Chapter 3

“If that gives me direct access to the computers and records, sir, I’m in!”

The Superintendent then called for a break, and I helped the WPC make some tea. She had found some biscuits and we handed them around as the others conferred between themselves. That done, we both sat down with our own cups as the others came to a decision.

Then Strachan tapped on the table, and we all waited.

“This is what we’re going to do. Carson and his team will work the murder case without letting anyone know about the photocopies. Polly, you will have access here as a consultant and do your research on our suspect. You will report only to me. Cathy, only one hard copy of this meeting, and that’s in case any crap starts coming down from above. Dawlish, you, and the rest of the station carry on as if nothing is happening. We don’t want any hint of who we’re chasing to leak out, if any of our officers blab it will mean their job. Angela, I have to ask you and Steve to not talk about this to anyone else. As far as the rest of the world is concerned, today we apologised and told you that your husbands’ death is now a murder case. Thredbolt, all your findings need to be secured in regard to the Jaguar and all the links to the Sheffield job and the kidnap cases. If any wind of this gets out, we’ll have a hard time moving it forward. Thank you all for the work that you’ve done and good luck with the further investigations. Thank you, Angela, for you time and patience. Polly, follow me and Thredbolt to my office and he will tell you the name while I organise your authority. This meeting is now closed.”

I followed him, after telling Angela I would catch up with her before I went back to Boston. Strachan was a leader that I respected, ready to make decisions and prepared to take the flack and protect his officers. We went into his office, and he told us to get on with things while he organised my authority.

Thredbolt and I sat in the two chairs in front of the desk, and he grinned as he handed me the papers. I had been wrong; it wasn’t a politician or a high-level policeman. It was Jurgen Beyer, a very well-known industrialist who hosted parties that the others would attend, happy to have been asked. He was a man who, it had been said, was self-made, a millionaire and supporter of both the major political parties.

“That’s a copy of the copies, you will need them to start your research, Polly. I don’t want to be a nay-sayer, but you’re going to have a hard time linking him with the Sheffield case, he would have been in his late teens when that went down.”

“I realise that. I wonder if it was the kidnappings that are the link, it’s a long shot, I know, but somehow his wallet ended up in that car. I see that the latest date on these contents is 1994. When were the kidnappings?”

“The earliest that we have is ’89, the latest is ’95. In all cases, the victims were children of noted businessmen, with the police never brought in until after the ransom had been paid but the child not returned. The bloods we found were matched to details kept in the records. There’s a small group in the Midlands who are going through all the old cases where death is suspected and testing evidence to record DNA. It will speed up some of the cold cases in years to come, should we find decomposed bodies. In the four cases we now know of, the family was sent a finger, along with a picture of the child, showing a bandaged hand. In all cases it accelerated the payment.”

“What if the Jaguar had the left-over fingers? If he had been involved, it would be enough to kill, you can see where Bernice was going if she found an old finger. Did you look in the other cars in the shed?”

“Only a brief check, so far. If Bernice had a finger, along with the wallet, I bet that she hid it carefully. I’ll put the Jaguar out in the yard, under covers, and pull in the others, in rotation, to give them a good look in the inspection area.”

“Start with the TR6, it was her own car and I think that she’d want to have that evidence close.”

Strachan breezed back into his office and went to his chair behind the desk, sitting with a whistle.

“I never thought that I’d be looking into a person so well up with the upper crust. He’s a personal friend of our Assistant Commissioner and most of the Parliamentary Members within a hundred miles. Here’s your authority, Polly. If you go next door, Cathy can make room on the unused desk in that office. Good hunting.”

I took the laminated card that he offered me and then went to see Cathy. She had tidied the desk and found me a chair.

“Hello, Polly. Thank you for helping me, today. You would be the first DS who has even offered to hand out the teacups. I’ve been ordered to get you a computer, which you will be able to set your own password. That will come tomorrow. I’m told that it will be linked to all of our databases, as well as the internet. If you can’t find things with that lot, it doesn’t exist. The authority the boss has organised will get you through all of the electronic doors in the place, except the armoury. You’ve been given a lot of power; I hope that you live up to the trust the Super has put in you. I’ll help you wherever I can.”

“Thank you, Cathy. I was well known when I was in the force for being able to trace things on the computer, most of my arrests came about because of that.”

“You’d better look at that card, Polly. It seems that you are back in the force.”

I looked at the card for the first time. It was a genuine warrant card, with my picture and me as Detective Sergeant P. Ibbotson. Underneath was, in very small writing, the single word ‘Ret’d’ that was overwhelmed by the next line which had ‘Special Consultant’ along with my original identifying number that I had been given when I joined up. She gave me a lanyard, with a pouch, for me to use when in the station. I gave her the day pass. I could now flash the warrant card when talking to people but knew not to try and arrest anyone. That, I would have to leave to the real police.

The desk that I had been given had a lockable drawer, where I slid the paperwork in before locking it and putting the key in my bag, along with the shed key. I sat at the desk and asked Cathy if she had a building plan for me to study so that I didn’t get lost in the days to come. I took it and found my way to the forensics laboratory.

“Hello, Thredbolt, I wonder if you’ve cleared the Jaguar out yet. I’d like to have a look at it before you do.”

“No problem, Polly, it’s in the garage, next door. The entry is over there, that pass will let you through. Stop at the locker, there, and put on a protective suit, please.”

I did as asked and went to look at the Jaguar. It was now a shell of a body on the wheels. The interior had been stripped out and the boot was empty. There was nowhere left to hide anything. I made a mental note to ask about the original owner as I circled it. The two dents were quite evident, making me think that it had to have been hidden away for some time after the bank job. They were distinctive, a deep vee, high on the front left panel, with a smaller dent behind and below it. That made stop and think. That’s where I needed to start.

Thanking Thredbolt I went back to my new office desk. I asked Cathy if she could print me the case report of the Sheffield job, if I went to the canteen and brought back some tea and cake.

“Always ready to accept that kind of bribery, ma’am, I’ll have it printed by the time you get back.”

“WPC Chatterton, I am a civilian, no matter what that card says. I’m Polly and I’ll call you Cathy unless we are with other officers. I doubt that you saw my record.”

“No, Polly, but the boss seems impressed. What happened to have you retire? A pregnancy, perhaps?”

“Cathy, look at me carefully. I’m going to say this once to get it out of the way. The P on the card used to stand for Peter. The face you see, today, is the product of a very good surgeon, as is my female plumbing. The face was destroyed by a rounders bat; they had to rebuild my nose, both cheeks and my jaw. That was before my balls and most of my dick was taken with a box cutter. If you have a problem, let’s work through it, if not, I’m officially Polly. I had that name before the incident because I used to eat a lot of peanuts, something I don’t do now because they get caught in the metalwork along my jaw that hold my teeth in place.”

“Oh, you poor thing. I had no idea. You are incredibly brave to be still working in detection. I’ve just joined your fan club. If you want to called Polly, then Polly it shall be. Mines a white tea with two, now let me look for that case.”

When I got back with the teas and two cakes, the print-out was on my desk. I sat down and started looking through it. I was surprised to see that it wasn’t a bank job as you usually think of one. The bank had a rear access via an alley. A cash delivery truck had pulled into the rear area and the driver had got out and opened the side door. His mate had got out and was helping him unload the sack-truck they used to move the bags of coins.

The Jaguar had pulled in behind the truck, hitting the mechanism of the power tail lifter and the number plate bracket, so putting the two dents in the wing. Three guys jumped out, two wielding coshes, and hit both the delivery men, the mate was hit so hard he broke his left arm when he fell. A van must have followed the Jaguar and the money was transferred into it. The description of the Jaguar was given by a pedestrian, who came forward later on. He had seen it turn out of the alley after the van and into the main road. He remembered it because he had thought that it was a pity that such a classic car had that damage.

The investigating officers checked out the driver and his mate. The odd thing was that the mate should have gone to the back door and rang a bell to let them know that the cash had arrived. Normally, the door would have been opened in seconds. The mate was cleared because he was very new on the job, and this was the first time he had been on this particular run.

The fact that the Jaguar and the van had been able to just drive away was the biggest problem, the bank not finding the truck outside and notifying the police for at least five minutes after the robbery. In those days there wasn’t the coverage of roadside cameras that there is today. Back then, if you stayed below the speed limit, you didn’t get photographed.

A lot of the cash was in coin, and, although heavy to move around, impossible to trace. The notes added up to close to a quarter of a million, all but ten thousand in old notes, quite a good day’s work. The van had also been stolen, from a flower deliverer, and was found later in a layby, burnt out. The investigation went around in circles before it ended up in the unsolved basket. I made a few notes to follow up when I had the computer, put the paperwork on top of the rest in the drawer, told Cathy I would see her on Monday, and went off to see Angela.

She wasn’t going into work, today, so I went to her house. She let me in, and we sat down to talk, going over what she had been told this morning. She was having a hard time coming to grips with the fact that her Bernard had a whole second life, and second business, as Bernice, and, not only that, had a regular boyfriend.

Being in a bank, she had been totalling the values of the building and contents in her mind. I said that her valuation would be well below what the final result would be, seeing the labels on the outfits. She wanted to see for herself, so I rang Thredbolt and asked him if we could visit the shed. He told me that it was all right, as long as we put on the suits that were in a box just inside the door.

As I drove her into the industrial estate, a police truck was coming out with the TR6 on the back. Angela decided, on the spot, that if it was serviceable after the examination, that would be her car and the Herald and Mayflower would be in the clearing sale.

At the shed, I unlocked the gate and parked. She was amazed at the size of the place. I opened the door and fished out two suits, which we put on, then gloved up before entering. We spent a while looking through the parts boxes and then moved on to the central area with the cars, now minus two. The project car was a thirties Hillman in ‘as found’ condition, the interior still covered in chicken shit. Now I could look closer, there were two Jaguar Mark Fours with sheets over them, and a Mark Ten.

“Your calculations have just gone through the roof, Angela. I think that the early Jags sell for about forty thousand in restored condition, these would have to be at least twenty thousand, each. The Ten looks good and may get five thousand, easy.”

The rest were run-of-the-mill collectables, early Austin, Rover, and a Raleigh three-wheeler. There was no way that the S Type would be returning, now it was evidence in a number of cases, but she would probably see the TR6 again, even if it had something hidden in it. After a look at the cars, we went through to the end room, where she almost fainted at the sight of all the clothing, now laid on the bed, the wardrobes standing empty.

“It looks as if they have finished in here. If you want to go through the outfits and hang them back, I’ll just have a look around.”

Angela started with the pile on the bed, sometimes holding up an outfit to her and looking at her reflection in a big mirror. I thought that she was now over the shock, and some of those suits and dresses were classics. There was a big chest of drawers which had bowls on top, with bangles and necklaces, as well as three wig stands. One, the shortest, was empty and I recalled that Bernice had been wearing a short wig when she was killed. It was now, bedraggled, in the evidence box.

I went through each drawer. They held good quality underwear and had been looked through by someone who obviously knew good stuff when she saw it, as it was all reasonably neat. The bottom drawer had the sexiest things, corsets, and leather, along with a range of bondage wear and sex toys. When I stood, the long wigs caught my eye. Both being a slightly different shade of brunette. I could see that they were expensive and well looked after. Even though I had thin gloves on, I reached out to stroke the one closest to me. Then I froze.

As my fingers had passed over the crown, I had felt an indentation. I felt more carefully and there was a distinct hole, or depression, about an inch in diameter. I went to the other wig, and it felt the same. I went back into the garage part of the shed, where there was a workbench along the back. I found that Bernice had a set of spade drills and a hand drill among the tools. Bending down and looking under the bench, I saw fragments of expanded polystyrene. I asked Angela not to go anywhere near the wigs and went outside to call Thredbolt.

“Thredbolt, it looks like you had a female technician working the chest of drawers, am I right?”

“Yes, that would be Jessica, did she miss something?”

“Ask her if she checked the wig stands.”

There was a break while he went to find Jessica and then he was back.

“Yes, she did. She says that there was nothing under them as she had picked them up and checked.”

“If you bring her to the shed, there’s something that she will learn and will look good in your final report. Tell her that I found it, by accident. Don’t go pulling that TR6 apart until you have a look.”

They arrived, about twenty minutes later. Jessica went to the wigs and looked a bit closer, then picked each one up and checked the underneath.

“Stroke the hair and you’ll find what I did. I haven’t looked any further, so it may just be a wild goose chase.”

She stroked the hair, then froze, just as I did. Angela was looking on with a quizzical look, which turned to amazement as Jessica unpinned the wig and took it off the head, exposing a hole, about an inch in diameter. She shone a light into the hole, then went to the other wig to repeat the process. She pulled an evidence bag out of a pouch and turned the first head upside-down over the opening. Out slid a wrapped item, about an inch long, along with some flecks of poly. The second head only produced poly and some threads. She checked both with a strong light, replaced the wigs and then came over to me to hug me and whisper her thanks.

Thredbolt just nodded to me as they left. Angela still hadn’t got the gravity of the situation.

“Are you going to tell me what it was I just witnessed, and why you were all so serious?”

“Angela, we think that Bernice found that wallet, along with other evidence, in the Jaguar. She must have taken the wallet, and one of the pieces of evidence, with her the night she was killed. I expect that she thought that it was her big payday and that she would be able to extract a second round with the item she still had. That car had a lot of different bloods in the boot, most of them matching kidnap victims who had a finger severed to help the family pay up. We had matched four of the six samples, and I think that the finger that we just discovered, may match one of the remaining two.”

That’s when I had to help her sit on the bed and put her head down to her knees. When she had got her colour back, she just asked to be taken home. We went out, stripped off the gloves and suits and put them in the bin for destruction. I then backed out and locked everything up before taking her home. On the way, she suddenly brightened up.

“Polly, to thank you for everything that you’ve done, I want to take you somewhere nice for a meal. Today, I’ve had some shocks, but the biggest was that Bernard left me a great deal of money, with more likely from the clearing auction. A little over a week ago, I was banging my head against a brick wall to get the police to do something; today they’ve opened a murder case and have also started investigating something that my Bernard stumbled across and was stupid enough to get involved in. I’m going to keep the TR6 as my own car; it will remind me of what a lady Bernice was. I’ll get an auction house to look at the rest, if what you say about those early Jaguars is right, they would get more money in a specialised sale. That Raleigh is a little gem, as well, much more character than the later three-wheelers. I thought that I wouldn’t want any of the clothes, but some of those dresses and suits would look good on me.”

“The underwear is worth looking at closely, as it’s all good stuff. Don’t bother about the bottom drawer, though, unless you get an inkling to do something kinky. Where are you taking me?”

We ended up at a good restaurant in Boston, where I had been before. We had a pleasant meal and I stayed off the drink so I could take her home. She did get a little squiffy, but who could blame her. She had been through almost every sensation there was in the last twenty-four hours. I took her home and she hugged me and thanked me for everything. I told her that I would be in the police station for several days, should she want to get in touch.

Back in Boston, in my little apartment, I stripped off and got under a hot shower. It had been a big day for me, as well. This morning I had been Polly, the P.I., and I now had a warrant card again, along with a desk and a good reason to be behind it. In my nightie and dressing gown, I checked my phone for messages and then turned on my laptop to check there. I found two emails from contacts of mine that would keep me busy over the weekend but would effectively clear my decks of cases. I had sent out emails to all the vice-squad guys I knew, in the surrounding big towns, to keep watch for any new faces in the pink areas. Whenever I had a new case, I would send them a description, with a photo of the boy, along with a photo I had created of the boy trying to look like a girl.

These two emails meant that I would be spending my Saturday night in clubs, both, happily enough, in Peterborough. That noted and the replies sent, I put together the two packs with burner phones, ready for use tomorrow. I went to bed, happy in the knowledge that there wasn’t anything else I needed to do today, and slept, once again, like a baby.

Saturday, I tidied up my laundry and had a clean around, before dressing for a night out in a gay club and going off to Peterborough to try and save a young person, or two, from making the biggest mistake of their life, losing touch with those who loved them, no matter what they looked like.

Sunday, on a whim, I went for a drive to Hunstanton, just to have a look around. I had driven right through the town when I came across a big building site. There wasn’t any machinery working, but I saw that the gate was open, and a car was parked by a cabin. I drove in and stopped next to it. As I got out, the cabin door opened, and a man stepped out.

“Can I help you, miss?”

“Yes, you can. I’m working on a case.” Showing my warrant card as I said it.

“It involves the red sand that is only found in this area, how deep do you have to go before you hit it?”

“That depends on where you are along the coast. Up on the cliffs, it’s a good three metres deep, but back from there it may only be a metre or so under. Come and have a look at what we have to deal with.”

He led me behind the cabin to a place where I could see across his working area. There were little hillocks with a white chalk top, and the rest was a red, sandy, mud. He was laying out roads and putting in services for a new housing estate.

“Were there any places, like this, that was going on in the late eighties to middle nineties?”

“That would have been one of the big tourist parks at Heacham. My dad would come home looking like he’d been working on Mars.”

He gave me the name of that park, which I wrote in my notebook. I thanked him and went back to my car. I drove to the tourist park and went in. There, on the wall, was a big board with the history of the place in photos. As I looked, I saw one, taken very early in the development, of a line of cabins, just erected by the look of the ground around them. In front of one was a grey Jaguar, with a dented left wing.

Marianne Gregory © 2023