“Do the names Szymanski and Mirczack mean anything to you?” Just a slight reaction in the eyes but, again, a shake of the head from Baker. “And you’ve never heard either of your sons mention them?”
“That’s who these two are then?”
Strong ignored the question and showed one more photograph to Baker, that of Helena Cryanovic. “Have you ever seen this girl?”
“She’s pretty. Is she the one who’s saying Chris visited this place?”
“She’s not actually saying anything, Mr Baker. Not any more.”
Back in the car on the return journey to Wood Street, Strong asked Stainmore how the conversation with Janice had progressed.
“Still deeply shocked, Guv,” she replied. “He’d gone out a few times before at night. He never said exactly where. She assumed, or he led her to believe, he was having a pint with a work colleague, or his brother, Gary. Then, on that last night, she upset herself remembering the last words she ever said to him,
‘If you’re going to see another woman, I’ll kill you.’
”
“Hmm. That might have been prophetic, Kelly.”
“Well that gave me the opportunity to ask how their marriage was.”
“And?”
“She said they’d been married for over ten years. The ‘no kids’ thing was down to her. Apparently she can’t have any. And for the past three years or so, they’ve just been going through the motions.”
“So to speak,” Strong added, drawing the car to a halt at red lights. “Does she think he’s been having an affair?”
“I didn’t ask directly but she said she wouldn’t have been surprised if he was, hence the last comment to him. Now, of course, she’s not so sure.”
“But we suspect differently, albeit of a professional nature. What does she do, by the way?” he asked as the lights changed to green and he set off again.
“Works in a store in Leeds.”
“Did she say if they had money worries?”
“Chris looked after that. He hadn’t mentioned anything to her about being short or cutting back or anything. In fact, he’d talked about a late holiday.”
“So if anything, he had a bit spare? Anything strike you as odd in there, Kelly?”
“How do you mean, guv?”
“Well, the father-in-law. He tells me he’s a widower and Janice has no living relatives.”
“You don’t think old man Baker’s sniffing around his daughter-in-law, surely?”
“No.” Strong hesitated, “No, forget that. I suppose if he’s on his own and she has nobody, it’s natural for him to be sharing the grief with her. Do we know what he does?”
“From what Janice said, I think he’s retired. But what he did for a living, I don’t know. I can find out.”
38
Billy Wilkinson was a photographer with The Post. Souter had worked with him many times. Passionate about his job, it also seemed to be his hobby and he was up to speed with all the latest technology. This was now the twenty-first century and, even in the past few years, amazing advances had been made. Wilkinson had set him up in the past with recording devices for sensitive interviews. But, more importantly for Souter, he was built like a brick shithouse.
And so it was that the pair of them were now sitting in Wilkinson’s battered old Toyota across the road from the house where Sammy rented her room. Having been spotted previously, Souter thought it best not to turn up again in his Escort.
“You absolutely sure this’ll work, Billy?” Souter asked once more.
“Relax, man. Have I ever let you down? Listen.” Wilkinson twiddled a knob on the small receiver he was holding and muffled breathing sounds could be heard. “This is good for a hundred metres. If I turn it up any more you could hear her stomach rumbling.”
Sammy was wired up and Wilkinson had connected it to a small transmitter. The sounds from inside the room were being picked up by the recorder they held in the car. Sammy had checked earlier that the tosser in the room upstairs who’d reported back to the Robinson brothers was out before letting them inside. Wilkinson had taken photographs of the state of the hallway and the room. Backup Souter had called it. Hopefully, they wouldn’t have to use it.
“Here we go,” Souter said, nodding to the black Mercedes that drew to a halt outside the house.
Jed Robinson looked up and down the street before pressing the key fob in his hand. The car squelched and the hazard warning lights flashed quickly three times, confirming the central locking had engaged. Satisfied, Robinson walked up the path and let himself in through the main door. Moments later, the room door could be heard opening through the receiver.
“Don’t bother knocking, then,” Sammy said.
“You get your privacy when you pay for it. You got my money?” Robinson asked.
“I’ve got what it’s worth.”
“I hope you’re not pissing me about. I told you what would happen. Now, as I see it you and that other tart owe me eight hundred exactly. And that’s what I mean to have.”
“Well, I reckon we owe two weeks rent on this … this room. And by my reckoning that’s worth about a hundred tops.”
Robinson sniggered. “I really didn’t think you were that stupid.” He took a step closer to Sammy. “Now, we have an agreement – two hundred a week each and that’s eight hundred by anybody’s reckoning.” Another step closer. “So, for the last time, have you got it?”
Sammy pulled some notes from her jeans pocket and threw them on the bed. “There’s a hundred. And I quit.”
Robinson grabbed her by the throat as she tried to rush past him. “Well that’s just not good enough. I’ve invested in you and that scummy little mate of yours. You owe me.” He looked down at her then slowly raised his eyes, all the while, a tight grip on her throat.
“You’re hurting me,” Sammy struggled to say.
He looked down once more and squeezed her breast. “There again, I’m willing to take a payment on account. You were always the sexier one.”
As her knee smashed into his groin, the door burst open and Souter and Wilkinson rushed in to witness Robinson rolling around in agony on the floor, unable to speak. Wilkinson began taking photographs. Souter bent down and grabbed Robinson by his jacket lapels and pulled him into a sitting position with his back leaning against the bed. Robinson’s eyes were tight shut and both hands never left his crotch. Souter picked up the money and held it in front of Robinson’s face. “You see this,” he said. “You see this, Mr Robinson?” he repeated, this time forcing the man’s eyes open. “This is all you’re getting. And if it were up to me, you wouldn’t even get half of that. Now you listen good. Your business with Sammy and her friend is finished. You ever try and make contact again, we’ve got some interesting information that will be all over the newspapers and in the hands of the police. Have you got that?”
“Who the hell are you?” Robinson struggled to ask.
“I said, have you got the message?” Finally, Robinson nodded. “Good. Let’s go.”
Sammy, Wilkinson and Souter left the room and closed the door. In the hallway, the same pimply youth Souter had spoken to when he first visited looking for Sammy appeared.
“Got a problem?” Billy asked him.
“Didn’t hear anything,” he responded, turned and rushed up the stairs.
As they walked across the street to the Toyota, Sammy turned back. “Just one last thing I need to do,” she said. From the front garden, she lifted half a brick and lobbed it through the Mercedes windscreen. As the alarm sounded, she ran to Wilkinson’s car, jumped in the back seat and they sped off.
39
The mobile rang in Strong’s pocket just as he was bringing Detective Chief Superintendent Flynn up to speed with developments in Felixstowe. He had also reported on his visit to Baker’s widow and father. He pulled out his phone and saw the number on the display. “DCI Halliday, sir,” he said to the Superintendent.
Flynn nodded and Strong pressed the green button to take the call.
“DI Strong, what the fuck d’you think you’re doing conducting an interview with Baker’s family without my say so?”
“It’s DCI, Frank, and it wasn’t an interview, more of an informal chat. Certain information had come to light concerning the murder of Helena Cryanovic, which is my enquiry,” he retorted.
Halliday spluttered at the end of the line.
“It’s only
Acting
DCI and when I tell Flynn how you’re fucking up
my
enquiry, he’ll have your bollocks.”
“Well, I can put him on now if you like, I’m sitting in his office.”
There was a pause on the end of the line. Flynn nodded for Strong to pass the phone to him. “Frank,” the DCS said, “we’ve got to work together on this. Now DCI Strong had a positive connection between his case, the murder of the Albanian girl, and your Baker murder.”
Flynn paused and Strong could hear Halliday whinging through the mobile, but not exactly what was said.
“So how is the Baker enquiry coming along?” Flynn asked.
Again, Strong could hear the voice at the other end, quieter now, so impossible to make out the response.
“Well, what I can tell you Frank,” Flynn cut in, “is that DCI Strong has my full backing on this. I can clear it with the Assistant if you like but …”
More chatter from the other end.
Finally, Flynn wound up the call. “Just remind me again, Frank, when are you due to retire?” After a pause, “It would be a shame if it left a sour taste… Of course, I’ll make sure Colin keeps your boys in the loop. And, no doubt, your team will do the same.”
Flynn pressed the red button and handed the mobile back to Strong. “He’s upset about what’s happened to Jack,” Flynn said. “He was Frank’s prodigy in a way and I know he blames you. Personally, I don’t know anyone else who does. Just try to work with him on this one, Colin. You heard my side of the conversation there.”
Strong stood up. “Thanks, sir. I appreciate that.”
“’Night, Colin.”
“Sir,” he said and left.
40
Wednesday
It was a bright sunny morning when Souter and Sammy approached Leeds General Infirmary. The news the day before was encouraging. Everything seemed to go well with Susan’s operation. Souter had intended to visit yesterday but with the events of the day, time ran out.
They squeezed some antiseptic gel onto their hands from the container that had newly appeared at the ward entrance, rubbed them together and made their way in.
“Hi, Belinda,” Sammy greeted one of the nurses at the desk.
She looked up from her paperwork and smiled. “Hello, Sammy. Back to see your friend?”
“If that’s okay.”
“’Course it is, love. She’ll be delighted to see you. She seems a lot better today. She was even complaining of being bored.”
“Operation went well, then.”
The nurse lowered her voice. “Can’t really tell you ‘cause you’re not a relly. But yeah, doctor thinks she’ll be fine. Probably out in a day or two.”
“That’s great,” Sammy said, and was off into the ward, Souter following.
Susan was propped up against her pillows reading that morning’s Yorkshire Post.
“Now this is more interesting,” she greeted them, folding up the newspaper. “Sammy, Bob, good to see you. Nothing much exciting in here.”
“Nothing much going on,” Souter replied. “Anyway, how are you? Still lolling about in bed, I see.”
She grinned. “I’m hoping to go home tomorrow. Well, I say ‘home’. I’ll actually be staying with Gillian for a while. I’m being sorted out with crutches this afternoon.”
“That’s great,” Sammy said. “Here, I got you some Jelly Babies.” She put a bag of sweets on the locker by the side of the bed.
“Oooh, lovely.” Susan then looked at Souter.
“Ah,” he said, “and I got you these. A brand new reporter’s book and fancy propelling pencil. So you can start your articles.”
Susan chuckled and shook her head whilst Sammy and Souter drew up chairs on either side of the bed and sat down.
“So what made you decide on doing a journalism course?” he asked.
Susan raised her eyebrows. “Well, there’s a question. I was always interested in reading. You probably saw the bookshelves when you met Gillian at the flat.”
He nodded. “I noticed some interesting stuff, yes. That was you, was it?”
“Mum read a lot too, so all the classics were hers. I quite like mysteries, so things like the Sherlock Holmes compendium were mine. I’ve always been interested in finding things out – nosy little kid, I suppose.” She laughed, then her face grew serious. “But there was one defining incident, if I’m honest. After Mum died, it hit me hard and I basically pissed about at school.”
“I can understand that,” he said. “It must have been traumatic.”
Susan looked to Sammy and back to Souter. “It was, yes. So I left school when I was sixteen and got a job, well a series of jobs. As time went on, we had to rely on my input more and more. Dad became ill. You know about that.”
Again, Souter nodded, content not to interrupt and let Susan continue.
“It was when I was working in a petrol station on Leeds Road. I was on my own one afternoon when these two sods came in shouting they wanted money and fags. One of them jumped the counter. I didn’t get paid enough to be a hero, so I moved out of the way and let them get on with it. It was very frightening. Fortunately, the CCTV footage was good enough to get useful images and they were soon caught. But that was also my first encounter with the press. The reporting was creative to say the least. But it brought home to me that I didn’t want to spend a lifetime in dead-end jobs. They say that if you read, you can write. And English was my favourite subject at school, so I looked into doing a GCSE at night class. Then I started looking at how I could become involved in journalism. But I want to report accurately. I think that’s what the media
should
do.”
Souter smiled. “That’s what the vast majority of us try to do, Susan, I can assure you.”
She brightened. “Anyway, what about the girls?”