Dawn stayed by the incident board watching the squad pick up their things and filter out of the office. She caught Hunter looking back over his shoulder, offering her a reassuring smile. She felt her chest tightening. The pressure was getting to her.
* * *
Shortly after 9p.m. Hunter turned off the main Attercliffe Road into a deserted side road that accessed a number of small businesses, many of them back-street garages. The street was poorly lit, with many of the street lamps no longer working. It was a secluded area he knew well from his policing past and was the ideal location for the meeting he had arranged. Two hundred yards along the road, he found the derelict building he was seeking. The rusted gate still hung precariously on its top hinge, just as he remembered, and was open. He swung his Audi in through the gap, entering a weed infested compound hidden by old concrete fencing and parked up next to a rusted Bedford lorry jacked up on bricks. In front of him was a large red-brick, Victorian building, which in its heyday had been a prosperous engineering firm but was now in bad state of repair.
Keeping the engine running, Hunter set the handbrake and turned off the headlights. The last thing he needed was to draw attention.
Next to him sat Barry Newstead.
‘Are you sure you’re okay with this?’ He said, looking out through the windscreen at crumbling and cracked algae-damp brickwork.
Barry released his seatbelt, ‘I said I was didn’t I? I’ve got a lot of time for Mister Robshaw. I’d do anything to help catch who did this to him. Who’s this guy you said we’re meeting?’
‘He’s a snout from my drug squad days. He’s called Shaggy.’
‘Shaggy?’
Hunter smirked, ‘Shaggy. He looks like the cartoon character from Scooby Doo, but with dreadlocks. You’ll see what I mean when he comes.’
‘And you think he might be able to give you a lead?’
‘What he doesn’t know about what’s happening on the streets around here isn’t worth knowing. I’m going to see if he’s heard anything about Mike being run down.’
‘Does the gaffer know you’re here?’
‘She doesn’t know anything about this.’
‘Oh.’ The word was long and drawn out.
Hunter shot him a sideways glance. ‘I’m doing this for Mike! I owe him.’
Barry shrugged his shoulders, ‘Yeah, I know. I just wanted to know what the state of play was, that’s all.’
‘I just want you here as my back up – corroboration you know.’
‘I’m fine Hunter. No need to explain.’
‘I’m not going to do anything. I’m just gonna see what he knows and then pass it on. I know Shaggy well. He won’t have said anything even if he’s been interviewed, but he’ll tell me.’ Hunter rolled down the window. Instantly a cold chill hit him and made him shiver. It was a typical late September evening – the temperature had dropped away sharply since dusk. He settled back in his seat.
For the best part of ten minutes they sat there, neither of them speaking, just listening.
The sound of scrunching footsteps coming closer made them both sit up. Alert, Hunter sharp-eyed the broken entranceway just as a man, head tucked into the collar of an army combat coat, came into view. Tall and slim with untidy dreadlocks and a wispy chin beard Hunter could see that Shaggy’s outward appearance had not changed, even though it been six years since he’d last clapped eyes on him.
He stopped at the gate and looked their way.
Hunter guessed he was checking out the car. He knew he wouldn’t recognise it, and with its tinted windows the sight would more than likely be unnerving him, so he opened his door, activating the interior light and stepped out.
Lifting his head out from the collar of his coat and, giving the street a quick check, he entered the yard and made for the car.
Hunter greeted Shaggy with a fist-pump and opened the back door for him.
He slid into the back seat, closing the door. Within seconds the inside was filled with a pungent smell that was either cannabis or patchouli oil. Hunter guessed the former and kept his door open a fraction but turned off the interior light.
Shaggy said, ‘Long time, no see man. Who’s your partner?’
Looking over the top of his seat Hunter replied, ‘This is Barry. He works with me.’
Barry reached behind and they shook hands.
‘Not DS then?’
Hunter answered, ‘Not Drug Squad, no Shaggy. CID. We’re in a murder squad. I moved a few years ago.’
‘So this is about Sonny is it?’
‘Sharp as ever Shaggy, I see.’ He watched him crack a grin and added, ‘It’s sort of about Sonny.’
‘Sort of?’
‘Well it’s not just about that job. But going back to that, whatever you know about it would be helpful.’
‘I know only the word on the street. It’s probably what you already know. They say it was Jazz Roberts and Danny Harris from Burngreave who carried out the hit. The word is that Sonny was trying to take over Jazz’s turf. Taxed a few of his crew – took their gear and cash. He was disrespecting them man, so they taught him a lesson. I hear Danny was the shooter. Did him on his own doorstep to send out the message. You know all this. You’ve busted them both already.’
‘We’ve nicked them Shaggy, but haven’t got the evidence to send them down and nobody’s prepared to go official. We could do with finding the shooter. Is that something you could do? Find out where the gun is?’
Shaggy’s eyes drifted over Hunter, buffeting the wall of the derelict building. For a good ten seconds he was silent then he dragged back his gaze and said, ‘You’re asking me a big thing here Hunter. It’s like you say, no one wants to go official. If this gets out... These guys don’t mess around – you know what I’m saying?’
Hunter nodded. He was only too aware of the danger his former informant could be putting himself in. He engaged with Shaggy’s hazel eyes. ‘You know me Shaggy. I’ve not let you down before and I’m not going to now. No one will find out anything about what you and me have discussed. We don’t even need to meet if that’s too difficult. Just a phone call is enough.’ He paused and added, ‘There’ll be a few grand in it for you.’
‘It’s not the money I want Hunter. If I do this, it’s in return for the favour you did me. I’ve not forgotten you saved me from going inside when my Rosa was pregnant.’
‘Do you think you’ll be able to find where the gun is then?’
‘I’ll see what I can do Hunter. As I say, I’m a bit out of the scene now, but I still know a few people. I’m guessing it’s a shooter they’ve probably bought in – you know for this one job. I’ve not heard about the Burngreave lot having guns before. They usually use knives.’
‘Do you think you can speak to a few people?’
‘Look I’ll ask around. No promises.’
‘Good man.’ He paused again, studying his informant’s pale craggy face. He knew he was roughly his age but the man looked a lot older than thirty-seven. Drawing back his gaze he said, ‘Now this is the other thing I want to ask you.’
‘What’s that man?’
‘A colleague of mine got knocked down a few days ago. He’s in a bad way.’
‘The cop on the news. That CID Chief?’
Hunter gave a quick nod, ‘We think it was deliberate. We don’t know if it’s linked to Sonny’s investigation or not. You haven’t heard anything on the streets have you?’
Shaggy shook his head, ‘No man. Nothing about that. You want me ask around about that as well for you?’
‘I’d much appreciate it Shaggy.’
‘No problem man.’ He opened his door and swung out a leg. Reaching over he shook Hunter’s hand, and stepping out lowered his head and said, ‘Good to see you again man, though I think you looked cooler with the long hair and ear ring. You’ve got CID written all over you now.’ He pronounced CID as Sid.
Hunter couldn’t help but release a smirk as he watched Shaggy ambling towards the broken entra
nce gate. For a brief moment, memories of his drug squad days – previous clandestine meetings with Shaggy – flashed inside his head. He had always come up trumps – he hoped it was going to be another successful outcome.
CHAPTER TWELVE
DAY EIGHT
At morning briefing, Detective Superintendent Dawn Leggate informed her team that Lesley Jane Warren’s brother had been spoken to the previous evening and he had agreed to give a DNA sample. She also said that they had identified the address in Scarborough where Harry Wainwright had retired to. The bungalow was actually just outside, in the little village of East Ayton. She told the team that they had also tracked down one of the detectives who had worked on the disappearance of Ann Marie Banks and Lesley, and lastly, confirmed that Ann Marie’s boyfriend, Jamie Baxter, was in Armley prison, serving eight years for conspiring to supply class A drugs. Before bringing the briefing to a close she allocated priority lines of enquiry to visit and interview the latter three individuals and ended with an excited clap, galvanising everyone into action.
***
Hunter and Grace had been allocated the task of talking to Terrence Arthur Braithwaite’s key worker when he was in Rampton Special Hospital, and they had an appointment with a man called Kevin Crompton, who was now a drugs counsellor with the NHS in Barnsley. Grace had rung him before going off duty yesterday and had already had a brief chat about some of the work he had done with Braithwaite. He had revealed to her that he had conducted many one-to-one therapy sessions with him and had a file of very interesting material which he had been cleared to discuss.
Hunter had just come off the motorway and was stuck in slow-moving, nose-to-tail rush-hour traffic heading into Barnsley town centre. One hand on the steering wheel, he unfolded a scrap of paper he’d removed from his jacket pocket to check the address they had been given. He saw that they needed to turn off at the next junction, by the traffic lights, and he was willing the line of vehicles in front of him through the green light he could see up ahead.
Suddenly Grace piped up, ‘Did you go and see Mister Robshaw again last night?’
Hunter gave her a sideways glance. The question took him by surprise. Swallowing hard he replied, ‘No I was knackered. I sacked it early.’ He normally shared everything with Grace, but given that he had gone against Dawn Leggate’s orders last night he had already decided that his and Barry’s meeting with Shaggy was between them and no one else.
‘I was just asking, because the gaffer didn’t say how he was this morning.’
‘I saw her before briefing. She says they’re turning off his ventilator this morning to see if he can breathe on his own.’
‘Fingers crossed eh?’
Hunter didn’t reply, simply nodded his thoughts as he dropped the address slip into the centre consul and indicated left. ‘It’s just down here,’ he said pulling away from the line of traffic.
Five minutes later Hunter was turning into a car park and seeking out a parking spot. There was one in the visitor section by reception, and he parked their pool car and turned off the engine. Picking his folder off the back seat he looked at Grace and said ‘Okay?’
She nodded, ‘I’m optimistic about this.’
‘Me too. Can’t wait to hear what he has to tell us.’
They weren’t waiting long in reception. Kevin Crompton appeared within a few minutes, immediately introducing himself with a soft voice and a welcoming smile.
He was tall and slim, in an athletic way, and wore a blue checked Oxford shirt and jeans. With his short trimmed, almost white hair, and a clipped goatee and moustache, Hunter judged him to be in his late fifties or early sixties.
Shaking their hands, he pointed Hunter and Grace down the corridor he had come from, towards his office which was the second one along. He had left the door ajar and he showed them in.
The first thing Hunter noted as they entered was how warm the room was – almost stifling. The next was its untidiness. Paperwork, especially files, seemed to be strewn everywhere. Kevin Crompton’s desk was large but even that was chock-a-block with documents.
In that instant the untidiness reminded Hunter of his own desk. He still hadn’t managed to organise and tidy his files ready for next month’s move to the new murder suite.
‘You want me to tell you about my sessions with Terrence Arthur Braithwaite.’
The counsellor’s voice brought back Hunter’s thoughts.
Kevin offered them two chairs and seated himself behind his cluttered desk.
Flicking open a heavyweight file he said, ‘You said it’s in relation to a murder investigation? I’m guessing it’s to do with the two bodies you’ve found buried on the old Chapel estate that’s been all over the news these past few days?’
Hunter and Grace nodded.
‘Can I ask exactly what interest you have in him? Have the bodies been there a long time? He did almost thirty-two years at Rampton you know?’
Hunter checked with Grace and then said, ‘Yes we know that. And yes, the bodies we’ve found have been there a long time. The thing is, his name’s cropped up a couple of times during our recent enquiries and it’s made us very interested in him. We know a fair bit about the crimes he was convicted of, but we don’t know anything about his background and, as you’ve spent a lot of time and done a lot of work with him, we’re interested in whether he’s ever disclosed anything that might be relevant to our present investigation.’ Hunter explained about the discovery of the bodies and, keeping back the victim’s occupations and how they met their deaths, he revealed the name of Ann Marie Banks and told him that they believed the other victim was her flatmate Lesley Jane Warren. He then mentioned that their disappearance in nineteen-eighty-four coincided with the time Braithwaite was on the run after his escape.
‘My, I can see now why you’re interested in him. When that happened I was doing therapy work with him. I was the one who had to break the news to him about the death of his wife. He took it very badly. He asked me if he could go to her funeral and made the official request. There was some intense debate about whether he should go or not, but at the time Terrence Braithwaite was engaging with us and so the Governor agreed. There was hell to pay when he escaped. You can just imagine. The press had a field day.’ He shook his head. ‘Internally, there was an enquiry and, along with several others, I took some flack for supporting his release, but we were not held responsible, thank goodness, and so I was allowed to continue my work with him when he was re-captured. And I was with him when detectives interviewed him about where he’d been and what he’d been up to, but as you’re probably aware he refused to say anything.’
‘You can see now why we’ve got an interest in him?’
Kevin dipped his head, ‘So when you say you want to know about his background what do you mean? Any specifics?’
Hunter shrugged his shoulders, ‘Anything and everything, as I say all we know about Terrence Braithwaite is what we’ve got in our old files and a little from the Probation Service. We know nothing about his past. It might not be worth anything at the end of the day, but it least it will give us an insight into the type of person we’ll be dealing with when we interview him.’
The counsellor stroked his chin, ‘What I’m about to tell you about Terrence Arthur Braithwaite will probably put him at the top of your list.’ He had a momentary glimpse at the file in front of him and then looked up at Hunter and Grace. ‘I know I said Terry engaged with us – that was true in the nineteen eighties, but it took us a long time to get there with him. You’re probably aware of his performance in court when he was found guilty?’
Hunter said, ‘You mean when he tore open his shirt and showed off his tattoo?’
‘Yes. Quite a performance. It made everyone in prison wary of him – prisoners and officers alike. He was monitored for quite some time. He was put on the sex-wing because of the rapes and he immediately started being disruptive – a mirror performance of what he’d done in court – so they put him in solitary. Within
days of being released from there he attacked a prisoner who he said had tried to rape him. He almost killed him. He was put back into solitary and assessed.’ Pausing a second he continued, ‘There’s no doubt Terry had a personality disorder, but back in the seventies there was no radical treatment for people with psychological problems. Once they were assessed as having a disturbed personality they were medicated and farmed out to a secure hospital, but not a great deal was done with them. It was mainly group work – touchy feely stuff – treating themselves in effect. That’s what happened with Terry. He was sent to Rampton, but for the first few years he had no diagnosis and very little treatment. All that changed in the eighties, which is where I came in. I first worked with him in nineteen-eighty-two, though, as I said, initially Terry was very hard work. I tried methods of looking at his behaviour but he wouldn’t open up. Sure, he’d talk, but I felt it was staged, rehearsed. I didn’t know if he was playing games or simply refusing to engage with the programme. Without a shadow of a doubt he trusted no one. No one at all, and so I had to change my approach to build up that trust, even so, there were times when he was very cold and unresponsive – showed no emotion whatsoever. It took me a good year before he started to engage fully and that’s when I started unpicking his past. And now this is the interesting stuff!’ Kevin eased himself back in his chair and smiled, ‘Terry had a very complex early life. I learned that his father left home when he was four, and he was brought up by his mother, who he described as a very strong person, she provided everything for him but gave him very little love and later became an alcoholic. Early on in our discussions, whenever we touched on his relationship with his mother, he exhibited feelings of rejection and sometimes hate. Sometimes it manifested in flashes of anger – verbal ranting as opposed to physical violence. He told me that when he was young his mother was like any other normal mum –got up with him, and packed him off to school, kept the house clean, did the ironing, but things changed as he got older. When he was eleven she stopped getting up with him and he had to get himself off to school. She stopped washing his clothes regularly, and the kids at school started calling him smelly and he was bullied. He suddenly had a number of uncles…’ Kevin air-fingered uncle. ‘…one of whom sexually abused him when he was ten. What was really disturbing about this is that he told me that this uncle was found dead one night in the back yard of the flat where they were living at the time. He had apparently fallen down the steps while drunk. Terry told me it was an accident. Repeated that to me several times and smiled all the time. It was very disconcerting and made me realise that there was more to the story than he was telling me’
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