Hot Blood (Bloodwords Book 1) (21 page)

‘OK then. That’s settled. Come over to our
place about four and we’ll talk it through over an early dinner. Uncle Mike’s
in a bad way I’m afraid. Visiting time is about six so I’ll have to dash off to
the hospital after we’ve eaten. See you later Kevin.’

Dropping the handset back into its cradle, Joan
sank back into the chair. That hadn’t been too bad. At least the two sides of
the family were talking again, even if the circumstances were difficult.
Reaching out for the pile of mail, she arranged it across the desk in a number
of piles. Most seemed to be commercial correspondence of some sort or other,
clearly identified by printed envelopes or franked inscriptions. That could be
a disadvantage surely? Shouting to everyone what was inside might just as well
result in the envelope being dropped straight into a waste bin without being
opened as generate the goodwill that the advertising was supposed to create.

Those looking like junk mail, although directly
addressed, she put in one pile furthest away from her. They would be opened
last. Those that carried the logo or corporate PR of suppliers, possibly sales
messages or bills, were put in another pile. That left her with two types of
envelope: official looking long and thin DL envelopes with typed addresses and
squarer ordinary letter shaped envelopes with hand written addresses. The
official ones all went into a third pile. There was method in her madness. By
opening the ordinary hand written ones first she would put off opening official
letters until later. With no real knowledge of the business, most of the
official ones would make no sense to her anyway so better to pigeon hole them
for the time being.

Most of the personal letters were quite
touching. Addressed just to The Palette, or to Mrs Johnson c/o The Palette,
their writers expressed horror at what had happened to Mike, expanded on what a
great man he was and what he meant to each and every one of the people he came
into contact with, expressing hopes for his quick recovery. Reading the first
had been comforting. By the sixth she had been reduced to a wreck, tears
rolling down her cheeks, makeup smudged and her eyes red. The man they were
writing about was precious to her but reading the letters it was as if he had
died and his admirers were giving some sort of eulogy instead of clinging him
to life in his hospital bed.

Sweeping the letters to one side she looked at
the rest of the mail. Three piles were left, so which one next? Initially she
had thought that the personal ones would have cheered her up but they had had
the opposite effect. The junk mail seemed pointless so in one swoop it joined
the rubbish and envelopes in the waste bin. That just left official looking
mail. Working through the branded or franked envelopes, she soon had a stack of
bills piled up. Some were invoices for goods or materials that Mike sold in the
shop but there were others that seemed to be statements going back several
months. She found them confusing. Some seemed to be long lists of amounts with
huge totals outstanding. No doubt that wasn’t the case. She didn’t understand
finances and official documents so no doubt these were simply statements of
accounts and the payments Mike had made would be shown on other documents. All the
same, a couple concerned her. The council were threatening action for unpaid
business rates and the bank had sent a letter thanking Mike for depositing some
money but pointing out that it wasn’t enough by far and only guaranteed two
weeks. Two weeks for what? And what had he paid? What had he bought? As for the
council, they must be wrong. Or were they?

Dropping the
noe
empty envelopes into the bin to clear a space on the desk she pulled the last
pile in front of her. These were the ones she dreaded most. She was useless
with officialdom. Give her a pan, some ingredients and an oven and she would
out perform almost anybody – except Mike that is, but then he had been a
professional chef so he didn’t count did he? - but official correspondence had
her beat. Slipping her finger under the flap she opened the first envelope and
pulled out a short letter on the bank’s letterhead. Come in and see me because
it is urgent. It was short and to the point. Rummaging through the previous
stack she found the other letter from the bank. Dated a day before the new
short one, it had come from the head office while the one she had just opened
was direct from the manager of the local branch. What was going on?

Putting the two bank letters aside, she opened
three more envelopes, all containing letters she couldn’t understand. Legalese
language and lists of figures that meant nothing to her confused her even more.

  
Just one last envelope remained. What a chore the whole episode had
been. Picking it up she sat staring at it, not really aware of why but knowing
that inside would be trouble with a capital T. The phone rang. Putting down the
envelope she picked up the handset.

Listening incredulously, Joan tensed, the
colour draining from her face as the voice droned on. Without saying a word,
slowly she replaced the receiver, swallowed hard and slumped back in her chair.

Five hours she had been in the shop. Five hours
in which the only people she had talked to had been the waitress and one
customer buying nothing more than a couple of brushes. Two hours of boredom and
three hours reading mail that had numbed her senses to the point she couldn’t
remember. Then a horrific telephone call followed by a mind numbing blank. Five
hours condensed into a bleak nothingness. All that was left was to shut up shop
and go home.

Rising stiffly from her chair she stretched her
shoulders and twisted her neck from side to side. Normally an active woman, she
had been deflated by the day’s inactivity and stunned by the unexpected events.
Putting on her jacket and picking up her handbag she made her way out of the
office and through the shop. Reaching up to switch off the lights she
remembered the last remaining envelope and returned to the tiny office.

Sixteen

‘OK everybody,’ said Chief Inspector Arthur
Handley, as the hub of idle chatter died, ‘we’ve got two unusual cases so lets
get down to business.’ Standing at the front of the room and flanked by
Detective Inspector Frank Davies and Detective Inspector Don Radcliffe, he gave
a sweep of his arm to indicate the two officers flanking him and added, ‘You
all know DI Radcliffe and DI Davies of course.’

Davies gave an almost imperceptible nod of his
head, but otherwise, both men showed blank expressions and little movement.
Handley looked around the room at the assembled officers. He had their
attention. A meeting like this was unusual and the assembled officers were
intrigued. Bringing together a group such as this with high level officers in
charge indicated something serious.

‘I’m sure that you are all aware that after
being attacked for a second time, our local celebrity artist is now in a
critical condition in Southport General Infirmary,’ continued Handley.
‘Separately, the body found in
Lydiate
Hall has now
been identified, as has the unfortunate driver in the routine RTA out on the
Maghull
Road.’

Peering over his glasses at the crowded room,
he said, ‘On the face of it then, two unconnected deaths - one an old man who
had a heart attack and the other the result of putting a small hatchback on its
side into a drainage ditch. Frank has been following up on the
Lydiate
Hall death and Don both the Johnson attack and the
RTA, which is convenient because being more of a double act than Ant and Dec
they’ve been bouncing things back and forth and some interesting links seem to
be emerging.’

Turning to point to a white board on which a
number of names and locations had been written, Handley tapped each name or
location in turn to emphasise what he was saying. ‘The
Lydiate
Hall body has now been identified as Peter Archer who is, or was, related to
our celebrity artist, Mike Johnson. Archer’s death was not a coronary.‘

Pausing for effect, Handley again put on his
professor look and squinted over his spectacles. ‘This is where it gets
interesting. Not only is the
Lydiate
Hall body
connected to Johnson, there is also a link to Don’s RTA. According to the
pathologist, our car driver was dead before the car went into the ditch.’

Another pause to let the information sink in.
‘And, ladies and gentlemen, the cause of death was exactly the same as for
Lydiate
Hall Man. One death like that would be unusual. Two
so close together is too much of a coincidence.’

 
There were murmurs around the room.
Though years previously a Southport man had murdered his wife and chopped her
up into pieces and a decade or so later a lodger had murdered his landlady,
murder was unusual in the Victorian classic resort. Very unusual.

‘Have we got a serial killer Sir?’

Directing his gaze to the back of the room,
though he could not identify which officer had raised the question he had hoped
would not be asked and to which everyone wanted the answer, Handley glanced at
each of the inspectors flanking him before responding. ‘At this point I don’t
think so. Certainly, I damned well hope not,’ he said. ‘What we do know is
that
  
although we are not
aware of any connections between the two men, for both of them to have been
murdered in exactly the same way and in such an unusual manner means that there
must be a connection somewhere. We have to find that connection – and
fast. Whether our artist is also involved could be significant or just a red
herring.

‘Under normal circumstances, crimes like these
would be handled by Liverpool but if at all possible I want to keep the
enquires based here. We don’t get many murders but we do have the local
knowledge, so with two murders and two serious attacks criss-crossing we’ve
brought you lot together as a joint team to work on both cases. I’ll head it
all up as OIC but for now I’ll let the investigating officers enlarge.’

Don Radcliffe first outlined the Mike Johnson
attacks. The artist had first been attacked on his own driveway in
Crosshill
Village. He had been subjected to a serious
working over but it had not been life threatening. The second attack had been
close to the artist’s shop in the centre of Southport. That attack seemed to
have been shorter but more brutal. More professional. Johnson had been
convinced that the first attacker had been his brother-in-law, Peter Archer,
who owned the Green Fields Caravan Park. Archer had been seen elsewhere at the
time and could not have carried out the second attack because by that time he
was dead –
Lydiate
Hall Man – Frank would
enlarge on that shortly. The second attack was much more serious and had left
Johnson in a critical condition so as yet he had not been interviewed and
whether he would be able to identify his assailant wouldn’t be apparent until
his condition improved. If Johnson had been wrong about the first attack, then
both could have been carried out by the same person but it could not be ruled
out that different perpetrators had carried out the two beatings.

Davies agreed. By the time of the second
attack, the
Lydiate
Hall body had been identified as
Peter Archer. Overall they had very few leads, but while there was no obvious
link between the attacks on Johnson and the murder of Archer, it was all too
much of a coincidence when you dialled in the family relationship, Johnson
having originally accused Archer, the close proximity of the caravan park to
Johnson’s house, and a known business fight between the two men over disputed
land that separated the caravan park from the Johnson’s house and which both
wanted to develop. Both he and Inspector Radcliffe believed that Archer’s death
and the attacks on Johnson were in some way related but the unusual cause of
death was a puzzle.

Radcliffe took over again. ‘We were supposed to
think that our second victim had simply driven off the road and into a drainage
ditch. We’ve identified him as a Polish mechanic by the way. The CSI’s threw
the RTA theory out straight away though. Apparently the cover up was very
hammy. On the other hand, the way the guy met his death looks very
professional, so how it looked and how it actually happened seem to be at odds.
Frankly, we don’t have a clue as to why or how – or even where.’

Wrapping the meeting up, Handley put on his
sternest expression. ‘This is going to cause quite a stir,’ he said. ‘But it is
crucial that we don’t have mass panic. You asked if there is a serial killer
out there and, honestly, we don’t know. But I don’t want the press whipping
this up into frenzy. Not only would that unsettle the whole community it would
hamper our complete investigation and make our task impossible.’

Still holding a sheaf of files, none of which
he’d referred to at any point, he held them up and thrust them forward to
emphasise each word, ‘Let me make this clear once and for all,’ he stormed. ‘I
want nobody. Repeat, nobody, saying even one word about any aspect of this
investigation to anybody. You all got that? Anybody. That doesn’t just mean the
media, it means what the word says – anybody. You don’t discuss any
aspect of this investigation with friends, family, strangers, or lovers. Do I
make myself clear?’

Lowering his voice and softening somewhat, he
continued. ‘We have issued separate press releases about the two deaths. We are
keeping them separate as long as we can. All we’ve released so far is that
Archer apparently had a heart attack at the hall and the Pole drove off the road
into the ditch. We put out the releases at different times so they remain two
unconnected incidents. We’re using the word “apparent” so that we cannot be
accused of issuing wrong information.’ A wry smile came to the corners of his
mouth. ‘Just a little tardy with updates maybe.’ Looking at the assembled group
he continued, ‘We’ll continue to put out individual releases while we can, but
when we reach the point where we have to do more then I’ll set up a media
conference. No talking out of hand, OK?’

‘But what about the families Sir. We can’t control
who they talk to can we?’

‘No lad, we can’t. However, we can control how
much they are told. The Pole doesn’t have any family here anyway so if any more
than that gets into circulation it will be pretty obvious where it’s come from.
Anyone talking out of turn to anybody – Christ, anybody talking to
anybody at all - will get thrown back into uniform and lose all rank. That
clear?’ Finishing on a high, Handley strode back to his office.

‘That was a turn up for the book. I’ve not seen
him like that before.’ Commented Davies to Radcliffe.

‘Like what?’

‘You know, coming over all fierce; a complete
info blackout so that if we screw up he can kick our arses.’

With a chuckle, Radcliffe grinned and reassured
Davies that if push came to shove, Handy Andy could be relied upon to back them
to the hilt. What appeared to be control on the part of the senior officer was
actually more of a freedom for the two inspectors to operate as they felt best
within a tight operation. Rest assured, he knew every little thing that was
going on or being done by his officers, but he wouldn’t meddle. If they
actually needed his support, Handy Andy could be relied upon to give it –
as long as they could justify their requests.

Though having known each other for years and
sharing an office for the last two, Radcliffe and Davies had never officially
worked together. They had bounced cases off each other, passed over local
information to help the other clear up a case, socialised at functions, and swapped
yarns at the bar, but this was the first time they had actually shared a
command.

With Handley now returned to his office and, no
doubt, the comforting aroma of his coffee machine, the two senior officers had
become the target for numerous questions. Were they absolutely sure that Archer
had not been responsible for the first attack on Johnson? Did Johnson really
say that he would murder Archer? And if so, could Johnson have killed Archer
before being attacked himself for a second time?

There were so many questions and Don Radcliffe
knew that the relationship between the leading officers would be observed by
the others. Ostensibly of the same rank, Radcliffe didn’t relish the idea of
being seen to be subservient to Davies and he guessed that the reverse would
also be true, so the key to a successful working relationship would be the
removal of friction between the two inspectors. He would have to move quickly
if he was to establish a hierarchy in his favour. At this early stage,
whichever officer took the initiative and answered questions positively would,
by default, set a precedent.

‘OK guys, lets get the show on the road,’
bellowed Radcliffe above the chatter that had gained steadily in volume since
Handley’s exit. Having gained their attention, Radcliffe proceeded to outline
how he thought that they should work, hoping that Davies would not object. Like
his superior, he hoped that they could keep the investigations local and tie
them up with successful conclusions before Liverpool could intervene and take
them away, major incidents though they may be. What they really needed was a
compact team with good communications and fast exchange of information. What he
was suggesting was that they should continue to operate as they had started,
with Davies heading up the
Lydiate
Man investigation
while he carried on with the Johnson attacks and the RTA murder of the Pole,
with continuing debriefing between both teams daily. Davies pursed his lips,
thought for a moment, then nodded imperceptibly with a slight smile.