Hot Blood (Bloodwords Book 1) (37 page)

As Fraser returned to the building, headlights
appeared around the chapel. Three vehicles with flashing blue lights came
around the corner, sliding on the gravel in their haste and stopping in front
of the open doors of the car building. Turning to retrace his steps, Radcliffe
walked over to a Ford estate car that had been escorted by the police patrol
cars. As he approached its doors opened and two paramedics jumped out.

‘Sorry to bring you out on a wild goose chase,’
Radcliffe said to the nearer paramedic, a tall gangling man of about thirty.
‘He’s been squashed under a car and my guys couldn’t get a pulse I am afraid
but I thought it best to let you try anyway. Do your best for me will you?’
Then, as the paramedics grabbed their bags and ran into the building, ‘I’ve
called for the doc. He should be here soon to certify death.’

Twenty-Five

Being called to the office of Detective Chief
Inspector Arthur Handley – Handy Andy – wasn’t something to be
undertaken lightly. It could, of course, be a light-hearted experience, a pat
on the back for something well done. Usually, an increase in salary would have
been more appreciated. Or, equally possible, it could be a daunting visit with
probing questions, a nerve-wracking search for plausible answers, and the
proverbial kick up the arse before you left.

Davies hadn’t had many of those, but the
possibility always remained. He was Handy Andy’s favourite and a summons to his
hallowed sanctuary usually went hand in hand with a show of approval or the
allocation of a plum case. Walking along the corridor today however he wasn’t
so sure. The car thefts and multiple killings had been the first time that he
had shared command of an investigation and doing that with his old friend Don
Radcliffe hadn’t made it any easier. He liked to be in control - to call the
shots and direct an investigation. But Radcliffe had stolen his thunder,
nicking the high ground from under him right at the start. Keeping the enquiry
going in the direction he wanted it to go while not being on overall command wasn’t
easy. He wasn’t comfortable with that either.

‘Come in. Ah, Frank. Thanks for coming. I’m
sorry I had to drag you back but I wanted to chat a few things through with
you. Do take a seat Frank. Close the door will you?’

It didn’t sound promising. Handy tended to be
quite predictable. If he was giving a pat on the back then the door invariably
remained open so that lower ranks could overhear the Chief congratulating their
boss on a job well done. The congratulations then filtered down quickly. It
helped teamwork. But if a ticking off were due he would commence with his
friendly uncle act to establish him as the ‘good copper’ before making a quick
but painful thrust. And the door always stayed closed.

‘How’s married life treating you Frank?’

‘Same as normal thanks,’ he replied. ‘I’m not
new to it you know.’

‘No Frank, I suppose that you are not.’ Then,
with a wry smile, ‘but you didn’t get it right first time around did you?’

‘Don’t I know it! It’s like paying two
mortgages – one for my house and one for the wife and kids I don’t have
anymore.’

‘But that’s the price we pay isn’t it? It’s the
same in any partnership. Either you work together or you drift apart. And if
that happens it affects both of you.’

Where was all this going? Handley wasn’t known
for his marriage guidance. Perhaps it was just an icebreaker. So what would
come next?

‘So how’s the partnership with Don Radcliffe
going then?’

‘I wondered what this was all about. I’ve known
Don longer than I’ve known Linda so sharing an office isn’t a problem. We both
know each other’s peculiar ways and allow for them.’

‘That’s not what I meant,’ replied the senior
officer. ‘I have watched you bounce things off each other and that sort of
thing seemed to work for you. That’s why I put you together on the deaths.’
Handley had dropped into one of his more serious expressions, leaning back a
little lop sided in his chair with one arm resting on his desk. The casual
friendliness was still there but beefed up with a sterner underscore. ‘But you
like to lead from the front Frank and it’s pretty obvious that Don’s taken the
lead on this.’

‘It’s not a problem,’ replied Davies. ‘It’s a
strange case and there’s enough for both of us without standing on each other’s
toes. It’s not a problem.’

Handley rocked a little in his chair and just
looked at Davies. Clearly sizing up the inspector, Handley raised his eyebrows
questioningly - but neither spoke. Davies was becoming increasingly
uncomfortable. He wasn’t used to this sort of treatment. Visits to this inner
sanctum were usually open door experiences. This was new. He had done his best
to make sure that everything was running smoothly – even to the point of
subtle pressure on Radcliffe to keep him going in the right direction. What he
could not pinpoint was his superior officer’s objective. What had Handy Andy
picked up that might have tarnished his special favoured status? Or was he
overreacting? Was this just a case of his boss looking out for him; trying to
make sure that a major enquiry did not affect his newly remarried relationship?

‘Truly Sir,’ said Davies breaking the silence.
‘It isn’t a problem.’ Perhaps formality and a little boot licking might help.

‘Perhaps not,’ said Handley, ‘but you have got
to admit that the two of you don’t seem to be going anywhere. Be honest, do you
really think that the car thefts are linked to the murders?’

‘Don seems pretty certain sir. If we could get
a handle on the cars or the deaths then perhaps the one would give us a lead on
the other. Like I said, Don’s pretty convinced.’

‘But you are not and you have had to settle for
second place,’ responded Handley. ‘Look Frank, this isn’t working,’ he said.
‘The investigation is going round in circles and you are getting nowhere.’

‘Oh, I wouldn’t go that far,’ said Davies
getting more ruffled and wondering why he should be taking the can for
Radcliffe’s actions.

‘Christ Frank,’ returned Handley. ‘Twenty-three
officers were on the college raid you’ve just come back from. Twenty-three
officers and twelve vehicles leave a big hole in our normal policing operation.
And what do we have to show for it? Well I’ll tell you shall I? All we have is
a handful of cars legally owned by an upstanding pillar of the Southport
business community we are holding downstairs in a cell, and a dead man who got
himself crushed under a car he was working on. I tell you, it’s not impressive
Frank.’

Davies just looked Handley directly, eye to
eye. Perhaps the silence trick he used when interviewing suspects might work
when being interviewed himself.

Or perhaps not. Definitely not. Handley was the
past master of the technique and Davies broke first. ‘That’s something of a
simplification Arthur,’ he said in a somewhat subdued response.

‘Of course it is,’ replied Handley. ‘But
whatever Don does you will get tarred with the same brush son. If the case had
been wrapped up quickly then you would both be smelling of roses.’ A short
pause then, ‘But it hasn’t been has it? And as number two you are not
controlling the enquiry but you are going to get covered in shit when it goes
wrong anyway.’

Leaning forward in his chair and once again
taking on his friendly mate attitude, Handley looked at Davies and gave a wry
smile. ‘I’m not holding you responsible for the lack of progress Frank,’ he
said warmly. ‘But I am going to make sure that you don’t have to suffer any fallout
should Don not deliver.’

Thank God for that! Whatever came next wouldn’t
be such a bitter pill to swallow.

‘I don’t think that it will go down so well if Don
get’s different treatment.’

‘Give me credit for something Frank. We have a
high profile political conference coming up at the Floral Hall complex where
the world’s media will be focussing on us and we need a comprehensive policing
plan. We can’t have the Prime Minister and half the opposition wandering around
the Promenade like sitting ducks with no protection in place can we?
 
These deaths should have been wrapped up
quickly and the car thefts too, but they haven’t been, so much as it might be
cosy for you two to work together, I’ve not got the manpower to let you. One of
you will have to come off the case now,’ then, pausing he continued, ‘but it’s
my guess that the Major Incident Team in Liverpool will come and take the
deaths if not the car thefts anyway, so in a couple of days you’ll both be
off.’

‘So who comes off first then?’

‘You do Frank. As of now you are making a start
on the conference policing. And that also means that if MIT take the deaths
from us they will be taking them off Don, not you.’ Closing the folder in front
of him as a sign that the meeting had finished, he added, ‘Sergeant
Lescott
is needed where she is I am afraid, so for the time
being I’m detailing DC Crompton to help you,’ adding with a sly grin, ‘I did
think of giving you DC Green, but then keeping both Louise Green and Debbie
Lescott
away from you might help you keep your new wife a
little longer Frank.’ It wasn’t the sort of humour that Davies appreciated

……….

Huddled over a laptop computer, her thoughts
were entirely focussed on planning lessons for the following week. A task that
needed to be carried out every weekend, the hours she spent planning intruded
into her private life, her not-at-work life, her personal space, although since
braking up with Brian, her time had admittedly been a little less complicated.
Nevertheless, her time spent planning was always an intensive period where she
immersed herself in what she was doing to the complete exclusion of all else.
Today it was the Tudors. Or to be more precise, how she would present Britain’s
Tudor heritage to a class of nine year olds. At that age they were old enough
to be curious and ask probing questions to which she needed to have answers
already prepared, yet young enough to appreciate fantasy. Sugar coated history
went down well.

Completely absorbed in her task, her two slices
of piping hot toast with great knobs of melting butter had metamorphosed into
cold and soggy stodge more akin to wet cardboard and her coffee remained
untouched, freshly brewed half an hour before.
 
If everything went as it normally did,
the toast would end up in the kitchen bin and her coffee reheated in the
microwave. So far, everything had indeed been normal. Engrossed in her work,
she had not heard letters dropping onto the parquet floor when the postman had
called, nor was she aware that the newspaper boy had pushed the daily newspaper
through either, even though having extra pages for the weekend review and the
TV magazine tucked inside, it had been quite heavy and had landed with a
resounding thud. Nothing disturbed her when she was engrossed in planning.

Bang
bang
bang
. The canons of King Henry’s men pounded his enemies.
No, that wasn’t right she thought, canons and swords had no place in a lesson
devoted to the heritage of Tudor architecture that was still visible on some of
Britain’s streets.

Bang
bang
bang
.

King Henry’s canons banged away again. Except
they were twenty-first century cannons masquerading as heavy knocking on the
door.

Actually, a polite press of the doorbell that
had resulted in a rather melodic chime had gone completely unnoticed, as had a
gentle tap and a louder knock. They knew that she was in the house because her
car was parked out on the drive and, looking through the window, they could see
her sat on a sofa, tapping away on her laptop with papers strewn all around
her, so they had resorted to a hefty knock on the door and gentle tap on the
window.

 
‘Open up please, it’s the police.’

Dragged rudely from her private little world of
timber frontages, overhanging upper floors and narrow streets, she swivelled
around to see two faces peering in at her through the window. One of them was
holding something up – it looked like a business card – and
gesturing for her to open the door. Oh dear, what in heavens name was going on?
Had Steve been involved in an accident?