Making A Killing (The Romney and Marsh Files Book 2) (6 page)

‘What did Emerson do for a crust?’ said Falkner.

‘Phillip Emerson ran a light-haulage business. Several lorries with offices on the industrial estate. Judging by his home he must have been doing rather well out of it. Top priority is where he was last night, or where he was supposed to be and who with. And we need to find his car.’ Romney checked his paperwork. ‘A black Range Rover HSE Sport. This year’s model. The widow gave the impression that it wasn’t unusual for him to stay out all night, we need to find out where he regularly stayed when he was absent.’

‘Girlfriend?’ said Falkner.

‘Likely, I suppose,’ said Romney. ‘Again, something else I’m confident we’ll uncover as soon as we’ve sifted through his phone records and had a chat with the people who knew him.’

‘Well, I can see you have plenty to be getting on with,’ said the senior officer
, satisfied and getting to his feet. ‘It’s an ugly business. There’ll be a lot of publicity, I imagine, given the circumstances and the location. Press and the public love this kind of thing. The more mysterious and gruesome the better. How sick we are.’

***

4

‘Hello, Brian’

‘Can I have a word, sir?’

Romney glanced at his watch. ‘It’ll have to be a quick one.’

Wilkie stepped into the room and shut the door behind him. He came to stand in front of Romney’s desk. ‘I want to join the team for the Emerson murder, sir.’

Romney slung his pen onto the paperwork he had been poring over and lent back in his chair. ‘Sit down, Brian. How’s the wife now?’

Wilkie sat. ‘Much better, thank you, sir.’

‘And the baby?’

‘Yeah, they’re both well.’

‘Good. Good,’ said Romney. ‘And how are things going with
The
Parking Medal Man
?’

Wilkie flinched at the mention of the nick-name that the local press had dubbed Dover’s self-appointed champion of pedestrians’ interests. In
the previous two months
The
Parking Medal Man
was believed to have been responsible for causing damage to over thirty vehicles in and around the town centre. These were vehicles that had been parked overnight, or had been temporarily left unattended, to obstruct footpaths and pavements. The moniker of the mystery character, if indeed it was only one person – there was growing speculation that others who shared the viewpoint of the individual had taken to imitating his actions as the publicity and debate around the crusader’s unique form of protest grew – was the ‘medal’ that was left impressed on the metalwork of the vehicles. This was a circular impression, probably caused by a strong blow with a common hammer.

The local press were portraying
The Parking Medal Man
as a mixture of super-hero and folk-devil. It was Wilkie’s opinion that he was simply some disturbed individual with an acutely misplaced and inflated vigilante tendency and nothing better to do than go around causing criminal damage to other people’s property.

To fuel the mysterious nature of this vandal, in the dozens of incidents reported
, no one had claimed to have seen a possible suspect. To Wilkie’s great frustration even the numerous CCTV cameras situated around the town had failed to provide an image that could offer a clue to the identity of the nutcase, despite the fact that several vehicles had been damaged within their fields of view.

As an investigation to be leading it had become humiliating. The local press, in an otherwise slow-news period, had latched on to the attacks. They had taken to featuring fresh incidents as they occurred, encouraging victims
to report to them directly. This inflated a story that, to Wilkie, was essentially nothing more than low-level criminal damage, out of all proportion to create a local news phenomenon which had become a conversation topic wherever he went. There was little sign of interest flagging.

The press of this news outpost of the country were no less manipulative and self-servingly selective than their grander national cousins. The
local newspaper featured photographs of victims with their damaged vehicles along with their comments and stories. Those that the rag chose to feature as ‘prey’ of
The
Parking Medal Man
were naturally selected to maximise public interest, reaction and sympathy. There was the struggling single-parent mother of a sick infant who claimed to have only blocked a pavement briefly in order to visit a chemist to collect urgent medication for her child. Then there was the seventy-four year old arthritic widow who, after being unable to find a parking space near the shops – after claiming to have made three circuits of the surrounding roads – parked across a narrow pedestrian thoroughfare. To ‘balance’ the public’s feelings of wrong and right regarding the vigilante’s actions the paper also printed verbatim the inflammatory arrogant comments of a wealthy local businessman’s wife who clearly held scant regard for the rights of pedestrians and the angry egotistical reaction to becoming a victim of a similarly obnoxious youth who appeared to feel he could park his souped-up family hatchback complete with racing trim wherever he liked.

To inject further life into the story, which had slowly edged its way towards the front pages of the paper threatening to one day spill onto the front page itself, the public of Dover had been invited to use the weekly as a medium through which to debate the issue. Opinion, again no doubt editorially manipulated, appeared to be divided over the topic. In one camp were those who said that if someone parked their vehicle obstructing a pedestrian right of way then they got what they deserved if
The
Parking Medal Man
found them. Others saw that condoning such self-appointed police, judge and jury types set dangerous precedents for society. Then there were those, usually from within the growing number of victims, who believed that if the police ever managed to catch him, he should suffer some of his own hammer justice.

Column inches had even been provided for the opinions of lecturers from the local Kent University. Professional educators and experts in the fields of criminal psychology, sociology and psychiatry discussed and offered insights into the likely motivation, state-of-mind and broad social group identity of
The
Parking Medal Man
, as well as the broader issues of the day relating to the acts that could have helped provoke and foster such behaviour. The newspaper space was greedily gobbled up by the pompous, narcissistic personalities in their ivory towers to provide blocks of text largely incomprehensible to the ordinary citizen of the town.

Behind all the bluff and bluster, the press, despite the criminal aspect of the acts, had firml
y stuck their collective tongue in their proverbial cheek. It had become a circus, a joke, a professional nightmare for Wilkie. Inevitably, it had not been long before the police were singled out as not doing enough to make an arrest and to protect the
‘hard-earned property of the people of Dover’
. Comparisons were made with other aspects of local crime and the expectations that the people of the area could reasonably hold given that the police seemed unable to apprehend this person and curtail his
‘reign of terror’
. Through constant manipulation by the press, public pressure appeared to be mounting as the number of attacks grew. Naturally, as the police came in for criticism and unwelcome attention the top brass began to take an interest and bring their own pressures to bear internally for a swift and satisfactory resolution to the problem.

One reader of the local rag with delusions of being some sort of wag had even composed a poem to celebrate the actions of what she saw as a long overdue blow for pedestrians in the fight for their rights over motor vehicles. The newspaper had published it, naturally, and even suggested that a local similar
‘talent’
might care to put the words to music.

Anonymous
parties within the station had photocopied the poem and put it up around the building imagining this to be funny. As fast as Wilkie managed to tear them down they re-appeared. It added to his anger, embarrassment and frustration.

The Parking Medal Man

He’s the parking medal man

Self-appointed guardian

Of the places and the spaces

Meant for pedestrians.

He’s the parking medal man

And it’s time someone took a stand

Against the selfish folk

Who make us so incensed.

He’s the parking medal man

He’ll decorate your car or your van

If you leave it parked somewhere

That you know you really shouldn’t.

He’s the parking medal man

If you mispark your car or van

He’ll do his worst you’re not the first

Don’t think he wouldn’t.

We’re sick and tired of you blocking the way

Behaving with impunity

Like it’s your right to park wherever you like

Without a thought for who might need

To pass in relative safety

On a path designed for people not cars and vans.

If and when Wilkie ever got his hands on the individual who was making his life a misery
, he hoped to God that he could catch him red-handed and alone. He vowed that he’d redefine the boundaries of self-defence while making an arrest in justifying the kicking that he’d mete out. He’d show that bastard some street justice.

‘To be honest, sir, we’re little further forward with it. We’ve had another two cases reported this week and again no one saw
, or heard, a thing. All we know is that he’s obviously mobile enough to get around the town – he’s struck all over the place but there’s no pattern to it – and he’s able to strike at any time of day or night, which suggests he doesn’t work, or works shifts, or works but is mobile with it. It’s my view that we’re only going to catch him in the act. We need some luck.’

Romney
leant his elbows on the chair’s armrests and the steepled his fingers. His expression was serious. ‘I can’t take you off it. It’s become important because of all the publicity surrounding it and the pressure from above. It needs sorting and quickly. You’ve been on it from the start and I want you to see it through.’

‘With respect, sir, I’m senior to Marsh. I should be on the murder enquiry not chasing a car vandal around town. She could take over
The
Parking Medal Man
.’ The words threatened to stick in his throat. ‘I could bring her up to speed on it in a few minutes.’

‘That, Brian, is as far as I want you to go. You’ve made your point
, and it’s been noted. But my decision is final. Is that clear?’

Wilkie made little effort to conceal his disappointment. ‘Yes, sir. Perfectly.’

‘Look,’ said Romney, relaxing, ‘I can understand how you must feel. If you can tie it up before we get too far with Emerson’s murder, I’ll be glad to have you on board. Is there anything you need, extra people, anything like that? Have you thought about a honey trap?’

‘Isn’t that entrapment, sir?’

Romney smiled in what he hoped was a conspiratorial way. ‘You should know by now, Brian, that in my book, if the ends justify the means, I’ll worry about the legal side of things if and when I have to. If we have to check the flexibility of a rule or two now and again in order to get the job done, then so be it. Make myself clear?’

Wilkie thought about it for a moment. It just might work. He smiled back at his DI, suddenly able to see himself killing several birds with one stone. He’d bait it and wait himself. Nab the bastard, give him a bloody good hiding, bask in the media spot-light of being the one who captured and exposed the Parking Medal Freak and if the brass were taking an interest now then they’d be sure to take an interest in whoever brought the case to a satisfactory conclusion. And then he’d be back in the fold. ‘Yes, sir.’

Romney’s phone rang. ‘Yes. Good. Tell him to wait there. I’ll be down in a minute. Right then, Brian,’ he said, replacing the receiver, ‘are we clear?’ Romney was on his feet, pulling on his suit jacket and making for the door.

‘Crystal, sir.

‘Keep me posted.’

Outside his office Romney called across for
Marsh to make herself available – William Emerson was at the front desk. Marsh looked up to see the DI and Wilkie exchange words. Romney patted him on the shoulder and began walking towards her. For a moment she locked eyes with Wilkie over the DI’s shoulder and saw in the look he gave her that she had made an enemy.

When Romney and Marsh had left to speak with the dead man’s son, Wilkie visited the water cooler, which just happened to be near Marsh’s desk. He enjoyed a long cool drink affecting an interest in the view across the town centre rooftops in the warm summer’s afternoon. He noticed Marsh had left her mobile phone on her desk. How trusting. How silly. He made a casual sweep of the room with his eyes and slipped it into his pocket. The least he owed her was some inconvenience. Refreshed and pleased with himself he left.