Three Steps to Hell (2 page)

“How is he health wise?”

“He’s a very lucky lad, whatever he was stabbed with missed anything important, he’ll just need to take it easy for a while until he has the stitches out. Other than that just a few cuts and grazes and he’ll be very bruised and uncomfortable for a while.”

“Thanks Wendy, I suppose I’d better go and see him.”

“He’s quietened down a lot now so perhaps he’ll speak to you.”

Tom walked down to the end cubicle and drew back the curtain.

Evans recognised him immediately even though it was about two years since Tom had last dealt with him for burglary.

“Oh for fuck’s sake what do you want Lancaster?” “Morning Wayne, I’m flattered you remember my name.”

“Don’t be flattered, I know all the names of the CID in this fucking town. What, they’ve sent you to find out what happened to me have they, well I’ll tell you the same as I told the other Old Bill that came to see me, that is fuck off and mind your own business, leave me in peace.”

“Unfortunately Wayne it’s not as easy as that. I can assure you that I’d rather be at home in bed right now than standing here talking to low life like you, but this is a small town and we can’t have people going round stabbing people, it’s just not acceptable.”

“Well you can stay here as long as you like Lancaster, I ain’t telling you fuck all, I’ve been inside enough times to know not to talk to the Old Bill.” Tom thought back to what the staff nurse had told him.

“That’s all very well Wayne but who are the first people you turn to when you’re in trouble? Us! You remember when you upset some real nasty guys when you were about 18, you had your car wrecked and were frightened to show your face, who did you turn to?”

“Okay, so you helped me out that time but I’m 25 now and I’ve learnt a lot, last time you nicked me I went down for six months, you didn’t help me much that time did you?”

“That was because you kept letting yourself into other peoples’ houses when they were out.”

“So I did a few burglaries, so what?” Evans said nonchalantly, casually shrugging his shoulders.

“If you commit crime Wayne you have to take the consequences. I’ve got a print out on you here, let’s have a look. Known for burglary, criminal damage, handling stolen goods, robbery, threatening and abusive behaviour, breach of the peace etc., etc., all since you were 15. Not exactly the ideal upstanding citizen are you Wayne?”

“I’ve had a hard life.”

“But it’s you that makes it so difficult Wayne. You pretend to be some kind of hard man lying there having been stabbed a couple of times but I can see it in your face that you’re frightened of something this time. Perhaps you tried it on with the wrong person. They might be waiting for you somewhere out there Wayne intending to do a better job next time. I can’t help you when you’re dead but I might be able to help you now.”

“I can look after myself Lancaster.”

“How come you’re laying wounded in here then and at least call me Tom. Even Detectives have first names.”

“Alright, Tom,” Evans said with some sarcasm. “You’ve just got to accept that I had an argument down the pub with a group of blokes from out of town and I came off the worst, I’ll sort it myself.”

“Which pub Wayne?”

“The Bull.”

“What, in the Market Square?”

“Yeah.”

“I know the landlord fairly well in there Wayne, I’ll have a chat with him, perhaps he’ll know who they were,” Tom said, knowing full well that Evans was lying.

“Do what you fucking want. I don’t give a shit,” Evans replied spitefully.

“Come on Wayne, I’m not stupid, this was no pub argument. If it was you know full well I could find out who they were. This is something that has frightened you isn’t it?”

“Believe what you want, that’s the only story you’re getting.”

“Wayne, whenever you go down the pub you get pissed out of your brains, the staff here are very particular about whether or not people have been drinking before they give treatment. In their opinion you were stone cold sober and suffering from shock. The chance of you going into a pub and not having a drink is like an habitual pick pocket getting a job as a cloakroom attendant and never looking in a pocket. Whatever happened tonight frightened you. Give it some really serious thought, you know where to find me, if you need some help come and see me.”

“Why would you want to help me?”

“Because I’m a curious, nosy Detective, I reckon there’s more to this than meets the eye.”

Evans looked thoughtful and replied, “Perhaps there is but you’ll never know, now piss off and leave me be so that they can finish whatever they’ve got to do and I can get home.”

“Sue waiting at home for you is she?” Tom asked probingly.

“How do you know about her?”

Tom detected anxiety in his voice and replied,

“It’s my job, it’s a small town. Does she still work in the bakers?”

“Yeah, we’re going to get married next year.”

“Well you’d better get whatever problem you’ve got sorted first Wayne, ‘cos she can’t marry a stiff.”

The cubicle curtain drew back and one of the nurses came in and anxiously began to dress Evans’ wounds.

Tom, still not totally awake, yawned loudly and said, “I’m going to leave you in peace now Wayne, I’m sure you’d rather have the company of the nurses.”

“Thank fuck for that and I don’t want any other Old Bill bothering me, got it?” Evans replied acrimoniously, bravado which Tom realised was intended to impress the young nurse.

Tom thought for a second, smiled and said,

“Just remember Wayne, it looks like whoever did this to you meant business. One day I’ll find out what this was about, perhaps next time I’ll be called out to deal with your murder. Mind you…..” Tom smiled, ….Thinking about it, the overtime’s better on a murder incident room and I need a new car!”

“Ha bloody ha Lancaster!”

Tom smiled at the nurse then looked at Evans and said,

“If you do change your mind about making a complaint you’ll have to pop in to see me in a few days when all the bruising has come out so that Scenes of Crime can photograph your injuries.”

“I’ve told you, just fuck off. I don’t need the Old Bill to sort out my arguments.”

“I wonder if Sue will agree, give her my regards Wayne.”

Tom left the cubicle and walked back towards the main desk where Wendy was anxiously trying to make sense of some paperwork. She looked up and said, “Is that it Tom, did you have a pleasant chat with the nice Mr Evans?”

“Oh wonderful, I can’t think of a nicer way to spend the early hours of the morning, such an eloquent young man.”

After asking a few questions about how Evans had arrived at casualty Tom left the hospital to drive home.

As he made his way home he phoned the Duty Inspector to explain what had happened so that the incident log on the control room computer could be closed. The switchboard put him through.

“Hello Frank I didn’t wake you did I?” Tom said sarcastically.

“Very amusing Tom. Well did you get to the bottom of it all?”

Tom then explained what had happened and how he suspected that this would raise its ugly head again in the very near future. Frank Steele listened intently and replied, “Thanks Tom, but I don’t suppose the Superintendent will be that happy to have a stabbing on his patch and the police unable to do anything about it.”

“Frank, I know you don’t have a great deal of experience on the street but you may be surprised to know that criminals don’t particularly like talking to us, I don’t suppose he’d be very happy either if I tried to beat it out of Evans.”

“I don’t like your tone Tom, there’s no need to be facetious.”

“Sorry Frank, I haven’t had a lot of sleep, I’m going home to get some kip. Leave a note in the DI’s office to say I’ll brief him and do a long occurrence book entry in the morning so that everyone else in the station knows what has happened and can keep an ear to the ground for me.”

“Okay Tom, sorry to have dragged you out of bed.”

“I bet you are,” Tom replied caustically as he pressed the end button on his mobile and made his way home.

During the short journey home he glanced at the clock on the dashboard of his ageing Ford Mondeo. Just past 4am, he thought to himself, in bed by 4.30, up again at 7.30 for work, what an existence, fuck this job. How much longer will my body put up with this lifestyle? A question Tom often quietly asked himself. The answer concerned him too much to consider at any length. He was a very tired and burnt out man bordering on complete exhaustion. He had, over the years, given everything to the police service which in turn, had ruined his marriage and damaged his physical and mental wellbeing to the point where he often felt he would struggle to reach 50 and take his well-earned retirement.

The headlights of his car picked out the entrance to the gravel drive leading to his front door. He pulled up in the drive, parked and went indoors. He was as quiet as possible in an attempt to avoid waking his neighbour Jenny. As usual Misty was there to greet him, bright eyed and with wagging tail. Tom smiled. Misty was a great comfort to him, always there to greet him whatever the time and always so happy to see him.

After a few minutes of adoration from Tom, Misty settled back in her basket with little encouragement and Tom climbed the stairs and got to bed for a couple of hours of well-earned sleep, pondering what had happened with Wayne Evans. Usually if a complaint was not supported by the injured party that was the end of it. But, knowing Evans as he did, Tom knew there was more to this than met the eye and that it was serious. He fully intended to find out what had happened out of intrigue and had a gut feeling that Evans had got himself in too deep with someone or something. Tom’s inquisitive nature would not let this rest easily.

Tom’s alarm woke him at 7.15. He leant over and switched it off, stretched, sighed and shook his head in disbelief that it was already time to get up. After a wash and shave he went downstairs to feed Misty and grab a quick cup of coffee in the hope that it would wake him up sufficiently to progress through the day ahead. Over the years Tom had read many articles about the serious damage to health that can occur through sleep debt, shift work and stress. He desperately wanted to take positive measures to improve both his health and his chances of getting to retirement age to enjoy a few years of peace. But the job simply didn’t allow it and Senior Officers seemed to load more and more work on Tom’s small CID office whilst being fully aware that they were already stretched to the limits.

Misty frantically devoured her breakfast as if it was the last meal she would ever have whilst Tom drew back the curtains across the patio doors in the dining room to be greeted by a beautifully sunny spring morning. He spent a quiet minute scrutinising the back garden. Gardening to Tom was a very satisfying and tranquil occupation and he wished he had more time for it. Beyond a large slabbed patio the garden was laid mainly to lawn with borders adorned with an array of easy maintenance shrubs. Several mature fruit trees proudly stood their ground at the bottom of the garden, their dead leaves still blanketing the grass at their base, a clearing job Tom had been meaning to get round to for some time. The garden backed on to a spinney separating the houses from a small commercial estate. Misty had finished her breakfast and was relentlessly pushing the empty bowl around the kitchen floor trying to lick it completely clean. She stretched, walked into the dining room and sat at Tom’s side looking out to the garden with vigilance.

“No Misty there aren’t any squirrels out there yet. They’ve probably got more sense than me and are having a lie in.”

She would sometimes watch out of the patio doors for hours quietly growling under her breath at any squirrel that dared to encroach beyond the spinney. Tom jokingly referred to it as squirrel patrol.

“Plenty of time for squirrel patrol later Misty. Come on, how about a quick walk round the block.”

Tom enjoyed a short walk with the dog before going into the office, especially on such a lovely morning. One of the drawbacks of a long CID career was that, over the years, Tom had spent many many hours in lengthy drawn out interviews with prisoners in smoky interview rooms within the police cells complex, with no fresh air or natural light. Often Tom’s only enjoyment of spring and summer days revolved around his walks with Misty and his rest days and annual leave days, of which he was owed a large number.

A short walk from the house was the village recreation ground. Tom let Misty off the lead, sat on a bench and watched her running round the park sniffing, exploring and generally enjoying such a lovely morning without a care in the world. Tom remembered earlier less troubled years when he would come to the park with Helen and the children. If only he had known then what his job would do to his family life. Back to reality, he thought.

His short drive into work that morning was slightly hampered by a broken down school bus but knowing all the side roads he was able to avoid most of the congestion. As he approached the police station gates he contemplated the likely problems that awaited in the police cells. He regularly voiced his anger at the way the night shift Uniformed Officers would make arrests for simple burglaries or vehicle thefts and then, rather than dealing with them themselves, abandon the prisoners and paperwork in the cells asking that CID deal with it in the morning. Tom blamed this on poor supervision and saw it as the root cause for the lack of experience he saw in many junior Officers. It was far too easy these days to pass the buck to someone else. How could young Officers gain the investigation, interview and court experience if their supervisors allowed them to leave prisoners for others to deal with.

Brampton Police Station was situated just off the High Street in a small close called Townside. It was a fairly modern two storey building built in the eighties with a good sized yard and police cell complex. The back door led from the yard into a corridor that passed the entrance to the cell complex and then led to the main foyer and the office corridors. Tom’s first visit was always to the cell complex to see what delights had occurred over night and if any prisoners had been left for his office to deal with. He hated the smell that always greeted him as he went through the double doors into the cell complex. A smell he found difficult to analyse, but which was best described as a pungent mixture of body odour, alcohol, vomit and disinfectant.