Snatched From Home: What Would You Do To Save Your Children? (DI Harry Evans Book 1) (10 page)

Ignoring Evans, Campbell took over the conversation. ‘Is there any word from CSI about the theft from the Vaults?’

‘Nothing worth reporting yet, sir. They’ve lifted some prints and had a good nose about, but they’re saying it’s such a public place that they can’t draw anything conclusive without a mass canvass and fingerprinting of all staff members.’

‘Then that’s what they’ll have to do.’

A loud sigh came through the speaker as the line disconnected.

They pulled into Windermere, where Evans dispensed with any parking etiquette by bumping his nearside wheels onto the kerb, almost crushing a traffic warden’s toes in the process. Campbell winced in anticipation of the forthcoming battle, but made sure he was out of the car in time to enjoy the full spectacle.

‘Do you realize, sir, that you almost crippled an officer of the Crown?’ The traffic warden approached Evans waving his arms and gesticulating at the double yellow lines.

‘Of course I do, you imbecile. I made it into the police force, unlike you.’

‘Who do you think you’re speaking to?’ The traffic warden started to write out a ticket. His white knuckled hand making bold strokes across the ticket pad.

‘A trained monkey who likes to bully motorists for no good reason other than the erection it gives him.’

‘I’ll have you know I’m an officer of the Queen.’

‘Do you answer to Chief Constable Fuck Off?’

‘Who?’

‘
Fuck off
.’ The words left Evans’s mouth at a volume capable of splintering rock. All around them tourists and locals stopped to look at the commotion. ‘You are the kind of parasite who gives the police and law enforcement officers a bad name. I have been a copper in Cumbria for almost thirty years now and have never come across a jumped-up fuckwit like you before. I am parking here whether you, the Queen or Mary-bastard-Poppins approves. When I get back to my car I do not expect to find a ticket. If I do find a ticket on my car, I will hunt you down stuff it up your arse and set fire to it. Understood?’

Striding off, he left the speechless man behind.

Campbell ran after Evans as he walked into a pub called Peter Rabbit’s Warren, in honour of the character created by local author Beatrix Potter. When he caught up with Evans at the bar, he was in time to hear him order two pints of Guinness and a pint for Baconlugs.

Baconlugs turned out to be an elderly man. His face spoke of harsh winters and hot summers, coupled with a lifelong addiction to a drop of the hard stuff. His cheeks were crisscrossed with fine red lines, deposited by weather and whisky. One look at the man’s ears explained his nickname.

‘What you got for me today?’ Evans put the Guinness in front of the old man and sat opposite him.

‘Nothing much, Harry.’ The old man raised his new pint in silent thanks. ‘Those kids down the road from me have a lot of comings and goings, but nowt I can put my finger on. Oh and that girl I was telling you about last week is definitely on the game or something. She gets picked up twice a day by different blokes and she’s always dressed up sexy like, but with different clothes for each guy. I’ve been watching her for two months now and she has meetings twice a day for three weeks then a week off then another three weeks of meetings.’

‘What’s her name and address?’ Campbell took a sip of his pint his eyes bust darting around the room.

Baconlugs was beaten to the answer by Evans. ‘Jennifer Mills, 24 Coniston Crescent. She’s been at it for years, but she calls it escorting and declares tax on her earnings so it’s all legal.’

‘Aye, that’s her. How do you know her?’

Evans ignored the question. ‘Anything else going down or any other crack I should know about?’

‘I s’pose you’ve heard about Big Billy?’

‘No. Who’s he dropped now?’

‘No one yet, but his wife sold her car for five grand, watched the guy count the money out and agreed it was five grand. Yet when she went to bank it, it was two grand short. He’s out for proper blood this time, Harry, I wouldn’t like to be in the shoes of whoever did this to him.’

Campbell understood the glance Evans threw him and kept quiet.

Instead of informing Baconlugs it was a common trick, he changed the subject by asking Evans a question. ‘Who’s Big Billy?’

‘A builder and a local hardman, he’s been lifted numerous times for fighting.’

‘Not a man to con then.’

‘Not if you don’t fancy eating hospital food.’ Evans took a healthy slug from his pint. ‘C’mon, I want to pay Big Billy a visit before we head back.’

Instead of returning to the car, Evans led Campbell through a couple of small alleyways onto a main street. Walking along the street he turned into a cul-de-sac. There was a builder’s yard halfway along; timber, bricks and slates were stacked on pallets for easy transportation. At the back of the yard a worker was transferring tools from an old shipping container into a van.

Trailing two paces behind the older detective, Campbell watched with interest as Evans marched into the office sitting himself down opposite a huge man. If this wasn’t Big Billy, he didn’t want to meet the man who was.

The man across the desk from Evans was at least six foot six, his body a mass of knotted muscle. He didn’t have the sculpted muscle sported by gym attendees, his body was conditioned by years of hard graft, making him look as though he’d been hewn from the nearest of the Cumbrian fells.

His chiselled face was handsome until he saw Evans. When recognition set in, it transformed into a grotesque mask.

‘What the fuck do you want, Evans?’

‘Just to talk, Billy. That’s all.’

‘I ain’t got time to talk to no fucking coppers.’

Campbell slipped a hand into his pocket and slid his fingers around the collapsible baton. If Billy decided he was coming across the desk at Evans, he wanted a weapon to help take him down.

‘Not even if I can tell you a story about the man who bought your wife’s car? And how the payment was two grand short despite her watching him count the money?’

‘Who told you about that? How much do you know?’

‘My paperboy and everything.’

Big Billy stood up, fingertips curling toward palms. ‘Don’t fuck with me, Evans. You were lucky last time.’

‘Anytime you want a rematch here’s my number.’ Evans threw a card onto Billy’s desk. ‘I know you got conned, which is wrong, but all I’m here for is a quick photo.’

Before Billy could reply, Evans pulled out his mobile and took a quick snap of Billy, making sure to include the filing cabinet he was dwarfing.

Campbell could see that although Big Billy had almost a foot in height and a twenty-year advantage on Evans, he was afraid of the older man. There was nothing obvious, just a sense that his big talk was all bluster. He never actually confronted Evans or stood within striking distance. He eyed Evans the way a rattlesnake watches a mongoose.

‘I doubt you’ll get your money back, but if you do it will be thanks to me. Next time we meet, I expect you to be a little more polite to someone who’s trying to help you, or you’ll become my pet project for a little bit of police harassment.’

‘Just tell me who the bastard is and I’ll get my own money back.’

‘No can do, Billy. Leave it to the He-Man.’ Evans turned around, leaving the office and a frustrated Billy behind him.

‘We need to call this in, Harry.’

‘Wait until we get back to the car and I’ll explain my plan to you.’ Evans had a twinkle in his eye and a mischievous grin on his face.

They walked to the car in silence, with Campbell wondering what diabolical plan Evans was concocting now, and how many laws it would break. Upon reaching the car, Campbell half expected to find it ticketed or even clamped, but it was untouched, the traffic warden favouring discretion over valour.

Campbell waited until they were back in the car and heading back towards the motorway. ‘So what’s the plan then?’

‘Tomorrow morning we’re gonna go and visit that car dealer. I’ll show him the picture of Big Billy standing beside the filing cabinet. Then I’ll show him Billy’s arrest sheet and suggest that he tells me all about his little con, in case I let it slip to Billy, where he lives.’

‘That ought to make him confess there and then. By the way what was that all about with Billy and you offering him a rematch?’

‘He got out of hand one night when someone spilled his pint. I let the plods handle it for a while, but when the eighth one went down, I decided I better lend a hand. I had to take a hard line before he succumbed to my charms. He was out of hospital sooner than any of the plods he hit that night, so he’s little cause for complaint.’

‘You took him on?’ Campbell was incredulous, he didn’t fancy tackling Big Billy with anything less than a howitzer.

‘No, I didn’t take him on. I kicked his arse and he knows it. The rematch is all about him trying to saving face.’

Campbell changed the subject before he heard any further incriminating confessions. ‘How many times do you think the couple have pulled this stroke on dealers and people selling cars privately?’

‘Hundreds probably. As long as they’re clever about it and get away before the seller counts the money again, they’re home and dry. If he doesn’t do it on his doorstep, then he’ll get away with it for years until he gets caught out. I think we’ve only found out about him because he got greedy, and done some dealers as well. Most people wouldn’t bother the police with this as it only makes them look stupid, but dealers know what the score is; plus, they hate someone outsmarting them.’

Time dragged long and heavy for Samantha. With nothing to entertain them beyond video games she was bored. Without Facebook, her mobile or a magazine to read she was without any familiar stimulus.

Kyle, however, was fully occupied with his new favourite game. He’d discovered there were missions to do and he was so entranced, the fact they were prisoners had slipped from his memory. His eight-year-old brain was delighted to have nothing to do but play a game he knew his mother wouldn’t let him play. He even had his sister’s blessing.

His only upset of the day had come from finding his tooth still under the mattress. She’d agonised long into the night about the best course of action to take. Whether to tell him the truth, to take the tooth and flush it down the toilet then tell him the money would be at home. In the end she’d decided to do nothing and stick to her earlier insistence that the tooth fairy would only retrieve his tooth from under his pillow at home.

Samantha was pleased for her brother’s sake their plight was not at the forefront of his thoughts and emotions. She was just tired of the endless squealing of tyres and the gunshots coming from the TV. Even at its lowest volume she heard every sound.

Plus, there were the constant updates from Kyle about his progress. As much as she loved him, she just wanted him to be quiet for two minutes. Ever since being locked in the room, she’d sought ways to escape. Every inch of wall had been examined. The door had been tested every time the men had brought food.

She had tried to make sense of events.

To rationalise what was happening.

Elvis had said they were kidnapped as collateral against their father’s debts. Surely he couldn’t have debts that bad. Plus the men always wore their masks. That had to be good, didn’t it? She dared to hope they planned on letting her and Kyle go and they didn’t want her doing those photo-fit thingies with the police. If they weren’t wearing those masks she’d be far more frightened.

She hadn’t been able to place their accents beyond a Lancastrian twang similar to her friend Beth’s stepdad. Try as she might, she couldn’t remember the exact place he was from. It could be Bolton, Blackburn or any of the surrounding towns and cities.

‘Look, Sam. I’ve got the car on two wheels.’ Again Kyle interrupted her thoughts.

‘Well done.’ The reply fell from her mouth unbidden.

A rattle of locks announced the end of her boredom. Before the door had swung open she longed for a return to the nothingness of the morning.

‘Aww. He shot me.’

Ignoring the opening door, Samantha reassured her brother. ‘Just start again. You’ll manage it next time, Kyle.’

The man wearing the Tony Blair mask stood in the doorway. A carrier bag was thrown to her. ‘Put these on. I’ll be back in five minutes.’

‘Why?’

‘’Cause it’s time to make another video.’

A look in the carrier bag made Samantha’s heart plummet.

‘Everybody, follow me.’ Evans bulldozed his way out of the tiny office and led the assembled group to DCI Grantham’s office, where there was a large table for meetings at one end. ‘Sorry, sir, but our office is too small for all five of us at once and we need to have a meeting to plan our next moves.’

As the team invaded the DCI’s office, Evans took up station at the head of the conference table and began the meeting, ignoring DCI Grantham, who joined the group, taking a seat halfway along the table. ‘Where have you got to with the crime prevention letters, Chisholm?’

‘I have both proofed and OK’d by Sergeant Edwards and the press officer. The ones for the licensed premises are printing as we speak. Sergeant Edwards is still going round the farms and he told me that any help would be gratefully received.’

Evans looked at Grantham. ‘Can I get a PC to fold and envelope these letters to save the valuable time of my team?’

‘Speak to Sergeant Anderson, see if he has anyone he wants punished.’

‘Thanks. Bhaki, have you got an address for the car dealer from Lancaster? And what have you learned about his finances?’

Bhaki passed across a slip of paper with the address of the dealership, the names of the proprietors and the company name, Pentwortham Prestige Motors. ‘His finances are in order, although he didn’t show a great deal of profit on the accounts he submitted last year.’

Evans glanced at the paper. ‘If a five grand motor is prestige, then what the fuck is a decent car known as? That tosser wants nicked for crimes against English, or fraudulent representation at the very least. I’m not surprised his official accounts don’t show much profit. I bet he only declares a fraction of the cash he handles.’

Campbell joined in with the questioning, fully aware his new DCI was observing him to see how he behaved in comparison with Evans. ‘Amir, have you compiled a list of descriptions of the buyers from all the people who were caught out by this pair?’

‘Yes, sir, the general consensus seems to be that he is mid-fifties with salt and pepper hair and of average build and height. The woman is of roughly the same age and all the people I spoke to said she wears a hell of a lot of jewellery. She’s approximately one point six metres tall.’

Campbell bit back the Mrs T. wisecrack before he said it, but it was a close thing. Luckily for him, Evans’s impatience with Bhaki dominated the conversation. ‘For God’s sake man, what’s that in real money?’

‘About five foot four, guv, give or take an inch. The men I spoke to described her as having long red hair and a, erm…’ Bhaki’s cheeks were darkening.

‘C’mon, spit it out.’

‘A large chest, sir. She always wore clothing that allowed them to look down her top when she leaned over the desk to count the money. She never sat down at the desk preferring to lean over.’ The nervous recounting from the young man led Campbell to speculate to himself about Bhaki’s lack of experience with the opposite sex.

‘A classic distraction. I do that all the time. I’ll bet she wore a short skirt as well.’

‘That’s enough thank you, Lauren.’ Grantham gave up all pretence of silent observation and fully engaged in the discussion.

‘Long skirts are for fat lasses, I’ve used exactly the same tricks many a time in the interview room.’

‘I said that’s enough, DC Phillips!’

Grantham was trying to sound authoritative, but it was clear Lauren was a weakness of his. Grantham was sneaking what he thought were furtive glances at her, but Campbell could see that she knew what the DCI was doing, and was playing him the way an angler plays a prize catch.

‘Coming back to the point: they have tricked at least a dozen people we know of, and probably as many again that we don’t. We need to do something about them and stop them before they rip any bugger else off.’

Chisholm spoke up for the first time at the meeting. ‘I took the liberty of speaking to a friend at the CPS, she told me that as long as both parties agreed on the amount of money, there was nothing they can do by way of prosecution.’

Evans turned to face Chisholm. ‘I want full search on him and his business, accounts, trading contraventions, reputation, credit ratings and anything else you can dig up on him. And I want it on my desk when I come in tomorrow morning.’

‘As you don’t have a desk, sir, where shall I put the report, under your windscreen wiper?’

‘Don’t be smart, it doesn’t suit you.’ Evans glared at Chisholm before continuing. ‘Maybe I should give Big Billy his address and call the Preston station with a tip off about a major drug deal at the other side of town.’

‘Quasi! Nothing like that will happen and if it does I’ll have your badge. Vigilante action is
not
the answer…’

‘Just a thought, sir. Did you manage to speak with the ACC at all?’ Evans knew when to change the subject and the tracking devices on quad bikes was as good a distraction as any.

‘He’s mulling it over and will get back to me later today.’

‘OK, then, does anyone have any bright ideas about the robberies from the licensed premises? I’ve heard from the CCTV monitoring posts and there’s no cameras overlooking the back entrances of any of the premises.’

Lauren’s eyes flashed. ‘That’s bloomin’ typical. CCTV cameras all over the bloomin’ place watching people’s every move, yet when we need one, there isn’t one there.’

Campbell was convinced there must be a common link between each of the venues that had been so meticulously burgled. He also wanted Grantham to see him make a worthwhile contribution to the discussion. ‘Is it possible there is a common supplier who we have missed from some of the premises?’

‘We have gone over every possible avenue and have found no common link between all four properties other than Bandits Express and they always visit in daytime opening hours and never go beyond the public areas.’

‘I still think that’s how they are getting access and knowledge.’

‘Anybody else got any ideas? No, well what about the farm robberies? Come on! Someone give me a wild guess or something. We’re supposed to be a crack team and you’re all sitting on your arses like a bunch of old women.’ When he was greeted with silence, Evans adjourned the meeting and stomped off.

Left behind in the office, Campbell gathered his own thoughts while filling out his daily report. As far as he could see the con with the counting was pretty much solved, all he had to do was prevent Evans from bringing the couple to the wrong form of justice. The burglaries from licensed premises were another matter, although the team had investigated each one on an individual and collective basis, he could not find the common denominator he was sure existed and was the key to the robberies. He knew the main clue was locked somewhere deep in the evidence swirling around his brain, but he couldn’t bring it to the forefront in a recognisable form. The robberies from the farms were the latest of a cyclic pattern, occurring every year or nine months, depending on how often the criminal gangs targeted the area. They would be solved either by luck or by the implementation of the tracking devices.