Concrete Evidence (42 page)

He looked at the television screen across the room and saw another image of himself on Sky News. It seemed that he was the story of the day. The kidnapping of a police officer was big news and the press had linked it to the murder of Brian Taylor. Sources within the police had confirmed that he was a person of interest and was considered to be dangerous. The broadcast warned the public not to approach him but to contact the police immediately. There was no way that he could go out in public. His features were too distinctive. He would be recognised. He walked over to his kitchenette and switched on the kettle although he felt a burning desire to drink something more potent than coffee. Getting smashed wouldn’t help. Relaxing would have to wait until he had finished his preparations.

              He had rented a small workshop unit years earlier and it had been his safe house on numerous occasions. He always felt anonymous there. Since the recession, the remote industrial estate that it was situated on was only partially occupied. His unit was big enough to park his vehicles inside and small enough to heat easily and keep comfortable. It was a home from home and had everything that he needed, water, power and a partitioned office that he had converted into a cosy living space. He had his bed, television, toilet, hot water and a small kitchen. His refrigerator was as tall as he was, half fridge, half freezer and it was packed and well organised. The workshop was fully fitted with everything that he needed and he had stocked it well over the years. He didn’t need to go out until he was ready.

              Peter watched the kettle boil and poured the water over two spoonfuls of coffee. He carried his drink to a washbasin and placed it onto a shelf above it. The mirror above the sink reflected a man with shoulder length greying hair that curled out around the ears. His eyebrows had a mind of their own and seemed to grow at an abnormal rate. He bared his teeth and put his tongue out, turning his head from side to side. The police wanted the man in the mirror and he didn’t feel as anxious about it as he should.
Murderer
. The title didn’t offend him. He felt numb inside. The years had destroyed his faith in humanity especially his own. He wasn’t sure if he had human emotions anymore or if he ever had. Maybe he didn’t deserve to be living freely amongst other human beings. More to the point, he didn’t want to be among them. If they caught him, they would lock him up with the other animals but that didn’t matter to him either because he would take his own life before he had to spend another hour in prison. He looked at the rack of shotguns in the mirror behind him. They would be key players in his future however short it was.

              He picked up a box of ‘Just for Men’ and read the instructions. Opening the box, he took out a plastic tray and placed it on the basin. There were two tubes inside and he took the first one between his finger and thumb and squeezed the dark gooey contents of a tube along it. The second tube was a white paste and he mixed them together with a plastic paddle. The substance turned black and the smell of ammonia drifted to him. He smeared the black paste into his eyebrows making sure that they were completely covered and then he used the remainder on his facial hair. He smiled and thought of the video game character Mario. The bristles began to darken immediately. He switched on the hot tap and let the water flow before picking up a pair of scissors. Peter took a thick chunk of hair and began to chop at it. As the basin filled with greying curls, he swapped the scissors for a razorblade and shaved the remainder to the scalp. With each smooth stroke, the man in the mirror began to change appearance.             

                                       CHAPTER 49

              “Are we all here?” Annie asked. She looked at the clock, which showed ten past three. “I want to get the syndicate meeting underway. Are you ready, Jim?”

              “Yes, Guv.”

              “Kathy Brooks is on her way over,” Alec said. “She’s stuck in traffic.”

              “We need to get on,” Annie said irritably. She turned on the screens in readiness. “She can join us when she’s ready. Right, everyone!” The office fell silent and all faces turned to her. “I’ll begin with some news from Harris’s brief.” The screens displayed custody suite photographs of Tod Harris and Peter Barton. “Tod Harris has had an epiphany and claims that Barton is our elusive Rob Derry.” Whispers rippled through the detectives. She nodded in acknowledgement of their reaction. “Some of you will be saying ‘I told you so’ but don’t get too carried away. Unless we have evidence to back up his information, his claims are worthless.” She paused and looked at the faces in the room. “Personally, I think Harris is trying to deflect blame. He’s clutching at straws. Pictures of Barton are on every news broadcast so I’m confident that we’ll pick him up soon.”

              Alec held up his hand to interrupt. “The DS in charge of the search for Barton told me that they found an inflatable rib at the mouth of the River Ribble. It was floating freely in the bay and the engine was still warm. They think that Barton had it tied up somewhere near where he entered the water. Some fishermen recalled seeing the rib tied up in that area a few times last week. Barton may have been planning his escape. It would explain the lack of a body or footprints on either bank.” Alec explained. “Lancashire have set up a systematic search of the area south of the Ribble. They’re combing the rural areas with the force helicopter and conducting house to house. If he’s hiding, they’ll find him, if he’s running, the public will find him.”

              Annie wasn’t convinced but she kept her opinion to herself. “Jim?” she prompted the big sergeant.

              He rubbed his bristly jaw with a gnarled hand. “We ran checks on Taylor and Harris and Barton was correct in saying that they were both represented by Geoff Ryder as juveniles.” He tilted his head and looked around. “We have a connection between the three men which, we hadn’t seen previously. When we examined their travel movements, we discovered that Geoff Ryder left the country two days after Simon Barton disappeared.” Silence greeted the news. “There are no records of him returning but if he was on the run, he wouldn’t use his own passport to come back.”

              “Where did he go, Sarge?”

              “We don’t know but he sailed from Dover to Calais with his car and no passengers. We’re still waiting on the ship’s foot passenger list in case one of them booked on.”

              “Laura Ryder told us that she thinks Ryder bought a villa in Spain but we’re still tracking it down.” Alec added.

              “Spain links Harris and Ryder. If Ryder is involved we’ll know soon enough. There are no records of Peter Barton leaving the country at all,” Stirling shrugged. There was a disappointed silence. “We know he’s shrewd so he may have travelled under an alias. He’s not off the hook just yet.” He stepped to the screen and pointed at Harris. “Tod Harris has travelled to Spain three or four times a year every year for the last six years. There’s no record of him travelling to the States but,” Stirling paused, “there were large cash withdrawals made from his bank accounts in the weeks before the RV’s were rented in San Francisco.”

              The lift doors opened and Kathy Brooks stepped out. She looked cold, wet and flustered. “I’m sorry I’m late,” she reddened as she struggled out of her coat. “I do have something for you that is worth waiting for.”

              Annie felt her stomach lurch. She looked at Alec and he nodded to her. They were of the same mind that the forensics would answer their questions. They usually did. “We’re about out of new updates anyway,” Annie said. “What have you found?”

              Kathy hung her coat on a chair and stood next to Alec.  She took a deep breath before she spoke. “The bodies that we recovered from Crosby Beach were not buried by Brendon Ryder,” she looked at Annie. There was an audible sigh of relief around the room. “Some of the details that we kept from the public were not replicated. There were similarities but in my opinion, it was a copycat.” She paused.

              “So Harris is in the frame,” Stirling said nodding.

              “Better than that,” Kathy smiled thinly. “We found a hair stuck in the glue that was used to fix the breathing tubes into the nostrils.” She paused. There wasn’t a sound in the room. Annie felt her breath stuck in her chest.
Come on, come on, come on!
Her mind screamed. “The DNA matches Tod Harris.”

“Yes!” Annie punched the air. Cheers and shouts and several profanities came from the gathering. “He can’t slither his way out of that the fucking snake!” she said looking at Alec.

“He won’t be able to slither out of a few things,” Kathy said over the noise. The celebrations stopped dead as all eyes turned to her again. “I was contacted by the lab in San Francisco. They asked me to share our samples for cross referencing.” The tension in the room was electric. “They found Harris’s DNA inside one of the mattresses.”

“So he was there but as it stands, the Metro PD doesn’t have any victims,” Annie said smiling. “If they can prove that by finding bodies, that bastard is nailed good and proper.”

“I think it’s academic, Annie but what we need to know for sure is was he alone?” Alec interrupted.

“I can’t tell you that for sure I’m afraid but there’s something else,” she said stopping him from changing the subject. “The bodies on the beach are not who you think they are,” she paused and the room fell silent again. “The boys we extracted from the sand are brothers. We identified sibling DNA.” Annie and Alec exchanged confused glances. “I don’t know if this is good news or bad but neither of the boys is Simon Barton. They’re James Goodwin and his brother.”

         CHAPTER 50

Peter Barton finished grinding the welds. The petrol tank that he was working on lifted apart into two sections and he laid them side by side on the workbench. He took his 12-gauge Mossberg from the gun rack and placed it next to the tank. He measured it and cursed under his breath. It was ten inches too long. Marking the barrels, he fastened the shotgun into a vice and tightened the handle to hold it securely. The grinder whirred and a shower of sparks exploded from the diamond tipped disk as it cut through the gun. After a minute of ear-splitting whining the unwanted section of barrel clanged on the concrete floor. He unfastened the vice and measured the size again. The Mossberg would fit snugly. He could fit a plastic sleeve to hold the weapon and keep the tank sealed and re-weld the edges so that he could slide the shotgun from beneath the Jeep when the time came to use it.

His attention turned to the tyre. The inner rim bristled with large fishhooks that he had straightened and melted into the rubber. The lethal barbs glinted in the lights. Peter slipped on a thick pair of welding gloves and picked it up wincing at the weight. It was packed and wrapped but the contents made it much heavier than he had imagined. He carried it to the Jeep and opened the rear passenger door. The back seat had been removed and he lifted the tyre into the well beneath it. He tried to slot the back seat back into place above it and smiled when it clipped in without a struggle. There were a couple more things to load and then he would be ready.

CHAPTER 51

              Tod Harris trotted into the interview room as fast as the prison officers would allow. He looked energised and excited and eager to sit down with the detectives. Ken Graff walked in behind Tod and the officers, his face was stern. He barely acknowledged Tod as he sat down. “Morning, Detectives,” he said opening his briefcase. “I trust we’re here to discuss reducing the charges against my client?” he asked in a matter of fact manner. “Have you made any progress finding Peter Barton?”

              Annie looked at Stirling and raised her eyebrows in surprise. Stirling shook his head in disbelief. Annie ignored the question and put a photo of Geoff Ryder onto the table. “Do you remember being represented by this man when you were a juvenile?” she asked sharply. Tod flinched visibly, the wind taken from his sails in an instant. His demeanour changed from light to dark. “His name is Geoff Ryder. Do you remember him?” Tod turned pale and sat back. His eyes didn’t move from the photograph. “Do you remember him, Tod?”