Never Forget (11 page)

D
espite the lateness of the evening, I made plans to visit Donald Lloyd. Inwardly, I wanted to go home, open a mean red and glug away. But it would have to wait.

Wingsy had a quick word, explaining that Mel was getting a bit fed up with all the hours he’d been working. Before Operation Guard, he’d had a three-week murder trial at a Crown Court forty miles away and had worked sixteen-hour days without a break. I was tired and ready to call it a day myself, but thought it was best to visit Donald Lloyd as soon as possible. I was gathering my stuff, prepared to go to his house on my own, when Catherine came over with Danny. I had already decided that I liked Danny. He had a good attitude and made me want to go ‘aah’ when I saw him. He was a sweetheart.

‘Thought that you and Danny could go and see Donald Lloyd and his wife June together,’ she said. ‘He could do with a break from CCTV and, from the sounds of it, the entire family’s a bit mad. Just to be on the safe side.’ She was distracted by someone offering to make tea, and made towards the poor sod buckling under the weight of a tray heaving with empty mugs.

‘Don’t know about you, Danny, but I’d love a tea,’ I said. I thought about using my Aunt Lou’s favourite expression when she was hinting for a cuppa – she loved to say, ‘I’m so thirsty I couldn’t spit on a sixpence’ – but I doubted if Danny even knew what a sixpence was. ‘Suppose we should get on with the enquiry, though.’

Danny was already tightening his tie and heading in the direction of his jacket, resting over the back of a chair. ‘Couldn’t agree more,’ he said. ‘Girlfriend’s gonna do her nut with me being so late home again.’

Even if it hadn’t been for my and Bill’s romantic encounter next to the disused diesel pump in the yard a couple of hours earlier, I wouldn’t have been too perturbed by Danny’s admission of having a girlfriend: I put him at about fifteen years younger than me. Besides, I didn’t own an Xbox.

Content that I could have a son of Danny’s age, once we were in the car I shared a bar of Dairy Milk with him. One slice of meat feast hadn’t touched the sides, so to speak. Danny was good company and surprised me by saying he had been a police officer for eight years. Never having worked together before, we formulated a plan, involving me doing most of the talking, as I’d met Jake. Like all police officers’ plans, it was fluid. We dealt with people, and people were unpredictable, so over-planning could be pointless.

Outside the house a few minutes later, I called Catherine to let her know we had arrived. No sooner had I told her where we were than she asked, ‘How would you be fixed for an overnight stay in Birmingham?’

‘Can do,’ I said. ‘You don’t mean tonight, though, do you?’

‘No, in a couple of days, see,’ she crooned. ‘I’m calling everyone to check their availability for the trip. Had an update from Forensics re. the blood on the knife you and Wingsy found in the back of Savage’s van. We’ve got a match to a fella called Benjamin Makepeace, but he’s missing. Thought as you and Wingsy found it you might want to follow it up, but we’ll let you know. Got to go, I’ve another call coming in.’

And she was gone.

Danny and I made our way up the pathway. The house was not as grand as Jake’s, but it too was in a good neighbourhood. As we stood at the porch door and rang the bell, I noticed the curtain twitch in the bay window. A
light went on behind the front door. Warrant cards at the ready, we stood and waited for our first glimpse of Donald Lloyd. The door was opened by a dull-eyed man in his mid-sixties. Despite the warmth and the lateness of the evening, he was wearing a shirt, tie and buttoned-up cardigan. Making the assumption that he was Donald Lloyd from the family dimple – that and the fact he was in Donald Lloyd’s house and was too well dressed to be a burglar – I said, ‘Mr Lloyd? I know that this is a difficult time for your family, but can we come in and speak to you about your sister, please?’

He gave me a lame smile and shuffled backwards in his slippers to let us into his home. As we stepped across the threshold, a woman peered around the doorway from what was probably the front room. Her smile contained both sadness and friendliness. I smiled back.

‘I’m June,’ she said with a soft Scottish accent. ‘Donald, I’ll show the officers in. Why don’t you make us some tea?’ I read her face as she looked back at me. A barely noticeable tightness around her eyes flickered there and then was gone.

Donald did as he was told and went in the direction of the kitchen, slippers dragging on the floor. June shook her head, watching him go. Seeing me looking at her, she said, ‘Poor Donald. He’s taken it hard. Please, come in and sit down.’ June stepped back, giving us space. Danny stood aside for me to go first and I noted his manners. June indicated a couch and I sat down, Danny next to me.

Stealing another look in the direction of the door, June said, ‘I wanted to speak to you without Donald. I can’t really do so here; he’ll be back soon. I wrote this when you knocked at the door. Here.’ She pressed a piece of paper into my hand and covered the six feet to a vacant armchair in the blink of an eye. Adopting a more relaxed pose, she said, ‘I hear you’ve met our Jake, then?’

‘I haven’t,’ said Danny, ‘but Nina did a bit earlier. A couple of things he told her are important, and we hope that Donald can shed some more light on them.’

I could hear china rattling on a tray as it was carried by the long-suffering Donald. He hesitated by the open door as if uncertain whether he should enter his own lounge.

‘I’ll get a table, Donald,’ said June, jumping up to move a small occasional table into the centre of the room. Spurred on by his wife’s words, Donald lugged himself, with the tray, towards the wooden stand. Setting the drinks down, he straightened himself up to his full height for the first time. There was a similarity between him and Diane but he didn’t seem to have any of her self-importance. He lowered himself into an armchair then turned his attention to Danny and me.

‘I was quite close to my sister Daphne,’ he said, eyes closed. He tilted his head back and let out a sigh before opening his eyes, moist with tears. ‘I really adored both of my sisters. They looked after me, you see. My father died during the war, before I was born, so the three of us were very close. You must know by now that it all went a bit wrong with Scott…’

As he trailed off, I followed his gaze to an old black and white photograph on the oak sideboard. It was of two striking young women, one of whom had a small boy on her knee. She was doing her best to hold on to him.

‘That was us on our annual holiday, hop-picking in Kent. I have such fond memories of those times. Six weeks of fresh air and having my sisters all to myself.’ He produced a white handkerchief from his cardigan pocket and wiped his eyes. ‘Just can’t believe she’s gone. Who would do such a thing?’

‘We’re doing everything we can to find out, Donald,’ I said, fighting an urge to put my arm around him. June leaned across and patted his hand.

Donald continued, pausing occasionally to fight back a sob. ‘Daphne’s neighbour, Mrs Turnbull, she found my sister. She told me that there was blood everywhere. This was the work of a madman. Daphne was a harmless old lady. Scott was another matter, but Daphne…’

When next Donald clenched his handkerchief to his mouth, I shifted in my seat to warn him that I was about to ask him a question. It seemed to have the desired effect, as he paused and waited.

‘We are not ruling out the possibility of a link between the death of your sister and that of Jason Holland,’ I said carefully.

Donald blanched.

‘What can you tell me about Holland?’ I asked.

He shook his head back and forth with increasing ferocity, as if his worst fears had manifested themselves on his pure wool carpet.

‘This is all my fault,’ he said. ‘I should never have introduced Scott to Jason Holland.’

Danny and I gave Donald several seconds to compose himself again. He rubbed his hands over his face, then, dropping his arms on the arm-rests, told us through his torment how his nephew had met Jason Holland.

‘It was Christmas 1997. There had been several burglaries in this street and nearby neighbours were telling us that the police were handing out crime prevention advice and leaflets, Neighbourhood Watch meetings, that kind of thing. You never think it will happen to you but I was sitting in this armchair one evening. The furniture was arranged differently then – this chair was over there with its back to the door.’ Donald pointed to the spot where I was sitting. June leaned over to her husband once more and squeezed his hand.

‘Thankfully, June was out at a church meeting and I was by myself. I was reading a book. The house was quiet. I was so engrossed in the book that I was only vaguely aware of a noise behind me. As I got up to look, a young man rushed towards me and punched me right in the face.’ A hand went up to his right eye as the story replayed itself in his memory. ‘He ran for the front door and out into the street. I called the police. They arrived and took fingerprints – well, you’ll know what they’d have done. Anyway, some time later, they
arrested the burglar. He had got in through an open window upstairs, come down here thinking no one was home, and I’d taken him by surprise. Can’t really blame him for hitting me. I must have startled him.

‘I wasn’t really all that bothered about taking him to court. He was a young man who’d made a mistake. I had a black eye but I was fine otherwise. It transpired that his name was Jason Holland and he had been responsible for a number of other break-ins in the area, and he asked for them to be taken into consideration.’ Donald swallowed, looked up at the ceiling, adding, ‘I thought it would be a good idea to introduce him to my nephew. I thought, when Jason got released from prison after such a short time at such a young age, a shock would be the making of him. I wanted to show him that he needed to turn his life around. Show him what might become of him if he didn’t mend his ways. We had seen eight years of incarceration turn Scott from a very outgoing young man with his life ahead of him into a shell of his former self.

‘But my attempt at his rehabilitation failed. My great plan – ’ he paused and let out a harsh laugh ‘ – was to make Jason see how he would turn out if he continued on the path he was on. What I hadn’t foreseen was Scott and Jason becoming as thick as thieves. My tactics were incorrect. Instead of Jason being revolted by Scott, he wanted to be Scott.’

B
y the time Danny and I had finished speaking to Donald and June it was very late. I made a quick call to the nick to say we were heading back with the paperwork and calling it a day. Alcohol was now in sight.

I checked my phone and saw that I had a couple of missed calls and a text from Laura telling me that she was joining the enquiry for a few days, maybe a week. More good news for me. She was great to work with, as well as a good mate.

In the nick’s back yard, I told Danny that I would take the paperwork upstairs if he wanted to get away to his girlfriend. Then I thought about Bill and smiled. Hugging the statements and notebooks to me, I headed to the Incident Room.

At first, I thought that the room was empty, but I could just make out a head behind a computer screen in the far corner as I dropped off the paperwork.

‘Goodnight,’ I called.

The head moved, revealing the sour face of Kim Cotton. ‘Night,’ she said. ‘Briefing’s at 8am.’ And then her bitter features moved back out of sight.

On the way downstairs, I listened to my messages. The first one was from Annie asking me to visit her. Probably run out of imported cheese. The other was from Bill. Stopping to catch my breath, I replayed the message asking me to call him if it wasn’t too late and I wasn’t too tired. He actually thought about my wellbeing before asking me to call him.

Searching in my coat pocket for my car keys, I found the piece of paper June Lloyd had passed to me. I took it out and
read the handwritten scribble.
Parish Church of All Saints, tomorrow, 9am–1pm. June

There was no suggestion that I would not be going to see her. It was a church, a public place, and she’d given me a window of four hours. I put the note inside my warrant card as I was guaranteed not to lose that, took my keys out and got into my car. I checked the back seat and the boot first. Never take chances.

Inside the car, with the central locking activated, I called Bill.

‘Hello?’ he said.

‘Hi, Bill, it’s Nina.’

‘Hello. You just finished?’

‘Yes, just about to leave the nick. Been another long day. How about you?’

‘Not too late for me today. Caught up on a few things.’ There was a slight pause, and I was about to speak when he asked, ‘Still fancy going for that drink some time?’

‘Definitely. Not sure when, though – we’re working such long hours and you don’t want me on my knees in front of you.’ I slapped myself on the forehead as I said this. Never mind Wingsy messing things up; I was doing a great job all on my own.

Bill chuckled and said, ‘I’m free for the next three or four nights but then I’m on late turn for a couple of days. You just let me know when you can meet up.’

‘OK. I’ll see what’s going on in the morning and I’ll call you tomorrow.’

‘Sounds ideal, Nina. Speak to you tomorrow.’

‘Goodnight.’

Throughout the drive home I planned where Bill and I might end up on our date. I didn’t mind the cheaper chain pubs but even at the best of times the clientele did resemble the
Star Wars
cast. Bill didn’t strike me as the wine bar sort either, so a quiet local pub would be my preference. I wasn’t really paying attention to the journey, merely enough not
to cause an accident. At some point, though, I realised that the car behind had been keeping up with me for some time. Annoyed with myself for not having paid more attention, I indicated right, took the turn and headed for the roundabout. The vehicle behind did the same.

Reaching the roundabout, I indicated right again, as did the driver tailing me. On the roundabout, I turned full circle to the fourth exit back to where I’d come from, forcing the other car either to do the same, or give up on me. He chose to take the third exit. Still unsure whether it was my imagination or not, I considered following the car and getting the registration number. But the thought of a glass of wine almost made me salivate, so I headed home instead.