When Lulu and Phil arrived at the MIT room the next morning, DI Friar was in a glass-sided cubicle with Superintendent Knight. He was pacing up and down and gesticulating with both hands, his face contorted with anger. ‘That doesn’t look good,’ whispered Lulu.
‘He’s not a happy bunny,’ said Phil.
‘Let’s keep out of the way,’ said Lulu. They headed to the back of the room and sat down in front of a HOLMES terminal. Lulu peered over the top of the monitor. The superintendent had stopped pacing and was standing in the centre of the cubicle, jabbing his finger at DI Friar as he continued to rant at her. DI Friar’s cheeks were flushed and she had her arms folded. Most of the time she stared at the floor and occasionally she nodded her head.
Conrad dropped off Lulu’s shoulders and stood on the desk. He stared at the superintendent, his tail twitching.
There were a dozen or so detectives and civilians in the MIT room and they were all watching what was going on.
The superintendent began pacing again. DI Friar opened her mouth to speak but the superintendent stopped her with a wave of his hand and she stared at the floor again.
‘What do you think has happened?’ whispered Lulu.
‘Your guess is as good as mine,’ said Phil. ‘But he’s definitely reading her the Riot Act.’
The superintendent turned and yanked the door open, then stormed out of the MIT room, his brow furrowed. DI Friar stood stock still for several seconds, then took a deep breath before walking out of the cubicle.
Lulu stood up and hurried over to the inspector. ‘Is everything all right?’ she asked, even though it was clear there was a problem.
‘No, everything is not all right,’ DI Friar snapped, then she exhaled slowly before smiling at Lulu. ‘I’m sorry. I’ve just had the mother of all bollockings thanks to Dickie bloody McNeil.’
‘What on earth happened?’
‘Apparently he went round to speak to Sergeant Sawyer’s widow and Fraser Robinson’s parents last night, raising questions about their sexuality.’
‘Oh no.’
‘Oh yes,’ said DI Friar. ‘They were all on the phone first thing to file complaints.’ She gritted her teeth. ‘Damn him.’
‘The superintendent can’t blame you, surely?’
‘He’s got to blame someone and he has no authority over McNeil.’ She took out her phone, scrolled through her address book and made a call. ‘Voicemail,’ she said. ‘He probably knows the trouble he’s in.’
‘Is he, though?’ asked Lulu. ‘He’s a journalist and journalists ask questions. He’s just doing his job.’
‘No, he’s upsetting the families of the deceased. And jeopardizing our investigation. The superintendent has promised to put uniforms outside their houses to make sure it doesn’t happen again.’ She called the number again and this time left a curt message. ‘Dickie, it’s Julie Friar. Call me.’ She ended the call and put the phone away. ‘What’s the betting he doesn’t call me? I’ll have his guts for garters when I get hold of him.’
One of the detectives raised his hand to get DI Friar’s attention. ‘Boss, we’ve got the data from the victim’s phone. And his wife’s.’ The detective was young, still in his twenties but growing a moustache to make himself look older.
DI Friar walked over to him. Lulu and Phil followed. She put her hand on the detective’s shoulder. ‘Do we have the GPS details of Mr Pearson’s phone?’
‘We do. The system is showing that it was last seen at his house.’ The man stared at the screen. ‘There’s nothing after nine o’clock yesterday morning, which is presumably when the battery died.’
‘That’s interesting,’ said DI Friar. ‘What about calls and messages?’
The detective tapped on the keyboard. ‘He made twenty-odd calls during the day that he went missing, the last at six-thirty in the evening. The GPS shows him arriving at his house at just before eight o’clock in the evening, the day before yesterday. There were thirty texts sent during the day, mostly work-related, and forty-odd received.’ He leaned towards the screen. ‘The last five are from his wife. She texted “What do you want for dinner?” at nine-thirty, then “Where are you?” at ten o’clock. “Are you ok?” at eleven. “Is something wrong?” at eleven forty-five. The last one says “Right, I’m calling the police”, and that was just before midnight.’ He sat back in his chair and looked up at DI Friar. ‘So the wife is texting him asking where he is some three hours after he arrived home?’
‘His phone was home – it doesn’t necessarily mean that he was,’ said DI Friar. She frowned and rubbed the back of her neck. ‘Right, I want all CCTV footage checked in the vicinity of the Pearson house. Let’s see if we can find him driving back to his house.’ She looked at DC Townsend. ‘What does he drive?’
DC Townsend took out his notebook and flicked through it. ‘A blue Ford Focus.’
‘Has it been found yet?’
DC Townsend shook his head. ‘No. We’re actively looking and there’s a request in with the ANPR centre but apparently they’ve got a backlog.’
‘Get on to them again and make it clear this is a murder inquiry.’ She patted the detective on the shoulder again. ‘Okay, Simon, good work. Now I need you to go through every call and text she sent and received over the past month. Let’s see if Mrs Pearson has a male friend with big hands.’
‘Will do, boss.’
A phone rang on the far side of the MIT room and a female detective went over to answer it. She listened for a few seconds, nodded, and then waved to get DI Friar’s attention. ‘Call for you, boss!’
DI Friar went over to take the call. Lulu saw the colour drain from her face as she listened to the person on the end of the line. She bit down on her lower lip and then grabbed a chair and sat down. She replied to the caller and then replaced the receiver. Lulu hurried over to her. ‘What’s wrong?’ she said.
DI Friar looked up at her, tears welling in her eyes. ‘They’ve just found Dickie McNeil,’ she said, her voice a hoarse whisper. ‘They found him in an alley in Rusholme, the back of his head smashed in.’
Lulu’s jaw dropped. ‘Oh, no, that’s awful.’ She sat down next to DI Friar. ‘Truly awful.’
Phil stood up and walked over. ‘Do they know what happened?’
‘There’s a homicide team out there now,’ said DI Friar. ‘His wallet and watch are missing, so possibly a mugging.’
‘Do you get violent muggings like that in Manchester?’
‘We have muggings, yes, but they usually involve knives and occasionally firearms. This sounds . . . unusual. Oh, poor Dickie.’ A tear trickled down her cheek and she dabbed at her face with the back of her hand.
Phil produced a handkerchief from his pocket and gave it to her.
‘When was the last time you spoke to him?’ asked Lulu.
‘When he ambushed us in reception.’ She frowned. ‘Why do you ask?’
‘We saw him yesterday afternoon. On my boat.’
DI Friar’s frown deepened. ‘We?’
Lulu shook her head. ‘Sorry. Conrad and I. He came to The Lark.’
‘How did he know where to find you?’
‘That’s the exact same question I asked him. Dogged police work, he said. He heard that I lived on a boat called The Lark and went looking for it.’
‘And what did he want?’
‘Confirmation that Phil and I were helping you with your inquiries. I said I couldn’t comment but he already had the information. He knew about the Choker investigations, too. He’s got a contact within the NCA.’
‘Typical Dickie,’ said DI Friar, wiping her eyes.
‘He seemed a genuinely nice man.’
‘He had his faults and he could be a nuisance, but his heart was in the right place.’
‘Why did Dickie leave the police? You said he left under a cloud.’
‘We had a fourteen-year-old girl go missing and Dickie was sure that her uncle was involved. We had the uncle in a few times but we couldn’t get him to talk. Dickie went round to his house and things got a bit physical. The uncle went to hospital and a few days later the girl turned up in Blackpool with her boyfriend.’
‘So the uncle was innocent?’
‘Sometimes we get it wrong. Dickie went with his gut, which is never a good idea. The uncle ended up in ICU. There were no witnesses so no criminal charges, but Dickie was told if he resigned he’d keep his pension, so he went.’
‘So Dickie beat up the uncle?’
‘Dickie said no. He said the uncle attacked him with a knife. The uncle’s fingers got broken when Dickie took the knife off him, and his spleen was ruptured after Dickie pushed him away and he fell over a chair. No one saw it, so it was difficult to prove either way. It was a mess.’
‘What do you think? Did Dickie set out to hurt the uncle?’
‘Hand on heart, I don’t think he did. He’s a genuinely nice guy who really does believe in law and order. I know he was very frustrated that the powers that be didn’t back him. And they really didn’t. They hung him out to dry. Eventually Dickie just said “Sod it” and handed in his papers.’ She looked at her watch. ‘I’m going out to the crime scene.’
‘Are you SIO?’
‘No, DI Howe is in charge. He’s out there now. But he won’t mind if I turn up. He knows that Dickie and I have a history.’
‘A history?’
She took a deep breath. ‘There was a time when I was thinking about becoming the third Mrs McNeil.’
‘The third?’
‘Dickie was married twice and divorced twice. He married civilians both times and neither of them enjoyed competing with the job for his attention.’
‘I’m so sorry, Julie.’
‘Oh, water under the bridge. It was a few years ago. We’re good friends now.’ She paused and corrected herself. ‘We were good friends,’ she said. She picked up her handbag and phone.
‘I’d like to come with you,’ said Lulu.
‘Me too,’ said Phil.
‘Meow!’ said Conrad.
DI Friar looked at Conrad in astonishment. ‘Did he just talk to me?’
‘He did,’ said Lulu. ‘He wants to come too.’