Trophies: a gripping detective thriller (The Wakefield Series Book 1) (24 page)

Laura turned her head to look at him.

“I used to have conversations with him, you know,” he went on. “I solved quite a few cases with his help. Yes I’m really going to miss old Jasper.”

“So am I,” she said, turning back to her original tucked in position.

They were quiet for a few minutes. “The place is emptying,” he sighed. “Soon it’ll just be you and me.”

Laura stirred slightly. “You worried?”

“Me? Why?”

“Just wondered. We haven’t really been in this position before, have we? I mean, with Graham coming along so quickly.”

“Yes, I suppose it was a bit of a shock, wasn’t it? Your dad wasn’t best pleased. Still, things have turned out all right for us.” Strong stroked her hair. “He seems to be enjoying himself at Hull. And Amanda looks to be coming to the end of her wild phase relatively unscathed.”

“More to the point, so do we,” Laura laughed.

“Looks like she should get decent grades and then she’ll be off next year. That’ll leave us rattling around in this place.”

“Hey, don’t think that’s the last you’ll see of them. They’ll still be coming back for washing, feeding and money when they run out.”

“I know.” He smiled. “We’ll be forking out for two of them then. Fees, living costs and all that nonsense.”

“So what’s the big worry?”

“Nothing. It’s just it feels like the end of a chapter, really.”

Laura shuffled round on her legs to look straight at her husband. “Colin Strong, you’re not going all melancholy on me, are you?”

“No.” His face broke into a grin then became serious again. “I suppose I should look at it the other way round. I should really think of it as a fresh opportunity. A chance for us to do more things together. Perhaps plan a big holiday. Only thing is my job screws things up from time to time. You know I’m not a regular nine to five bloke. Maybe you’ll start to notice more.”

“Oooh, you are worried, aren’t you?” Laura ribbed him.

The phone began to ring. “There you go. Right on cue. Just when we’re chilling out.” Strong shuffled to his feet.

Laura got up too. “Shall I pour you another one?”

“Better wait a minute, just in case.” Strong picked up the phone. “Hello?”

* * *

“So, the cigarette lighter and the rings were never recovered?”

“No, Bob,”
the voice on the end of the line was saying.

“That is interesting, Stuart. I don’t suppose you could send me some detailed descriptions could you?”

“I can do better than that, I’m looking at photos of them we published in the paper at the time. I can fax a copy over to your office if you like.”

“You’re a star. What about DNA? Couldn’t they get something from the semen found at the scene?”

“Well, I spoke to my contact at Carlisle CID and apparently there was contamination,”
Stuart replied.
“There wasn’t just one semen sample, there were about five or six.”

“I thought they’d determined the attacker was a type B secretor, that’s why they gave so much credibility to the letters and the tape?”

“Don’t know about that but the word is there’s no chance of a DNA sample that would stand up in court.”

“Okay, Stuart, thanks for that. Listen, do they still send you to that draughty stand at Brunton Park on a Saturday then?”

“Hey Carlisle United made news around the world last season. Jimmy Glass, the on-loan goalkeeper scoring the injury time winner against Plymouth Argyle to keep us in the Football League. Don’t knock it!”

Souter smiled to himself as he remembered the drama. “True. It was a bit of a fairy tale. Listen, I owe you one. We’ll have to get together for a bevy some time.”

“Don’t take offence if I don’t hold my breath.”

“See you, Stuart.” Souter laughed before pushing a finger down on the button to break the connection. Instinctively, he dialled Colin Strong’s home number. A second later, he heard the engaged tone.

Replacing the handset, he mulled over the information his journalist friend in Cumbria had given him. He also reconsidered whether he should tell Colin what he’d just discovered. After all, who was to say Strong didn’t already know the facts. Then why ask him to dig around? Because he didn’t want to stir things up unnecessarily? But that didn’t make sense. If he’d got reasonable grounds to suspect someone of this crime, he could make his own enquiries through official channels, and be a lot more successful too, no doubt. There again, the debacle of the hoax still touched raw nerves within the West Yorkshire force. The Sunderland enquiry had led the focus away from Sutcliffe. Christ, he’d even been interviewed and eliminated because he didn’t have a Sunderland accent. Could be that Colin needed far more information to substantiate his suspicions of Billy Montgomery before he dare raise his head above the parapet. On the other hand, a story like this could be the once in a lifetime scoop all journalists dream of. No, better take stock. I’ll keep this to myself … for now, he thought, and let’s see what else comes to light in the meantime.

* * *

“Sorry to disturb you at home, guv,”
Ormerod said
, “but I’ve got some good news and some bad news.”

“Let’s have it then, Luke,”

“Well, the good news is we’ve located Kenny Stocks.”

“And the bad news?”

“He’s in Scarborough Hospital unconscious.”

“Christ, what happened, do we know?”

“He’d been living in a bed-sit in the town for the last ten days or so. Apparently, it’s one of those big Victorian houses that have been split into flats and bed-sits. Anyway, a nurse living in the flat upstairs had just gone to bed after a late shift. Around one o’clock this morning, she heard a bit of a rumpus from the room below – raised voices, banging and crashing about, that sort of thing. Thought it was just him with a few mates, a bit pissed. The next thing, she hears footsteps running from the house. She decided to get up then and have a look out of her window, just in time to spot two men jumping into the back of a waiting car, which then sped off. She ran downstairs, saw Stocks’ door ajar, went inside and found him on the floor. He’d taken a right beating and they tell me, if it wasn’t for her, it’d be a murder enquiry already.”

“So how bad is he?”

“Don’t know much more than that, guv.”

“Who’s the officer in charge, do we know?”

“A DS Franklin.”

“Don’t know him. Has he got a guard on Stocks?”

“Yes, and I’ve asked for us to be informed of any change in his condition.”

“Have you spoken to the hospital at all?”

“Not yet, I thought I’d best let you know first.”

“All right, Luke, thanks. Now, I know it’s going to be a pain, but I think it best you get over there. If he’s as bad as you’ve been led to believe, we may not get much of a chance to talk to him and I want one of the team on hand. Also, you might get a better idea of his condition from the medical staff face to face.”

“Right, guv.”

“I assume Scarborough will have a forensics team at the bed-sit. I’ll give this DS Franklin a call, put him in the picture as far as our interest is concerned and make sure they bag up all his clothes so they can be checked with what we’ve found at Williams’ flat. And listen, the minute you get anything more, let me know, day or night. Especially if it looks likely we can talk to him.”

“Sure.”

“Speak to you later.”

As he ended the call, Laura was holding out his replenished whisky tumbler. “Here, I thought you might need a large one.”

37

Stuart was true to his word. Saturday morning, when Souter called into the Post building in Leeds, faxed copies of the photographs of the jewellery still missing from the Carlisle murder victim all those years ago were waiting for him. He had to find out whether any of these items matched anything found in the box recovered from Williams’ flat. There were only two people who could help him with this. One option would be Colin. But wouldn’t it be better to go to his friend with the full picture? As he said before, he preferred to ask questions he already had the answers to. The other option would be his sister’s boyfriend. He had to be one of the CID team working on the Williams’ inquiry. A check of all newspaper and media coverage of the case made no mention of the box or its contents. Strong had told him they were keeping that nugget of information secret. The thought did occur to him, only to be immediately dismissed from his mind, that Jean’s mystery boyfriend could also be the killer. By the time he got back to her house, he’d decided on a course of action.

On his way to the kitchen to fill the kettle, he glanced into the sitting room. Jean was in her dressing gown, lounging on the settee, reading the Saturday supplement from the newspaper. The radio was quietly playing in the background. “Good night was it?” he asked on his way past.

“I’ll have a coffee while you’re there,” she shouted after him. “White, two sugars. And yes it was, thanks for asking.”

Souter came back to stand in the doorway, hands in his trouser pockets and took in the scene. Evidence of a late breakfast – empty mug, a cereal bowl with the remnants of milk and a spoon in it and a plate with toast crumbs were on the coffee table in front of the settee. A partly filled ashtray, packet of cigarettes and a lighter also lay within Jean’s reach. “He’s not upstairs is he?”

“You’re quite safe. He’s working this morning.”

Souter paused a moment. “Well, I suppose, in his line of work, that’s one of the drawbacks. Especially in the middle of this inquiry.”

Jean sat bolt upright. “What are you talking about?”

“Your fella. In CID isn’t he?”

“How did …?”

“One of Colin’s mob, I think, isn’t he?”

“But …”

The kettle clicked off and Souter wandered back to make the drinks. “Oh, don’t worry,” he said, in a raised voice from the kitchen, “I’m not going to say anything. Your secret’s safe with me.”

Jean lit a cigarette, drew deeply on it and exhaled sharply. “Actually, he’s been on the phone for you this morning.”

“Who? Your bloke?”

“No … Colin. I told him you were on your mobile. Said he’d try later.”

“Yes, I know.” Souter came back into the room, setting down one of the two cups of coffee he’d brought with him in front of his sister. “I don’t want to speak to him just at the moment.”

“Not had a falling out, have you?” She offered him a cigarette.

He accepted, lit it, watched the first puff of smoke spiral towards the ceiling and sat down on the armchair next to the settee. “No, nothing like that. It’s just he wants some information from me.”

“And you don’t want to give him it?”

“I want to check it out fully first.”

“I thought you two were best friends?”

“We are. But this is professional.”

Jean took a mouthful of coffee. She puffed on her cigarette again and appeared to think of something else. “How did you know?”

“Know what?”

“About … my friend.”

“Being in CID, you mean?”

Jean nodded.

“Elementary, my dear Watson I suppose. You told me all about that murder the other week. Nothing wrong in that, except you probably said too much. You told me about a box they’d found in the flat with a number of items of jewellery in it and how the police thought it may be significant. Now, I’ve checked everywhere, and that fact has never been released to the public. You’d mentioned this new man in your life but you were protective of his identity and what he did. I just added two and two and hoped I didn’t make twenty-two.”

Jean stubbed out her cigarette with an angry flourish. “Very good, Robert. You’re obviously in the wrong job!”

Souter maintained his silence for a second or two before replying slowly, “The thing is, Jean, your friend could get into a spot of bother over that.”

“How do you mean?”

“Well, I know for a fact they’ve been keeping that information back. Using it to, what’s the phrase, ‘pursue other lines of inquiry’.”

“You shit!” Jean exclaimed, rising from the settee.

“What?”

She began pacing the room. “Don’t give me all that innocent bollocks. I know exactly what you’re up to. You want me to wheedle some more information out of him. Well, you can piss off! I’m not interested.”

“Now who’s in the wrong job.”

“Get stuffed!”

“Look, Jean, don’t just go off on one. At least hear me out.”

“Why should I?”

“Because I’m your brother and you could help me out here.”

“I already am. You’re staying here, aren’t you?”

Souter sighed and shook his head. “Jean, listen, I think what was discovered in that flat could be more significant than they realise. I just need to know if I’m right. If I am, this could be big. Bloody big.”

She sat back down on the settee, legs beneath her. “Explain,” she said, with more than a hint of sarcasm in her voice.

So Souter spent most of the next ten minutes explaining. Not all. He didn’t feel there was any advantage in his sister being aware of everything he knew and there could be certain disadvantages. He knew the only chance of getting Jean on board was to appear to be totally open with her. He didn’t think there was anything to be gained by mentioning Strong’s suspicions of Billy Montgomery. After all, having Jean attempt to winkle information out of her detective friend could be a double-edged sword. He didn’t want to expose Strong’s theories unnecessarily, particularly as there was no hard evidence so far – and what she didn’t know she couldn’t let slip.

He did, however, talk about the circumstances surrounding the Irene Nicholson assault; the fact that Paul Summers was currently languishing in prison for a crime his brother, Don, was convinced from day one he hadn’t committed. As he related the gist of his meeting with Don Summers, Souter now began to believe that himself. Perhaps he always had, subconsciously, and that had come through in his original reporting of the case. Don Summers had virtually said as much. In any event, he needed to establish whether any of the box’s contents could be tied in to any previous crime. He already knew there were links with the Nicholson assault. However, his top priority at the moment, was the need to find out if any items from the box matched those missing from Carlisle.