Hot Blood (Bloodwords Book 1) (34 page)

‘Are you following me here? Car theft, illegal
trading, and murder. It gets worse and worse. And the very obvious link is
you.’ Turning to his sergeant, Radcliffe continued, ‘Book him Sergeant,’
pushing his chair back and gathering up the papers as Fraser began the process.

‘Steven Wilson, I am arresting you on the
suspicion of car theft, illegal trading and murder. 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.’

Across the desk, Wilson stared at the sergeant.
‘You can’t be serious,’ he stuttered. ‘Oh Christ. You’ve got this all wrong.’

‘Have we?’ responded Fraser as the door slammed
behind the retreating Radcliffe. ‘You’ll have to explain a lot of coincidences
if you want anyone to believe that.’ Announcing the time at which the interview
had been terminated, Fraser switched off the recorder and turned his attention
back to a rather sorry looking businessman. ‘Right Mr Wilson, come with me.
Let’s get you checked in.’

‘Checked in. Checked in where?’ replied a
bewildered Wilson. ‘I need to get to my office and check a few things out.
Where are you taking me?’

‘Well we’re not taking you to
Vincents
,’ joked Fraser, referring to Southport’s most
expensive boutique hotel. ‘We are going no further than down stairs to see the
Custody Sergeant. He will check you in, give you a receipt for all your bits
and bobs like your watch, mobile phone and money, then he’ll show you to your
room. But don’t expect fitted carpets, our cells are a bit basic.’

Twenty-Three

Flanked by his two inspectors, Chief Inspector
Arthur Handley strode confidently into the room and took his place at the
front. When the buzz around the room had subsided, he stood at the temporary
lectern and addressed the assembled media, their number more than double that
of the previous briefing. But that’s what murder did; it brought every tin-pot
journalist out of the woodwork. All the
usuals
were
there, Champion,
Visiter
and that smarmy effeminate
scribe for the Drum, but these were now bolstered by regional newspapers from
Liverpool, Preston and Manchester as well as local TV. Yes, they could smell
blood from miles away.

‘I’ll make this brief gentlemen,’ he said. ‘We
have today arrested a middle aged gentleman in connection with the deaths of
three men over the last fortnight; one found in
Lydiate
Hall, one the apparent RTA between
Halsall
and
Lydiate
, and the third found behind the Bold Hotel in
Southport town centre three days ago. Questioning is currently continuing and
we will release a further statement when appropriate.’

Keeping his sternest expression he scanned the
room. Could he wrap this up without any questions? In a bold attempt, he simply
said ‘Thank you gentlemen,’ then scooped up his papers off the lectern and turned
to leave.

For a second or two he thought that he had got
away with it. Radcliffe and Davies had stood ready follow him but a shout
stopped them in their tracks.

‘Chief Inspector, is it true that as well as
the three deaths the man is also being charged with all the recent car thefts?’

Handley spun around to face the assembled
journalists, his face afire and teeth clenched. Radcliffe and Davies sat back
down.

It was that bloody man from the Drum realised
Handley. How could he have got hold of that information? Nothing had been
released so where was the leak? Looking briefly at the two seated inspectors he
nodded then turned back to the media.

‘Gentlemen,’ he intoned. ‘I called you here to
give you an update on the progress of our investigations into three deaths, not
to talk about stolen cars. I would thank you not to indulge in spurious
guessing games or make tenuous connections that could rebound on you. Please
restrict yourself to the facts we give you.’

Peering over his spectacles for effect he
continued, ‘I repeat, a middle aged man is helping us with our enquiries into
three deaths. When those enquires are complete we should know if the deaths are
connected. More than that I cannot say. Thank you gentlemen.’

Without giving them the chance to follow up
with more probing questions he strode out of the room followed by the two
inspectors, attempting with difficulty to catch up.

………………

‘Come in Joan,’ he said as she opened the door
and entered his office. ‘Take a seat. What can I do for you? You sounded a
little worried on the phone.’

‘Is that a surprise?’ asked Joan Johnson as she
settled into a chair in front of the solicitor’s desk. ‘My husband is very ill
in hospital, the business seems to have gone down the tubes, I’ve got
threatening letters from people I don’t know,’ then, pausing to regain her
composure she added, ‘and now this has come up with Kevin.’

Preston was alarmed. It was the first time that
business troubles had been mentioned and with the main breadwinner unable to
work, the implications for the Johnsons being able to pay his bills were
obvious. This would have to be handled carefully – perhaps individual
billing for every meeting and letter to guard against debts mounting up instead
of monthly accounting. But first he would have to put her at ease and gain her
confidence.

‘Let’s backtrack a little,’ he said using his
most friendly manner. ‘What sort of letters and from whom? And what’s Kevin
done now?’

The smarmy little toe-rag. Joan hated it when
he put on his friendly uncle act. It was so insincere and very unconvincing.
But moving to another solicitor would cost her money that she didn’t have. It
would also mean starting all over again, taking time she didn’t have either.

‘Thanks for your concern David. Apparently
Kevin has some sort of document and wanted to discuss it with me personally.
You know, without solicitors. I’m not good with legal stuff so I made this
appointment and arranged to meet him here so that you could advise me. He was
supposed to be here by now but he’s late.’

‘That’s typical of the younger generation I am
afraid,’ he responded. ‘They are never on time. But while we are waiting, what’s
this about threatening letters?’

Oh bother! It had slipped out by mistake. That
was the trouble these days. Where normally she thought long and hard before
saying anything, just at the moment she was living on her nerves and everything
just seemed to pour out without any sort of restraint. The last thing she
wanted was a solicitor getting involved with more issues in her life and
sending her more bills that she didn’t have the money to pay. And in any case,
Inspector Radcliffe had told her that he didn’t want the letter becoming common
knowledge.

‘Oh, it was nothing really,’ she said as
dismissively as she could. ‘Where is Kevin? He should have been here half an
hour ago.’

Before the solicitor could offer any
suggestion, the telephone rang. Picking it up, he listened for a few seconds
then said, ‘Yes please, show him in.’ Replacing the receiver he looked at his
client, ‘Speak of the devil. The tardy timekeeper has just arrived.’

The door opened and the solicitor’s secretary
showed in an obviously flushed young man. ‘Mr Archer,’ she announced.

‘Sorry I am late,’ offered Kevin. ‘I was just
turning at the junction and an old codger in a little Toyota hit the speed
hump, lost control and bashed into the back of me. The silly bugger shouldn’t
be driving.’

‘Oh dear,’ responded Joan. ‘Are you all right?
How much damage did he do?’

‘I am OK thanks. Luckily my pickup is quite
high off the ground so there’s no damage. My towing hitch made quite a mess to
the front of his car when he went under my bumper. He was all shaky when he got
out of his car and it took a bit to calm him down. Then I couldn’t find
anywhere to park.’

‘That junction is a bloody nightmare,’ offered
Preston. ‘Since they made all the changes it has become more dangerous not
less, and we’ve lost our parking spaces too.’ Allowing Kevin time to settle
himself in the spare chair next to Joan Johnson, the solicitor turned to Joan,
giving her a quizzical look.

‘Kevin has some sort of document that he says
gives some of our land to him,’ she said to the solicitor. ‘I can’t understand
how that could be so I thought that you could take a look. I don’t want the
argument that was going on before to continue so I thought this was the best
way to do things amicably but perhaps we should come back another day when Kevin
isn’t so shaken up. He’s got enough problems at the moment as it is – you
know, after Peter’s death.’

‘It’s alright Aunt Joan,’ he cut in. ‘It’s not
your fault that a
dosey
old codger that shouldn’t be
on the road bumped into my pickup.’

Turning to the solicitor he told him that he
had suggested meeting with his aunt so as to keep things friendly because, like
her, he had had enough of the family in-fighting. He also wanted to keep the
costs down. In his view a solicitor was simply not required.

Seeing a combination of a client that could be
running out of money – or had already reached that point – and the
possible opportunity to draw in another income stream to replace her, Preston
responded with his corporate message that where there were land disputes they
could normally only be resolved by employing the specialist knowledge and
services of a solicitor.

‘But that’s the whole point,’ stated the young
man, ‘I have documents that clear up all issues to the point where there is no
dispute. Everything is fully set out and detailed which means that the action
my father started against Aunt Joan and Uncle Mike can be dropped and we can
get on with being a family again.’

‘I would like that Kevin,’ she replied, ‘but a
lot of water has gone under the bridge and I am afraid it will take a lot to
put that right. Uncle Mike is in a pretty bad condition right now and he blames
your dad for that. Whether he is right or not I don’t know, but what I do know
is that your dad was wrong about the land and our house. We bought the barns
and cottages from your granddad and we paid for the conversion work ourselves.
And granddad legally gifted the land to us without any pressure from us.
Actually, I told him that we didn’t want it all but he went ahead anyway. It
wasn’t of our doing. But that doesn’t alter the fact that it was all done
legally some time ago and it is ours. I can understand how your dad felt when
granddad died and the land wasn’t in his will though.’

Kevin looked first at his aunt then at the
solicitor, before looking directly at Joan.

‘Well that’s not strictly correct,’ he said. ‘I
don’t dispute anything that you have just said Aunt Joan, your land is yours
and the caravan park is mine, but the boundary between us is not where you
think.’ Turning to face the solicitor he continued, ‘the land between my
caravan park and Aunt Joan’s place runs in a long stripe separating the caravan
park and the hill up to their house and it’s always been taken that the
boundary between us was on the caravan park side.’

‘Yes, of course,’ said Joan, ‘along the line of
the trees.’ Then, to make it absolutely clear she added, ‘our land goes from
our house, down the hill and to the trees; your land is from the line of trees
to the old road.’

‘Like I said, that’s not actually correct.’

The solicitor could see a fair payday coming.
Out of adversity might come opportunity. A financial opportunity. ‘The boundary
line is well established Mr Archer, and if I am correct, the land gifted to
your aunt here had been owned by your grandfather for many years before your
own father set up his caravan park. We can establish positioning of the
boundary exactly by checking the details held by the Land Registry and then
re-surveying the land. We can do that of course, but a survey will be
expensive.’

Looking directly at Kevin and reverting to his
friendly uncle act, Preston continued, ‘But I suggest that it would be better
all round if you just accepted what we all know already. I can draw up a legal
document confirming the boundary line as being how we have all believed for as
long as we can remember. The document can then be filed at the Registry along
with the plans. That will be much less expensive. What do you say?’

‘None of that is necessary.’

Preston was exasperated. But inwardly
anticipating some further income. This was going to run a little longer and
with the value of the land in dispute, one of them would eventually have access
to some money.

‘Dad didn’t set up Green Fields,’ continued the
young Archer, ‘he bought it as a going concern.’ Kevin added that his father
just wanted to protect their livelihood by adding some more pitches, developing
what he already had and converting the old stone barn at the bottom end of the
fields into a restaurant so that they could compete with the new marina site.
Of course his father had been upset when he had been cut out of the will, but
although the legacy would have enabled them to upgrade before the rival marina
site had come on stream, overall it was the land that had been more important.
Then just before his father had died, he had found out that in actual fact the land
had been his all the time.