Falling (Inspector Walter Darriteau cases Book 10)

by David Carter

  Greg blew hard and bent over and clasped his knees. He was spent and gone. When he could speak, he pleaded, ‘Get me out of here,’ offering his hand.

  Martin said, ‘No funny business. You get me?’

  Morrell gasped and nodded, ‘Yeah, just get me out of this muck before it sets.’

  That was a fair point. Maybe in another hour he would be stuck forever, and a pneumatic drill would be needed, taking care not to massacre his toes.

  Martin grinned at his prisoner. Perhaps he should leave him there until reinforcements arrived. The sound of sirens floated across the city, though it was hard to tell from which direction. Police and ambulance people had arrived outside Kersey House, with more officers coming in from the main road. Maybe it was time to get the killer out. Martin leant forward and stuck out his hand.

  Morrell exhaled hard, reached over until his cold hand met Martin’s hot one. Martin went beyond the hand and grabbed Morrell’s wrist, and with one big pull he yanked him free, the wet surface letting out a deep squelch. Morrell’s once flash footwear were spat out for the last time, as he staggered, panting, onto dry gravel.

  Martin didn’t give the guy a second. He whipped him round, took out cuffs, linked his wrists together behind his back, and clipped up. Three uniforms had made their way from the road. They’d each climbed the metal see-through fence and were coming closer, calling out, ‘You okay, there?’ as they arrived on scene.

  One of them stared down at the wrecked foundations.

  ‘Jeez, someone’s made a mess of that.’

  Martin nodded towards Morrell and pointed at his filthy feet.

  ‘Do you want us to take him back to the nick?’

  ‘Good thinking. I’m heading back to see how my oppo’s getting on,’ pointing over his shoulder. ‘Don’t let him escape.’

  ‘Never going to happen,’ and the three guys took hold of Morrell and marched him back towards the shops and offices, and the big fence that needed climbing, back to where they’d left their vehicles.

  Martin turned round and glanced at the concrete base. There was no way he was going to risk skipping across that. He jogged round the footprint of the building, leapt up and over the high fence as if it were nothing, adrenalin flowing strong, into human disposal territory, and on past the curious cats. They’d been joined by a third mog, an impressive individual busy on ablutions.

  Martin scrambled over the cold metal poles, leaving blood traces, leaping into the playground, scooting past the nodding horse, and on to the last hurdle. He jumped up and over and was back in the grounds of Kersey. Blue lights were flashing, ambulance and police, in time to see paramedics closing the ambulance rear doors.

  Jenny saw him coming and said, ‘How did you get on?’

  ‘Success. One man cuffed and in custody, on his way to base. And the guy?’ nodding at the pulling out ambulance.

  ‘Serious injury, lost a lot of blood, could even die, so they said.’

  ‘Let’s hope not. Other than that, a good night’s work, I reckon,’ said Martin.

  Jenny nodded and said, ‘Look at this lot,’ showing him the bag’s contents.

  ‘What did he think he was doing?’

  ‘Heaven knows, but it wasn’t good. Come on, let’s get to the car,’ and they retraced their steps past the bin store and sleeping wheelie bins, a watching rat, and a small crowd of staring people who’d gathered outside the front entrance. On past another gaggle of dog walkers hanging round on the pavement, eager to know what was happening.

  ‘Just a burglar,’ said Martin, ‘caught and in custody, nothing to worry about, it’s safe to go home,’ and they all nodded and muttered well done, and dispersed and drifted away, as the two officers retreated to the car. Hunger pains kicked in. Going without dinner was not good prep for any kind of city obstacle course.

  Back at the Ford, even at that hour, some over-zealous traffic bod had stuck a ticket on the windscreen.

  ‘Give me strength,’ mumbled Jenny. Not that it would get paid. One line to the council would sort that.

  They jumped in, and Jenny started up.

  Martin said, ‘Well done, kid.’

  She glanced at him and smiled.

  ‘Well done to you, too. Pretty impressive over the fencing.’

  ‘Thanks,’ he said, appreciating the compliment. ‘Army training; always knew it would come in handy one day.’

  The Ford zipped away. It still stank of fried fish and chips, and that made them hungrier than ever.

  She noticed his bloody hands and grazed palms.

  ‘You need that dressing.’

  ‘It’s nothing.’

  ‘I’ll get the plasters out when we get back.’

  He didn’t answer, didn’t want to make a fuss. But it was cool she’d noticed.

  Sixty-Five

  The following morning everyone was in early. The place was abuzz. It was bound to be a big day. Decision day; and it got off to a great start. On his desk, Walter found a report from forensics confirming the second DNA found on the piece of blue linen belonged to George Gornall. No doubt about it.

  Both Gornall and Fisher could be placed close to the aqueduct, with Fisher positioned on top of it. Add to that, Jago Wilderton’s written testimony that fifteen years before, both men had removed Kelly Jones’ body from the Plough Lane house, and had taken it to Malpas, to bury in a shallow grave. The evidence was mounting and the case grew stronger.

  But topping that was the arrest of Gregory Morrell. He was charged with the murder of Shane Fellday, and the attempted murder of Ciaran Webb. The latest medical bulletins reported he would live, but only after an extended stay in the Countess of Chester Hospital. Morrell would also be charged with resisting arrest and attempting GBH on two serving officers.

  The official papers were prepared, and emailed to the busy Crown Prosecution Service office covering the Mersey Cheshire region, over in Walker House, Exchange Flags, Liverpool.

  As ever, there would be an anxious wait while the CPS considered approving the prosecutions the Chester Police had suggested and requested. Darren returned at half-past eleven, looking pleased with himself.

  He sat on the edge of Walter’s desk and said, ‘I have a bit of a bonus.’

  ‘Go on,’ said Walter, sitting up straight.

  Darren set two evidence bags on the desk, one larger than the other. He pointed to the small one and said, ‘Those scrapings of soil I took last night from the tyres of George Gornall’s Volkswagen SUV. And that one,’ nudging the other, ‘I collected this morning from the lay-by you mentioned, close to the steps leading up to the towpath.’

  ‘Good work,’ said Walter, comparing the two, and nodding and saying, ‘They could well be the same.’

  ‘I agree.’

  ‘And the bonus is?’ said Karen, grinning.

  ‘The bonus, sarge, is this...’ and he took out his mobile and scrolled through numerous photos of tyre tracks taken in the lay-by. ‘There were a lot of different ones, but I reckon there’s a good chance there’s a match. That VW is a heavy beast and would have squelched its presence into any soft ground.’

  ‘Could be,’ mumbled Walter.

  Darren looked happy and said, ‘And for good measure, these pics I took of the VW tyres half an hour ago on Gornall’s drive.’

  Karen recalled the mizzle the weather people said fell on that fateful night, enabling the VW to leave its fingerprints. Or as good as.

  Darren said, ‘Forensics will do a better job than I can. Suggest they examine the VW as soon as...’

  ‘Agreed,’ said Walter. ‘Organise that, and get the soil samples to the lab as soon as poss.’

  Darren nodded, grabbed the evidence, and made his way out.

  Karen said, ‘What do you think?’

  ‘I think that as Fisher has already admitted he was there, and says Gornall was there too, plus he’s named this Morrell character as being present, I’d be amazed if the CPS did anything but approve a murder charge for all three. They
are all responsible regardless of who actually pushed Fellday off.’

  ‘Agreed, but what about Jago Wilderton?’

  Walter sighed and said, ‘Yes, that’s the tricky one. We want him as a prosecuting witness, but I’d like to nail him too.’

  Karen nodded and said, ‘He’s in this up to his neck, and has been going back thirty years. If he’s to be believed, he saw Kelly Jones being murdered. Said and did nothing when she was removed and illegally buried, thus aiding and abetting the whole business, covering up numerous crimes. He didn’t report anything. Even if her death was accidental, Jago knew Gornall and Fisher were heading to Plough Lane to murder the poor girl. He’s party to all that. That’s not the action of an innocent senior legal man, is it?’

  ‘Correct, but Mrs West is ultra-keen to make sure our case against Gornall, Fisher, and Morrell is rock solid. If that means Jago slipping off the hook, I think they’ll think that’s a price worth paying.’

  ‘And you don’t?’

  ‘What do you think? Certainly not! If he gets off with this, we’ll still have to deal and work with the guy, knowing he’s been involved with at least two deaths, and possibly three. You want that?’

  Karen pulled a face and said, ‘No, the whole thing stinks. But I can see their reasoning. A bird in hand, and all that.’

  ‘A bird in hand usually means one or two others fly away to feed again. But we’ll know soon enough,’ said Walter, taking a call.

  Karen left the building to buy bottled water and grapes.

  Walter re-routed the call to someone else, glad of the thinking time, as his new mobile burst into life. It was always singing and burbling and burping and interrupting, and it was loud. He hadn’t figured out how to tone it down, and preferred the old one.

  He glanced round the office, expecting to see staring eyes, but people were missing or yaddering on the phone, or staring at screens, and paid him no attention.

  There was a message fresh in. Walter took a sly look. It was from Maturo Contacto. He called the message up and read it fast. It was from a big woman called Wendy from up Wirral way. Eight words only. I would like to know more about you!

  How strange that eight words from a total stranger could be so exciting. He turned the phone off, not wanting to hear more loud burps. Later, alone at home, he might respond. The question was, did he want to know more about Wendy from the Wirral? Life was short. What’s the point in not exploring every avenue? What was to be lost in at least answering? Wendy was in for a reply, even if it took a couple of cans of black stuff before he pinged his answer.

  Walter and Wendy, and he imagined those names stretched across the top of the windscreen on his old Ford Cortina from decades before. Walter and Wendy, Wendy and Walter, it had a ring to it.

  Darren returned with another box of doughnuts. Satan in sugar. Temptation on the eyes and tongue, and one he could never resist. ‘Okay,’ Walter mumbled, ‘just this once,’ picking out the smallest one, for he might need to get into shape.

  DOCUMENTS ARRIVED BY email from the CPS an hour later. They approved the prosecution for all three men, Gornall, Fisher and Morrell, for the murder of Shane Fellday, and also for Gornall and Fisher to face charges of illegally disposing of Kelly Jones’ body by burial. Morrell would also face an array of additional charges, including attempted murder. The CPS added they waited to hear from Chester Police regarding Jago Wilderton’s involvement and potential prosecution.

  They could have added with great interest, seeing as they all knew Jago personally, and had done for years, and his father before him, and to have potentially serious charges hovering over the man, a guy who could be considered as almost one of their own, was a unique situation.

  Another hour passed and Walter was called to see Mrs West.

  ‘Well?’ she said, beckoning to the visitor’s chair. ‘So far, so good, you think?’

  ‘Yes,’ he said, ‘very good,’ rubbing his hastily shaved chin. But he couldn’t resist adding, ‘Jago? What about him?’

  She pursed her lips and shook her head. It was not an outright “no” shake, more of an ongoing signal of uncertainty.

  ‘You know the score, Walter. The CPS will always want the easy prosecutions for the most serious offences nailed down first. They will not jeopardise that by prosecuting Jago for being caught up in it all.’

  ‘Is that what you think his involvement is?’

  ‘It looks that way. You bring solid evidence to the table and I’m with you all the way.’

  Walter nodded and said, ‘You know what they’ll say, don’t you?’

  ‘I don’t know who “they” are, but I assume you mean some misguided people will say that we let Jago off the hook because he was part of the legal establishment, part of our club, so to speak. But you and I know that is not the case. Let’s face it, Walter, he’s less likely to testify against the others if he’s standing in the dock beside them, and we can’t afford that.’

  ‘I guess, but the search for evidence goes on.’

  ‘Yes. As I said before, give me rock solid evidence, and Jago gets charged. That clear?’

  Walter nodded and said, ‘What about him now?’

  ‘He can go. No alternative. Do you want to tell him or shall I send Karen to do it?’

  ‘We’ll both do it,’ he said, getting up and leaving Mrs West to her political infighting, boss-worshiping, and plea-bargaining, in-house business he was grateful he didn’t have to worry about.

  Karen was disappointed but understood, saying, ‘I’m not surprised.’

  They ambled across to the interview room. Braxton had just returned after grabbing three hour’s kip. Both men looked knackered. Braxton couldn’t stop himself from moaning, ‘This isn’t acceptable, Inspector.’

  Walter held up his hand and said, ‘Hear me out.’

  Jago and Braxton shared a hopeful look, sat back, and listened.

  ‘You’re to be released this morning, pending further enquiries.’

  Jago said, ‘I’m not happy with that, Darriteau. I’ve helped you at every turn. There’s no evidence against me and you know it, and this whole thing should be dropped.’

  Karen couldn’t contain herself.

  ‘You have consistently lied throughout this investigation, including in the ridiculous statement cooked up with this man,’ nodding at Brax. ‘If I were you I’d be thankful... and keep it shut,’ and she did the hand zip motion across her lips.

  ‘I don’t approve of your tone,’ said Braxton.

  ‘I don’t approve of your methods,’ said Karen, holding eye contact.

  Walter interrupted, ‘As I said, Jago, you are free to go, pending further enquiries,’ and Walter and Karen stood up and left them to it. They both knew the way out. They’d made the journey many times before.

  That afternoon Walter had phone calls to make. He found a quiet room and rang DI Goronwy Davis to tell him three men had been charged with Shane Fellday’s murder. GD was pleased to hear it, ever eager to toss another file in the solved bin. They talked about sharing a pint, and that was call one done.

  The second call was to Stella Humphrey at Yellow Justice. He told her the same thing, three men charged with Shane Fellday’s murder. She had one question.

  ‘Are they worth suing?’

  ‘Yes, all three in my humble opinion, but don’t quote me on that.’

  ‘Thank you, Walter, you have made my day. That little babe will benefit from this.’

  ‘Let’s hope so, as long as someone does,’ and they said their goodbyes, spouting the usual platitudes occasional acquaintances say, ‘Speak again soon,’ though they both imagined that would never happen, and they were right.

  The third call Walter was considering making was to Wendy (I would like to know more about you!) from the Wirral, though thinking about it, maybe his first thought to contact her later was the better idea.

  The fourth call went to the pathologist. Walter asked him if he still possessed Torquil Wilderton’s body.

&n
bsp; ‘Yes, I think he might be with us for a while. A good few bed-and-breakfast’s yet. Why do you ask?’

  ‘Did you notice anything unusual about his hands?’

  ‘Not really, other than they are massive. As big as I’ve ever seen. A little arthritis as you might expect in a man pushing ninety, but solid fists for sure. What’s your interest, Walter?’

  ‘Imagine the guy fifteen years younger. If I told you he took a real swing at a girl, a haymaker, and caught her flush on the side of the jaw, could he have killed her?’

  ‘He possessed big and solid fists, and you know what they say, Walter. The punch is always the last thing to go. If he’d lamped her one it could have done major damage, especially if she was walking into the blow. He’d have been seventy-four, getting on a bit, but not totally passed it. So it’s possible a blow like that could have killed a woman, and more so if she banged her head when falling. But equally, it might have left her with a sore face for a few days. It’s impossible to be sure.’

  Walter thanked the guy and set the phone down. There was nothing useful there, which was a disappointment. He returned to his workstation, as Darren reappeared, looking pleased about something.

  ‘Seen the soil results?’ he said.

  ‘No, not yet, no doubt you are going to tell us.’

  ‘Bingo, Guv! The scrapings I took from his tyre matches the soil in the lay-by.’

  ‘I thought it might. And the tyre tracks?’

  ‘Still waiting to hear back on that.’

  Walter scratched his chin and said, ‘I know you have not long come back from the canal but there’s another job needs doing down there.’

  Darren said, ‘You should have told me earlier,’ before realising it came out a little abrupt.

  ‘I know that, Darren, but I didn’t. Are you busy now?’

  ‘Not particularly.’

  Walter retrieved the key for the Welsh Diviner and slipped it across the desk.

  ‘We need to search the boat. Photo anything that looks interesting. Don’t make a mess and make sure you glove-up. Got that?’

  ‘Sure, Guv, am I looking for anything special?’