Outside Edge

By Mike Crowson

There is a professional killer in Witchmoor. He's careful and elusive & police from several forces hunt him without success. This killer seems to have conscience: he gets a rapist DS Lucy Turner is hunting and deals with a Russian importing women forced into the sex trade. DI Millicent Hampshire is psychic & tracks him down & is surprised to know him. She has no proof but stops the killing anyway.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Mike Crowson
• Release date: Dec 21, 2010
• ISBN: 9781458010155

Mike Crowson

Former teacher, former national secretary of what became the UK Green Party and for 40 years a student of things esoteric and occult. Now an occult and esoteric consultant offering free and unconditional help to those in serious and genuine psychic or occult trouble

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Outside Edge

Mike Crowson

Millicent Hampshire and the Witchmoor Edge CID

Copyright 2000 Mike Crowson

Smashwords Edition 2010

OUTSIDE EDGE

Chapter 1: Friday Evening

The mirror was at a very slight angle, which gave Detective Constable Tommy Hammond a better view of the door than anyone else in the restaurant, which is why his attention was caught by the three new arrivals.

A big, shaven headed bruiser held the door open for the other two: a blonde haired white woman in her early thirties and a flashy black man of similar age, perhaps just a little older. None of the other diners were paying any attention to the newcomers, partly because most were secretly watching Tommy's fiancÇe, Francesca Sapori. Some of those diners were casting admiring glances, for it had to be acknowledged that she looked stunning, with long, dark, glossy hair, satin-smooth olive skin derived from her Italian ancestry and a white jump suit, which did wonders for her figure. There was a glow of happiness about her too - she had earlier that day agreed to marry Tommy Hammond and her eyes were sparkling like her engagement ring.

Francesca noticed his glances at the mirror.

Something interesting? she asked.

I was watching those three who just came in.

Francesca eyed the trio herself.

Sorry to play the cop when I'm off duty, Tommy continued, especially at a moment like this, but the department would really like to nail that elusive bastard yonder, and I was wondering what he was up to.

Who is the woman?

The woman? I've no idea, Tommy said. I'm not really interested in her. At least, not directly. The flashy bloke with the dreadlocks is Jackson Olitambu, known as the 'The Flava. He's into drugs and a number of other, even less pleasant, activities. We know it, but we can't prove it. I rather think the big bruiser is either a bodyguard or some kind of an enforcer."

A waiter was showing the small party to a table, nicely within range of the mirror and the woman was laughing at some remark Olitambu had made, but it looked a forced laugh.

I don't think the leather jacket she's wearing quite fits the rest of her image, Francesca remarked.

The woman hung her jacket over her chair and sat down: it did seem a little incongruous. She was herself quite good looking, although perhaps a little 'hard'. An elegant blonde climber, Tommy thought, or even an expensive hooker.

She's a remarkable looker, Francesca said, but she's trying to be a Marilyn Monroe look alike.

What do you mean?

She's highlighted that little mole on her left cheek as a beauty spot, instead of hiding it. The woman did look a little like the film star from the sixties had looked in contemporary pictures, but Tommy didn't think she was exploiting the appearance deliberately.

Like I said, he answered, I don't know who the woman is, but she looks as if she might be here out of duty rather than pleasure. I wonder whether she's an employee in some shady business or here under duress.

Or here professionally, Francesca suggested, echoing Tommy's own thought from a moment before.

One waiter was holding Olitambu's chair for him, another was handing out menus. The first waiter went off and returned with a bottle of wine. He opened it in front of the trio and poured a taste into Olitambu's glass. The crook took a little sip sagely, and Tommy wondered whether he really was a connoisseur or just pretending. He nodded and the waiter filled both his and the woman's glasses. The bodyguard, if that's what he was, settled himself with his back to the mirror and poured himself a tumbler of something from a jug on the table - water? It looked as if he was staying sober for some reason. Was he doubling as a chauffeur perhaps? The second waiter hovered, waiting to take their order.

I wonder how much they're paying for the extra service, Francesca mused aloud.

He's rolling in it and he could afford to pay, Tommy observed, but it's a better than even bet that he has something on the management beyond the price of food to make them that attentive.

As Tommy watched, a motorcycle despatch rider eased into the restaurant and looked around. He was anonymous in a full helmet with a black and red chequered stripe from front to back and leathers that hid most of him. He was holding a large padded envelope. The newcomer pushed up a visor on the helmet, but his features were not appreciably more visible. He unfolded a piece of paper and glanced at it before walking towards Olitambu's table, holding it out.

The despatch rider said something indistinguishable and bent over the flashy crook, who reached out with an air of indifference to take the paper - it looked to Tommy like a sheet to sign for delivery of the package. As he did so the bodyguard made a move to stand. The despatch rider pointed the padded envelope in the direction of the bruiser, who was lifted up straight for a moment and then slumped forward. The man himself was shielding the action from most diners, but Tommy was watching in the mirror. He was fascinated, but he had heard no shot to cause a disturbance, and the rest of the clientele seemed completely oblivious to events. He reached for his mobile phone.

Then the killer turned to Olitambu, who was in the act of signing the delivery note, pointed the envelope at him and shot him as well with the concealed gun - a single shot to the forehead: Tommy could see the little black hole and the look of surprise. The whole procedure was quick and clinical and nobody else seemed to have noticed. Not even Francesca had recognised the significance of the action.

Hellfire, Tommy said. The bastard's shot Olitambu in front of everybody! His mobile was already displaying the 'ringing' symbol.

The killer turned to the blonde woman and for a moment their eyes met. She seemed to close them as if waiting to be shot herself, but the killer turned away, picked up the delivery note Olitambu had dropped and walked determinedly but unhurriedly out of the restaurant before anyone other than Tommy had time to notice the assassination.

Won't be a moment, he told Francesca, tipping over his chair as he rushed for the door. He was already through on his mobile to the duty office at Witchmoor Edge CID as he dived between the tables.

Tommy here, he told DC Gary Goss. Shooting at the Five Locks Marina Restaurant. A bloke in a motorcycle outfit shot two people. I'm trying to get you a registration number for the getaway vehicle.

He ran out into the street and looked around. The restaurant fronted the Marina itself. The road outside was ornamentally cobbled and atmospheric, but not well lit. In the rain and the darkness it was difficult to see anything. Cars were parked across from the restaurant and beyond the cars the Leeds and Liverpool Canal bent eastwards again, towards the centre of Witchmoor Edge.

The phoney despatch rider was still walking, a little faster than before, across the road and in between the parked cars. He turned and raised the padded envelope towards Tommy. Realising his danger, the detective dived back into the restaurant, but he was still outlined in the doorway by the lights behind him. There was no sound of shots, but he felt something whistle past his head, shattering the glass door behind him. The second bullet caught him in the shoulder, spinning him sideways into the restaurant. Only by grabbing the doorframe did he steady himself.

Then several things happened, almost simultaneously: a motorbike roared from among the parked cars; pandemonium broke out in the restaurant, several diners became aware of the killing they hadn't witnessed and Francesca rushed over to Tommy from the window where she had been watching.

Sorry, Tommy said into his mobile phone. He took a shot at me. I didn't get a registration number. I didn't even get a proper look at the bike. It was a big thing. 1000cc maybe, largely blue and black.

What about the killer?

Six feet or just under. Anonymous leather motorcycle outfit. Helmet dark blue with a black and red chequered stripe front to back.

Right, I'll put out a urgent 'interest report' on that. Goss said. Two victims you said?"

Yes. Both dead I think. Jackson Olitambu and one of his bodyguards.

Olitambu?

Yes.

Goss whistled. He's pushed a lot of people lately. He must have pushed someone too hard.

Tommy was feeling at his shoulder and discovered a sticky wetness. He looked at his hand.

The bastard nicked my shoulder with one of the shots, he said. I'm going to have to drive up to Witchmoor General and have it seen to. I'll hang on here until you arrive, but get a move on.

I'll send in the nearest patrol car or two immediately and phone DI. Hampshire at home before I leave here, he said.

You'd better roust out the Scene of Crime team and the doctor as well, Tommy said.

I'll do that, Goss agreed. You'd better push off as soon as the uniform boys arrive.

Okay, but tell Millie I'll be at the hospital if she wants me.

Hammond snapped the phone shut as Francesca came up.

Have you got anything handy to write on? he asked. I've nothing here, and my notebook is in the car. I want to get names and addresses before anyone leaves.

I'll go get it, Francesca, said. Where is it?

Tommy took the car keys from his pocket. In the glove compartment, he said.

It was very unlikely that anyone could have seen anything useful, but he wanted to know who the blonde woman was and whether she had seen the envelope or the delivery note the killer had been holding. The note, of course, was almost certainly part of the cover, but she must have heard the man speak to Olitambu, so there was an outside chance that might help.

Police! Tommy said, flashing his warrant card to the diners around him. Would you all stay in your seats, please. A full investigation team is on its way and they will want the scene untouched. Someone will take the names of all the witnesses, so we can get statements later.

He looked around the restaurant again. There was no sign of the woman and his shoulder was starting to hurt. Francesca hurried back in.

If you start running after armed killers like that, without a weapon of your own, she said, I'm likely to end up as a widow, assuming I make it as far as the church.

Tommy grinned and then grimaced.

Francesca noticed and was all concern.

Only my shoulder, and it's just a scratch.

Scratches don't usually, cause that sort of reaction. I think a doctor should decide how serious it is, said his fiancÇ

Tommy looked around the restaurant again and at the place previously occupied by the woman of the trio.

Did you see that blonde woman leave? he asked Francesca.

I saw her get up and go to the toilet while you were getting yourself shot.

Tommy glanced across at the sign on the wall: 'Toilets and Emergency Exit' and arrow pointing the same way for both. Which had she gone to?

Did she take her coat with her?

You're still losing blood, Francesca said. Never mind blonde women, you'll need what's left of your strength for me!

She saw Tommy's expression and added, But I think she may have taken her jacket.

Tommy felt mildly sick and his shoulder was beginning to ache. He was also starting to feel a bit cold.

Let's get you to Witchmoor General and get your shoulder treated, she said insistently, and it sounded more sensible than ever.

A police siren sounded outside and Tommy, rather enjoying Francesca's concern in spite of himself, allowed her to lead him to the door. The two officers from the patrol car charged in as he was leaving: one of them recognised Tommy.

Victims are still slumped across the table, said the latter. I'll be at the hospital if anyone wants me. Look out for a blonde woman who was sitting at Olitambu's table when he was murdered. She may have gone to the loo, which is pretty natural, or she may have scarpered, which is pretty suspicious, especially as she didn't leave by the front door. We need to talk to her, because she was right next to Olitambu when it happened.

The uniform man nodded. Right, he said.

Tommy and Francesca were getting into his car as DC. Goss pulled in behind the patrol car, closely followed by another patrol. Tommy tried to raise to raise a hand in acknowledgement, but the effort shot a pain through his shoulder.

I'd better drive, Francesca said. Tommy didn't say anything, but he got in the passenger side.

Inside the restaurant the first patrol had cleared the area around the two murder victims who had both slumped across the table, and begun taking names and addresses.

We'll get in touch with you to get a more complete statement, one of the constables was saying to a couple putting on their coats with a view to imminent departure, as Gary Goss came in.

We didn't see anything much, the woman said. I saw the man in motorcycle gear vaguely, but I didn't take much notice. I didn't really even see him leave. It wasn't until the glass shattered and that third man got shot that I realised there was anything wrong. I really don't think we can help you.

We'll probably want a statement anyway, Goss told her. Somebody may have noticed something helpful, even if they don't realise it.

The police had worked their way through the patrons, noting down names and addresses before letting them go, and started on the restaurant staff, when the Scene of Crime team arrived to take their photographs of the scene. While they were doing that, Detective Inspector Millicent Hampshire strode in.

Millicent Hampshire was rising forty and tall for a woman, pleasant looking and sinewy rather than slim, with wavy hair showing wisps of grey in a few places. She was part Afro-Caribbean and had a rather 'prim' appearance, though that was certainly misleading. She was also a detective with a formidable reputation, though her reputation owed more to her being psychic than she admitted publicly.

Millicent had been at home reading, when DC Goss had called her. She had dropped everything and come immediately she had put down the phone. Her coffee was half finished and her book open by the phone.

How are we doing, Gary? she asked DC. Goss.

We have names and addresses for all of the patrons except one and I've talked to the staff. Tommy Hammond was slightly injured by the killer. He's gone to Witchmoor General. His girlfriend's taken him. They saw the whole thing apparently.

Right. I'll drive up and talk to them in a minute, she said. Anything obviously odd. Doesn't fit in? she asked.

One odd thing, Goss said. "According to the first patrol to arrive, Tommy told them to look out for a blonde woman who was sitting at Olitambu's table when it happened. She's gone, which is odd. The staff say they have no idea who she was.

Millicent looked interested. That is a little odd, I suppose, she said. And I like odd things, because solving oddities usually helps solve the crime.

She looked at the victims' table. Sergeant Tucker and the SOC team had finished with the photographs and stood aside.

Any latents on the cutlery? Hampshire asked.

Knife, fork and spoon have been wiped, said Tucker. She hadn't started on the food, because they'd only just ordered and there are just one set on the plate of rolls, and they'll be the waiter's, I should think.

DI Hampshire scanned the table. There was a half full bottle of wine, a half full glass next to Olitambu and a clean one knocked over by the bodyguard and an almost full tumbler of water beside it. There was no third glass, empty or otherwise.

If they'd only just arrived, I don't believe Olitambu drank all that wine himself while the woman didn't have any, she said, half to herself. She must have taken the bloody glass with her.

I wondered that, Tucker agreed.

If you've finished here go and ask the waiters about menus. Her prints might be on that. Millicent decided.

Okay, Tucker said. He gestured to his silent sidekick and went out at the rear of the restaurant as Brian Millard, the police doctor, bounced in at the front.

Good evening Millicent, Millard said, beaming. What have you got for me tonight?

Two bodies, Hampshire said. On this occasion we know exactly when they died and we know how they died.

Then you hardly need me at all, the doctor said brightly. How come you're so certain of the details?

DC Hammond was a witness. However, there are several things I do need to know.

Well let me have a look and then shoot away.

He took a quick look at Olitambu. I meant 'shoot away' metaphorically, of course, he added, seeing the bullet hole in the victim's forehead.

What can you tell me about the weapon?

I need an autopsy and you need a ballistics report to be certain, he said, but this looks like a fairly small calibre weapon, aimed very accurately.

He lifted up the bodyguard's head. The bullet hole was identical.

Very, very accurately, the doctor said. Almost identical. There's no exit wound but the bullet seems to have scrambled their respective brains enough to cause an instant death.

A professional job? Millicent wondered.

I would say it's very probable, the doctor agreed.

Sergeant Tucker returned from the kitchen. You're not going to like this, he said to Millicent.

Go on.

According to the staff, they hadn't collected the menus, she must have run off with those as well. There apparently was another wineglass - a waiter had just topped both Olitanbu's glass and the woman's. They say they didn't move it."

She must have taken it with her, as we both suspected, Millicent mused.

She obviously wasn't making it easy for you to find her and ask questions, the doctor suggested. Can I have the bodies taken away for autopsy? He nodded towards two ambulance men who had come silently into the restaurant.

Millicent nodded, and turned to Goss. I'm going up the hospital to talk to Tommy Hammond, she said. You'd better stay here and take statements from the staff. Find out whether there was a booking and who took it. Find exactly what was booked. Talk to the waiters and get everything you can about the woman. Goss nodded.

You put out an interest report on the bike? she continued

I did that within minutes of the shooting.

It might turn up something, Millicent said. To Millard she added: let me have an autopsy report as soon as you can and the bullet for ballistics.

I'll do it first thing tomorrow, the doctor said, and began directing the ambulance men to take the bodies away.

See if you can find the bullet that broke the glass in the door, Millicent said to Sergeant Tucker on the way out. It might be quicker and less messy than waiting for the autopsy.

With that she went out into the rain and darkness to drive to Witchmoor General to talk with Tommy Hammond and his fiancée.

Tommy and Francesca were in one of the treatment rooms in accident emergency when Millicent arrived. The doctor had already gone and the nurse was just finishing off.

Now, as the Doctor Khan told you, the bullet went right through without hitting bone or anything vital, but there's quite a bit of muscle damage, the nurse said. The wound is not serious but you'll have to keep your arm down or the tear is going to be under stress and it won't heal. After a week or so of keeping it still, the muscle's going to stiffen up, so you'll need to attend for some rehab physiotherapy.

It's a good thing the killer missed or I'd be widow before I was married, Francesca said, only half joking.

Oh I don't think he missed, Millicent remarked. I think he was a professional. He knew very well that we'd pull out all the stops for a dead cop. He just wanted to create a distraction.

Well, he distracted me, said Francesca.

Is there somewhere we can sit for five minutes or so while I talk to my detective, Hampshire asked the nurse.

The cafe is closed this time of night, she said, you could get a drink from the machines and sit in the empty cafe.

Thanks, Hampshire said. That sounds like a good idea. I won't keep you long, she added to Tommy and Francesca.

I could use a drink anyway, Tommy said.

Through the waiting area and turn left past the drinks machines, said the nurse and they went out in the corridor, while the nurse made ready for the next patient.

Okay, Millicent said. Give me a quick account of events. You can do a proper statement when you feel more up to it.

Tommy's shoulder had been causing considerable problems while the doctor and the nurse had been messing around with it, but sitting down with Francesca on his good side and coffee from the machine he was now feeling considerably more comfortable.

I was in the Marina restaurant with Francesca, he said. There was a mirror just behind her and I saw the reflections of Olitambu, a bruiser of a bodyguard and a blonde woman come in and sit at a table right in my line of sight. The wine waiter brought a bottle of red plonk. Olitambu tasted it like he was a connoisseur and then the waiter filled both glasses ...

They all had wine? Millicent asked.

Not the bodyguard. I thought maybe he was driving or something, but Olitambu and the woman did.

Go on.

A man in motorcycle gear came into the place. I thought he was a despatch rider or something, carrying a big padded envelope. He pushed up his visor and opened a folded paper, like delivery note and walked across to Olitambu holding it out. He leaned right over them, so other people couldn't see what was going on, said something to the 'Flava'. Then he shot the bodyguard. I didn't know for sure what he'd done until I saw him shoot Olitambu.

No shot?

No sound at all. A silencer on the gun and the padding on the envelope I guess.

What happened next?

Several things almost at the same time, said Tommy. First I started dialling the department on my mobile. The killer looked the woman straight in the eyes. Then he turned and walked out. I ran to the door to see if I could see registration number of the bike. The bloke was across the road. He took a couple of shots at me so I went back inside to look for Olitambu's woman but she'd gone. Did you find her?

No. There was no sign of her.

We may be able to get her from her prints.

The cutlery was wiped clean and the plates and even the menus were gone.

What about her wineglass? Tommy asked.

That was gone too, Millicent said. We've your description of the woman and nothing more.

If you've got her picture we could identify her, Francesca said.

Can you come into HQ tomorrow and have a look?

"Not too early. I'm taking