Justice for the Damned (20 page)

‘What case?’

‘Ah, that’d be telling.’

‘Hang on a moment, Jim. I’ll see if anyone around here knows where you can find him.’

The line was silent for a minute or two. Then a different voice came on it. ‘Hi, Jim, this is Alan Dobson. Bob tells me you’re looking for Vernon.’

‘That’s right.’

‘Seems he’s a popular man these days. Reece Geary phoned me yesterday asking for his address.’

Jim frowned. He knew Reece, although not very well. The young DI had only been on the Major Inquiry team a few months, and Doug Brody had quickly taken him under his wing. Jim didn’t have much liking for Doug, either as a cop or a person. Not that Doug wasn’t good at his job. He had sharp instincts and a nose for tracking down criminals. He also had a well-earned reputation for having a quick temper and an arrogant streak as wide as the M1. He struck Jim as the kind of man who wanted everything his own way or no way at all. And that was a dangerous quality in a cop.

What was Reece doing contacting Vernon? Had Freddie Harding somehow come onto Garrett’s radar? Jim couldn’t see any other reason for Reece’s interest in the retired journalist. But how the hell had Garrett made the connection – if connection there was – between Harding and the recent murders? Had a new witness come forward? And if so, was Garrett onto Edward Forester as well? The possibility provoked mixed feelings. On the one hand, Jim wanted nothing more than to see Forester brought down. On the other, if the DCI moved on Forester, the first thing his accomplices would surely do would be to destroy anything that might incriminate them. And if Bryan Reynolds was still alive that would include him.

Picking up on Jim’s brooding silence, Alan said sarcastically, ‘I’m glad to know communication between you guys is as good as ever. I don’t suppose you’d be willing to give me any hints as to what—’

‘The contact details, please,’ cut in Jim, his tone flat but urgent. Before he went anywhere near Forester, he had to find out what the deal was with Reece. If Forester was under some kind of suspicion, his house might be being watched. In which case, if a copper supposedly on sick leave was seen in its vicinity, there would be a lot of difficult explaining to be done.

‘No, I thought not,’ said Alan. He gave Jim Vernon’s number and address. Jim thanked him and headed for his car. It would be a bad idea, he knew, to phone Vernon. The ex-journalist was the kind of guy who liked to do his talking face to face. He drove fast to Vernon’s house, running red lights. He hammered on the front door, his face twitching with impatience. Eventually, the door creaked open and a pudgy face peered out, blinking like a mole at the morning sun.

Vernon’s eyes widened a little with recognition. ‘Well, well, Jim Monahan.’

‘I need to speak to you.’

Vernon’s lips flicked into a smile. ‘Yeah, well, I assumed you weren’t here to fix my guttering.’ Opening the door as wide as it would go – which wasn’t all that wide – Vernon motioned for Jim to enter. Jim followed him along the newspaper-cramped hallway into the equally cramped back room. ‘So, Jim, what can I do for you?’

‘One of my colleagues came to see you yesterday. I need to know why.’

Vernon slowly lowered his bulk on to a sofa. He stroked a fat tabby that was curled up next to him. Both the cat and its owner treated Jim to a searching look. ‘The last time I saw you, I seem to remember you were busy trashing my reputation.’

‘That’s not true. I was one of the few people who gave some credit to your theory. The fact is, Vernon, your list was flawed. I knew it, DCS Knight knew it, and I think even you knew it.’

Vernon’s lips vibrated as he expelled a sharp breath. ‘How many prostitutes have to go missing before you people sit up and take notice? Fifty? A hundred?’

Jim’s face tightened into a little grimace. Vernon’s words stung him. He wanted to retort that the number of missing women or the fact that they were prostitutes was irrelevant; every life was worth the same in the eyes of the law. But he knew that wasn’t true.

‘You’re quick enough to take notice when so-called upstanding citizens like the Winstanleys get popped off, though. Aren’t you?’ continued Vernon, his voice bitterly accusatory.

‘The Winstanleys were shot to death. There was no evidence that a single one of the women on your list died as a result of foul play,’ Jim reminded him.

Vernon snatched up a wad of papers and stabbed his finger at a photo of a young woman paperclipped to the uppermost sheet. ‘Twenty-nine women still missing to this day. If that doesn’t constitute evidence of foul play, perhaps you can tell me what does.’

Jim heaved a sigh. ‘Look, maybe you were right and we were wrong. I don’t know. All I know is our investigation didn’t turn anything up to substantiate your theory.’ Vernon opened his mouth to say something, but Jim held up a hand. ‘Just hear me out. I didn’t like the way the investigation was shelved, but there was nothing I could do about it. Not back then. Things are different now. I’m going after someone. I can’t say for sure whether he’s connected to your missing prostitutes, but I do know that he’s a rapist and a child abuser. And I know he’s been involved in several murders and that other people will die if you don’t help me.’

‘Is this someone Freddie Harding?’

Jim shook his head. ‘Although he may be involved in this. I can’t give you a name. Not because I don’t trust you. But because I don’t want to make you an accessory to what’s happening. You see, the truth is, I’m acting on my own here. If you were to pick up the phone and tell my DCI what I’m doing, I’d find myself up on disciplinary, possibly even criminal charges.’

Jim fell silent with an expectant look. He’d left himself dangerously exposed, but he could see no other way of piercing Vernon’s armour of resentment about the way his list of ‘The Damned’ had been dismissed. He just hoped he’d read Vernon right. The ex-journalist had always struck him as someone with no liking for officialdom. Vernon’s scraggly beard split into a smile. ‘It’s funny, Reece Geary said something very similar.’

The implication of Vernon’s words was obvious – Reece hadn’t come here in an official capacity either. So Garrett wasn’t on to Forester. The realisation brought a familiar mixture of feelings with it: disappointment that no new evidence had come to light; and a sort of tentative relief that he might yet have the opportunity to rescue Bryan Reynolds. ‘So why did Reece want to speak to you?’

‘He’s searching for a friend of a friend. A missing prostitute called Melinda.’

‘What about the friend he’s helping out, did he give you their name?’

‘No.’

Jim’s brows drew together. It was one thing not telling Vernon the friend’s name, but why would Reece keep it from Garrett? Unless he was protecting someone who stood to get in trouble if he investigated through official channels. Echoing his thoughts, Vernon said, ‘I’d say it’s a fair bet they’re someone Reece is keen his superiors don’t find out he’s involved with.’

‘So what did he tell you?’

‘Not much. Just that he’s not sure Melinda’s actually missing. That she might have simply left town. He showed me a photo of her. She’s a young girl, maybe nineteen or twenty, junkie-skinny, dyed blond hair, blue eyes.’

‘And what did you tell him?’

‘That she’s Freddie Harding’s type. You remember Freddie, don’t you? Violent rapist and all round nice guy.’

‘Yes, I remember him.’

‘Chances are your colleague’s tailing him right this moment.’ Vernon rubbed his chubby hands together in anticipation. ‘I can hardly wait to find out where Freddie leads him.’

The lines between Jim’s eyes deepened. If by some chance Freddie Harding led Reece to Edward Forester, the rookie DI could find himself in serious danger. He had to talk to Reece, find out what he knew, warn him. The question was, how much could he risk telling Reece in return? To some extent, at least, perhaps the two of them could work together on this thing. After all, it seemed they were both operating well outside their job description. He would have to tread carefully, though. The last thing he wanted to do was embroil Reece in a mess that could finish his career before it had barely started. ‘Did Reece give you his number?’

Vernon took a business card out of his shirt pocket. ‘Don’t you guys even exchange numbers these days?’

‘My phone was stolen.’ Jim entered Reece’s number into his phone’s memory, and handed the card back along with his own card. ‘Do me a favour, call me if anyone else contacts you about Reece or Freddie Harding or anything connected to what we’ve been talking about.’

As Jim turned to head for the front door, Vernon heaved himself to his feet. ‘Before you leave, Jim, tell me one thing. How is the guy you’re after connected to Freddie?’

‘You always were one of the sharpest journalists around, Vernon. I’m sure you can work that one out for yourself.’ Jim gave Vernon a look that was part concern, part warning. ‘A piece of advice, though: if you do work it out, keep it to yourself. There are people out there who’d kill you without blinking to protect that information.’

Vernon raised his eyebrows as if amused by the idea. ‘Sounds like this thing is a lot bigger than one or two people.’

‘Just remember what I said, Vernon. And thanks for your help.’

Jim shook Vernon’s hand, stepped outside and dialled Reece.

Lulled by the warmth of the ward, Reece was half dozing when Doctor Meadows showed up. ‘Morning, Mr Geary,’ he said to Reece’s father. ‘How are you feeling today?’

‘Not great, Doctor,’ said Frank. ‘But a lot better than yesterday.’

‘Good. How’s the nausea?’

‘Well, I’ve kept my breakfast down.’ Frank grinned, exposing tobacco-stained teeth. ‘And that’s no mean feat considering what the food’s like around here.’

The doctor tapped a folder he was holding. ‘The results of your X-rays and blood tests have come back. I’d like to discuss—’

‘Hang on a moment please, Doctor.’ Frank turned to Reece. ‘Go wait in the corridor.’

Reece frowned. ‘I think I should hear what Doctor Meadows has to say.’

‘I don’t give a damn what you think.’ The familiar abrasive edge was back in Frank’s voice. ‘Just do as I bloody well tell you.’

Reece looked askance at Doctor Meadows, who gave a slight apologetic shrug. Reluctantly, Reece rose and headed for the corridor. Once again, a constricted feeling took hold of his chest. Why didn’t his father want him to hear what the doctor had to say? Had the cancer spread? Was the old bastard going to die? His phone rang. A number he didn’t recognise showed on its screen. ‘No mobile phones on the ward,’ said a nurse. ‘Switch it off or go outside.’

Reece was about to cut the call off, but he hesitated. What if it had something to do with Staci or his unofficial investigation? Putting the phone to his ear, he went through a pair of double doors. ‘Hello?’

‘Hello, Reece.’

Reece recognised the voice, but was so surprised to hear it that his own was doubtful. ‘Jim?’

‘Uh-huh. Where are you?’

‘I…’ Reece stumbled a little over his words. What the hell was Jim Monahan doing phoning him? And why did he want to know where he was? ‘I’m at Weston Park Hospital with my dad. Why?’

‘We need to meet up and talk.’

The furrows on Reece’s forehead intensified. Was that a note of relief he’d caught in Jim’s voice? ‘I thought you were in hospital.’

‘I was, but I’m not any more. Listen, Reece, can you get away from the hospital for a while?’

‘My dad’s with the doctor now. It shouldn’t take long, but then I’ve got to take him home and—’

‘That’s fine,’ cut in Jim, his voice quick with urgency. ‘I know where Frank lives. I’ll see you at his house.’

‘What’s this about, Jim? Have you been talking to Doug?’

‘No. Look, I’ll explain everything when I see you. And do me a favour, Reece. Don’t go mentioning this to Doug or anyone else until I’ve had chance to speak to you.’

‘Erm… OK.’

Reece slowly removed the phone from his ear, his thoughts whirring.
What possible reason
, he wondered,
could Jim have for wanting to talk to me? Maybe it’s got nothing to do with Freddie Harding or the Winstanleys
, part of his mind tried to reassure him. Another part dismissed the possibility. Jim had never contacted him outside work before. In fact, they’d barely exchanged more than half a dozen words on any subject. What’s more, everyone knew the Grace Kirby case had got under Jim’s skin.
But if he hasn’t been speaking to Doug, what makes him think I know anything worth knowing? Has he got some sort of line on Amber, or maybe even Staci?
Reece clenched his teeth at the idea. His jaw relaxed as it occurred to him that maybe Vernon Tisdale had contacted Jim. The two of them must have known each other from way back. The possibility was preferable – just – to Jim having talked to Amber or Staci. But it would still leave some uncomfortable explaining to be done.

Reece started to dial Doug, but hesitated as Jim’s parting words echoed back to him. Why didn’t Jim want him to talk to anyone? Was it perhaps because he too was operating beyond the bounds of his job? Jim and DCI Garrett hadn’t exactly seen eye to eye on the Grace Kirby case. There were even whispers of disciplinary proceedings being initiated against Jim. The more Reece thought about it, the more likely it seemed to him that he was right. After all, Jim had suffered a heart attack. He wasn’t even on active duty.

Reece returned the phone to his pocket. Doug didn’t have much liking for Jim. As far as he was concerned, Jim wasn’t to be trusted. ‘He’s got no dirt on his hands,’ Doug had once said. ‘You can’t trust a bloke with no dirt on his hands.’ He would flip out if he thought there was a possibility Jim knew about Reece’s off-the-record investigation. And Reece couldn’t deal with that now. Not on top of everything else.

As if he was dragging something heavy behind him, Reece re-entered the ward. The curtain had been drawn around his father’s bed. An image suddenly came into his mind of himself being dismissed from the force in disgrace. He grimaced. If the cancer didn’t finish his dad off, finding out his son was a bent copper almost certainly would.
Stop panicking
, he told himself sharply.
You don’t know what Jim wants. And even if he does know about Staci, it’s not necessarily the end of your career. Remember what Doug said, you can’t trust a man with no dirt on his hands. But maybe that’s not the case any more. Maybe Jim’s got some dirt on him now – dirt you can use.