Reprobates (31 page)

‘
No chance it is Penny Sanderson’s?’ asked Dylan.

‘
No, sir. I think to all intents and purposes her involvement appears to be on the periphery to the murder investigations.’

‘
So we’ve got potentially another party involved?’ Dylan said.

‘
The telephone links show activity between Harper, Bryant, Simpson and Gallagher and Barrington Cook when they were alive. It’s all becoming clear on the charts.’ Vicky said. ‘But we have a lot of other links especially via telephone data to enter.’

‘
How soon will the Anacapa Chart be ready?’

‘
When it is, I guess.’

‘
See if Ruth will work some overtime. We need the crime pattern analysis working flat out on this right now. What about the computer team? Is the historical data flagging anything up? How are we doing at proving the links there?’

‘
They need time,’ Paul said.

‘Don
’t we all. Forensic update?’ asked Dylan.

‘
There’s nothing new. Although they are checking footprints found at the murder scene with shoes taken from the suspects’ addresses. You wouldn’t believe how many men are a size ten shoe size and women a size six. That’s not likely to prove today,’ said Paul.

‘
So it’s back to basics. We’ll have another interview with Jane Simpson again Vicky, about Kirsty Gallagher’s murder to see if she can or will tell us anything more. Then you and I, Paul, will drop it on Harper’s toes about what we know about his network, and see if that gets a response. I’m hoping something comes out of the cell corridors tonight. Quick sandwich?’ he asked.

Acting Detective Sergeant Vicky Hardacre sat eating her sandwich at her desk and was in conversation with DC Andrew Wormald and DC Ned Granger. Pen in one hand, she briefly picked up her cup in the other, and alternated it with holding her sandwich to take a mouthful. Eagerly she wrote notes. On the other side of the office, DS Paul Robinson mirrored her image concentrating instead on writing down points as he conversed with Ruth who was working on the Anacapa Chart. Dylan was impressed how the team was working together. Lisa on the other hand, who sat directly outside Dylan
’s office looked across at Dylan who was watching them intently.

Before he knew it he was once again back in the confined space of the interview room.
‘Jane you admitted in the last interview, you had been to Kirsty Gallagher’s house?’ Vicky said.

‘
I told you I went there to see Rich.’

‘
Yes, do you remember the date, or was there more than one occasion when this happened?’

‘
What?’

‘
What was the date, or the dates that you visited Richard Bryant at 14, Bankfield Terrace?’

Dylan remained silent as he let Vicky talk to Jane Simpson, woman to woman.

‘I didn’t say that I’d been there more than once,’ she said looking somewhat confused.

‘No, I
’m asking you, did you?’

‘Well yes…
Rich wanted me to meet her. He wanted me to... you know... try it on with her. I thought she was pretty but she said it was a non-starter.’

‘
Well, for whatever reason he killed her. Were you party to that?’

‘
No. I know nothing about it.’

‘
Do you know a Derek Harper?’ Dylan said.

‘Yes, he
’s a bit strange. Rich calls him G.D.’

‘G.D?
’

‘
Grave Digger. He told me he’d known him for years. One of those people you call uncle because he was his dad’s friend, but he’s not related really. Well at least I don’t think he is…’

‘
Has he introduced you to any more of his friends?’

‘No.
’

Dylan was pleased. She was opening up and in his estimations she appeared to be being quite genuine.

‘Has Richard or Derek Harper ever taken a photograph of you in the nude,’ Vicky said.

‘You
’re a bit nosey, aren’t you? Yes, but we used a webcam more. He liked me to send him pictures of myself to him from my mobile a lot.’

‘
Do you know if he showed the pictures to anyone?’

‘
Probably. I don’t mind if it turns him on. If you’ve got it flaunt it, that’s what I say.’

‘
Did you know he took pictures of Kirsty too?’

‘
I guess he would’ve.’

‘
Did you see any?’

‘Of me? Yeah.
’

‘
No, of Kirsty,’ Dylan said.

‘No.
’

‘
Have you ever talked to him about how she died?’

‘No.
’

‘
Do you know a Penny Sanderson?’

She shook her head.
‘No, I’ve never heard that name.’

The interview
didn’t feel to be going anywhere and didn’t reveal any more. As they strolled back to the Incident Room, Vicky was morose.

‘We
’ll get there,’ Dylan said. ‘Don’t look so down. ‘Paul and I will go straight into the interview with Derek Harper, if his brief David Scacchetti has arrived. Let’s see what he will say to us now we can put more to him.’

Derek Harper had lost weight on remand, in prison. The former gravedigger looked grey and gaunt. His nose marked out by a little red triangle with its congested tip and a network of minute blood
vessels.

Looking a picture of health in contrast, Leeds based solicitor David Scacchetti sat next to him. Dylan explained to Harper why they had him brought to the police cells.

‘It’s a waste of everybody’s time,’ he said. ‘I’m not saying anything.’ Harper constantly laboured his reply to all questions put to him when he bothered to answer at all.

‘
Your production from prison is to tell you of the evidence against you we have now secured since your arrest and affording you an opportunity to comment if you so wish.’

‘I
’ve enjoyed pissing on a few graves in the past, who knows who’s I’ll piss on in the future. Yours maybe?’ said with a cold, defiant stare.

With that inference, and his negative response to answer any further questions put to him, Dylan ended the interview and Harper was returned to his cell.

All three prisoners were in their relevant cells. Their location manufactured to enable them to communicate with each other – albeit by shouting through the small observation hatch in the cell door. The opportunity to be a fly on the wall for the team was too good to miss. Dylan hoped the prisoners would speak freely, especially during the night when there would be limited movement in the corridors. This intelligence seek he hoped would glean something that the team didn’t already know.

‘
Nothing ventured, nothing gained,’ he said to Vicky as they prepared to leave DC Granger whose job it was to sit on the bleak cell corridor till his shift ended in the early hours. Only tomorrow morning, when Dylan and Vicky returned would they know if the exercise had been worthwhile.

‘
I know you’re here G.D. You dirty old git can you hear me?’ shouted Richard Bryant. There was no reply.

‘
Rich, I’m here. I wish you were in ’ere with me.’ Jane shouted at the top of her voice.

Just at that moment the whole cells erupted with a couple of drunk and disorderly prisoners who had been brought into police custody.

‘Damn,’ said Dylan. He and Vicky looked on as they watched the prisoners shouting and lashing out at everyone in their path. Their voices, along with the officers trying to restrain them echoed around the holding area with its shiny, white tiled walls.

Drink and drugs were a massive catalyst. It was no excuse for people
’s behaviour and never would be, but defence solicitors would plead their client’s case and tell the judge and jury that the causation of their downfall was the cocktail of drink and drugs. The solicitors should tell it as it was, in Dylan’s view, that the obnoxious twats that stood before them were violent, aggressive individuals who upset and sometimes destroyed the lives of thousands of peace abiding citizens with or without any kind of intoxication. Now that would be a breath of fresh air. He knew that would never happen.

The staff in the cell area showed great restraint. The prisoners spat and kicked out but all was under control. Hopefully, and in Dylan
’s experience, once in their cell the prisoners would sleep it off and not ruin the possibility of his officers listening to the rants of their reprobates, who were strategically housed for best interaction.

***

Back in his office, Dylan picked up his phone to speak to personnel at the Imaging Department. ‘Any news for me on that request to enhance the computer image showing the boot on the Harper pictures from the Pullman enquiry,’ he said.

The guy on the other end of the phone was upbeat and positive.
‘I’m working on it now, sir,’ he said. ‘We’ve enhanced the stills from the computer images and photographed Bryant’s boots for comparison purposes. I am pleased with the similarities thanks to the specific wearing to the heel of the boot that can be clearly seen. Mr Bryant has a unique gait to his walk it seems. The cuts and stains to the leather uppers are also providing especially encouraging results, even at this early stage. I will have a report supported with appendices of photographs outlining the similarities for you within the next few hours,’ he said.

Still with the boots, he wondered if Forensics had identified any blood splattering. If so identifying who that belonged to was of paramount importance. Dylan wanted, no he needed, as many nails as possible in Bryant
’s coffin. He picked up his ringing phone.

‘Yes,
’ was the first word he heard. ‘Yes! DI Dylan we have found a minute trace of blood on Bryant’s left boot and on checking it on the database it had been positively identified as Kirsty Gallagher’s.’

Things were coming together. The evidence trail was building nicely but Dylan wouldn
’t become complacent. He was feeling tired and it was time for home.

‘I
’ll be at the end of the phone, Andy, if you need me,’ he said to Detective Constable Wormald, who was to take the reins as the night detective.

Dylan drove towards Harrowfield. The market square spread out in front of him. A big open space into which the more dark shadowy High Street flowed. Beyond, as he sat in traffic, he could see Stan Bridge where he had spent many an hour as a force negotiator for suicide intervention. Dylan
’s car came to a standstill beside one of the two semi-elliptical arch ribs that supported the Yorkshire stone piers. He marvelled at the architecture. Not a bad place to be stuck to feel that life was less of a hectic scramble. A policeman came towards him in the middle of the road. Dylan wound down his window. ‘Don’t tell me, I’m required,’ he said with a low groan.

‘
No sir,’ he said jerking a thumb in the opposite direction. ‘A minor accident, no one injured. It’ll be clear before you know it.’

The time out gave him time to ponder. Although the evidence against the three prisoners was excellent and continued to increase in value to him, he still didn
’t have a motive? He couldn’t see why for the life of him anyone would go to the extent of murdering two people. Little did he know that the vacuum of silence he was experiencing alone in his car was in vivid contrast to the noise that the detectives were experiencing in the cell corridor.

***

Detective Constable Andy Wormald and Detective Constable Ned Granger were on two hourly shifts in the cell area. They were to all intents and purposes spending the night in the cells, like a prisoner. As the night rolled into the early hours the silence became deafening. Had they missed their chance?

Suddenly a male voice pierced the silence. Ned
’s pen jolted ready to take down the talk that ensued, verbatim. The noise echoed around the tiled walls.

‘
G.D. Talk to me before they come round to check on us. Have you grassed?’

‘No.
’

‘
Well, remember to keep it that way, otherwise you’ll be digging your own grave, old man,’ he said. Richard Bryant laughed like a hyena.

‘
Rich?’ asked Jane Simpson.

‘
What?’ Bryant said.

‘
Will I see you in court?’

‘
Looks like it. Every time the bastards speak to me they charge me with something else. Just remember it was self-defence and we’ll be alright.’

‘Shh…
Someone’s coming.’

The gaoler was on his rounds. The sound of his keys rattling gave him away. Ned screwed his face up tight.
‘Hell fire,’ he whispered. What a conversation stopper. The night returned to a dark silence and that’s how it continued. It was a long night for which the officers didn’t have anything that could be used as evidence or actioned further. The next morning after breakfast, arrangements would be made for the prisoners to be returned to prison.

***

Dylan was disappointed. He had high hopes of bringing them together. It would have proved more fruitful had he been able to instigate them meeting face to face but he knew that was not possible. His phone rang, ‘It’s Janet, Dylan. Chief Superintendent Hugo-Watkins is asking if you are available to talk to him this morning in relation to your promotion board?’

Dylan was waiting updates from his team. It seemed like he was always waiting for something. He agreed to see the Chief Superintendent and made his way slowly up to his office.

The leather sofa in Hugo-Watkins’ office, where Dylan was directed to sit, was made of a soft natural leather that smelt like a saddle. The Chief Superintendent rose from behind his desk and came to sit opposite Dylan. A coffee table separated the two with a percolator full of fresh ground coffee that was brewing, and two china cups upon it. Dylan smiled to himself, Hugo-Watkins was very obviously practising his informal approach.

‘
Jack, I wanted to strike whilst the iron is hot as they say, help yourself.’

Dylan didn
’t need asking twice.

‘
Firstly, I have liaised with the Assistant Chief Constable, Edward Thornton, as all Divisional Commanders have been asked to do in respect of our candidates who are putting themselves forward for selection. The reason being of course is that you are not simply being considered for the rank of Chief Inspector but we need to be sure that if we invest in you, you are future Force Superintendent material.’

‘
You mean Eddie Thornton? I knew Eddie Thornton long before he changed his name on achieving the rank of Superintendent,’ Dylan said looking over the rim of his cup at Hugo-Watkins. He sipped his hot drink slowly.

‘
Quite. I have to be honest with you,’ he said. ‘Headquarters are suggesting to me that I should be supporting Inspector Martin Telford, a graduate entry and someone who has been chosen to be the Chief’s staff officer shortly.’

Dylan sat perfectly still. His eyes never left Chief Superintendent Hugo-Watkins face. Dylan had a blank look on his face.

Hugo-Watkins coughed into his fist. ‘You can see their reasoning, can’t you?’

Dylan realised that Hugo-Watkins was firmly closing the door on him. He continued.
‘Truth be told I have been asked to limit my support to one candidate. Hell, Dylan I know how busy you are. Their directive doesn’t leave me with much room for manoeuvre.’

Dylan considered what he was really telling him in his roundabout way.

‘Well, if you have nothing to say, can you excuse me?’ Hugo-Watkins said hurriedly. He attempted to get up from the sofa with his china cup and saucer in his hand but fell back on the soft cushion. His coffee splashed all down the front of his pristine white shirt. Dylan had to suppress a laugh.

‘
Tell me, does my application address all the relevant issues? And in your opinion under normal circumstances, if it was being vetted independently would I be paper sifted at this stage?’ Dylan asked.

‘
Your application is excellent and shows a vast amount of experience. It wouldn’t be paper sifted, but you can see what a difficult situation they have put me in?’

‘
Yes, and whilst I appreciate your position you must also appreciate mine. In line with equal opportunities I will be insisting that it goes forward with a similar endorsement from you, to which you have just stated.’

Hugo-Watkins stood up and walked to sit back behind his desk.
‘Jack, I know exactly where you’re coming from. I’m just thinking of the rocky road ahead and the disappointment your quest will be to you if the powers that be are not backing you.’

‘
I understand. But I am asking you to allow me to deal with that if and when it arises. I’m in this race to win, not to come second and I certainly won’t be ruled out of entering just because of someone else’s prejudices. Believe you and me, I won’t accept it lying down if you don’t support me.’

Chief Superintendent Hugo-Watkins raised his hand.
‘I get the message loud and clear, Jack.’

‘I
’m glad. Tell Eddie from me, this detective isn’t for giving up that easy.’

‘
That’s... very positive and the promotion assessments has to be fair.’

‘
And transparent.’

‘
Yes. Quite. Leave things with me, Jack. I’m pleased that you’re not approaching your promotion boards light-heartedly.’

‘I
’m not trying to create problems for you by being awkward. It just makes my blood boil when from the outset such comments are made. It’s a total breach of equal opportunities and shows me what we all know by the way, that they only playing lip service to the promotion system. It so obvious. Look what happened in our meeting for the Sergeant’s boards? Justin Gaskin is a prime example of the “transparent” system they supposedly have set in place to stop things like that happening behind closed doors. We are aware they already have people they want for certain posts circled to get through. A round peg for a round hole as they see it. How they insult our intelligence when they think we don’t all know it. I’ll take my chance in the ring, but one thing I won’t be, and that’s stopped from entering without good reason at the first hurdle.’

‘
I will do my best. And, Jack. I’m pleased you’re so passionate about this promotion. At first I must admit I thought you may be just testing the water, but now I realise how much it means to you.’