White is the coldest colour: A dark psychological suspense thriller (28 page)

The two inspectors nodded their agreement as the chief superintendent continued his soliloquy. ‘Fisher does, however, have a long history of dishonesty offences that is well known to you both. I'm sure there has to be some outstanding matters that would give reasonable grounds for paying him a visit. Searching his property and any vehicles he may own would be entirely justified. Get it done today, Grav. Even if you find nothing to charge him with, you can at least have a good look around and establish what he was doing in Eden Road at that time of the morning. Make no mention of any allegations relating to children at this stage. Do you understand where I’m coming from?’

‘I do, sir.’

‘Before we finish, boys, this conversation didn’t happen. Understand?’

Both men said nodded in unison.

‘Off you go, boys. Best if you both go to tomorrow's meeting. Keep me informed of all developments. Like it or not, the next few days could decide our professional futures. Close the door on your way out.’

‘What do you make of that, Grav?’

‘Could be a lot worse, Trevor. How the fuck does he do it? He knows what I’m thinking before I do sometimes.’

‘Beats me, Grav? I’ll see you tomorrow.’

‘Cheers, Trevor.’

‘Clive, I’m back in the office. Fisher’s back on. We're looking for stolen goods.’

‘Receiving? what the…’

‘I know, Clive. Ask me no questions and I'll tell you no lies. Be back here at ten, and we'll pay our Mr Fisher a visit.’

‘Morning, boss, have we got time for a hot drink before we go. It’s bloody freezing out there?’

‘I don't see why not, Clive. I’ll put the kettle on. You’ve got the warrant I presume?’

Rankin tapped a jacket pocket and nodded.

DI Gravel poured the boiling water and added milk and sugar. ‘There you go, Clive, my boy, get it down. We need to make a move in five-minutes. No developments I don't know about, I presume?’

‘Nothing as yet, boss. Maybe we'll have more luck this morning?’

The DI finished his coffee, placed the mug down on his desktop, and stood up to leave. ‘Let's hope so, Clive. Let’s hope so.’

The inspector took a bunch of keys from a desk drawer and threw them to Rankin. ‘I’m knackered, Clive. You can do the driving.’

Clive Rankin manoeuvred the unmarked police car through the large grey painted wooden gates that lead into Wayne Fisher's shambolic scrap yard about twenty-minutes later. There were mangled vehicles of every kind piled high on either side of the enclosure, and a large black and rust corrugated iron building which served as an office and workshop at the far end, where metal was weighed and cash changed hands. Fisher’s white Ford Transit van was parked directly in front of the structure.

Fisher identified the car as a police vehicle long before recognising the two officers in the front seats. He swore loudly, but was ultimately resigned to what he saw as a regrettable occupational hazard… Regular visits from the police were inconvenient, but an unavoidable part of the job.

He looked around his yard and grinned… As it happened, on this occasion, unusually for him, he had no stolen goods on the premises other than various virtually indistinguishable pieces of scrap metal that would be almost impossible to identify. There was very little, if anything, to worry about.

Fisher confidently approached the police car just as Gravel and Rankin were stepping out and closing the doors. ‘Mr Gravel, Mr Rankin, lovely to see you both again. What can I do for you two fine gentlemen?’

The inspector glared at him accusingly. ‘You can stop taking the piss, Fisher. I am not in the mood.’

‘Oh, don’t be like that, Mr Gravel. I’m always happy to help the police.’

The DI turned to Rankin. ‘If he’s trying to wind me up, he’s doing a fucking good job of it.’ He strode towards Fisher and poked him hard in the chest, causing the Irishman to lose his balance and stumble backwards. ‘We’ve received information that you have stolen items on the premises, Wayne. Anything you want to tell us before we have a look around. Wasting my time will not do you any favours.’

Fisher got back to his feet and brushed himself off. ‘Stolen goods? No, nothing like that, Mr Gravel. I'm a good boy these days.’

‘We'd love to stay here all day and listen to you're fucking jokes, Wayne, but we've got work to do.’ He stepped forward, placed his face an inch or two from Fisher’s, and stared into his eyes. ‘Several churches in the area have had the lead stripped from their roofs in recent days, Wayne. That makes me extremely unhappy. I fully intend to nail any bastard who played any part in it. We’ll look around the yard; when we've done that we'll look at your office, and when we've done that we'll have a good look at your van. If there's anything to find, we'll find it. Anything you want to tell us, Wayne? Now would be a good time.’

All of a sudden Wayne Fisher wasn't feeling quite so confident… Constables searched, sergeants possibly, but detective inspectors didn't get their hands dirty. They had people to do that for them. What the hell was going on?

He felt his heart pounding in his chest… What were they really there for? This wasn't about scrap metal. Why the hell did Galbraith need use of the van?

Gravel and Rankin spent almost two-hours searching without finding anything to suggest that Anthony Mailer, or any other child for that matter, had ever been anywhere near the scrap yard. Both men had, however, noticed that Fisher became edgy, nervous even, when they examined the Ford Transit. They looked at every inch of the vehicle but found nothing at all, which seemed significant in itself. The outside was its usual rust-bucket dirty mess, but the inside was absolutely immaculate. Someone had clearly taken a great deal of care to clean it. Fisher had no idea why Dr Galbraith had insisted he repeatedly clean the van's interior as he supervised, and he hadn't asked… It was best not to know the answer to some questions.

‘Right, Wayne, we're going to impound the van so that the SOCO boys can have a good look at it.’

Fisher’s stomach was doing somersaults… He really didn't need this level of police attention. ‘Oh, come on, Mr Gravel. You haven't found a thing, have you? I had fuck all to do with the church jobs. I need the van to make a living, for fucks sake.’

‘What were you doing in Eden Road in the early hours of Sunday morning, Wayne? I’d think very carefully before answering, if I were you. I'm not in the mood to take any more of your shit.’

Fisher was very close to tears… What the hell could he say to that? He had to come up with something. ‘There's got to be some mistake, Mr Gravel. I had a couple of drinks, watched television, and crashed into bed for the night. I didn’t leave the house.’

The inspector laughed dismissively. ‘Oh come on, even you can do better than that, surely? You were stopped by a police officer, Wayne. He made a record of your index number. You were ordered to produce your fucking documents. Now try again!’

Fisher’s face appeared to drain of blood… How the hell was he supposed to respond to that? He could confirm he was driving? He could invent some crap explaining where he’d been? He could try to blag it. That was one possibility. But, what the hell was Galbraith doing? The man was a total psycho. He could potentially implicate himself in something he wanted no part of. It was a no win situation. ‘Look, Mr Gravel, I don't need this kind of hassle. I’ve got the documents in the office. You're welcome to see them whenever you want to. I can get them now if that helps.’

‘What were you doing in Eden Road, Wayne?’

‘I need the van for the job, Mr Gravel. Give me a break, please.’

‘I'll ask you again, Fisher. What were you doing in Eden Road? You can tell us here or at the station. It’s your choice.’

Fisher began trembling as his earlier bravado melted away like an ice cube in the hot summer sun… Receiving, theft or a bit of burglary were one thing, but this had to be something more serious. A lot more serious.Whatever it was, he wanted no part of it. Say nothing. That was the only option left open to him. Say nothing.

‘I’m waiting, Wayne. Stop pissing me about. I am losing patience fast, you thieving bastard.’

Silence.

‘There was another man in the van with you, Wayne. Who was he?’

‘I don’t know what the hell you're talking about.’

‘There was a man in the passenger seat when you were stopped, Wayne. He was seen by an officer. Who was he?’

Silence.

DI Gravel turned and walked away for fear of striking his suspect. ‘Enough! Cuff him, Clive. Let's get the bastard arrested and in the car. We’ll have a final look around this shit-hole, and search the house on the way to the station. Radio through to the SOCO boys and get that fucking van collected.’

DS Rankin drove while DI Gravel sat in the back repeatedly asking Wayne Fisher the same two unanswered questions: ‘What were you doing in Eden Road?’ And, ‘Who else was in the van?’

Fisher sat tight-lipped, and didn't speak at any point of the journey… It seemed the sensible approach.

The inspector was all too painfully aware that his was a fishing expedition with very little bait… Unless they got a lucky break the mornings’s work was going to achieve fuck all that would help find Anthony Mailer or bring his mother's attacker to justice. It was possible, even probable, that they were wasting their time. It was time they just didn't have to waste.

Chapter 37

‘F
isher’s still asking for his call, boss. ’

DI Gravel shook his head and snorted disdainfully. ‘The bastard seems to understand the legal system as well as I do.’

‘It seems so, boss.’

‘Let him make his call, Clive. And then lock him up and let him sweat awhile.’

‘Any news from DI Simpson?’

‘Fuck all as yet, Clive. I’ll give him a bell to see how things are progressing. Look, why don’t you have a quick cup of tea in the canteen, and I’ll give you a shout when I’m ready for Fisher’s interrogation.’

Wayne Fisher looked behind him and then to each side of the room, before finally picking up the phone… Unless the pigs had some unlikely high-tech snooping device hidden somewhere it was safe to make the call.

His hand hovered above the dial… What the hell was Galbraith’s number? Was it five nine six or nine five six? Nine five six, that was it. He dialled frantically and listened to the ring tone.

Cynthia Galbraith answered the phone almost immediately and was slightly out of breath when she said, ‘Hello, who’s speaking, please?’

‘My name’s Fisher, Wayne Fisher, I’m a friend of your husband. I need to speak to him.’

‘I haven’t heard him mention your name, Mr Fisher?’

‘Is he there?’

‘Yes, but he doesn't like to be disturbed, Mr Fisher.’

What the hell was wrong with the woman? ‘This is urgent, lady. He would want to hear what I have to say. Just tell him whose on the phone, please.’

Cynthia was suddenly aware that her hair was sticking to her forehead… What if it was urgent? The man seemed angry for some inexplicable reason. Maybe it was a male thing? Perhaps taking a message was the preferable option? ‘I really don't want to disturb him when he's working, Mr Fisher. If you know my husband as you claim to, you will understand that he wouldn't appreciate it at all. Can I take a message?’

‘This can’t wait, Mrs Galbraith. I don't know how I can make myself any clearer? This call is extremely urgent. I need to talk to him now please.’

‘I suppose I could ask him if he want’s to speak to you?’

‘That would be great. Please do that.’

Cynthia stood at the entrance to her husband’s secret world, staring at the forbidden grey concrete steps, and for the first time ever she dared to descend, step by slow determined step towards the white steel security-door at the bottom. She hesitated on reaching the door, solely tempted to retreat back to the comparative safety of the kitchen. But instead, after a few seconds urging herself to act, she knocked on the cold metal, softly at first, as if hoping he wouldn't hear her, and then harder, time and time again until he did.

When Dr Galbraith opened the door, the two of them stood like silent statues, intensely focussed on one another for a full ten-seconds before Cynthia finally looked away. As the doctor raised his right fist to punch her, she took a rapid backward step and raised both arms defensively, before blurting out, ‘Wayne Fisher’s on the phone. He says it's urgent. I'm sorry, he said I had to interrupt you.’

The doctor stopped dead in his tracks… Why the hell was Fisher contacting him? It had better be good.

He lowered his arm without striking, and pushed past Cynthia on his way up the steps.

Cynthia didn't move at first, but then she took a single step forward… Should she put her head through the door-frame and peep into the prohibited glaringly bright room? It would be illuminating. But, what if he came back and caught her looking? That degree of danger was unthinkable.

She turned on her heels, fled back up the steps a great deal quicker than she’d descended a minute or two earlier, and tried her best to convince herself that she’d made the correct choice… Like it or not, there was no avoiding the fact. Something was wrong. Something was very wrong.

‘Fisher? It's Dr Galbraith, I was working. What the hell do you want, man?’

Wayne Fisher was beginning to wonder if contacting Dr Galbraith was such a good idea after all. ‘I’m at the police station, Doctor. I’ve been nicked on suspicion of receiving.’

‘What the hell has that got to do with me, man?’

‘They've taken the van, Doctor. They've never done that before. Somethings up. They're asking questions I can’t answer.’

Pressure and sound exploded inside his skull… His world was unravelling. The little bastard was still unconscious and now this. He should have insisted on crushing the damn thing. Why hadn't he thought of it before? ‘Keep my name out of it, Fisher, or I will kill you. Do you hear me, man?’ He slammed down the phone, cracking the red plastic receiver.

Wayne Fisher’s legs weakened, his head swimming… It was no empty threat. The man was dangerous. There was no way he was telling the pigs anything at all.