Detective Sophie Allen Box Set 2

by MICHAEL HAMBLING

  ‘It was just a quick visit to see the ACC,’ she replied. ‘A few developments over the weekend.’

  He waited but Sophie did not elaborate.

  ‘Am I out of the loop for this one?’ he asked eventually.

  ‘Sorry, Matt.’ She paused. ‘You were in the firearms unit here some years ago, weren’t you? How easily could a gun have gone missing?’

  ‘Oh, that old story. I’ve never been sure how reliable that was. The booking-out procedures are watertight and always have been. It could be that the number of handguns was entered wrongly when we changed the recording system in the armoury. The data from the old system had to be entered again by hand when we started the new system. It was easy for something to be entered twice.’

  ‘But with different serial numbers? How likely is that?’

  ‘As far as I know, it was all a bit manic at the time.’

  ‘Okay. But if it was, it provided an ideal opportunity for one to be filched.’

  ‘Why the worry now?’

  ‘If one did go missing, I’m wondering where it might have ended up. And what it might be used for.’ She looked at her watch. ‘I’ve got to go. I’ll catch up with you soon, okay?’

  CHAPTER 31: Skate Park

  Late Tuesday Morning, Week 3

  Why was the whole world against him?

  Phil McCluskie felt isolated and aggrieved. Even Stu, his partner of the last two years, was starting to give him the cold shoulder. He’d obviously fallen for everything that witch had said. It was transparently obvious that she was just manipulating them. Those pathetic little jobs she’d asked them to do! Stupid Stu had fallen for it, lock, stock and barrel. Sucker. One look from those big green eyes and Blackman rolled onto his back, like a spaniel asking to be tickled. Well, fuck that for a game of soldiers. He, Phil, wasn’t so easily impressed.

  He yawned and stretched. What was she up to? The more he thought about it, the more certain he became that there was something bubbling away below the surface. He’d seen those little chats with that amorphous cow with size nine feet, Rae Gregson. He’d also spotted that the DS, Marsh, had been deliberately excluded from these conversations, and that whatever Gregson was doing, it was hush hush. Something was going on separate to the murder cases. It had to be a leak, or some kind of cover-up. Nothing else made sense. But who or what? Maybe he should visit a few mates from the old days and pick their brains. Someone might know.

  Blackman was nowhere to be seen. He’d gone out to chase up a couple of documents. McCluskie pulled his aging leather jacket from the back of his chair and made for the door. On Tuesday lunchtimes a group of ex-cops met for lunch and a chinwag at a pub in Poole. He might learn a thing or two there if he played his cards right.

  * * *

  ‘Well, would you believe it! It’s that well-known teetotaller from Blandford. How are you, Phil?’

  ‘Good. I had a couple of hours spare, so I thought I’d pop down to see you lot.’ He looked down at the four men seated round a table. ‘Drink, anyone?’

  He took the order to the bar and added a pint for himself. Better leave out his usual whisky chaser, he needed to keep a clear head. He returned to the table with the tray of drinks and sat down.

  ‘We really pity you, Phil. We pity anyone still working.’ The speaker, who’d issued the earlier greeting, was a retired traffic cop, thick-set with short, grizzled hair. ‘I mean, a woman chief constable? What’s the fucking world coming to?’

  McCluskie sipped his lager. ‘They’re all over the place, Mickey, in every nook and cranny. And they’re all so serious. Targets, clear-up rates, interfacing with the public. What has all that got to do with nabbing low-lifes? That’s what I ask myself.’

  ‘University degrees. What’s that all about?’ Mickey went on. ‘How’s that gonna help? Is being able to quote Hamlet or do some fancy maths any use when you’re chasing a skanky drug dealer? Where will eye-of-fucking-newt get you then?’

  ‘That’s from Macbeth, Mickey. If you’re going to quote Shakespeare, you could at least get the right play,’ chipped in Charlie, a former custody officer. ‘You’re a couple of misogynists you are, always complaining about women. I mean, what planet are you from? I’ve got three daughters, all grown up now. They worked really hard at school and college, and they’re all in good jobs. Debbie, my youngest, is a cop in Brighton and she’s aiming for promotion. She’ll probably get further up the scale than I ever did, and good for her. She deserves it.’ He bent his head to his drink, and the other two men nodded. Mickey scowled.

  Phil changed the subject. ‘Listen, did any of you ever come across the Woodruff family? Owns a chain of pubs, hotels and cafes across the area? Been going for well over ten years?’

  ‘They own a pub down the road here,’ Charlie said. ‘They’re legit, aren’t they? They never came up on my radar.’

  ‘Was anyone keeping an eye on them? From inside our lot, I mean.’

  Everyone looked blank. McCluskie sighed. Maybe this hadn’t been such a good idea after all. ‘I’m getting a sandwich. Anyone else for grub? Not that I’m paying, mind.’

  An hour later, just as McCluskie was about to leave, his phone signalled an incoming text message. He looked at the screen but didn’t recognise the number. ‘Woodruff. Be at the Quayside in half an hour. At the skate park.’

  * * *

  A crowd had gathered, drawn by the flashing blue lights of the ambulance and the police cars. The victim was a middle-aged man, now being loaded into the ambulance on a stretcher. He had an oxygen mask over his face, but there were bloodstains on his sallow skin. The police were talking to a teenage boy holding a skateboard. He wasn’t proving to be very helpful, judging by his shrugs and vague hand gestures.

  ‘What’s happened?’ an elderly lady asked, as she joined the watchers.

  ‘Don’t really know,’ replied her neighbour. ‘He was lying by that car. No one saw nowt. The only person around was that lad, but we don’t know whether he arrived later. Maybe he got out of his car and fainted or sommat. Someone said they smelt booze on his breath. We don’t think he’s dead.’

  Sophie Allen arrived with Rae Gregson, quickly followed by Stu Blackman in a second car. They looked up at a train passing close by the scene. It was a well-chosen spot for an assault, only a few hundred yards from the busy Poole Quay, but hidden from view by a railway embankment and clumps of bushy shrubs. It could be seen from a skate park off to one side, but it was a school day and this would have been quiet.

  They walked to the ambulance, which was closed and ready to leave. The paramedics reported that McCluskie had serious head injuries. They watched as the vehicle accelerated away from the car park.

  ‘He’ll be in A and E in five minutes,’ Rae said.

  Sophie turned to Blackman. ‘What was he doing here? Why was he in Poole?’

  Blackman looked stricken. ‘No idea. I went out of our office for ten minutes to collect some more information about the Woodruffs. He was gone when I got back. No message.’

  ‘Could it have been a lead of some kind?’ Rae asked. Blackman shrugged.

  Sophie shook her head. ‘He’s a maverick, always has been. But he’s also pretty shrewd. Why didn’t he do what I said and tell us first? I should have guessed he’d go it alone. Jesus. I just hope he pulls through.’ She looked at Blackman. ‘You stay here. We’ll have a chat with that lad.’

  She and Rae walked across to where the teenager stood with a uniformed officer. Sophie introduced herself and led him to the skate park, where they sat on a low bench. He must only be about fourteen, she thought. No wonder he’s scared.

  ‘I know you’ve already talked to the officers that got here first, but I’m the senior detective and my job is to find out what happened. Let’s start with when you arrived. What time do you think it was?’

  ‘About half one, I s’pose.’ The teenager, who was called Wayne, looked anxious.

  ‘Shouldn’t you be at school?’ Sophie asked gently.

&nb
sp; ‘Yeah. I bunked off double French.’

  ‘Okay, I’ll explain that you’re helping us, then you won’t get into trouble. But in exchange, you’ve got to tell me everything you saw. Is that a deal?’

  He nodded. ‘But I didn’t see everything. I was on the ramps and didn’t take much notice at first. There were a few cars there, then that guy drove in, the one that got hurt. He came in kind of slow. I didn’t see what happened next but I heard a bump. When I got up to the top of the ramp the other guy looked over and saw me. He got into a car and drove away, fast like.’

  ‘Did you see what he looked like?’

  ‘Nah, not really. Too far. He was bigger than the guy that was hit, but that was all.’

  ‘What car was he in? The one who drove away?’

  ‘Blue Audi. He went out quick. His tyres skidded.’ The boy looked pale and scared. ‘Am I in danger? He could’ve seen me. Me mum’ll kill me.’

  ‘Is your school local?’ Sophie asked.

  He nodded.

  ‘In that case, we’ll go there first. Then I’ll take you home if there’s someone there.’

  He shook his head. ‘Mum won’t be back till six.’

  ‘Do you have someone else? Grandparents? Aunts or uncles?’

  He nodded. ‘Me gran lives close.’

  She walked back to the other two detectives. ‘Rae, can you stay here and deal with forensics when they arrive? I’ll pick you up when I’ve finished with young Wayne here. Stu, you get to the hospital and see how Phil is. If he can talk, see what he has to say but don’t push it. If he’s got serious head injuries it may be hours or days before we can expect anything from him. Keep me posted, will you? We’ll join you later.’

  She took Rae aside. ‘I think it was our rotten apple, Rae. The boy’s description of the car matches. Barry’s probably still in Bournemouth. Phone him and get him to come across but whatever you do, don’t tell him what we think. The real question is, what was McCluskie doing here? Could he have been involved somehow?’ She shook her head. ‘What a bloody can of worms.’

  * * *

  It was mid-afternoon before Sophie had a chance to phone Jim Metcalfe, the ACC, and tell him what had happened. McCluskie was in a bad way, but stable.

  ‘He’s assaulted a fellow officer, sir. We need to move quickly.’

  They discussed their next course of action. The best option would have been to apprehend the mole at work, but their suspect seemed to have vanished. No one had seen him since midday. Jim Metcalfe was using all of the resources at his disposal but, so far, with little result. Sophie hoped that their quarry would be traced soon. The last thing they could afford was a rogue cop on the loose with a gun, if it had been him who’d taken it years before.

  CHAPTER 32: Death at the Waterside

  Tuesday Evening, Week 3

  Barry Marsh let himself into his small flat in Swanage and dropped his keys onto a shelf. He looked around the apartment that had been his home for the past six years and experienced a pang of nostalgia. It probably wouldn’t be his home for much longer. He and Gwen had already started talking about finding somewhere half way between their two workplaces in Dorset and Hampshire so they could move in together. A different future was looming and Marsh wasn’t sure how he felt about it.

  He had just put the kettle on when the doorbell rang. He went to the hall and peered through the spy-hole in the door. Ah! An old friend. He opened the door. ‘Hello, Bob. Long time, no see. What are you doing here?’ He stood aside to admit his colleague from Bournemouth.

  Bob Thompson seemed to be disoriented. He shrugged. ‘I just felt like things were getting on top of me, so I went out for a drive. I thought of you, so I came here on the off-chance.’

  ‘Okay. Do you want a drink? The kettle’s just boiled, but I’ve got beer in the fridge if you want one.’

  Thompson stood looking around, as if unsure of where he was. ‘Not sure what I want.’

  Marsh had an idea. ‘How about going out for a curry? It’s years since we went out together. It’ll be like the old days in Bournemouth when we flat-shared.’

  Thompson smiled at last. ‘Okay. That’d be good.’

  * * *

  Half an hour later the two detectives were making their way to the local Indian restaurant. It had started raining and the wind was beginning to pick up. Tourists who had been happy to saunter slowly along the seafront were now beginning to hurry to shelter.

  They arrived at the restaurant and Marsh pushed open the door. ‘It’s okay in here. The Madras is probably the best choice.’

  They sipped at their lagers as they waited for the food to arrive. Marsh was becoming concerned about Thompson. He was jittery and seemed unable to concentrate on anything. ‘Listen, Bob,’ he said. ‘If you’re worried about something, tell me. You ought to be celebrating, after passing your inspector exam. You’ll be in with a chance for the next DI job to come up. You’re a good copper and you’ll do well.’

  Underneath, Barry wasn’t so sure about this. He’d been friendly enough with Thompson during their years as rookie cops in Bournemouth, but he’d never been able to get close to his friend. He’d been hurt when, after they’d moved to different parts of the county, Thompson hadn’t bothered to keep in touch. It had begun to look as if, for Thompson, the friendship had just been one of convenience. Ah well, thought Marsh, all water under the bridge. Clearly something was upsetting Thompson just now. The problem was, Thompson was being very uncommunicative, even for him. He answered every one of Marsh’s questions with a single word, or a shrug.

  Marsh tried again. ‘C’mon, Bob. You can do better than that. Matt Silver’s taken you round every possible place in the county. You must have some idea of where you’d like to go.’

  The food arrived, but Thompson merely picked at it. Marsh had had enough. ‘Okay, Bob. Out with it. What’s bothering you?’

  There was a long pause and then Thompson said, ‘I’ve fucked it all up. All of it. It’s all gone down the pan and I don’t know what to do.’

  At this, Marsh’s brain began to whir. He started to process the events, clues and hints that he had picked up in recent days. But before he could think how to react, the restaurant door opened. A familiar figure entered and looked him in the eye.

  She shook her head gently.

  * * *

  Sophie was at home in Wareham, waiting restlessly. Bent police officers were her worst nightmare. Her role-models in the force, Harry Turner and Archie Campbell, had both told her that a single rotten police officer could do more damage than a whole gang of crooks. That one person could destroy trust and working relationships that had been built over years, causing people to question the value of upholding the law.

  She wondered if Martin, her husband, had noticed how edgy she was. Probably, but he knew her too well to make any comment. He just refilled her coffee cup when required.

  Her mobile phone rang shortly before eight o’clock. It was Jim Metcalfe. When the call ended, she picked up her keys and was almost out of the door when she stopped in her tracks. She turned, went back to her husband, and hugged him tightly.

  ‘Martin, I love you so much. I may not say it often, but you are the very best thing in my life. I just wanted you to know that.’

  She turned and left, leaving Martin with his mouth open.

  Sophie drove to Swanage, and pulled up in the lower end of the High Street, close to an unmarked police car. She spoke to the occupants, and waited. Within ten minutes Greg Buller’s snatch squad arrived in their van, closely followed by Jim Metcalfe. Sophie was determined to try and resolve the situation without resorting to violence, and argued her case forcefully. The area was full of visitors, tourists and locals out for a relaxing evening. Sophie pulled off her fashionable green and gold zipper jacket and put on a bullet-proof vest. She tried to put the jacket back on but couldn’t get the zip all the way up. No matter. It hid most of her protective layer. Then she walked, head held high, to the restaurant door, accompanied by
Buller’s reassuring bulk.

  ‘Where are they sitting?’ she asked.

  ‘At a table halfway along the back wall. We’ve had someone go inside for a moment, to collect a takeaway menu. He’s just described the layout. Take care, won’t you? We could wait till they come out, like I said just now.’

  ‘I don’t think it will pan out that way. I think he’s come down here to see Barry for a reason, and it won’t take Barry long to guess what’s been going on. I’m worried that he’ll make some kind of move himself, and I really don’t want to chance losing him. They were friends years ago, Greg. Barry will feel betrayed.’

  She turned and opened the restaurant door. Inside, the two detectives were sitting exactly as Buller had described, with Marsh facing her. He looked up in surprise as she entered, and Sophie put a finger to her lips and moved over to their table. Thompson glanced up as she slid into the seat next to his. He had been holding his fork in his right hand, and he lowered it. Sophie grabbed hold of his wrist, keeping it clamped against the top of the table.

  ‘Let’s be sensible about this, Bob. There are too many people here. Look around you.’

  At the table beside theirs sat a family with three children, two chattering away and the third working on a colouring book. On the other side an elderly couple were sitting, about to order dessert.

  She felt Thompson’s arm muscles tauten, and then relax. ‘How long have you known?’

  ‘Known? For a few days. Suspected? Since the middle of last week. But today was something else, Bob. McCluskie’s been working for me, so what you did made it personal. And do you know what the worst part was? I had to keep it all from Barry, something I’ve never had to do before. And you forced that on me.’ While she was speaking, her left hand was feeling in the pockets of his jacket, which hung from the back of his chair. Nothing. She breathed a sigh of relief.

  ‘Stupid of me,’ Thompson said. ‘I can guess what you’re looking for. It’s out in the car back at Barry’s place, in the glove box, neatly wrapped in a cloth, all ready for you like a present.’ He laughed. ‘I mean, what would be the point of bringing it out with me when all I was doing was going for a curry with an old mate?’ He turned to face her. ‘I bet Buller’s outside with the heavy mob.’