Storms (12 page)

‘Okay’ said Jeff. ‘We’re due a break so you never know. DI Stockton? You take over from here whilst DS Wright and I go down to speak to this Ralph Johnson. And don’t forget the descriptions we’ve received of a man driving a white type of delivery van who was seen loitering around the estate before both the second and third abductions. That’s another dividend of Melanie Patterson’s fall. It means people on the estate are not afraid to talk to us anymore’.

Jeff and Ollie got down to the interview room and introduced themselves to Ralph who was sipping a cup of tea that the desk sergeant had got for him. He’d had to take two buses to get there and walk about half a mile. He was done in and his leg ulcers were really playing him up.

‘Are you alright, Mr. Johnson?’ asked Ollie. The old man was all dressed up in a collar and tie but he looked pale. He made a mental note to arrange for a car to drive him home once they were done. ‘Is there anything else we can get you?’

‘No, son, you’re okay’ said Ralph. ‘Have you had my letter?’

‘What letter might that be, Mr. Johnson?’ asked Jeff.

‘The one that tells you all I know about the murders of these young lads’ said Ralph. ‘Clearly you haven’t but you see from my flat on the other side of Manchester road I can see right into the estate and sometimes it’s more entertaining than watching the telly’. He took a piece of paper that he’d carefully folded from out of the inside pocket of his jacket. ‘So I’ll have to start again and first I’ll give you this. It’s the registration number of the white van that drove onto the estate a few nights ago. I saw the driver get out and dump the body of your officer who’d been working undercover before driving off again at some considerable speed. I saw it all, detectives. I saw it all’.   

‘

STORMS ELEVEN

Kyle and Tim were in the swimming pool at Tim’s house. They’d done several lengths and were now taking a breather. They were at the shallow end and were floating about with just their heads above the water.

‘I’m going to have a house like this one day’ Kyle declared.

‘That’s the spirit, Kyle’ said Tim.

‘Thank you so much for asking me over’

‘You’re welcome’ said Tim. ‘It’ll be something to tell your friends about at school on Monday’

‘I don’t really have many friends to tell you the truth’.

‘Really? So why do you think that is then?’

‘I just don’t find many of them that interesting’ said Kyle. ‘They’re always doing stupid things and getting into trouble for acting like kids. I’ve always preferred the company of older people. I get on better with them’.

‘You are quite mature for your age, Kyle’.

‘And that’s a good thing?’

‘Oh yeah, it wasn’t a criticism’ Tim assured. If only this young man knew just how beautiful he was. There wasn’t a blemish on that perfect skin. No sign of any teenage acne and his hair was free of the grease sometimes associated with the hair on the heads of teenage boys. He was tall, slim. He wore his speedos well. One of Tim’s favourite books was ‘Death in Venice’ in which the protagonist was a middle-aged man who falls for a teenage boy who’s staying in the same hotel as him in Venice. He saw the love that he felt as something pure and beautiful. He didn’t see anything dirty about it and he certainly didn’t think of himself as a paedophile. He was a man who’d fallen in love with a thing of beauty. It wasn’t his fault that the rest of the world didn’t see it that way. 

‘I don’t see myself as settling down with someone my own age either’ Kyle went on. ‘It’ll be someone older I think. I think I need a guiding hand and someone who’ll lead me through life. I need someone to be the one in charge if you see what I mean’.

‘I do’.

‘Have you never met anyone you wanted to settle down with?’

‘You ask very candid questions, Kyle’.

‘Sorry’ said Kyle who didn’t want to spoil this amazing time he was having by being indiscreet. ‘I’m a bit like that’.

‘I don’t mind at all’ said Tim. ‘I’m an open book to you, my friend. There was somebody a long time ago. It didn’t work out’.

‘Why not?’

‘They died’ said Tim. ‘In a fire that also killed my father. I’ll tell you about it all at some point’.

‘I wish my father was dead’ said Kyle, his voice full of bitterness and hurt. He hadn’t heard anything from his father since he let him down on his birthday. Today was supposed to be part of Kyle’s weekend visit to his father but he hadn’t contacted Kyle to make any arrangements. Kyle had tried to keep on loving his father but now he just felt really let down as if all his efforts had been for nothing because his father didn’t care. And he’d watched his Mum worrying herself sick about money and where she was going to get some extra from and that was all due to his father and the hole he’d left her in. He hated his father. He did wish he was dead.

‘You don’t really wish that, Kyle’.

‘I do!’ Kyle insisted. ‘When he left us he left my Mum in a right mess with money. She told me you’d paid off all her debts. She can’t believe how generous you’ve been to her’.

‘Your Mum is my friend, Kyle. I was able to help so I did’.

‘I wish you were my Dad’.

‘Kyle, I could never take the place of your Dad and I’m sure that one day you and he will be friends again’ said Tim. ‘But I would like to be your friend and help you in whatever way I can’.

‘I think that would be cool’

‘Good’ said Tim who was becoming overwhelmed by that familiar feeling he’d experienced so many times before. It was risky and it was dangerous because nobody else understood. But it had now begun to unfurl and even if he wanted to he couldn’t stop it now. ‘Now I think we’ll be good for a few more lengths’.

‘I bet I can beat you’.

‘Now that gives me a challenge, young man. Okay, on your marks, get set, go!’

Tim had given his assistant Joe the night off and so he made dinner for himself and Kyle. Annabel had told him that steak and chips was Kyle’s favourite meal so that’s what he’d cooked for him.  

‘I can really talk to you, you know’ said Kyle as they sat at the table after finishing their food. They were both in casual t-shirts and jogging pants. It was loose. It was relaxed. He felt close to Tim. Closer than he’d ever felt to anyone before. He was tall and handsome like his Dad. And yet he wasn’t his Dad. He was cultured, educated, successful. In truth he was everything his Dad wasn’t.

‘I’m glad about that’.

‘I can talk to you about really deep stuff’ said Kyle. ‘My Mum, God bless her, doesn’t have a clue about what I’m going on about half the time. Neither has my Dad. I love my Mum, don’t get me wrong, I love her to bits, but I can’t talk to her like I can to you’.

‘We’re just different people, Kyle, that’s all’ said Tim. ‘Look, it’s getting late. Why don’t we change into our pyjamas and lounge in front of the TV? I’ve put some pyjamas out for you on your bed’.

When they were both changed, Tim into his shorts, t-shirt and bathrobe and Kyle into his striped pyjamas, they re-assembled on one of the sofas. Tim put the TV on. Match of the Day had just started which seemed to please Kyle.

‘Ace’ said Kyle. ‘By the way, these pyjamas seem really old. The colours on the stripes have all faded’.

‘That’s because they are old and yet they fit you perfectly’ said Tim who was being taken back in time by the sight of Kyle in those pyjamas. ‘Come and join me on the sofa. The night, as they say, is still young’.

‘Look, do you mind telling me what I’m doing here?’ asked John Squires. He was sitting in the interview room and had just been joined by Jeff and Rebecca. ‘You do know I recently buried my mother and can do without any hassles just now?’

‘Yes, we’re aware of all that, Mr. Squires’ said Jeff who’d just been informed that the body of a young black man had been found dumped on the edge of the Gorton estate. He was covered in multiple stab wounds and although no formal identification had taken place it was believed to be that of Aidan Matthews ‘But I’m afraid something’s come up that we need to talk to you about urgently’.

‘Go ahead’ said Squires. ‘I’ve got nothing to hide’.

‘Are you sure about that, Mr. Squires?’ asked Rebecca.

‘What do you mean by that?’

‘Mr. Squires, do you own a white transit van with the registration number P954 GRU?’

‘No, I don’t. Next question?’

‘I’m going to give you another chance to answer that question, Mr. Squires’ said Jeff.

‘You can ask me as many times as you like, detective, it won’t change the answer’ said Squires. ‘I don’t own a vehicle as you describe’.

‘Then why is it registered to you at your address?’ Jeff pursued. John Squires seemed as belligerent that day as when he’d first come across him in his mother Evelyn Squires’ house. He was one of those men from the empire who still believed that Britain had an empire and ruled the waves with a mixture of colonialism and exploitation. He was the sort that Daily Mail leader writers dream of. No departure from the old ways. No questioning of the assertion that whichever way the British do it is the best and the only way. No doubt of the belief that the rest of the world should bend to the British way and not the other way round. Jeff felt sorry for him and those like him. They were living in the dark ages. They were holding the rest of the country back from making real progress into the 21
st
century.

‘Mr. Squires, the van that’s registered in your name, and with your address, was seen driving onto the estate. Our witness says he saw the driver, a man of your build, get out and dump the body, the decapitated body, of PC Tyler Moore on the pavement before driving off at speed’.

‘This has got absolutely nothing to do with me’.

‘Then can you tell us what you were doing last Tuesday evening around ten o’clock?’

‘I was at home with my wife and we were watching television’.

‘And is it only your wife who can confirm that?’

‘Yes!’

‘Keep calm, Mr. Squires’.

‘Keep calm? You tell me to keep bloody calm when I’m in here having to answer for a most heinous crime that I had nothing to do with?’

Jeff and Ollie stayed silent. They both watched the facial expressions of Squires as he tried to work out what to say next. Whenever a suspect was brought into the station in connection with the killing of a police officer it always put everyone on edge. Both Jeff and Ollie knew that they would be lining up to ‘sort Squires out’ for what he’d may have done to PC Tyler Moore and they would all have vivid memories of the DVD the killer sent of Moore’s ‘execution’. They had to get to a tangible result soon before patience started to run out and test the professionalism of the most dedicated officers.

‘Look, I know what’s going on here’ Squires sneered, his eyes beginning to show the full vent of his anger. ‘This is all your political correctness bullshit. A proud white woman who was dedicated to her race is murdered by a heartless mob and you don’t give a damn. Not really. But as soon as one of the black thugs is picked off then all hell breaks loose in trying to get to his killer. And then one of your own, an actual serving black police officer, is done in and you’re tripping over yourselves to pick on innocent victims like me’.

‘Victims of what, Mr. Squires?’

‘Victims of the political correctness that says you must find the killer of blacks before whites in case you’re accused of racially discriminating! Do I have to spell it out to you? Well I’ll tell you what political correctness is. It’s verbal fascism that’s what it is. It’s telling me I can’t say what I like in my own country’.

‘You were born in what was then Rhodesia, Mr. Squires’ said Jeff who’d decided to let Squires get all the ranting he liked out of his system. It only made him look worse than he did already. He was giving them more motive with each racist utterance.

‘Of British parents!’

‘Did you have a good relationship with your parents?’ Ollie asked.

‘What the hell has that got to do with it?’

‘I’m just asking’.

‘None of your damn business but yes I did have an excellent relationship with my parents but look, I’m not the killer you’re looking for’.

Jeff and Ollie decided to take a break from the interview and consulted Chief Superintendent Geraldine Chambers outside in the next room where she’d been watching the interview by way of the two-way mirror.

‘I would say that the man has principles but they’re not the kind I would share’ said Geraldine. ‘So gentlemen, what are your initial thoughts?’

‘My instinct jury is still out, ma’am’ said Jeff.

‘Mine too, ma’am’ said Ollie. ‘I’m the first one to condemn racism but a racist isn’t necessarily a killer however I would like to question him on other aspects of his life like why he frequents the Hare and Hound pub in Stockport’.

‘Isn’t that the pub that’s under investigation over the suspicion that the far-right Albion movement meets there?’