Hot Blood (Bloodwords Book 1) (51 page)

‘If that isn’t your car and you
did not go anywhere near Pool Hey Lane Frank, why do those photographs show you
bringing things out of the building and putting them into your boot?’

Davies opened his mouth to speak
but couldn’t find the right words. Moving the photographs around he stared at
them in disbelief. Finally, looking up, he repeated that the photographs did
not show his car and that the person was most definitely not he. Handley then
told Davies that the temporary assignment researching conference policing had
been a very worthwhile exercise, but had actually been brought forward a month
to keep Davies away from the murder and car theft cases.

While he had been at the Ramada
with the Home Office men, CSI had removed items from his boot – the items
that he had been photographed loading up at
Scarisbrick
.
Other items recovered had helped to build the picture, linking him to the
murders and the car thefts. Indeed, when shown photographs, each of the
suspects being held downstairs had identified Frank Davies as Fraser Downing.

Handley turned to Radcliffe.
‘It’s time Don please.’ Turning to Davies he added, ‘I’m sorry about this
Frank, but we’ll do it by the book.’

‘Francis John Davies,’ intoned
Radcliffe. ‘I am arresting you on suspicion of multiple car theft and exporting
stolen vehicles. You do not have to say anything, but it may harm your defence
if you do not mention when questioned, something which you later rely on in
court. Anything you do say may be given in evidence.’

Initially none of the three
spoke, Handley being the first to break the silence.

‘I would advise you to stop this
charade Frank,’ he said. ‘You have dealt with your fair share of villains in
your time so you know the score. Come clean and tell us everything about the
setup, who did what and some names of course, and we will do what we can for
you. You are still one of us so if we can help we will. Your claims so far just
don’t stand up Frank. They don’t gel with the facts as we know them – or
the proof that we already have.’

‘This whole escapade is a fix
up,’ claimed Davies. ‘For the last time, I don’t know this Downing bloke and
that isn’t my car. That’s not me in the photographs either. I’m going to find
out who’s set me up and I’ll have his guts for garters. I can’t believe that
you have been taken in by this. Christ, if I find out who it is I’ll bloody
kill him.’

Handley and Radcliffe exchanged
glances.

‘It’s funny that you should
mention killing somebody Frank,’ said Radcliffe. ‘The three deaths are linked
to the car thefts. We know that for a fact and I think you already knew that
too. Now, as DI Handley has already said, it would be in your own interests to
cooperate. I’m sure you don’t want murder added to the charges.’

‘Murder!’ Blurted out Davies.
‘Murder?’ What the hell are you talking about? I’m not involved with murder.
Don’t talk so bloody stupid.’

‘You’ll have time to go through
all that,’ responded Handley, ‘but for now you will be held downstairs.’
Pausing momentarily he then added, ‘Just think of this Frank, police officers
get a rough time inside. I can protect you while you remain with us but not in
prison.’ Turning to Radcliffe he added, ‘Thanks Don. Take him down will you
please.’

Officers turned away as Radcliffe
and Davies reached the custody suite, not wanting to be lured into
conversation. Confused, they suddenly busied themselves with papers and
documents that normally would have played second fiddle to exchanging
pleasantries with a popular officer. Usually he could not move within the
station without somebody throwing out a “Hey Frank, have you heard the one
about . . . . .?” But now he would be the one that they would be talking about.
“Hey Joe, have you heard about Frank Davies?”

‘I’m sorry to ask sir,’ said the
custody sergeant, obviously ill at ease, ‘but will you put your things in this
tray please? It’s procedure. I have to do it sir.’

‘I know you have to bloody do
it,’ replied Davies, emptying his pockets of loose change, wallet and mobile
phone.

‘OK, I’ll see him in,’ said
Radcliffe after the formalities had been completed, an almost imperceptible nod
of thanks being offered by Davies.

As they walked down the row of
cells towards the last, keeping him away from drunks and others, Davies heard
the swell of voices behind him and knew only too well who the topic of
conversation would be.

Epilogue

Sitting
on the balcony sipping a chilled juice as a gaily-painted boat sailed slowly
past, Debbie
Lescott
relaxed in the late afternoon
sun. Where previously she had thought the house to be remote and away from
essential conveniences, now she could see it from his point of view. When he
strolled onto the wide balcony, a magnificent panorama unfolded where he could
relax in his own little world, the only intrusions being the twittering of
birds or the putt
putt
of a boat chugging by on the
canal. Yet for all that, Tesco and the retail park were actually no more than
ten minutes drive away, and Southport town centre fifteen. Yes, she could see
the attraction.

The
noise of a glass door sliding back brought her back into reality.

‘Why
do you insist on coffee when the sun is high and the air is warm and stuffy?’
she asked. ‘I am sure that you would enjoy this juice more.’

‘No
way,’ he replied sitting in the patio chair next to her. ‘I like my coffee
– especially
Bewleys
. And in any case, a hot
drink cools you down more because it makes you sweat.’

‘A
likely story,’ she replied with a laugh. ‘I don’t want to be sweaty anyway,’
wrinkling her nose, ‘give me a chilled juice anytime.’

‘Well
that’s where you are wrong. Go out into the desert and the Bedouins will never
drink anything chilled, they drink water at air temperature and hot tea. They should
know what’s best in hot temperatures after all.’

A
horn sounded. The old man on the passing boat was waving his woolly hat and
smiling. Simon waved back.

‘I’ve
seen that barge before,’ she said. ‘Do you know the guy?’

‘Not
really,’ he replied. ‘Old Amos spends his time just sailing up and down the
canal. Sometimes he only goes as far as Wigan then turns round, but once a year
he goes all the way up to Leeds. That’s not easy because opening and closing
the lock gates at his age is a bit of a strain. It’s his life though. He loves
it. I don’t suppose he could stay in one spot for more than a couple of days
now.’ Turning to face her he added, ‘and it’s a narrow boat, not a barge
Debbie.’

‘Barge,
narrow boat, does it matter Simon?’

‘To
you and me, no, but to those on the canal I suppose that it does. It’s like the
difference between a Jaguar and a Daimler. Most people wouldn’t spot the
difference unless the Daimler’s fluted radiator or better trim was pointed out,
but a Daimler owner would turn in his grave.’

‘I
wondered how long we could sit out here in the sun before you mentioned cars.
What is it about you men and cars, especially Italian cars? I’ve had enough of
cars to last me a lifetime.’

‘I
suppose that we appreciate Italian cars because they are stylish and we are a
bit hot blooded. Anyway, I was hoping that you would fill me in and bring me up
to date.’

‘If
you mention cars once more Simon Charlton, I’ll really fill you in, buried
alive. And never mind hot blood, you’ll make my blood boil’

‘OK,
point taken. But it’s frustrating you know. I was quite involved at one point
and really put myself out to help, but when push came to shove I was left out
in the cold. I pointed your beloved Don Radcliffe in the right direction but I
lay awake at night wondering how he brought the various aspects together and
how he actually found out that his colleague was a bent copper. I don’t think
that I would have seen that
Debbs
. I mean, you don’t
really suspect someone you’ve worked closely with for years do you? They even
shared an office didn’t they?’

‘Don’t
call me
Debbs
please Simon. My name is Deborah and I
like Debbie, particularly the way you say it, but
Debbs
reminds me of my father and brings back some uncomfortable memories.’

Taken
aback, Simon studied her. He could see hurt and sadness. Perhaps anguish even.
‘I didn’t know,’ he offered, ‘really I didn’t. What happened?’

‘Later
Simon.’ Brightening, she seemed to distance herself from what had obviously
been a painful memory, holding out her empty glass. ‘Any chance of another?’
she said, ‘with plenty of ice cubes.’

Inside,
she could hear the clink of glasses and the rattle of ice cubes as he prepared
her drink. There was also hissing and clunking like that of a small steam train
so presumably he was making another of his much loved cups of coffee too. No
wonder the guy was always on the go – he must be filled to the brim with
caffeine. With a week off work, all she wanted to do was to relax, to chill out
and daydream, thinking of nothing in particular and definitely not the events
of the past couple of weeks. Looking forward wasn’t entirely a good option
either. So much was vague. So much was uncertain. And so much was out of her
hands so could neither be planned nor manipulated. If she didn’t want to look
back and couldn’t look forward, all that remained was to enjoy the present or
let her mind float away in idle dreams. Or both.

‘You’ve
not touched your juice after asking for it.’

If,
as she had asked, Simon had put ice cubes in her drink, and she had no doubts that
he would have done, either the juice had been quite warm or some time had
elapsed since he had made it for her. Looking down, she saw that there was no
indication of however many ice cubes there had been, for they had completely
melted and with condensation running down its side, her tumbler of juice was
sitting in a pool of water.

‘I’m
sorry Simon, I didn’t realise that it was there. I must have been miles away.’

‘You
were my love,’ he replied, standing at the side of her in the open doorway.
‘When I came back out you had already dozed off so I put your drink down at
your side. I had my coffee then went back in to check a couple of my eBay sales
on-line. You’ve had almost an hour so you must have been jiggered.’ Squatting
down at the side of her he added, ‘Do you want to nip up to the Ship for lunch,
or shall we drive out to the Queen’s Head?’

‘I’d
rather stay here if that’s OK with you.’

‘Of
course it is,’ he replied with a confident smile on his face. ‘I can soon
rustle something up.’

Inwardly
he appreciated her choice. That she preferred to stay with him in his house
rather than eat out he found rather comforting. Yet he was only too aware that
he could be reading more into her present mood than there was, that she could
just be tired out in the aftermath of a busy workload. And there was still the
uncertainty about her job hanging over her anyway.

‘I’m
not hungry yet,’ she added, ‘bring your drink and sit out here with me for a
bit. I’ll bring you up to date.’

‘I
finished my drink ages ago,’ he replied, sitting next to her, ‘but you don’t
have to tell me anything if you don’t want to you know, have a rest and
recharge your batteries.’

‘I
can see why you love it here Simon, it’s so relaxing.’ Then turning to him with
an expression that he couldn’t quite identify: neither sad, happy nor cheeky
but possibly with an element of all three, she added, ‘I really want to put it
all behind me but I need to talk it over with you first because you were
instrumental in cracking the cases in so many ways.’

‘And
putting your job at risk Debbie. I can neither forget nor forgive myself for
that.’

‘That
was as much down to me as you,’ she replied. ‘You asked but I didn’t need to do
anything did I? I knew the rules and the risks.’

The
implication was clear. She had done it for him. Picking up her juice she took a
long swig, water dropping off the bottom of the glass onto her blouse, creating
a wet patch that grew as the water continued to drop.

‘I
couldn’t accept that Frank was a bent copper,’ she said. ‘I worked with him for
a couple of years – as the senior officer I worked closely with he was my
mentor I suppose – and I couldn’t think of him as anything other than
straight up. Still can’t for that matter.’ Turning to face him she smiled.
‘That taught me a lot actually. You just can’t take people at face value can
you? I don’t trust anyone anymore, even those I’ve known for ages.’

‘Well,
that puts me in my place I suppose.’

‘Don’t
be silly Simon. You know what I mean. The Frank Davies thing has got me
confused but Don Radcliffe must feel betrayed. He taught Frank a lot, rather
like Frank mentoring me, but look how it turned out.’

Taking
another sip of juice, she pondered the implications of her words: the reality
of life as a police officer where normal family life just did not exist, and
couldn’t exist. Continually one would be analysing everyday situations, unable
to accept people without detailed scrutiny. Unable to even form personal
relationships without scrutinising every comment and every action. Yet there
could be no alternative. Now that Frank’s split personality had been etched
into her brain so indelibly, his subterfuge seemingly so perfect, whatever she
did in life from this point on she would be unable to accept people without
keeping them at arms length until their integrity had been established. It
would become a heavy burden to carry.

‘The
Chief was furious about leaks and read the riot act, but Don realised that the
only people privy to all the information were himself, Frank and the Chief.
When some details of the car thefts started coming through, Frank must have
been worried that his partner in crime, Brian Bradshaw-Smith, would become a
suspect so he set Steve Wilson up, you know, the first suspect Don brought in
and questioned. Frank hoped that because Wilson’s wife had a ringed car and
Wilson a car repair business, he would get identified for the lot and the heat
would then be off Bradshaw-Smith. Don quickly realised what was going on,
although he still thought Frank was just the leak. Then Bradshaw-Smith was
brought in and made a few references to things that Frank had also mentioned,
things that neither Bradshaw-Smith nor Frank should have known. Don picked that
up and put it all together from there.’

‘So
why didn’t your DCI just suspend Frank?’

‘Lack
of proof. Don had his suspicions but Complaints couldn’t have done anything
without some sort of evidence. Don’s suspicions were confirmed when we were
waiting to hit the college and you phoned me with Frank’s registration.’

‘Was
that Davies’ Jag at the back of the convoy?’

‘Yes.
He doubled back and linked up with Don and Kyle to go in to the college. The
caretaker then identified Frank’s photo as being Fraser Downing, though he
didn’t know his name and just referred to him as Boss Man. Don then had to find
a way to keep him away from the investigation so he went to the Chief with his
theory. Handy couldn’t authorise anything on his own so Don had to take it to
HQ.’

‘Who’s
Handy?’

‘Detective
Chief Inspector Handley,’ she replied with a chuckle. ‘His nickname is Handy
Andy, but for God’s sake don’t ever call him that or he’ll skin me alive.’

‘I
doubt that I will ever mix in such exalted company, so don’t worry.’