Payback Read online

  Mike Blake had to agree.

  ‘And that’s a good thing because?’ said Annie.

  ‘Because it’s in everybody’s best interest that he knows what’s going on.’

  Mike looked up at Charley. ‘I’m going to see Solomon Myers. Do you want to come with me, or shall I take Wilkie?’

  ‘No, you two get off. I’ve got to sign off some enquiries as a matter of urgency. Have a nosey around the vehicle he uses, will you, and get me the reg number.’

  Mike pushed his chair back, stood and shuffled into his coat in quick time. ‘We’ll run it past ANPR on our way back, and see if that tells us anything,’ he said, grabbing his mobile phone from his desk.

  Charley threw him the CID car keys. ‘Find out if Myers has access to the site at all hours, will you?’

  ‘Can you smell tobacco?’ asked Wilkie when he got out of the car in Gibson’s Horticultural car park.

  Mike rolled his eyes. ‘Don’t you bloody start,’ he said.

  ‘What?’ Wilkie’s eyes were confused.

  Mike shook the hand of Mr Gibson, who introduced him to Myers. Solomon looked like a navvy. He wore a flat cap, corduroy pants, heavy-duty boots and a hoody underneath his donkey jacket. When he saw the officers, he put down the shrubs he was carrying and closed the penknife he had been using. He threw back his hood and took off his cap to reveal a bald head. When the officers introduced themselves to him and explained the reason for their visit, he replied in a broad Yorkshire accent.

  ‘I didn’t do it,’ he said. ‘I never go anywhere, do I Mister Gibson? I’m ’appy as a pig in pig muck ’ere. Tell ’em, Mr Gibson.’

  ‘They’re not saying you did it, yer big gormless sod.’

  ‘We just need to eliminate you from our enquiries,’ furthered Mike.

  ‘All we need to do is take a statement from you, get your fingerprints and DNA, and then we’ll leave you to get on with it,’ said Wilkie, nodding in the direction of a pile of saplings.

  The officers saw something that looked like panic flash across Solomon’s eyes, and Mr Gibson saw it too. It quickly became apparent that his agitation might not be due to the officer’s request, but to his not comprehending what was required of him. Mr Gibson reached out and put a hand on his arm.

  ‘Hey, there’s no need to fret. They took my fingerprints and DNA yesterday and I’m still living. It didn’t hurt, yer big soft lump.’

  ‘But I’ve done now’t.’ Solomon looked confused.

  ‘They’re not saying you’ve done anything wrong. Come on. Let’s just get this over and done with, shall we?’

  Solomon Myers stepped back one pace, then another. ‘No,’ he said. With shaking fingers, he pulled his hood up. ‘I have to go to work. Bye,’ he said. He put his head down, turned sharply and without a backward glance walked away.

  Mr Gibson raised his eyebrows, took a deep breath and suggested that the officers give him some time to talk to Solomon. ‘Could you come back later?’

  Mike offered Mr Gibson his business card. ‘When you’ve spoken to him, give us a call. We’ll try to pop back later today, or it may be tomorrow.’

  Wilkie recorded the number of the Navara pick-up truck in his pocket book. His whistle was long and low. ‘What I’d give to have one of these,’ he said.

  As Mike drove the car out of the car park, Wilkie frowned. ‘Sarge, am I missing something? Didn’t you say that Mr Myers goes to college and that he drives that monster?’

  Mike looked left and right before driving out onto the main road – and then again to be doubly sure: the tales and subsequent accidents might just be folklore, but he wasn’t taking any chances. He nodded without taking his eyes off the road. ‘Yes.’

  ‘So, the guy can pass exams and he’s capable of gaining a full driving licence? I think someone might be playing a lot dumber than he actually is, don’t you?’

  ‘Do you think that’s because he doesn’t want to give us his fingerprints or DNA?’

  ‘I don’t know, but whatever the reason, I think playing the imbecile is a perfect character to pick out of the hat when he wants to. And there’s no doubt in my mind he is strong enough to strangle someone – and to carry a dead body.’

  Chapter 11

  The team had secured a collection of CCTV footage at the time of the discovery of each of the bodies, and it remained in the property store, bagged and tagged. The seized items were a useless tool, the viewing a wasted exercise until they knew who, or what, they were looking for. Maybe the time had now come to revisit the CCTV.

  ‘Nothing concrete from Forensics yet?’ Charley asked at the morning briefing. A shaking of heads was her answer. ‘Frustrating as it is at this moment in time not to be able to connect anyone to the murder scenes other than the victims, we must carry on playing the cards in the hand we’ve been dealt and try to remain patient. The break will come,’ she assured the team. ‘I’m going to see Solomon Myers today and Wilkie,’ she said, fixing her eyes on his face, ‘you’ve already met him so I want you to come with me; but before you do I’d like you to revisit the CCTV footage of Stewart Johnson in the town. Solomon may well be the recluse he portrays, but now you’ve met him it would give us something to talk to him about if, by any chance, he appears on the footage.’

  Wilkie nodded.

  Charley turned to Mike. ‘You’re taking the netting over to Forensics?’

  ‘Yes, I’m going to hand it in personally and reiterate the urgency.’

  ‘Another gift is the DNA we got from the used condom at the scene of the Stewart Johnson murder, and although the user isn’t known to us yet, I feel confident that one day they will appear on the national database. We know this is not a Durex, like the other found at the scene. A question for you: why do you think two types of condoms would be at the scene of a murder?’

  ‘The perpetrator uses whatever is available for them to buy at the time?’ suggested Mike.

  ‘Or maybe it depends what’s on offer?’ said Annie.

  ‘They’ve been nicked?’ said Wilkie.

  Charley was thoughtful. ‘Or maybe they were supplied free at the local clinic. Can you check out that line of enquiry, Annie?’

  There was no mistaking the sound of the Divisional Commander’s metal-capped shoes against the cement paving outside in the car park. The two detectives walked on, but Roper reached the external door before they did and opened it. He was in his shirt sleeves; they were wrapped up for the weather, as it had been raining earlier. Roper held the door open and allowed Wilkie to pass. However, his next step put him directly in Charley’s path. She stopped and stepped to the side to let him through, her back to the wall. His eyes narrowed as he leaned in ominously to speak to her. ‘How’s it feel to know the pressure’s on?’

  She gave him a questioning look.

  The smirk he’d fashioned on his loathsome face faltered, but he understood and nodded his head in return. ‘Remember. All eyes at HQ are upon you…’ he said.

  ‘I have nothing to offer but blood, toil, tears and sweat,’ she declared in response to his retreating figure. Brian Roper stopped and turned. For a moment, he appeared speechless.

  Charley walked outside. She was shaking. The door slammed behind them. Chuckling, Wilkie had to run to catch up with her, so long and determined were her strides.

  ‘That was a belter. His face!’

  Charley raised an eyebrow at him, on an otherwise deadpan face.

  He frowned. ‘I mean, that was very profound, boss … what you said, was…’ He slumped down into the passenger seat of her car.

  Key in the ignition, Charley’s concentration was on starting the engine. At the exit of the police compound she turned and gave Wilkie a half-smile and indicated left. ‘It’s Winston Churchill’s words quoted on the back of the five-pound note.’

  ‘By gum. They say you learn something every day, so that’s my lesson for today.’ His face became serious. ‘You’d better watch your back, though. If the look on Roper’s face was anything t
o go by, he’s got it in for you.’

  ‘I’m long past caring,’ she said with a shrug. ‘He’ll do what he wants, when he wants, for as long as it benefits him. You know that, I know that, everyone who knows him knows that.’

  Wilkie was unusually quiet, for a change.

  ‘Penny for them?’

  He turned towards her. ‘I feel like I owe you an explanation.’

  ‘For what?’

  ‘I’ve never felt the need to tell anyone about this before, but I want you to know I’m not the heartless bastard you think I am.’

  ‘Really?’ Charley scoffed. ‘This I gotta hear!’

  Wilkie forced a smile. ‘Really. It’s just that men dressing up as women and women dressing up as men sort of creeps me out.’ The detective’s admission surprised her.

  ‘I imagine that that is magnified in the case of people who actually change their bodies with surgery?’

  ‘I know it sounds ridiculous … Like I said, I’ve never felt the need to tell anyone before. I know how bad it would have made me look.’

  The sound of sirens could be heard in the distance. They got louder and louder and it was apparent they were travelling from where Charley and Wilkie had just come. Wilkie checked his wing mirror, Charley her rear-view. Flashing blue lights and horns alerted Charley to pull the car into the kerbside. The police vehicles passed by and, before she could move on, a paramedic car and two ambulances followed.

  Wilkie frowned. ‘Wonder what’s happening,’ he said, turning up the police radio.

  It appeared that, for reasons yet to be established, a vehicle had hit a tree on the A62 Bradford Road … at Peggy-in-the-Woods.

  It was a freezing cold morning, the wind chill spoiling the heat from the sun when it peeked periodically from behind small, fluffy white clouds. But as far as the accident went, there was no immediate concern that the weather had been a factor.

  ‘That’s the eighth fatal car crash on that part of the road in the past decade. All but one of which remain unexplained. That’s if what Gerry Driver was telling me is true.’

  ‘Unexplained and with no evidence to show that there was any other vehicle involved, or that the vehicle was going at speed,’ said Wilkie.

  The voice of the traffic inspector came over the radio. ‘It looks like the driver negotiated a right-hand bend, then for some reason yet to be established, left the road, rolled over several times and collided with a tree.’

  Pre-warned about road closures, and with her local knowledge, Charley managed to drive to Gibson’s Horticultural car park without any undue delay. It appeared that Mr Gibson had been waiting for them. He was wrapped up warmly, with his cap pulled on his head and a woollen scarf round his neck, hands dug deep in his pockets.

  ‘No work for the wicked today?’ asked Charley as she alighted from the car.

  ‘I’m actually waiting for Solomon.’ He hesitated. ‘God knows where he’s got to.’

  ‘I have the same problem keeping tabs on ’im,’ Charley said, jerking her head in Wilkie’s direction.

  ‘Maybe you should lock him up. At least you know where they are when they’re in the cells.’

  ‘Don’t tempt me, Mr Gibson. I must say, in my experience, locking them up is a great leveller.’

  ‘I bet it is. Ah, talk of the devil,’ he said, pointing to the entrance of the polytunnel where a pale-faced Solomon had suddenly appeared. The three walked towards him in silence, concern on their faces. His breathing was heavy and, as they got close enough to the sleeveless T-shirted man to see, they realised he was sweating profusely, his hair slicked back from his ruddy face. His muscular, left upper arm was bloody and scratched, as if he had been clawed by an animal.

  ‘What on earth…?’ said Mr Gibson.

  Solomon lolloped to the water butt, bent over and reached in with both hands. He swilled his face before coming up for air, cocked a brow and twisted his neck to look at his shoulder. ‘Oh, that must have been the branches. I’ve been lopping trees over yonder.’

  ‘You have?’ said Mr Gibson.

  Wilkie took Solomon’s fingerprints from hands that were like huge shovels. His fingernails were long and grimy, a breeding ground for germs.

  ‘Does Mr Myers have his own keys?’ Charley asked Mr Gibson, whilst Wilkie took swabs from Solomon’s mouth.

  ‘He does,’ said Mr Gibson.

  ‘You must trust this young man implicitly?’

  Mr Gibson nodded. ‘Yes, I do.’ Which caused an undeniable smile on the face of Solomon.

  ‘Can I go back to work now?’ Solomon asked.

  Charley smiled. ‘Yes, and thank you for your co-operation, Mr Myers. It’s much appreciated.’

  Mr Gibson shook his head. ‘What am I going to do wi’ you, lad. It won’t hurt to be courteous. The police officers are only doing their job. And put some ointment on them cuts and wear your overalls in future,’ he shouted to Solomon’s retreating back.

  ‘I heard your lot down on the main road just before you arrived,’ said Mr Gibson as they walked back to the car.

  ‘Looks like it might prove another fatal one, too,’ said Charley, a flash of sadness crossing her face as she put her hand to her police radio.

  Mr Gibson shook his head, sighing heavily. ‘That’s going to upset mi’ laddo. He’s a lot more sensitive than he lets on. He wasn’t the same for weeks the last time there was a fatal down there, absolutely devastated…’

  ‘Do you remember the Honey Monster in them breakfast cereal adverts?’ asked Wilkie as they drove back to the station.

  Charley nodded and her smile widened. ‘Massive shoulders, not too bright. Solomon reminds you of him?’

  Wilkie nodded his head. ‘He’s an oddball, that’s for sure.’

  ‘It’s his eyes. My grandpa used to choose his racing pigeons by their eyes. He always said he could tell by their eyes whether they were rogues or not. Maybe we should adopt that theory for humans too?’

  ‘Do you think he could be involved?’

  Charley shrugged her shoulders. ‘He’s certainly a person of interest to me, but I just don’t get the feeling he’d have the nous to display the bodies, or the intelligence or capability to add the red herrings into the mix.’ Charley’s eyebrows were raised. ‘But the golden rule is…?’

  ‘Never assume. We might be underestimating him.’ Wilkie grabbed the evidence bags that sat in the footwell. ‘Hey, at least we did what we set out to do and got his samples.’

  ‘And there’s one thing for sure. If he was on any of the CCTV footage, he would stand out in the crowd.’

  Back in the incident room, the samples taken from Solomon Myers were handed to the exhibits officer, who diligently recorded them.

  ‘Data protection means…?’ said Wilkie, pointing directly at Annie.

  ‘Record, retain and reveal to any future defence team,’ said Annie. ‘I’m not that green.’

  ‘Humour me. I’m practising for when I get my aide.’ He waved his hand in an encouraging gesture. ‘What happens then?’

  Annie rolled her eyes at Tattie, her voice monotone. ‘Once recorded, the DNA sample has to be signed out, timed and dated, before it goes to Forensics. When it’s returned, it must be signed back in. Every exhibit item’s movements must be chronologically recorded and whoever is removing the said item from the store where it is booked in must sign for it.’

  There were two urgent messages waiting for Charley on her return. One made her heart skip a beat. She hastily dialled the number of the forensic science laboratory.

  ‘Simon?’ she said, her voice full of anticipation.

  ‘Inspector!’ The upbeat tone in his voice gave her hope of good news. ‘I’ve been working on the soil samples from the churchyard scene and the victim’s clothing. There was blood on both, however, the soil from beneath where the body had been hung, and what was on the clothing, is completely different. Now, I’m not going to bore you with the details. Safe to say the cemetery sample is much as I expected, the soil hav
ing similar fertility to a sports field and urban sprawl lawns. However, the soil on the clothing is dark, peaty and full of organic matter – bits of leaves and plants et cetera. In short, the soil on the clothing is consistent with that found in a well-cared-for garden.’

  ‘So, you’re confirming the churchyard as a dump site, right?’

  ‘I don’t think that was ever in dispute, do you? But that’s not all; I’ve saved the best till last. The soil sample on the clothing of the deceased at the cemetery is of the same composition as that taken from the deceased at Four Fields.’

  Charley’s lips parted in shock. ‘You’re actually telling me that you can prove both bodies have been in the same location before being dumped elsewhere?’

  ‘I can tell you it’s highly likely, yes. I’ve authorised more tests to be done on the composite soil sample to identify other ingredients that might help you to pinpoint an exact location.’

  Charley Mann could hardly believe she had heard Simon correctly. This revelation brought more questions, but the emergence of proof required for court purposes meant that pieces of the jigsaw puzzle were slotting together.