“Right, CCTV and house-to-house enquiries,” Jack said, nodding at Paul Evans and Colin Franklin respectively.
Evans said he had viewed what they could at the local authority office yesterday, but it hadn’t been easy, and as far as he could tell there was no sign of Tracey on it. He would be returning later today to collect all the footage Tyler had requested. “It may be that once I get the footage back here and view it on our equipment, we’ll have more luck,” Evans said.
“Yeah, especially if the Geek can work his magic,” Franklin chimed in.
The Geek was DC Reg Parker. A rotund man in his mid-thirties, Reggie had a cherubic face that belied a wicked – some would say irreverent – sense of humour. No one in the office was safe from his pranks.
“Good,” Tyler said. “What about house-to-house? Where are we with that?”
“It was all very hit and miss yesterday,” Franklin admitted, “but I’ll scope it properly this morning and then get the dockets put together,”
“I want you and Paul to sit down with me after this meeting and I’ll define the parameters for both CCTV and house-to-house,” Dillon said.
Then Jack asked Steve to talk them through Dawson’s arrest. This drew sniggers from the back of the room, which Jack silenced with a severe stare.
By this stage, everyone in the room, even the people on secondment from other teams, had heard about ‘the failed public relations exercise’. The general feeling was that they had scored an own goal by arresting Dawson, as it would be twice as hard to get any of the girls to trust them now.
Tim Barton had voiced the words that many of them had thought: Not even Steve Bull, who had more lives than a cat, could wriggle out of this one without getting his balls chewed off.
As Bull cleared his throat the room went quiet. “Although it was the last thing I’d intended to happen,” he said, staring directly at Jack, “arresting Sandra Dawson turned out to be a blessing in disguise.” He let his gaze wander around the assembled faces before continuing. “Because during the interview she told us who killed her friend, Tracey.”
The room erupted with noise. Just about everybody had something to say about this revelation, and they all wanted to say it at the same time.
“Quiet!” Dillon barked, and the room became hushed once more.
All eyes were riveted on Bull.
“Carry on, Steve,” Tyler told him. “Tell this lot what you told me and Mr Dillon just before the meeting.”
Taking a deep breath, Bull recanted Sandra’s story. As he shared her revelations a few of his colleagues grinned at each other; Steve ‘Teflon man’ Bull had come out smelling of roses yet again.
When Steve had described Winston’s facial injuries to his bosses, just before the meeting started, it had immediately dawned on Tyler that he’d already seen the man. Dillon had obviously been thinking the same thing because he’d nudged Tyler’s arm and whispered, “I knew that bugger was worth a stop. I told you so last night.”
“This information is crucial,” Tyler said. “Now we’ve got a clear direction to go in, so let’s get cracking.”
Jack handed Dean Fletcher, his lead researcher, the piece of paper with Winston’s registration number written on it and asked him to check it out. He also told him to run Winston through every database they had access to and then phone the Regional Crime Squad offices in Hainault and the Customs and Excise people over at Customs House; if Winston was involved in smuggling contraband, they were likely to have a file on him. Lastly, they were to check with the Met’s drug squad. Winston was bound to be known to them.
“One last thing,” Tyler said, “Can you have a gander at the various charities working in and around Whitechapel, preferably ones that have good interaction with the street workers. I saw a mini-bus from an outfit called The Sutton Mission last night, and it got me wondering if we ought to get one of these charities on board, to act as an intermediary between us and the working girls.”
Brian Johnson appeared at Tyler’s side. “I might be able to save you some time on that front,” he said. “There are a few very good charities in the area, all doing sterling work. However, The Sutton Mission is probably as good a starting place as any. They mainly work with the homeless, but they also do a lot for local prostitutes and drug addicts. They’re based in Old Montague Street, and their Director, Simon Pritchard, is a golfing buddy of Chief Superintendent Porter. In fact, Pritchard is one of the borough’s Lay Advisors, so he would probably be a good person to speak to. Even if The Sutton Mission can’t provide the help we need, they will definitely be able to steer us in the right direction.”
Tyler nodded, impressed. “Thank you, Brian. Deano, you can cancel my last. We’ll start with a visit to The Sutton Mission and see where we go from there.” He glanced around the room, trying to decide who was best suited to make the approach. He needed someone who was personable, which eliminated Dillon. He was too busy to go himself, but it really ought to be a supervisor, to demonstrate the urgency of the request. After a few fruitless seconds scanning the room, his eyes settled on Steve Bull, and a smile crept onto his face. Stevie was the perfect choice: polite, professional and non-judgmental.
After giving his Case Officer the good news, Jack left Dillon to task the rest of the detectives and headed for the office to call Holland. He sat down and momentarily closed his eyes, picturing the expression on Winston’s face as he’d driven by the previous night, thinking about the arrogance and malice that had been etched into his features. He instinctively knew one thing for sure: he wouldn’t come quietly.
He picked up the phone, hesitated a few moments and then slowly lowered
