The Burning Man Read online

  Chapter 22

  Friday 9:30 a.m.

  Jill Richardson was no lover of shopping. She much preferred the solitude of an early Sunday morning away from the hustle and bustle of the crowds. She hated the crowds, the queues and the aching feet. She took exception to overly attentive shopping assistants, the perky piped music playing in every store and all the exclusive deals tempting her to spend her hard-earned pay.

  With both hand’s buried in the pockets of her winter parka, she followed George Sutton across the windy carpark and into the shopping mall. She went over to the coffee shop and bought herself a latte and, as arranged, then went and sat where she could watch both of the storefronts. Here in the shopping mall, it was the same temperature inside no matter what the season. Only the piped music and the fashions changed. She could see Sutton through the brightly lit storefront window, talking to one of the store assistants who was showing him the display of televisions.

  A mother with a supermarket trolley loaded down with shopping bags, walked past, dragging a screaming, protesting child. The whole place was filled with sounds and smells. The aroma of filtered coffee drifted out from the nearby café. The smell of newly baked bread drifted out through the open doors of the patisserie while its glass display cabinet showed off some of its more colourful cakes and buns.

  A fat security guard, his stomach hanging over the belt of his trousers, stood outside the electrical store eyeing up a group of chattering teenagers while talking into his handheld two-way.

  There was a sudden crackling in Richardson’s earpiece. ‘Jill, are you receiving?’

  ‘Yes, Luke, I hear you,’ she said, speaking into the small mic that was attached to the lapel of her parka.

  ‘I’m in position. Parked up by the exit. I’ve been right through the carpark, and there’s no sign of his motor. What’s happening at your end?’

  ‘George is inside the store now. I don’t see any signs of our friend in the baseball cap here either.’

  ‘Maybe he won’t show today. Wow. Can I smell hot dogs?

  ‘It’s a troop of boy scouts out the front. They got a bar-b-que thing going. Some fundraiser.’

  ‘It’s making my mouth water. Any chance of getting us one? Brown sauce and heaps of onions.’

  ‘No,’ she said. It’s only nine thirty. We’ve only just got here. Just sit tight and keep your eyes open.’

  ‘I’ll buy you one,’ he said hopefully.

  She noticed that George Sutton was coming out of the store and walking towards her.

  ‘George is on his way back. Just sit tight, Luke. I’ll call you.’

  He came over and stood before her. ‘We’ve got to pick it up from around the back. It’s in the loading bay,’ he said.

  Happy to be leaving the noise and crowds behind her, she tossed her half-empty coffee cup into the rubbish bin and followed him, thankfully, out across the carpark to where his Land Cruiser was parked.

  ‘Looks as if we could be on a wild goose chase,’ she said, as they were driving out of the main parking area and around the back to the loading bay. I didn’t see any signs of our friend back there or anyone watching.’

  Sutton drove slowly out of the shopper’s carpark around the back, and pulled up at the loading ramp just as the roller door was going up.

  While the store assistant was helping Sutton to slide the box containing the flat screen television into the back of his four-wheel drive, Richardson noticed the fat security guard who she had seen inside, come around the far corner of the building and stand there, eying them suspiciously. She watched as he unhooked the two-way from his shoulder and spent some time talking into it. The store assistant recognising him and waved. The guard waved, then disappeared back around the corner of the building.

  In a few minutes, Richardson and Sutton were back out in the central parking area.

  Richardson said, ‘Drop me off here, George. Luke wants a hot dog. You can leave me here. I’ll walk over to him.’ She got out, then, through the open window, she said, ‘Sorry, it’s all been a waste of time. Thanks anyway.’

  ‘No problem, Jill. Happy to help. Maybe you’ll get lucky next time. I’ve got a bit more shopping to do, then I’ll get back. If you’ve got time later, drop in for a drink. On the house.’

  ‘I’ll hold you to that,’ she said, and walked off.

  She went into the mall got two take-a-way coffees then out to the scout’s bar-b-que.

  She bought a hot dog and headed across the carpark to where Hollingsworth was parked. She opened the door of the Ford Mondeo and handed him his wrapped parcel of food. ‘I assumed you wanted mustard?’

  ‘Thanks, Jill, you’re a gem. I’m starving. And coffee too? Great.’ He opened up the wrapper and bit into the hot dog.

  ‘Here.’ She handed him a serviette. ‘You owe me four pounds fifty.’

  He put the hot dog onto the dashboard and fished out his wallet. After he’d parted with his money, he looked out of the window and recognised Sutton’s Toyota approaching. They both waved as he drove past.

  ‘Okay. Let’s head back to the nick,’ she said. We’re wasting our time out here. But first, we need to stop off at the Bear. I said you’d give George a hand unloading. It’s the least we can do.’

  Hollingsworth rammed the last of the hot dog into his mouth and clipped in his seat belt. He left the parking area and drove out onto the one-way system that took them away from the mall and down towards the town centre. At the roundabout, he gave way to some cars coming in from the side road. As they cleared, the roundabout, Jill Richardson noticed the vehicle in front.

  ‘Look,’ she said, pointing out through the windscreen. It’s the car all right. And it’s still got the stolen plates on. Where the hell did the car come from?’

  ‘He must have come out from that side road back on the roundabout,’ he said. ‘He sure as hell wasn’t in the carpark. Where’s George now?’

  ‘He’s up ahead just gone around that bend. Two cars in front,’ Richardson said. ‘He has to be following George. He’ll have to get his telly out on his own now. You need to keep driving and keep our eye on him. We don’t want to lose him. We need to see where he goes after.’

  Back in Carter’s office later, Hollingsworth said. ‘He pulled up and watched George unload the telly in his storage unit, and then he drove off. We followed him around to those four blocks of council flats on Price Street — the ones just behind the mall. He put his car in a lock-up there — number ten,’ Hollingsworth said to Carter. ‘He ducked down a side alley that leads to the back of the flats so we couldn’t follow.’

  ‘Do we have a name for him yet?’

  ‘No. not yet, sir. Jill is onto the housing people now.’ He looked at his watch. ‘We should hear something back from them soon.’

  As if on cue, Richardson walked in, pad in hand.

  ‘The name on the rent book is Horace Silverman. He’s got a ground floor flat in Dunkirk House. The bottom flats are reserved for those with disabilities. It turns out that Silverman only has —’

  ‘One leg,’ chimed in Carter. He nodded as he recalled the details. ‘He’s known as “Long John” Silverman. And the face under the baseball cap belongs to his son, Billy,’ added Carter

  ‘I haven’t checked him out on our system yet,’ Richardson said. ‘So, you know him, do you?’, she said, asking Carter.

  ‘Aye, Jill, I do that. It must have been about ten years ago now. Silverman attempted to rob a sub-post office at Littlebourne. It all went tits up. The stolen car he was driving crashed and rolled down an embankment onto a railway line. That’s how he lost his leg. The worst part of it was that he took his eight-year-old son, Billy, along with him,’ recalled Carter. ‘He was lucky to survive. The young lad got bad facial injuries, leaving him scarred for life. “Long John” served two years for it, and when he came out, they moved away. The last time I saw young Billy Silverman, he was about ten or eleven. He was never in any trouble. I think they went North. Gloria, his wife, di
ed a few months after he came out. Cancer, I think it was. That’s why no one has recognised him because he’s kept his nose clean all this time. I wonder how long he’s been bad?’

  He stood up from his desk and took off his jacket. As he put it over the back of his chair, he said, ‘I wonder what’s made things change? If he is knocking off this stuff, he has to be selling it on. Get someone onto finding out who his mates are?’

  ‘Okay,’ said Richardson. ‘If that’s all, I’ll go and organise a search warrant for the flat and the lock-up, and we’ll see what it turns up.’

  Richardson and Hollingsworth trooped out of Carter’s office. As she sat down at her desk, she looked at Hollingsworth and said, ‘I think it’s best if we do this early morning, Luke. Make sure we catch them in.’

  ‘Yep. I agree. What do you reckon? Shall I tee it up with Andy Miller and Alan Hobson to come along with us.’

  ‘Yes. I believe both are on the early shift tomorrow. Have a word with the boss. See what he says.’

  ‘Okay, I’ll do that.’ He looked at the clock over the door. ‘And now, as it’s Friday,’ he said, ‘I’m off down to the cafeteria for lunch. Bangers and mash. My favourite. You coming?’

  ‘No. I’ll get something later. Right now, I want to get this warrant organised before the magistrates knock off for the weekend.’

  Chapter 23

  Saturday 7:30 a.m.

  The four walked out of the building into the grey morning light and headed across the wet asphalt towards the cars. The rain that had fallen steadily throughout the night had stopped. As the dawn crept slowly over the rooftops of the town, both vehicles made their way out into the street. In the lead, Richardson and Hollingsworth, with PCs Miller and Hobson in the area car, Kilo Four, following behind. It was only a ten-minute drive to the flats out on Price Street.

  As the small convoy stopped at the junction between the High Street and Market Street, Hollingsworth was brutally reminded about missing breakfast. As he wound the window down, he caught the tantalising aroma of frying bacon wafting out from the open door of the Corner Café. Since taking the flat above, it was his regular practice to pop in most mornings but because of the power cut during last night’s storm, his electric alarm clock had failed to wake him. He’d hurriedly dressed and, with no time to spare, had to jog the two blocks to get to Kent Street on time.

  He was still thinking about bacon when he pulled into the resident’s parking area and stopped in front of one of the four blocks of flats. The graffiti-covered notice told them they were at Dunkirk House. In a grassed area between the carpark and the building, stood a children’s play area with swings, climbing bars and a see-saw. All were ancient and well used. The swings had splintered wooden seats covered in faded green paint that hung from chains fixed to sagging tubular frames. Red spots of rust decorated both it and the framework. Creaking, it swayed gently in the morning breeze.

  Hollingsworth stepped out of the car, shut the car door and stood to adjust his stab vest. ‘There’s no back way out of these flats,’ he told the other three, ‘so he won’t be running off.’

  ‘Okay,’ said Jill Richardson. ‘Let’s go door-knocking.’ She looked over to Miller. ‘Hopefully, we won’t be needing that,’ she said, looking at the battering ram he was holding, ‘but bring it just in case.’

  They walked across the grass towards the building. Slits of light filtering out from the drawn curtains of some of the ground floor flats. Most of those above were in total darkness.

  Hollingsworth pushed through the swing doors into the lobby. Directly in front stood the lift shaft and next to that was a stairwell leading to the floors above. From one of the levels above came the sound of the lift gates closing and a few seconds later, started descending.

  Hollingsworth led them in silence along the passage to Silverman’s door. After rapping on it for a full minute, the door finally opened. A man stood before them wearing pyjama bottoms and a dirty tee-shirt. He stood rubbing the sleep from his eyes with one hand while his other scratched at his crotch.

  ‘William Silverman? Police,’ said Hollingsworth holding out his identity card for the man to see. ‘I have a warrant to search these premises.’

  Silverman’s beady eyes widened in surprise, and before he could say anything, Hollingsworth pushed open the door and walked in. ‘Who else is in the house?’ He forced Silverman to back down the hall and into the living room.

  ‘Just my dad. He’s disabled and is in bed. What do you want? I ain’t got nothing here. I haven’t done anything.’

  ‘That remains to be seen,’ Hollingsworth said. Then, turning to Miller and Hobson, added, ‘Take a look around.’

  ‘Where’s your car, Billy?’ asked Jill Richardson.

  ‘I don’t have one.’

  ‘So, if we asked you if you have a lock-up you’d deny that to, would you? Don’t bother,’ she said. ‘because we know most of these flats have one.’

  An angry voice was heard coming down the hall. An elderly grey-haired man in a dressing gown limped into the room. He was supported under the left shoulder by a crutch.

  One leg of his pyjamas hung down empty. He was followed in by PC Hobson.

  Silverman senior was well over six foot tall. So, this is the man known as “Long” John Silverman, thought Hollingsworth, running his eye over the man.

  ‘What’s the meaning of this?’ he demanded. ‘This idiot here just got me out of bed,’ he said, inclining his head towards PC Hobson ‘Are you the one in charge,’ he asked, directing his question to Hollingsworth. The old man sat down in one of the armchairs. ‘I need my leg. Would someone please go and fetch it?’

  Hobson walked back down the hall to the bedroom and came back a few moments later carrying the artificial leg under his arm.

  ‘What’s going on. I demand to know?’ Silverman said, snatching the leg from Hobson.

  ‘Just let these officers get on with their jobs. I have a warrant.’ He took it from his inside pocket and handed it over.

  ‘What are you looking for?’ he demanded.

  ‘We’re investigating a spate of burglaries,’ said Hollingsworth. ‘We have reason to believe that your son is involved. It’s all there in the warrant.’

  The old man glared at his son. Billy Silverman turned and looked away, not wanting to meet his father’s gaze.

  Jill Richardson came in from the kitchen moments later, examining a bunch of keys. She dangled them in front of the younger Silverman. ‘Car and lock-up, if I’m not mistaken?’ she said.

  ‘Right get some clothes on, Billy — we’re going to take a little walk,’ said Hollingsworth.

  The cement-paved driveway between the two rows of lock-up garages, in all its charming decrepitude, looked as if someone had taken a sledgehammer to it, diligently hitting the paving stones with enough force to make a network of cracks all of which were now colonised by weeds.

  All the flats had their numbers stamped on all the twelve Zincalume up-and-over garage doors.

  Jill Richardson handed the bunch of keys to PC Miller as they stood in front of the door marked with the number four. After a few tries, he got the right key and pulled up the door.

  He went over to the wall and switched on the light.

  Jill Richardson looked at the boxes stacked along one wall and in front of the car. ‘It’s just like Aladdin’s cave in here,’ she remarked. ‘And would you believe it, your car has two sets of number plates.’ She grinned. ‘That was very careless of you, Billy, leaving them on like that’

  Billy Silverman grunted and hung his head without replying.

  ‘Looks like most of this stuff in here is on our list for sure, Jill,’ said Hollingsworth, looking around. ‘And a lot more besides,’ he added, bending down and examining some boxes. He opened one. It contained a new Hi-Fi system. He nodded with satisfaction. ‘I think we got you bang to rights on this one, Billy, my ole’ son. You’re going to have quite a hard time explaining this lot to a judge.’ He called over to Hobs
on. ‘Take him back to the nick and book him in. In the meantime, I’ll get the van out here and get this lot taken back,’ Hollingsworth said.

  Hobson, who had a grip like a vice on Billy Silverman’s shoulder, marched him out and put him in the back seat of the car. PC Miller went around the other side and got in beside him.

  After they’d gone, Richardson, who was rummaging around inside the boot of the car, said, ‘What about the father?’

  ‘We’ll talk to him later. He’s harmless.’

  ‘Don’t you mean legless?’ Smiling at her joke, she came around and opened the passenger door and looked inside.

  Hollingsworth came and stood next to her. ‘I don’t think the old man has anything to do with it. He’s kept his nose clean ever since the accident. Did you see the look on his face back at the house when I mentioned the burglaries? He was angry. Very angry. No, I don’t think he had any idea what young Billy was up to.’

  ‘Hello. And what have we here then?’ She pulled a two-way radio out from the glove box. She turned it over in her hands. ‘This is the same type that the security guards use at the mall. There’s also a mobile phone here as well.’

  She looked at him and smiled. ‘The crafty sods. So, this is how they did it,’ she said. ‘The guard would be able to walk around the stores un-noticed. If he sees the big-ticket items being brought, all he has to do is to hop on the two-way or the mobile. Talking on them wouldn’t create any suspicion. Silverman only lives two streets away from the mall. He’d be there in a couple of minutes. That would explain why he was so quick to latch onto George Sutton yesterday. I saw one of those security guards watching us when we picked up his TV.’

  Twenty minutes later, a big white transit van pulled up opposite.

  ‘It’s not often we see him out in daylight,’ said Richardson, watching as the driver’s door opened. ‘He must have run out of tea bags.’