supermarket incident. His views, not surprisingly, corresponded with those of his superior, Detective Sergeant, now Detective Inspector, Swanson. Watson did believe that Newton was unarmed when he was shot by Hadley even though he admitted he had not seen Newton’s arrival on the forecourt. He believed that Pollard had discarded and thrown aside the shotgun which was later attributed to Newton. He did imply, however, that it was Swanson who, from an unknown source, had received the tip-off about the raid and that Swanson wanted to gain credit for the arrests…but the shooting of Newton had overshadowed everything else. What was intended to be a carefully planned police operation with a successful outcome had developed into a cause célèbre.

  ‘I wasn’t on the case, Dave, as you know, and I do have a very open mind, but I’d like to hear what these two rogues have to tell us,’ Pemberton explained.

  ‘You’re opening the Millgate job then?’ Watson asked with obvious interest.

  ‘No, it’s over.’ Pemberton had to disappoint him. ‘But I want to see what these characters know about sawn-off shotguns and whether they can help me in any way with solving the series of murders.’

  By twelve noon, Pemberton and Swanson had learned that their two targets were at the Harbour Inn playing pool. Quizzing them separately might not be so simple, not without arresting them, and there were no grounds for that.

  ‘Let’s see what transpires,’ said Pemberton as he entered the seaside pub. It was busy with tourists and regulars, and he could see a thirty-year-old thick-set individual with tattoos along both arms, about to take a shot. Watson identified him as Pollard, Sykes being a thinner character with a gold ear-ring in his left ear and dark, greasy hair worn long over his collar.

  ‘Drinks first, Dave. I’m having a pint — what’s yours?’

  ‘I’m driving, sir, so an apple juice.’ Pemberton paid, ordered a round of ham sandwiches each, and then settled down at a table adjoining the pool-playing area. He pretended not to notice the two players, allowing them to finish their game before standing up to say, ‘Roger Pollard, isn’t it?’

  ‘Who’s asking?’

  ‘Pemberton. Detective Superintendent, and this is DS Watson.’

  ‘You looking for me then? I had your lot round this morning, crack of dawn, looking for bloody guns… They’ll never be off our backs now, will they, not since we got done for that supermarket job.’

  ‘Drink?’ invited Pemberton. ‘Both of you?’

  ‘Got nothing to lose — right. Two pints.’

  And as Watson went off to obtain the drinks, the two surly men joined Pemberton at the table.

  ‘This morning’s raids…’ Pemberton began. ‘It was part of a murder enquiry — everybody who’s been convicted of offences involving shotguns, throughout the whole north-east, got a call. We weren’t targeting you two. It was a much wider operation, bigger than you realise. We raided hundreds of houses. It was for elimination purposes-and you two were eliminated from the murder. That’s good news, isn’t it?’

  ‘If they’d come and talked to us, they’d have learned that,’ said Pollard.

  ‘If they’d come and talked, they’d have learned that,’ echoed Sykes.

  ‘It wouldn’t have worked in every case — there’s some right hard cases to contend with. Anyway, I just wanted to ask your help, being a murder enquiry.’

  ‘Help? From us?’ grinned Pollard. ‘God, Bob, the filth must be hard up, asking us for help!’

  ‘They must be hard up, asking us for help,’ grinned Sykes.

  ‘Shotguns,’ said Pemberton. ‘Three men have been shot with sawn-off shotguns in recent days. What we want to know is who is shortening the barrels, where the guns are coming from.’

  ‘Search me, I don’t know,’ said Pollard. ‘I’ve never touched a sodding shotgun since Millgate. Didn’t have much opportunity, did I? Being banged up like I was. Like we was, me and Bob.’

  ‘We never touched no guns, we was banged up,’ said Sykes.

  ‘So where did you get your guns from?’ persisted Pemberton. ‘The ones you used at Millgate?’

  ‘Bought ’em in a pub, off of this chap, two hundred each. No questions asked. No idea who he was. I told this to your lot at the time.’

  ‘Bought ’em off a chap in the pub,’ said Sykes.

  ‘How many did you buy?’

  ‘How many? Two. You know that.’

  ‘So where did Newton get his gun from?’

  ‘Newton? Him that was shot by your lot? He wasn’t with us, I keep saying that. There was me, Bob and Shaun. Three of us, all got sent down. I never knew that Newton, Mr Pemberton, he was never with us, not part of our gang.’

  ‘He wasn’t with us, Mr Pemberton,’ echoed Sykes.

  Pollard went on. ‘He never had a gun, I kept telling ’em that an’ all. Shot in cold blood, he was. Like a bloody rat, Mr Pemberton. Innocent as the day he was born, just walked on to the forecourt to get his bairns something for breakfast and bang, his life went, snuffed out like a candle, he was. As quick as that. Bob fired some shots, yeah, he admitted that, but not at anybody, up in the air, frighteners they were. Newton didn’t fire no shots, he had no gun, Mr Pemberton. God’s honest truth. That gun they said was his, well, it was mine, the one I chucked away.’

  ‘Frighteners we fired, he was snuffed out like a candle, gone, just like that,’ said Sykes.

  ‘Did you see him enter the forecourt, Roger?’

  ‘No, I heard a bang, a shot, and there he was, lying flat out. Dead.’

  ‘He was lying flat out, dead,’ came the echo.

  ‘And his gun? Did you see him carry a gun?’ pressed Pemberton.

  ‘Never saw him with a shooter, Mr Pemberton,’ beamed Pollard. ‘God’s honest truth.’

  ‘He never had no shooter, Mr Pemberton, God’ll swear to the truth,’ smiled Sykes.

  ‘You were out of his sight!’ snapped Pemberton. ‘You, Bob, you were behind the security van, you couldn’t see Newton from there!’

  ‘Was I?’ asked Sykes. ‘Well, I’ll be buggered!’

  ‘How many were on that raid, Roger?’ Pemberton asked the more intelligent of the pair.

  ‘Me, Bob and young Shaun, he was the getaway driver. Like I said. Didn
’t getaway very far, did he?’ and he chuckled.

  ‘Nobody else?’

  ‘No, nobody.’

  ‘No, nobody,’ repeated Sykes.

  ‘So who tipped the police off, then? Our lads knew you were going to do the job, when and where, and the right time. They were waiting.’

  ‘Don’t we know…no idea, Mr Pemberton. No idea at all…nobody could have known, we never said nowt to nobody, did we, Bob?’

  ‘Never said nowt to nobody,’ echoed Bob.

  ‘Newton was a thief, gentlemen,’ said Pemberton. ‘We never caught him, but we knew he was thieving, cash, always cash.’

  ‘Not that day he wasn’t, he was nowt to do with us, Mr Pemberton. Your gun-happy Inspector what’s-his-name shot him because he was there, no other reason. All that crap about Newton going to shoot a detective, well, it was all crap. I said so in court and I’ll say it again, and I don’t care what the enquiries said. It was a cover-up, you mark my words. That gun was mine, Mr Pemberton, and I don’t care who knows. A bloody cover-up for murder, Mr Pemberton.’

  ‘A bloody cover-up, it was,’ added Sykes.

  ‘Who organised the raid, Roger?’

  ‘Organised it? Me and Bob. There was no organising to do, was there? You just watch the time when the money van comes every week, we knew their changes, different drops an’ that, and we worked out when they were due at Millgate.’

  ‘We worked out when they was due,’ smiled Sykes.

  ‘Then we set out to nobble it. Got Shaun to be the getaway. We nearly got away — except you lot was waiting with guns.’

  ‘You was waiting with guns,’ scowled Sykes.

  ‘Me and Bob would never grass,’ said Pollard. ‘And Shaun was reliable, he never knew what he was volunteering to do until last minute. He’d never grass anyway. No, we’d never be grasses. Not never, not us.’

  ‘We’d never grass,’ said Sykes.