‘Where’s Jason?’ he asked.
The lady policeman frowned, creasing her pale, smooth forehead. She looked sad.
‘I can’t say for now, I’m afraid.’
Her change of expression triggered a ripple of anxiety in Cowley, which quickly began to build. Her use of the word ‘afraid’ had pierced his fragile mind. It was as if he’d been told how to feel.
‘My pills.’
‘Pills?’
‘Took ’em out when I emptied me pockets. I need them.’ Not having them increased his anxiety.
The woman stood up. She was tall. ‘I’ll get them for you, Felix. Don’t worry.’ She smiled down like a kind goddess. ‘Is there anything else I can get you?’
‘Some pencils?’
‘Pencils?’
‘I like to draw. Calms me down.’
-44-
10 a.m., Wednesday, Queen Street HQ
‘Sit down, sit down,’ Sparks commanded, smoking a cigarette behind the desk on which his feet rested. The chief’s trousers had slipped up his calfs, revealing a dense matt of wiry hair. Kenton, wishing to distance himself from such a view, leaned back as far as he could on the wooden chair. Sparks was reading something intently in his lap.
For what felt like an age, neither spoke. The chief’s expression was obscured by his leather soles, propped on the desk, but Kenton could hear him suck on his cigarette. The street noise never made it this high, and Kenton realized how peaceful it must be up here, and with a view, too. Sparks made a noise that might have been a chuckle. Kenton thought that, finally, some acknowledgement was coming his way for his casework, or perhaps it was another pat on the back for his bout on Sunday. It couldn’t possibly be about Lowry this time, could it? After a while, Sparks stubbed out his cigarette and sighed loudly.
‘Where do you see the future of the police heading, son?’
This question struck him has unusual. The chief was not one for small talk, not with the likes of him, anyhow. Promising.
‘Err . . . I hear word of computerization in the Met and the West Country. I suspect that may influence how we collate information and forensics—’
‘Eh?’ Sparks poked his head to one side, appearing from behind his shoes. ‘What are you on about, son?’
‘I thought, when you asked about the future, you meant—’ he said, confused.
‘No, no, no. Computers? Only children and bearded freaks have time for that nonsense. Besides,’ he leaned across to the electric heater at the side of the desk, ‘I think getting some fucking central heating in this godforsaken rotting building is higher on the priority list. No, I’m talking about men.’
Kenton looked at him blankly. Sparks’s interest in men usually only extended to their ability to thump each other.
‘Guys like you and me. Lowry, even.’
It seemed an odd remark: the three of them had zero in common other than all being policemen that liked to box, and even there, one, of late, had decided to hold binoculars rather than to punch anyone. He had no idea what the chief was on about.
‘Sorry, guv, I’m not with you.’
Sparks took his feet down and tossed a copy of Asterix and the Secret Agent on the desk – the source of his chuckling.
‘Look at women. They wanted equal pay, they got it; they want equal opportunities, they’ve got that in spades – we’ve even got one running the fucking country. How the fuck that ever happened will remain a mystery – that, people will ponder for all eternity. What next? A black guy in number ten?’ He shook his head and tutted.
Kenton nodded his head dumbly.
‘Well, think on it; it’s a fact.’
Kenton nodded again.
‘So, in addition, there’s a type of woman who will use her feminine assets to progress her career in any way she can.’
‘Sir?’
‘What I mean is – I’ll be direct – have it off with the boss, or –’ he shot Kenton a meaningful look – ‘someone in a position of power.’
‘Sorry, sir, I don’t see where this conversation is heading,’ Kenton said, confused.
Sparks held an authoritative finger in the air. ‘Alternatively, if the woman’s a bit of a . . . you know –’ he flopped his hand about – ‘but still ambitious, she might try and fuck you over instead.’
‘Sir, please can you explain? I’m lost.’
‘Very well. WPC Gabriel has made allegations against you.’
‘Allegations? What do you mean, “allegations”?’ Kenton paled.
‘Wait a minute; what’s the term she used?’ As Sparks scrabbled around among the papers on his desk, Kenton sat shell-shocked; he couldn’t begin to understand what was being suggested. ‘Allegations’ sounded formal. What had she said?
‘Harassment?’ Sparks looked up at him doubtfully.
‘What does that mean?’
The chief frowned. ‘I’m not sure it really means anything – a form of discrimination, perhaps? But this is the police force, so it doesn’t apply.’ He reached for his cigarettes, belatedly offering Kenton one before adding, ‘Ordinarily.’
‘How so?’ said Kenton, dizzy and still uncomprehending. Was he in trouble or not?
‘The police force is a man’s arena, and as such any woman prepared to play in this world has to be prepared to take a few punches, much like inside the ring.’ Kenton’s heart jerked at the recollection of Gabriel watching him fight. ‘Figuratively, of course – we can’t go knocking them around; that would be wrong.’ He paused. ‘But, ordinarily, the odd grope, an arse squeeze on a night out, is acceptable.’
Sparks didn’t elaborate on whether the woman in question should be complicit in such behaviour, but Kenton felt sure he was about to find out. This whole thing was ridiculous.
‘Hang on, sir, this is about WPC Gabriel, yes? But it was only yesterday you asked me to take her to a Masonic bash!’
‘Correct, son, but if the girl – woman – in question happens to be the troubled niece of the ACC, it’s probably best to adopt a hands-off policy, don’t you think?’
‘Yes, sir,’ Kenton acquiesced.
‘Good lad. We’ll say no more about it then; consider yourself reprimanded and leave the girl alone and save your magic potion for the ring.’ He reached for his comic book. Deflated, Kenton made to go. ‘Oh, and good work on the West Mersea post-office job. Lowry tells me the gun implicates Stone, the fella found at Greenstead, as one of the robbers. Good work, son. If you hadn’t cross-examined the Dodger’s paperwork, we wouldn’t have him. I shall personally be visiting Sergeant Bradley later today and advising him to get his house in order.’
*
‘How was that? Promotion in the air?’ Lowry asked jocularly.
Kenton sat down opposite like a punctured balloon, his luxurious wavy hair, usually carefully swept back, now fell unheeded across his eyes.
‘Dan, you okay?’
‘How could she? How could she?’ he muttered, staring into nothing.
‘The chief?’
‘No, no, no.’ Kenton felt himself pulse red with humiliation.
‘Hey, what’s up?’ Lowry leaned forward in concern.
Kenton couldn’t face his boss like this; he didn’t want him thinking him weak. Maybe he’d been foolish. Or naïve. Either way, he shook his head involuntarily – as if that would shake the last half-hour away.
‘Nothing’s up. Everything is fine.’ He managed to compose himself – mind over matter.
His phone began to ring, the shrill tone a violent intrusion on his thoughts. ‘Doesn’t matter,’ he said, taking a deep breath and picking up the receiver. ‘CID. Detective Constable Kenton speaking.’
‘That number you gave us.’ It was a British Telecom engineer – Lowry had asked him to try to trace the number Cowley had found in Boyd’s wallet. They’d tried to call i
t and got an ‘unobtainable’ signal, but as some of the final digits were smudged, it was difficult to read. But the area code was unfamiliar to them all.
‘Yes,’ he said, collecting himself.
‘It’s not a known BT number.’
‘But there might be a digit or two missing – it was smudged?’
‘I have tried every permutation – didn’t take long – adding one, even two numbers to the string you gave.’
‘So it’s not a telephone number?’
‘I couldn’t say that for certain. It could be a defunct, unlisted number. An old line, out of use.’
‘What does that mean?’
‘Unlisted means we – I mean here, or maybe at Dollis Hill – have no record of where or whose it might be. An extra digit would give the quantity of numbers for an unlisted line, but as I say, I’ve tried every combination. That’s not to say it’s been cut off – numbers can be issued then cut off—’
‘Who would have an unlisted number?’
‘The government?’
‘How about the military? Could it be an army line?’
‘Yes, that’s entirely plausible.’
Lowry, on the phone now himself, pointed upstairs. Sparks beckoned again.
*
‘I’m telling you, this man is not our murderer,’ Lowry said.
It was mid-morning, but to Sparks it felt like the end of the day.
‘He’s just a half-crazy kid involved in something way over his head. His psychiatric report makes no mention of violence. He’s just a bit disturbed.’
‘Disturbed? I’m beginning to grow disturbed myself. He’s sitting in our cells practically with blood on his hands – if we don’t arrest him, there has got to be an extraordinarily good reason for it.’ The chief was conscious of raising his voice.
‘He’s mentioned Jamie Philpott. Philpott was at Beaumont Terrace.’
Kenton’s head turned. ‘As did Tony Pond – asked him if he wanted in on a drugs deal.’
‘Have we pulled Jamie in?’ Sparks asked. ‘What does he have to say for himself?’
‘He did a bunk from the hospital Saturday night and has not been seen since,’ Lowry said.
‘I heard that Jamie Philpott has never been arrested,’ Kenton said disingenuously.
‘He’s been known to peddle dope to students, but he’s never been nicked.’ Lowry glanced at Sparks. Corruption wasn’t widespread in Colchester, but there were, it was acknowledged, a number of men roaming the streets who should perhaps be behind bars. Philpott was one such character. It wasn’t so much that the line between police grass and small-time hood was blurred – it was more that there was no line: to be of any value as the former, one had to be a player or dabbler in the criminal fraternity.
‘I hear you,’ Sparks retorted, ‘but I can’t see a minnow like Jamie Philpott being behind all this mess. Murder and smuggling this sort of thing? Different league altogether.’
‘But turning over a post office with Stone to get some cash to buy into a deal is credible, to my mind,’ Lowry suggested.
‘Yes . . .’ Sparks let the word linger. ‘And that spat between Philpott and the squaddie surely had something to do with the Castle Park incident?’
‘Maybe there’s a connection between the two,’ Lowry said, glancing at Kenton.
‘What?’ Sparks said with dismay. ‘Between a soldier’s “accidental” death in Castle Park and a drugs murder in Greenstead? How do you arrive at that?’
‘Jones and Daley were looking for Boyd the night the accident happened,’ Kenton announced.
‘Whoa, there!’ Sparks exclaimed. ‘What you’re saying is fucking serious. Soldiers trying to buy drugs?’
‘We’ve got multiple bodies,’ remarked Lowry. ‘It’s already serious.’
Sparks held up his hand. ‘All right, all right. Get round to Philpott’s gaff, pull the little shit in.’
‘He’s gone to ground – we’ve had his place in the Stanway under surveillance for forty-eight hours.’
The chief absorbed this information. ‘So, doing a bunk from hospital wasn’t down to a dislike of hospital food. If he’s in something this deep, no wonder he’s disappeared . . . But he’s a show-off, a smart-arse.’ Sparks lit another cigarette. He’d known Jamie for years – indeed, it was he who had overlooked his and Pond’s dope dealing until County had insisted on a clampdown a few years back, when Philpott was told quietly to ‘stop’. ‘He’ll show. Impossible to keep a lid on that cocky bravado. The only reason he’ll have gone to ground is because of the pasting that gorilla gave him in the town centre. Even men like him have pride. Try his mum’s place in Tiptree.’
The two detectives nodded but made no sign of leaving. ‘Is there more?’ asked Sparks.
‘Cowley had Boyd’s wallet on him,’ said Kenton. ‘It contained a phone number that—’
‘Hold on a damn second!’ Sparks stopped pacing, cigarette smoke continuing to swirl ahead of him. ‘You’re saying he had one of the dead men’s wallets, and you still think he didn’t kill him?’ He was incredulous.
‘He picked the wallet up at the curry house on East Hill. The owner said Boyd paid and left it behind while the other was in the lav. Cowley tried to ring the number in it from a phone box.’
Sparks shook his head in dismay. ‘What do the telecom engineers have to say? Do they know whose number it is? Can they trace it?’
‘Yes and no,’ Kenton interjected. ‘It’s not a recognizable number – even allowing for a missing digit or two, but—’
‘This is beyond fucking belief. We have a looney calling someone he doesn’t know on a non-existent number.’ He rubbed his creased forehead. He was up for a challenge, but this took the biscuit.
‘The engineer said, if a digit was added, it might turn out to be an old discontinued government or military phone number. Stands to reason, given . . .’ Kenton paused mid-sentence.
Sparks followed the young DC’s eyeline. Gabriel was at the door. Sparks waved her away dismissively. He continued to tread the centuries-old floorboards, which occasionally sighed under his weight. ‘“Might turn out to be”? Can you hear yourself? You’re saying add a couple of numbers to a string of digits and you might have a number that’s discontinued?! Which possibly could be used by the military? Jesus. Forget it, for Christ’s sake. Cowley doesn’t have the sense he was born with, you say so yourself. It could be a bank account number for all we know.’
‘It’s incomplete. But it’s worth knowing—’
‘If it’s incomplete, it’s useless.’ Sparks was not prepared to countenance some flimsy army connection so swiftly after the Castle Park incident. ‘Lowry, does the simpleton know anything of any use? Where is he, anyway?’
‘He’s on the first floor, in interview room one,’ Lowry said. ‘He knows a little, but not much, and he’s terrified of being locked up again. I left him with Gabriel. She was there when he was pulled out of the water yesterday and I think he’s taken a shine to her.’
‘Hmm, he’s not the only one,’ Sparks said, noting Kenton staring forlornly at the door. ‘Anyway, let’s keep things in perspective: we’re not investigating the army, are we? Remember, we’re going to get hold of Philpott, and I haven’t seen him on the fucking parade ground of late, have you?’
A uniform entered the room unbidden.
‘What is it?’ Sparks barked.
‘Assistant Chief Constable Merrydown is on the phone.’
-45-
11.30 a.m., Wednesday, incident room, Queen Street HQ
Kenton couldn’t help but smile to himself as Sparks left the room like thunder, trailing expletives. The young DC, too proud to let on, was still smarting from the lecture he’d received earlier and was delighted to see the chief hauled away like that. Lowry, meanwhile, was contemplating the OS map pinned to the noticeboard.
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‘I’m sure there’s a military angle,’ he said. ‘All this land here is used by the army for firing ranges. I’d not thought of it until last night.’
‘Why didn’t you mention it just now?’
‘While he’s pacing the room like a caged lion?’ Lowry rolled his eyes, and Kenton laughed. ‘Listen, Cowley was here, at Fingringhoe, and just over here are the marshes.’
‘What’s our next play?’
Lowry squinted, jettisoning smoke at the ceiling. He certainly seemed more relaxed when he was smoking. ‘I need to get to Tiptree. Philpott has been gone too long.’
‘Shall I come with you?’
‘No. You track down Ted Nugent on Mersea – he’s the other piece of the jigsaw – but try not to frighten him, and remember to dodge the Dodger. And what was all that stuff about earlier, anyway? You seemed upset. Want to talk about it?’
Kenton shook his head. ‘Nope. All fine. Do you think there really is a connection between the Castle Park incident and the Greenstead murders?’
‘Could be.’ Lowry ran his hand through Brylcreemed hair and adjusted his slender tie. ‘Who knows?’ He picked up his donkey jacket to leave. ‘You sure you’re all right?’ He clasped Kenton on the shoulder in a conciliatory way.
Although his boss was quiet and often distracted, Kenton thought he felt others’ troubles keenly.
‘Yes; storm in a teacup. No big deal.’
‘Okay. Meet you back here at two.’
Kenton slouched out of the incident room. His face said it all. Lowry reflected how young, fresh faces are less able hide their emotions, which always lie just below the surface, without any sagging, lined skin to obscure them. Gabriel entered the room silently. It didn’t take a genius to work out that whatever was wrong with Kenton involved her, but Lowry wasn’t going to pry.