Hot Blood (Bloodwords Book 1) (42 page)

‘I find your certainty impressive,’ said
Radcliffe, ‘but it is my guess that you are totally wrong.’

Having given them the opportunity to voice
their opinions, the DI felt that the time to discuss his theory and then assign
tasks had come.

‘How we found Mr Worth had me thinking,’ he
said. Three faces were fixed on him, all concentrating on every syllable. ‘If
the paramedics had not come along to scoop him up and work on him, if the
thieves had carted him out to some remote spot and just left him, he would have
been another dead body with no visible marks but exactly the same cause of
death as the three we already have.’

They we already making the connection but
Radcliffe continued to join up the dots. ‘Peter Archer had some oil or grease
on him. We could not fathom that one out at the time but I think that he died
in exactly the same way as Mr Worth nearly did, under a car. The two Poles
could also fit that scenario, one is a mechanic and I’m having checks done on
the other to see if it all fits. My hunch is that Richard Worth has given us
the missing link.’

‘It might fit Don,’ added
Lescott
.
‘Simon was told that Rick Worth used Peter Archer’s workshop regularly, but
then when he went through the workshop diary he could not find any entries to
back that up.’

‘But the cloned registration plates were found
on the workshop wall,’ said Fraser.

‘Right,’ said Radcliffe. ‘A lot of it is rather
vague but we still have links not only between the deaths and Worth, but also
directly to the car thefts. What we don’t have is the whereabouts of the cars
now or knowledge of who is still involved.’

‘Or why they should get rid of four of their
men,’ responded Fraser. ‘That seems a bit extreme.’

Radcliffe agreed with his sergeant. Some
aspects were more than a little extreme and his theory did provide rather a lot
of links very neatly. Perhaps too neatly. But his hunch was that it was not far
from reality and needed following up. After stressing that nothing was to be
discussed openly – he was still concerned about leaks and if his theory
was right then another leak could kill the whole operation – he allotted
tasks to each of them. Louise Green was to contact the Jaguar Land Rover plant
at Halewood to get some background on Mr Worth. Debbie
Lescott
and Kyle Fraser were to re-visit the caravan park where they were to take a
good look at the workshop and talk to Kevin Archer. Then they would compare
notes when he himself had returned from Liverpool, where he had been summoned
to report progress so far.

‘Perhaps Kevin is involved too,’ suggested
Fraser. ‘If his dad was involved then Kevin might be too.’

‘You could be right, so tread carefully,’
advised Radcliffe. ‘Don’t let anything out of the bag at this stage. Debbie has
already been there with Frank so Kevin will recognise her. Your visit today can
just be a follow up as far as Kevin is concerned. You’ll have to think of a
plausible excuse to look at the workshop though.

……….

Sitting at a table at a window looking out onto
the car park, Joan Johnson realised just how neglected Green Fields Caravan
Park had become. Not having visited her brother’s business for a long time its
shabby and unkempt appearance had been a shock. Perhaps that was a trick of the
memory. Didn’t we always remember things as we wanted to see them rather than
how they actually were? For sure, although all the buildings and the general
layout were familiar, the picture she had held in her mind had been from a much
earlier time when everything had been fresh and the paint barely dry. If she
really tried she could remember a last visit when the paint was needing a new
coat and some areas were already beginning to look tired, but that had been
when Peter had rowed with her about him being cut out of their father’s will.
In an attempt to remember the good times she usually blocked that visit out of
her mind.

The whole place seemed to have gone downhill at
an alarming rate in the intervening two years. Changing its name from Site to
Park had done nothing other than pay homage to fashion, while a complete
refurbish would have been more appropriate. Looking out onto the car park she
could see for herself the problems Peter had been facing, now passed on of
course to his son Kevin. The car park was rutted and unkempt and the reception
buildings had deteriorated to the point where they just looked like garden
sheds, yet inevitably this would be the first impression visitors would get. It
would not be a good impression, particularly if those visitors had previously
visited a Haven or
CentreParcs
site. The picture
snapped into sharper focus. It was no wonder that Peter had been fighting for
some of her money and some of her land.

Even so, she herself had a fight on her hands.
She might well be sitting on a parcel of land but she didn’t have the money to
develop it and, as looked increasingly possible, might even be in debt up to
her ears. She would have to handle Kevin with firmness, even though he was her
nephew.

‘There you are Aunt Joan,’ he said, putting a
steaming mug of coffee in front of her.

His manner surprised her. Most things about him
had surprised here of late. She still thought of him as a little boy, as her
brother’s little boy, her little nephew. But the little boy had grown up. The
session at her solicitor’s had demonstrated that. Previously happy just to
stand in his father’s shadow, Kevin was now taking his responsibilities
seriously and showing strength of character she had not realised was there.
Perhaps she might have an even harder battle on her hands than when Peter had
been alive.

‘Thank you Kevin,’ she replied. ‘But don’t you
think that you could drop the aunt bit? You’re no longer in short pants are
you?’

‘Sometimes,’ he replied with a grin, adding,
‘when it’s sunny. But if it’s OK with you,’ his eyebrows raising questioningly,
waiting for approval.

‘Of course Kevin, we are all adults after all.’
Taking a sip of her coffee she looked at her nephew, wondering what was about
to unfold. What she would have to contend with.

‘If we go right back to before granddad bought
your place,’ he began, ‘the whole lot, his house, your barn, the buildings in
the hollow, all the land and the land this caravan site is on, were all one
farm. Then the owner split it up and sold some of it to granddad.’

‘Yes Kevin, I know all that. We don’t need to
concern ourselves with things that far back.’

‘Oh but we do,’ he replied confidently.
‘Because it was at that point – when it was split up – that the new
boundaries were created.’

After he had explained the history of their two
properties, how old Mr Jarvis had split the land almost exactly in half,
gifting one half to his son Arthur and selling the other to Joan’s father, he
went on to detail how young Arthur had planned the development in three phases,
with his father financing him through phases one and two. Phase one had been to
lay out the site and to put the central facilities in place. Phase two was to
build the reception complex. Phase three was an extension of the site in
general to the full size of the land allocation and to put in some upmarket
facilities.

It had all made sense to her. Initial
development must have cost the young Jarvis a huge amount of money. Yet looking
at the site now, no way could it be described as up-market. Where indeed was
Kevin leading with what, so far, had been no more than a bedtime story?

‘Is this all relevant Kevin?’ she asked. ‘I
don’t think that I am all that interested in how this Arthur bloke developed
the site or how long it took him.’

‘It’s entirely relevant Joan,’ he replied. ‘Just
hear me out please.’

He had then gone on to explain how Arthur had
not developed all of his allocation for Green Fields because setting up the
infrastructure had been too costly, even with his father bankrolling him. Phase
three had never taken place. What existed when Peter Archer had bought the site
was only development as phases one and two. Which meant that the general
upgrades had not been done and, crucially, the site had not been expanded onto
the additional land.

‘But I don’t see how that can be,’ she
observed. ‘Where is this extra land supposed to be? Your car park is bounded by
the bottom road and the boundary at other side of your site is our joint
boundary. Where in heavens name is this extra land that Arthur Jarvis didn’t
expand onto?’

Which Kevin took as a cue to drop his
bombshell, explaining about the short-term free loan of land that had become
decidedly long term and the visual markers that enabled the true boundary to be
identified. Visibly shocked, Joan found the story too far fetched to believe.
If the story were to be true, why had her father not told her? Indeed, why had
he told her that his land went right up to the existing boundary of the caravan
site? Thinking back she could not remember any time when her father had ever
said that the boundary of his land had not been the common boundary with
Peter’s caravan park.

Yet her nephew seemed more sure of himself than
she had ever seen him. Very confident. This would need careful management if
his outlandish claims were to be rejected. And they must be of course. Jarvis
must have been hallucinating – though for what motive she could not
imagine – and she doubted that any word description of the boundaries or
plan actually existed. Kevin had gone to fix another coffee and when he returned
she would simply reject his suggestions and advise him that in the absence of
any documented evidence, if he wished to continue on his improbable course then
he would have to follow her solicitor’s advice and engage surveyors to plot the
whole site accurately. And since he did not have the money for that, the silly
idea would die.

As she looked up, Kevin returned to the table
and gently placed two documents onto the table in front of her. One was a very
detailed description signed by four people; she recognised her father’s
signature among them. The other, a much larger sheet, was a detailed plan.

Oh shit!

Twenty-Eight

Putting the receiver down, Radcliffe pondered
the information he had just been given. While it had only been a grain of an
idea, not really a possibility, the thought had kept crossing his mind to the
point where it just had to be followed up. And now a few unconnected events
were becoming connected. Things that had been completely individual were
looking as though they might be linked. And if they were, a whole bunch of
possibilities would click into focus. Yet if they were not, if the idea was
just supposition with no real connection, then he would be up the creek without
a paddle. He was the officer running the enquiry so his subordinates would
point to where they had received their instructions and any flak would be
directed at him. Above, DCI Handley would be insulated from any failure. All
roads led to DI Radcliffe.

So he had made a call so that he
could close the lid on what had been a flaky idea in the first place. Only it
hadn’t done that. The pathologist had been quite supportive – impressed
he had said – and had thought Radcliffe’s suggestion sufficiently sound
to be a possible link. So that had prompted a second call, and now the third.
At that point he was unlikely to shout Bingo! - and there were still some
numbers missing, key pieces in the jigsaw, any of which could blow the complete
theory apart. But after his phone calls he now had the bit between his teeth,
and, after looking on helplessly while the investigation floundered like a lost
driver aimlessly trying to find his way home, at last he felt that he was back
in control. Or if not in control, at least he had a direction in which to
travel.

A direction, certainly, but not a
final destination. That would need more work and more time. Perhaps more time
than they actually had available.

Which was exactly why he now had
three officers in his office, all of whom were wondering why they had been
summoned. Briefings usually took place down the corridor in the larger meeting
room that could accommodate the whole team, while by and large, individual
officers would discuss issues in the DI’s office. So, were they to be given a
kick up the pants like errant schoolchildren? Were they going off in some new
direction as a result of some earth shattering information that had suddenly
come to light? Or were they wallowing around out of their depth with somebody
looking for a scapegoat on which to pin blame?

With two desks almost touching
and little room for visitors, the office was cosy for two but cramming in four
people was a bit of a squeeze. Being a warm day didn’t help. He could feel the
tension as glances were exchanged but little said. How much they would have
gleaned from overhearing one side of his final telephone conversation as they
had filed in was debatable. Most likely, nothing. But then again, they were
detectives and should be able to read between the lines.

‘It’s a bit cramped in here
boss,’ remarked Debbie
Lescott
, ‘there’s not much
room for anyone else so why don’t we use the incident room?’

‘This isn’t a full briefing,’
replied Radcliffe, ‘so we will be OK,’ carefully watching the faces of Fraser,
Lescott
and Green. Clearly they were puzzled. And equally
clearly they were attentive – exactly the state he had intended to
create.

‘I’ve got a question,’ he said,
opening up the dialogue. ‘Why does everything come back to Simon Charlton?’

Don Radcliffe cast his eyes
around the room, hoping for some sort of response, even if sarcastic. But none
came. Feet shuffled, heads dipped, eyes were averted – but nothing was
said. ‘Come on then,’ he continued, ‘why does Charlton always seem to be one
step ahead of us? He found the cloned plates, he found Wilson’s fake Ferrari, he
warned us that the cars were being moved out of the college store – and
now he’s bloody well told us the identity of the bloke we dragged from under
the Bentley.’

More shuffling. From behind his
desk he looked at each of them in turn, Fraser,
Lescott
and Green, but none of them would meet his stare.

‘That’s pushing it a bit Don,’
commented Fraser eventually. ‘Debbie identified Peter Archer as the first body
and we’ve all done our bit to progress things since.’

‘I’m not posting a score sheet
Kyle, but without Mr Charlton’s contribution we would not have got as far as we
have,’ adding, ‘and there would probably be one more dead body. Let’s not
forget that.’

Leaning back in his chair,
Radcliffe visibly mellowed. Having worked with him for some length of time they
could read his mood and without communicating with each other in any way they
all knew that the criticism would not continue and that a change in delivery
was coming. Even so, sly glances, grins even, were surreptitiously exchanged.

‘It’s no laughing matter,’ said
Radcliffe, bringing them back to order. ‘I can’t tell you how much it rankles
that a civilian has pulled one over on us. This is our job,’ adding for effect,
‘and we don’t seem to be doing it very well.’

Radcliffe let his words hang in
the air, allowing time for them to sink in, before continuing. ‘Oh for heaven’s
sake, find some chairs and sit down,’ he said. ‘I’m not going to sit here with
you lot staring down at me.’

Getting back into his sombre
mood, which in itself took them by surprise, he outlined his reservations and
also those of DCI Handley. In little more than one week there had been three
deaths and almost a fourth. In itself, that was not acceptable and they were
being monitored by HQ in Liverpool, which didn’t help either. But with a big political
conference coming to town they couldn’t sustain the level of manpower currently
allocated for much longer. Something had to give. Either they solved the case
or HQ would take it away. If that happened then they would all be running about
like blue arsed flies to the commands of the Major Incident Team top brass from
Liverpool and at the same time trying to create a policing plan for the
conference.

On top of all that there were
other issues. From the questions asked by the North
Meols
Drum journalist Les Starr, (he referred to him as ‘that little ponce), it was
clear that somewhere there was a leak and information was getting out. Whether
it had been the same leak that had tipped off the car thieves was unknown, but
without doubt there was at least one. The Home Office would soon be in town for
their first on-site visit so an initial framework for policing the conference
was now an urgent requirement. And finally, if HQ got involved with their
deaths, questions would be asked as to how they came by some of their
information and that could be catastrophic.

He did not look at
Lescott
, nor did he mention any names, but all three knew
exactly what was on the agenda. If he had said that Debbie’s job was on the
line and that they needed to put the case to bed then his message wouldn’t have
been any clearer. With their attention guaranteed, he then outlined the
solution DCI Handley had devised.

Instead of just reducing the
number of ancillary officers that had been drafted in, which was due to happen
anyway given how they were overstretched, as of that moment the team was
actually being cut to just it’s core members. That was specifically to address
the issue of leaks. If there were any more he would know exactly from where
they had originated. And as they had probably already heard, DI Davies had
already been tasked with getting the conference plan up and running.

‘Isn’t that a job for uniforms?’
asked Fraser.

‘Of course,’ replied Radcliffe,
adding, ‘in an ideal world. But this isn’t an ideal world and I am afraid we
will all get roped in at some point.’ Looking at the three of them he added,
‘sooner rather than later if we don’t get some results.’

Wrapping up his outline of
Handley’s instruction he made it clear that he held their capabilities in great
store. The case was maturing and a direction was becoming apparent. The means
was in their hands to get a result.

‘Easier said than done,’ observed
Fraser. ‘But we have hit a blank wall. We’ve got three deaths with a matching
cause but otherwise no real links, and unknown car thieves that have such a
good information network that they not only flew the nest before we arrived,
they took their cars with them as well. It doesn’t look like we’ve got much
going for us does it?’

Actually, I don’t agree,’
responded Radcliffe. ‘Things have really
hotted
up
since last night. I didn’t call you lot in here just to tell you about the new
working arrangements; this is our first briefing of the new team.

The door swung open, bumping into
DC Green’s chair.

‘Oh, sorry about that,’ said a
surprised Frank Davies.’ Then, turning to Radcliffe he added, ‘Will you be long
Don?’

‘Give us ten minutes will you
Frank?’ responded Radcliffe, ‘we are nearly through.’

Turning back to the three
officers as the door closed, Radcliffe first addressed Fraser. ‘Kyle, how did
your session with Randy Brian go?’

‘Pretty much as expected Don,’
replied the sergeant. ‘He protested his innocence all the time and just clammed
up when we tried to get him to name the person selling the car that he passed
on to the Wilson woman, but overall I think that he’s just an unfortunate piggy
in the middle. I don’t think that he realised the car was a ringer. He just saw
it as a way to get into the Wilson woman’s knickers.’

Louise Green and Debbie
Lescott
exchanged knowing glances and raised eyebrows.

‘I get your point Kyle,’
responded Radcliffe. Then addressing
Lescott
continued, ‘what have you got on Rick Worth?’

‘Not much at the moment,’ she
replied. ‘I’ve run some searches but so far Richard Worth isn’t coming up anywhere.
He’s only young though so he could still be living with his parents. Actually,
all I have is what Simon has passed on.’

‘Hmmm. Mr Clever
Cloggs
,’ responded Radcliffe with a wry smile. ‘No Debbie,’
he continued as she started to speak again, ‘nothing derogatory meant in that.
Simon has done well.’

‘This bloke though,’ interrupted
Fraser, ‘Richard Worth or whatever he is called. Knowing who he is still
doesn’t help us does it? I mean, he’s not connected to the three deaths and it
looks as though he’s just a small cog in the car thefts.’

‘I don’t follow your logic,’
responded Radcliffe.

‘He can’t have been all that
important if they were prepared to leave him behind.’

Now that’s where I disagree,’
responded Radcliffe. ‘I think just the opposite. I believe that our Mr Worth
knows a good deal about what was happening and how it all worked. I think that
he was deliberately crushed to stop him spilling the beans.’

‘How so?’

‘Think about it. You’ve been
involved with a dodgy operation for a while but then decide you want out. You
might have amassed enough money to live nicely without any more undercover
stuff or you might just have got scared. Any one of a number of reasons to want
out. If you know too much, the big wigs are not going to like that. So they take
steps to keep you quiet. In this case, permanently, though with a bit of luck
that hasn’t been successful.’

‘I think that’s taking a bit too
far Don,’ observed Fraser. These are car thieves we are talking about, not
murderers. There’s no connection between the three deaths and the cars.
Period.’