Trophies: a gripping detective thriller (The Wakefield Series Book 1) (38 page)

“Did you get any response from Souter’s mobile, by the way?”

“Yes.”

“How were things in there?”

“A bit tense.” Strong then related his conversation with Souter along with the overheard remarks from Montgomery.

“I think it might be worth another call,” Cunningham suggested. “See if we can talk to Montgomery direct. He did seem to indicate he would come out when he was ready, didn’t he?”

“You want me to?” he asked, slightly surprised, expecting the DCI to want to take the lead.

“It’ll maintain continuity. Besides, from what you said, you seemed to have more success, but I’ll listen in.”

Strong dialled.

Souter picked up his mobile and opened his eyes wide towards Montgomery in a gesture that sought permission to answer the call.

Montgomery nodded.

He pressed a button and held the unit to his ear. “Hello.”

“Mr Souter, this is Detective Inspector Strong again.”

He instantly knew by the formal introduction that other people would be listening in to the conversation. “Hello, Inspector.”

“I’d like to speak to Mr Montgomery, if I may.”

“He wants to speak to you.” He held the phone out towards Montgomery.

After a brief pause, Montgomery leaned forward and took it. “Yes.”

“Mr Montgomery? Alan? I’m Detective Inspector Colin Strong.”

“What do you want?”

“I’d like us to have a little chat. Sort out one or two matters I think you could help us with.”

Montgomery sniffed. “Oh, yes?”

“Yes. But first, why don’t you allow Mr Souter to leave?”

He looked across at Souter. “I’d like to ask you a question first, Inspector.”

“If I can help you, Alan.”

“Rose. Rose Hudson. What’s her condition?”

Out in the street, Strong hesitated and looked to Cunningham. “Of course, she lived with your late father,” he said.

Cunningham mouthed, “Don’t tell him.”

A surprised expression crossed Strong’s face. “You sure?” he mimed.

Cunningham nodded.

“The last we heard, she was stable.”

Montgomery took the phone away from his ear and covered the mouthpiece with his hand. “Did they tell you she was dead?” he asked Souter.

He hesitated, then slowly nodded.

“I thought so. I could hear what he said last time, despite trying to talk quietly.” He put the phone back to his ear. “Goodbye, Inspector,” he said and switched the phone off. Placing it on the coffee table, he picked up Souter’s cigarette packet. “Mind if I have this last one? I’ll pay you back sometime.”

“Help yourself.”

Montgomery drew the cigarette from the packet and examined it. He put it in his mouth, then in one eccentric gesture, turned the novelty lighter back towards his own face and pulled the trigger.

“Shit, no!” Souter screamed and made towards him but the table was in the way.

Montgomery jumped up and back then pulled the trigger twice more until a flame appeared.

“You bastard,” Souter said, realising he’d been played with ever since he’d stepped through the front door.

He began to laugh. “It was convincing though, wasn’t it?”

Souter slowly sank back into the settee, adrenalin tangibly pumping through his veins, unable to say anything else.

“You know,” Montgomery said, “I always like the first pull on a fag.” He lit the cigarette and drew deeply. Removing it from his mouth, he exhaled. He was still smiling as he examined his cigarette. “None of the drags of this delightful weed stick will ever be as enjoyable as that one. Do you know, if I was a millionaire, I’d only smoke the first draw. I’d probably go through about two hundred a day mind, but … what the hell, I could afford it.”

Strong redialled and was immediately informed the mobile he was calling was switched off.

“Brilliant!” said Cunningham. “Bloody brilliant!”

“Perhaps we should have told him the truth about Rosie Hudson?”

“No, it would only have panicked him. If he knew she was dead then he’d know he would probably be facing a murder charge.”

“But he doesn’t know anything about the letter Rosie sent,” Strong argued. “Besides, we still need some proof that he was involved.”

Souter grew uncomfortable. There was a strange air about Montgomery. He seemed mellow; at peace with himself. The unpredictable mood swings of earlier seemed to have vanished.

“He’s your mate, isn’t he?” Montgomery said.

“Who?”

“DI Strong. He’s the one who knows everything. No point in trying to avoid it. You knew who it was the first time he called just by looking at the display on your phone. You wouldn’t have known that if it wasn’t a fairly regular occurrence, now, would you?”

Souter felt his adrenaline levels rise again. “So what are you going to do?”

“Well, Robert. It is Robert isn’t it?”

Souter nodded.

“The first thing is, I’m going to enjoy the rest of this.” He studied his cigarette, then stood up. Sauntering over towards the window, he gazed through the nets.

“You could hear, couldn’t you?”

Montgomery turned round to look at him and smiled. “Everything.”

He slowly paced round the room, glancing out through the netted window whenever he passed by.

All the while, Souter was nervously talking about playing in the same football teams as Strong and how they understood each other’s game so well, they both knew instinctively where the other would be when they were passing the ball.

Finally, Montgomery stopped behind the front door. “I envy you that,” he interrupted. “Being so close to someone at school that you almost knew what each other was thinking. I never really got close to anyone like that, ever. I suppose Dad was about the closest, but he never really understood me, not really. I suppose I’ve always felt alone. Certainly always felt lonely. I think you can handle one or the other but both … well. Now, what you told me earlier … Mum gone, no chance to make up for all the problems I caused her …” He left the sentence unfinished, took a final puff on his cigarette and trod the butt out on the floor.

Souter turned round on the sofa to look at him.

Montgomery was still playing with the Luger lighter in his hand as he spoke. “Anyway, it doesn’t matter any more; she’s gone and that’s it. Well, it’s been nice chatting to you, Bob, but it’s time to go.” With that, he opened the door.

Souter had a premonition as to what Montgomery was intending. As he leapt from the sofa, Montgomery rushed out into the street. He was about six feet behind him when he saw him raise his hand holding the lighter in the air.

“Come on, you bastards!” he yelled.

Other voices shouted out to him to stop and put the gun down.

Souter had just stepped over the threshold when Montgomery shouted again, “Let’s see you …!” Any further words were cut short by three loud cracks.

Silence.

Two figures lay on the ground.

Tuesday, twelve days later

Bill Sidebotham, the old sergeant who’d first looked out the hoax tape for Strong a few weeks ago, knocked and entered the DI’s office. “Is there something going on I don’t know about?” he asked.

“That’d be a first for you, Bill, why?”

“Well, apparently you’re not the only one enquiring about access to the envelopes from the Ripper hoaxer.”

“Oh, yeah?”

“Yes. Some television producer was after them just recently so they could show the DNA testing process for a documentary they were making.”

“And?”

“And they got the same answer I’ve got for you.”

“Go on.”

“It’s a bit embarrassing, I suppose …”

“Christ’s sake, Bill, stop building up your part. Just tell me.”

“We’ve lost them.”

“What?”

“Well, I say ‘we’. What I’ve been told is that when they tried to track them down for this TV buff, they’d gone missing, probably during some reorganisation. And, it would seem, it’s permanent.”

“Shit,” Strong muttered. “Sorry, Bill … it’s just … oh, never mind.”

“I don’t suppose you’re going to tell me what this is all about, are you? I mean, you were asking about the hoax tape a month or so back. You had someone in mind for it, didn’t you?”

“It doesn’t matter any more. We’ll never determine who it was. Not for certain. Not with that missing evidence.”

Sidebotham was silent for a second. “Nasty business the other week with that fellow, Montgomery.”

“I know.” Strong was lost in thought, disappointed at the news he’d been brought.

“Still, save us taxpayers a fortune not having to keep him in jail.”

He didn’t react.

“At least they found the forensic evidence to tie him back to both those murders,” Sidebotham continued.

“What? Oh, yes, that’s right.”

“Apparently, he was wearing the same anorak when he was shot that he wore when he moved Williams’ body and attacked Rose Hudson.”

Strong carried on writing notes.

“Probably responsible for what happened to Hinchcliffe as well.” Sidebotham stood awkwardly for a moment. “The Enforcer’s a bit subdued these days too, what with the Paul Summers’ case being referred to the Court of Appeal. Won’t reflect too well on him will it?”

As if making one last effort to engage Strong in conversation, he said, “You coming down to the canteen today, Colin? Joyce is doing one of her special meat and potato pies. Reckons we all need cheering up. You fancy it?”

“No thanks, Bill, I’m off out later. It’s the funeral today.”

“Oh, of course, that’s right. You knew each other from way back, didn’t you?”

“Yes. I can’t say I’m looking forward to it.”

“All right, Colin.” Sidebotham turned to leave. “See you.”

Strong put down his pen and turned to look out the window towards the Town Hall. Only a few weeks ago, no one knew of the trophy case’s existence. Since then, people had died, people had been hurt. Although the Drugs Squad had finally arrested and charged Barry Carr and released his father, Strong’s team had arrested Frank and charged him in connection with the offences against Kenny Stocks. There were also doubts surrounding Jake Hinchcliffe’s death following forensic tests. Like Sidebotham commented, Strong suspected Alan Montgomery was involved in that too.

He drew a deep breath and sighed before slowly opening a side drawer on his desk. He pulled out a plastic evidence bag. Inside was the soiled tissue retrieved from the waste bin in the interview room when he first spoke to Billy Montgomery. ‘Something up my sleeve,’ he recalled saying to himself a few weeks ago. Now, it wasn’t worth a jot, not without something to compare it to. He opened the seal and tipped bag and contents into his waste paper basket. He stared at it for a second then snapped himself out of it. Glancing at his watch, he rose to his feet, put his coat on and left.

Strong stepped from his car in the crematorium car park. The warm March sun felt good on his back. Daffodils and crocuses did their best to lift the spirits of all who came to this place. The air was clear and the distant Pennines looked inviting. At this moment, he wished he was up there instead.

About to stride out for the chapel, a familiar voice from behind made him stop. “Colin, I thought I’d find you here.”

He turned to see Bob Souter beaming at him. “You’ve been keeping a low profile since Calder Street,” he said. “Come to pay your respects to Rosie?”

“I’d like to Col. but …” he gestured towards his car, two rows behind Strong’s. An attractive dark-haired woman was sitting in the passenger seat. “I promised Alison I’d take her to lunch.”

Strong nodded towards her. “So it’s Alison who’s been keeping you off the streets then?”

Souter ignored the hinted invitation for an introduction. “Look, I came to give you this.” He handed Strong a package. “I made a copy for you.”

“What is it?”

“It’s the tape I recorded when I was with Alan Montgomery.”

He frowned. “But I thought you told us he refused to allow you to tape your conversation. Threw the cassette against the wall, you said.”

“That recorder was for show. I was secret-wired to a mini-recorder as well. Mind, I was lucky not to smash it to bits as I hit the deck when all that shooting started.”

“You know this wouldn’t be admissible as evidence, Bob?”

“You don’t know what he said yet”

“You hinting I might have it wrong?”

“I know you think Billy Montgomery was responsible for the hoax letters and tape. Remember, I know you too well. You need to know everything. But I think you’ll be surprised.” He turned and walked back to his car. “See you, Col.”

Strong called out after him, “Hey, listen, you’re not thinking about publishing any of this are you?”

Souter just smiled. “He’s still out there, Colin,” he said, almost to himself.

Postscript

It would be 2005 before John Humble was arrested and convicted of perverting the course of justice for sending those hoax letters and cruel tape. He was sentenced to eight years in prison, serving only four, being released in October 2009.

NOW AVAILABLE

Part 2 of the Wakefield Series

TORMENT

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Coming Soon

Part 3 of the Wakefield Series

Talisman

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