They were silent for a few seconds before Stainmore, sensing her boss wanted to be alone, began to walk away. “I’ll just go and check where they’re likely to take her, guv.”
Strong nodded then turned seaward again before taking out his mobile and dialling a number. After several rings, a female voice answered,
“Dad?”
“Hi, Amanda.”
“Dad, is everything okay?”
“Of course, lovey, I just wanted to hear your voice, that’s all.”
31
“Mr Souter, it’s Paul Duggan here,”
the voice on the telephone announced.
Souter was at his desk on the first floor of the Yorkshire Post building, drafting a follow-up piece on the murder of Chris Baker, when Patricia on reception put the call through. He’d been trying to gain access to Baker’s widow but Halliday’s team were keeping her off the radar for now, so he’d had to make do with some neighbour reaction. He was trying to knock the usual, ‘shocked that anything like this could happen to someone round here,’ and ‘he seemed such a nice man,’ into something interesting for the readers.
“Paul. Listen, I’m sorry if I upset you yesterday,” Souter said.
“It were just a bit of a shock, really. I mean I weren’t expecting anyone to come knocking after all this time. I think in my heart I’ve always known that Mary’s gone. It’s just, as I said …”
“Have you spoken to DCI Strong yet?”
“That’s why I’m ringing you. Well, one of the reasons anyway.”
“Let me guess,” Souter interrupted, “One was to see if I was genuine?”
There was a slight pause before Duggan answered.
“I suppose, if I’m honest, yes.”
“Don’t worry, Paul, I’d do the same.”
“The thing is, I re-arranged my morning so I could go down to Wood Street but they tell me your Inspector Strong isn’t in all day and they couldn’t tell me when he’s back. I just wondered if there’s anybody else I could talk to?”
“They didn’t suggest anyone, did they?”
“They mentioned a DC Ormerod but with you being so specific, I didn’t know if he would know what I were on about.”
“All right, Paul. Let me have your number and I’ll see what I can find out and get back to you.”
After Duggan had given him his contact details, the call ended and Souter dialled Strong’s mobile. At first it was engaged, but after a couple of minutes he tried again.
“Bob?”
Strong answered.
“Colin, how’re you doing?”
“You’re quick off the mark.”
Puzzled, Souter decided on a guarded response. “You know me,” he said.
“It’s her.”
“Who exactly?”
“Helena Cryanovic. But I don’t want that to get out just yet.”
“I understand.” He was desperately trying to coordinate his thoughts. “That was the Albanian asylum seeker you were telling me about?”
“Yes.”
“Whereabouts are you, Col?”
“Felixstowe Docks, why? Wait a minute, I thought … bollocks. You don’t know anything about this do you?”
Souter stayed silent, scribbling a few notes on a pad.
“Why did you call?”
“I just wanted to know when you’d be back because there’s someone I need you to see.”
“Who’s that?”
“Paul Duggan, Mary’s brother.”
“You’re not still on about that, are you?”
“It’s important. You should hear what he has to say.”
Strong hesitated and Souter could hear him take a deep breath.
“I’ll probably be back tomorrow sometime”,
he finally said.
“But listen Bob, don’t report any of this until we have a chance to inform the sister.”
“Okay Col, I understand.” Souter then pressed the red button.
He was thoughtful for a moment before checking his computer for another number. He found it and dialled, this time from his land line. After the receptionist on the East Anglian Daily Times answered, he asked to be put through to the newsdesk. Eventually, a male voice came on the line.
“Is there a breaking major incident at Felixstowe Docks, do you know?” he asked.
“Er, not that we know of at the moment. Is there some information you have, sir?”
“Not to worry, my mistake.” Souter replaced the handset.
32
Cowling organised two rooms at the Novotel in Ipswich for Strong and Stainmore. After checking in and freshening up, they all met up in an Italian restaurant nearby that the Suffolk detective had recommended.
“You’ve spoken to your colleague back in Yorkshire then?” Cowling asked, as the waiter fussed around bringing bottled water and a carafe of house red wine.
Strong waited until they were on their own once more before responding. “About the sister?”
Cowling nodded.
“DS Ryan broke the news this afternoon. He’s bringing her down first thing in the morning.”
“The PM’s scheduled for nine tomorrow, so give us time to make her presentable, she could make the identification around one, say?”
“That should be fine.” Strong offered round the bread sticks. “Any thoughts from your forensic people as to cause of death then, James?”
“Ah, you probably didn’t see it when you opened the boot but there was a gunshot wound to the back of the head.”
Strong looked sharply at Stainmore.
“I steered clear after I spoke to you on the dockside,” she responded. “I thought it best to let them get on with it, so it’s the first I’ve heard too.”
Strong turned back to Cowling. “Any idea what kind of weapon was used?”
“At first sight, probably a small calibre weapon but, I must admit, I’ve not seen too many shootings.”
“Tell me, I didn’t see one, was there an exit wound?”
The Suffolk man thought for a second before shaking his head. “No, I don’t think so.”
Strong was lost in thought and the conversation stalled as the waiter brought the starters.
Cowling sampled some of his minestrone, then spoke. “We’ve had the press sniffing round.”
Strong swallowed some garlic mushrooms before responding. “Who exactly?”
“East Anglian. Heard we’d found a body at the docks and wanted some details.”
“No mention of Yorkshire connections then?”
“Not as far as I’ve heard but we’ve got the press officer dealing with it. There’ll probably be a press conference tomorrow.”
“Not till after Magda’s identified her sister though?” Strong said.
“Of course.”
“Have we got any other forensics from the car?” Stainmore asked.
“I spoke to my colleagues just before I came out and they told me the car was fairly clean. Nothing on the handles, steering wheel or gear stick where you’d expect.”
The waiter returned, collected the plates and topped up their wine.
“Probably wiped thoroughly before it was put in the container,” Strong suggested.
“But they did get some from inside the glove box and a couple of partials from under the bonnet – screen wash filler, that sort of thing.”
They were silent again as their main courses arrived, chicken in a spicy pasta sauce for Cowling, a pepper steak for Strong and a pizza for Stainmore.
“They probably belong to the rightful owner,” Stainmore said. “I’ll have to organise his for elimination.”
Cowling took up his knife and fork. “In the meantime, we’ll run them through the system. Just in case we get a hit.”
Strong nodded. “Thanks, let me know as soon as you get anything.”
Cowling took a sip of wine. “We also got some fibres from the boot and on her clothes, so we’ll see what that shows up.”
“Any indication of time of death?”
“The pathologist reckons at least a week but he’ll have a better idea in the morning once he’s completed a few tests.”
“That figures. I mean it’s unlikely anyone’s tampered with the container since it arrived at the docks so she was in the boot when it left Yorkshire.”
“That’s what my boss reckoned too, so he’s happy for me just to assist on this one until the coroner releases the body.”
The rest of the meal passed without any further revelations. Cowling spoke of some of the investigations he’d been involved with and picked Strong’s brains about some of his cases in Yorkshire. With coffees to round off, Strong thanked his host and walked back to the hotel with Kelly Stainmore.
“It got to you today, didn’t it?” she asked.
Strong sighed. “Must admit, I’m not looking forward to tomorrow.”
“Do you think this is linked with the Baker case?”
“Let’s just see what the PM throws up. Might be an opportunity to piss Halliday off, though.” He stepped aside to let Stainmore through the hotel’s revolving door first.
“Fancy a nightcap, guv?” she asked, nodding towards the bar.
“Not this time, Kelly,” he said, “I’m knackered. You carry on, though.”
She did and Strong went to his room.
He switched on the television and began to undress, making use of the wall-mounted trouser press. Trevor McDonald was just rounding off the news bulletin with a light-hearted item but he wasn’t paying any attention. He wasn’t in the mood. He went into the bathroom, rinsed his face then cleaned his teeth. He’d have a shower in the morning. Back in the room, he lay down on the bed and decided the TV was irritating him. With no real interest in the latest C list celebrity’s upcoming true story about how having breast implants was the key to making her feel a complete woman, he switched it off with the remote. A complete airhead, he thought.
Lying back, he went over the events of the past few days. He was annoyed with himself for not taking the missing person’s report more seriously when Jim Ryan discussed it with him. There again, he did have the Susan Brown report to deal with. At least that ended better than Helena. And what of Bob’s friend? Another missing young woman. The image of the open car boot in the container flashed into his mind yet again. Helena, such a lovely looking girl treated like that; wrapped in plastic. Was her death connected to Chris Baker? No exit wounds in both cases. What had she got herself into? She was obviously involved with Szymanski and Mirczack. Had she been working as a masseur in the parlours? Or some other role? Questions, all these questions. But the most important question of all, who was the lucky bastard next door making the bedhead bounce off the wall?
God, he missed Laura.
33
The bus dropped Veronica off at the end of her road. It had been another unremarkable day in the shoe shop where she worked in the Ridings Centre in Wakefield. There had been no further unpleasant visits. She also felt relieved by her decision to leave and her girlfriend’s offer to let her rent the spare room in her flat. With just the last few things to pack, she’d be ready when her friend called to pick her up shortly. And then, they would discuss where they would be going in town tonight. Beginning to feel more relaxed already, she wasn’t paying much attention to anything in her street.
The big car was squeezed into a space opposite her house. The two men inside had followed her progress since she’d come into view. The driver nodded in her direction. “She must know something.”
The passenger zipped up his jacket and placed a hand on the door handle in anticipation. “I’ll find out,” he said.
She walked up the short path to her front door, put the key in the lock and turned. As she opened the door, she felt the palm of a hand push her inside.
“What the …” She tripped over the holdall that had been beside the door since Sunday.
The door slammed shut and the big foreign man bent over her. “You need be careful,” he said with a smirk.
“You again.”
He offered a hand to help her up but she refused, getting to her feet herself.
“Just get out. Get out!” she screamed.
He held both hands up. “Look, I have no wish to hurt you. I only need to know where Chapman is.”
“I told you last week, I have no idea. Now, get the fuck out of here.”
He tutted calmly. “Really, that is no way for a young woman to talk. I’ll bet you don’t talk to Steve like that. Unless …” He looked down to her breasts, then her legs and finally, the black holdall. “This is a very stupid place to leave a bag. It could cause an accident.”
He bent down and began to unzip it.
“Leave that alone. It’s nothing to do with you.”
He let her snatch it from him and stood up. “Why don’t you tell me what you know? He isn’t worth it.”
“For the last time, there’s nothing to tell. He left here early hours of Thursday and I haven’t seen him since.”
“But you’ve heard from him.”
“No.”
“Have it your way. But my people will not be pleased when they find out you have been lying to me.”
She pulled herself up to her full height. “You don’t frighten me.”
His smile only registered on his lips. “You have been warned,” he said, turned and let himself out.
Veronica leant against the back of the door and burst into tears.
“Well?” the driver asked, once his passenger had returned.
“She says the same as before. She doesn’t know where he is, that she has not heard from him.”
“You believe her?”
“There was a bag of clothes behind the door. I think he has been in contact and they are ready for him to collect.”
“You must return.” The driver checked the street and pulled away from the kerb. “For now, we have another matter to attend to.”
A few minutes later, Veronica’s friend drove down the street and pulled into the space left by the big car. Veronica had completed packing and was watching from the window. She dashed out and slammed the door, shoving her keys through the letterbox. As she strode down the path, the telephone rang inside.
34
Ten to seven in the evening and the sun was dropping behind the trees at the end of the road. The stone buildings radiated the heat of the day and it still felt warm in the street. Souter knocked on the front door of Alison’s terraced house. After a few seconds, the door opened.