Finding Lucy Read online

  Finding Lucy

  The Dream Traveler

  Book Three

  Ernesto H Lee

  Copyright © Ernesto H Lee 2019

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means without written permission from the author.

  ISBN – 13: 978-1795042512

  Cover art by Spiffing Covers

  Dedication

  If I have learned nothing else in my life, I have learned that no matter how dark your life may seem, love and hope are always possible.

  At a dark time in my life, a beautiful friend gave me the greatest gift that one person could give to another.

  I couldn’t see it and I couldn’t hold it - but I could feel it.

  It wasn’t the most unique, the most expensive, or even the most elaborately wrapped gift - but its value was immeasurable.

  Love and hope have the power to brighten the darkest days.

  By giving these things, we lose nothing and gain everything. Love and hope knows no limits. Give generously.

  M, you are my candle in the darkness x

  Ernesto H Lee

  13th March 2018

  Preface

  It’s been almost two months since my joyride in the back of a police van with sergeants Huntley and Bellmarsh, and I think it would be fair to say that a lot has happened since then.

  In the two weeks following on from the arrest of Detective Superintendent Clive Douglas, the remaining members of ‘The Network’ were systematically rounded up and most were only too willing to spill their guts and pass the blame on to others in return for a lighter sentence. I say most, because two very senior individuals chose to follow the example of Assistant Chief Constable Maurice Butterfield. Rather than face the shame of arrest and imprisonment, one former magistrate took a nose dive off the balcony of his swanky Mayfair penthouse apartment and a serving chief inspector stepped in front of a speeding train at Kings Cross station.

  Call me prejudiced, but the only real loss in my opinion is the fact that, like ACC Butterfield, they will never be held accountable for their crimes. Many others will, though. And due to the scale of the corruption and seniority of the players involved, the story of ‘The Network’ was front-page news for the best part of a month.

  Each passing day brought a fresh slew of revelations and arrests to keep the public and the press hooked, much to the annoyance and embarrassment of those in power. At one point towards the end of the first week, questions were even asked in parliament about how such corruption could go undetected for so long within the senior echelons of the Police, the Judiciary, and Local Government. I suspect that some of those asking the questions were possibly trying to divert attention away from themselves, but only time will tell if I am right.

  Regardless and, suffice to say, the level of concern within the government was enough to push the senior leadership within the Police Service to accelerate the investigation and to apprehend the remaining suspects as quickly as possible.

  By the end of week two, the final suspects had been taken into custody and eventually public interest in the case, or lack thereof, pushed the story further and further towards the back pages of those publications still interested enough to cover it.

  Before this, one particularly satisfying moment for me was the arrest and return to the UK of Mr. Desmond Carter. With the police diverted looking for other high-profile suspects, he had managed to slip out of the country to Spain. His freedom was short-lived, however. With his photograph circulated to every hotel and boarding house throughout Europe it was only a matter of time before he was recognized. After just twelve days on the run he was found hiding under his bed in a cheap Magaluf hotel.

  Rumor has it, that he cried and pissed his pants when the cuffs were going on his wrists. I know about this rumor because I started it and as far as anyone else is concerned now, it is a hundred percent true and that suits me just fine.

  And what about my old friend Detective Superintendent Clive Douglas? After his arrest, he was remanded in custody to Meerholt Prison, but unlike me and for exactly the reasons you would expect, he opted for the supposed safety of solitary confinement.

  Unfortunately for him, he seriously underestimated the power and influence of Frank Butler and after a particularly unpleasant encounter with a razor blade stuck into the end of a toothbrush, he was quickly transferred to a maximum-security prison in the north of England – minus half of his left ear and with twenty-seven stitches in his face and neck.

  I took no particular pleasure in the news of his injuries, but neither could I feel any sympathy for him. For a man that has spent the best part of his life dispensing his own particular brand of justice without compassion or remorse, this was in my opinion a long overdue reckoning. I am only thankful that he is still alive and will hopefully have many years of happy isolation in which to reflect on his actions.

  As for myself, I was kept in hospital for nearly four weeks. Just after my discharge, I paid a visit to Darren ‘Daz’ Phillips at his home to thank him. God only knows what this man is made of. Despite taking both barrels of a shotgun in the chest and only being released from hospital a few days before me, he was already up on his feet and having a kick-about with his son in his garden. As you can imagine, he wasn’t exactly pleased to see me. My arrival was initially met with a barrage of expletives and threats of violence from both Darren and his missus Karen. Thankfully, my news that all the pending burglary charges had been dropped calmed the situation, and when I mentioned the possibility of a fat compensation check all was forgiven, and I was duly invited in for a couple of cold cans of Stella.

  I don’t think I can exactly describe us as best friends now, but I did leave their house with the distinct feeling that this wouldn’t be the last time that our paths would cross.

  I also visited Billy a few times in his bail hostel and, with the help of Jean Monroe, we were able to have his sentence reduced to six months of community service. As of now, he has managed to keep himself out of trouble and has even started a part-time job stacking shelves in a supermarket. In a few weeks’ time he will be moving back in with his mum and dad and I am hopeful that he has turned a corner in his life.

  For the rest of the time, I have been playing an increasingly difficult game of avoiding Ben Pinto at all costs.

  Finding out I had a son just a few years younger than myself was a kick in the guts. Finding out that he is also a dream traveler and that he knows I am his father was a kick in the guts with steel-toe-capped boots on! He has been calling constantly for the past few weeks and no doubt wants to discuss his plan to be my partner. Thankfully, between my recuperation, physiotherapy, interviews with internal affairs, DCI Morgan and the serious crimes squad, along with visits from my mother and a serious of unfruitful dates with the lovely Nurse Samuels, I have thus far managed to put off this inevitable conversation with him.

  It’s a conversation that we need to have, though, and it’s going to come soon. I have absolutely no intention of letting Ben get involved in my investigations. If my experience from the last few months has taught me nothing else, it has taught me that even with my own experience of dream travel and police work, I still have a lot to learn. There is no way on earth that I am going to allow a complete novice like Ben to tag along and put both of us at risk.

  My only issue is that even if I turn his offer down, I have no real way of stopping him and perhaps not knowing where or when he might turn up might be even worse than allowing him to help. It’s a question I don’t even want to contemplate. So, as usual, I will bury my head in the sand until I need to confront it again. For now, I have other more immediate concerns to think about.

  Today is the first official day back at work for me and Cath
after our recovery. The investigation into ‘The Network’ is far from over. In all likelihood, given the depth of the conspiracy, it could take years to complete and bring all the suspects to court, but life goes on and there are many more unsolved cases that deserve our attention. I have been out of action for nearly two months and now I am ready to sink my teeth into another juicy case.The office can wait, though – there is somewhere else that I need to be first.

  Sean McMillan

  17th April, 2018

  Present Day – Tuesday, 17th April, 2018

  Until this morning I had still been using a walking stick to help take the pressure off my right leg. There is no way, though, that I will be using it today, or indeed on any day from now on. If I am honest with myself, I haven’t needed it for at least two weeks. It was more just the comfort of knowing it was there if I did need it.

  Today is my first day on the job as a Detective Sergeant and I have no intention of letting the team see me as anything less than fully fit.

  By 9 am, I am up, showered, shaved, and dressed in a new made-to-measure suit, hopefully befitting of my new rank and status. Just before 10, my taxi drops me off at the entrance to Hounslow Town Hall.

  Apart from a few other people going about their normal business, I am pleased to see that the only person waiting for me at the top of the stairs is Catherine.

  Over the course of the last two months I have met up with Cath many times to catch up and quite a few of our physio sessions have been at the same time, so there is no awkwardness in seeing each other today. This is the first time in quite a while, however, that we have seen each other suited and booted, and I can’t help smiling at how glammed up Cath is.

  “Wow, Cath! Anyone would think you were here for something special. Don’t tell me, you’re getting married? Who’s the lucky fella?”

  “Well, it’s not you, Sean,” she replies. “Not after leaving me standing here on the stairs for ten minutes. That’s not a good start to married life. Nice suit, by the way. Primark have really raised the bar with that one.”

  We both laugh at her killer sarcasm and I am halfway through a comment about her concussion returning, when the main door to the Town Hall opens and Detective Chief Inspector Morgan steps out immaculately dressed in his best uniform.

  “If you don’t mind, let’s not keep the Assistant Commissioner waiting. This is one of those rare occasions in your career that you might be able to get away with it – but let’s not push it please. Just to be on the safe side, a bit of a limp might help, Sean.”

  It’s a great feeling to be back and this bit of light humor from Morgan helps to diffuse the nerves we were both trying unsuccessfully to hide. Morgan leads us into the main civic hall and the gathered crowd stand and applaud us all the way to the stage where we are greeted by the Assistant Commissioner of the Metropolitan Police, Sir Greville Stanley.

  The Chief Constable of the Bedfordshire Constabulary and the Lord Mayor of Hounslow are also in attendance, and after a brief introduction, we are guided to our seats.

  The Assistant Commissioner remains standing. Following a short pause to check his notes, he moves forward to a lectern, adjusts the height of the microphone, and starts the delivery of his carefully prepared speech to the assembled audience.

  “As police officers, there are many difficult and stressful times in our careers, so when I am asked to attend an occasion like this one, it does of course give me immense pleasure and an immense sense of pride in the Police Service and the officers that serve within it. When a police officer willingly puts him or herself in a position where their own life is at risk, it demonstrates beyond all dou …”

  At this point my mind starts to wander and I turn my attention to the audience, the vast majority of whom are police officers. It looks like every available officer from the Cold Case team is in attendance. There are also a large number of civilians, including councilors, my friend and solicitor Jean Monroe, reporters, and some of the nursing staff that helped with my recovery.

  It’s no surprise that I can’t see Karen Samuels amongst them. We had a few dates after my discharge from hospital, but any spark of romance quickly fizzled out and whilst we parted on good terms, it’s probably for the best that she is not here – less embarrassment all round this way.

  I am surprised, though, to see Billy sitting next to Darren and Karen Phillips in the front row. I am of course happy to see them, but I had no idea that they had been invited. The invitation I did know about was the one extended to Maria and Ben Pinto. Maria is looking as glamorous as ever sitting to the right of my mother, but it is Ben that has caught my attention and not because of anything in particular he is doing. Seeing him reminds me again that I can’t avoid him forever.

  I am so wrapped up in thoughts of how to handle Ben that I don’t notice that Sir Greville has finished his speech and has asked me and Catherine to stand up. A sharp dig in the ribs from Cath brings me back to reality and we both move towards the front of the stage.

  “It gives me great pleasure to present the Chief Constable’s commendation for exemplary service to Detective Sergeant Sean McMillan and Detective Constable Catherine Swain.”

  The applause from the audience and the flash of cameras seems to go on forever and we are both hugely relieved when it finally dies down and we can step off the stage and relax slightly. What follows next is a short reception with lots of hand shaking, pats on the back, and requests for quotes or pictures from the press with Cath and me holding our commendation certificates.

  Unused to such attention, Catherine looks almost as relieved as I feel when DCI Morgan finally excuses us and ushers us outside to his waiting car.

  “Well then, you pair, now that we have that out of the way, let’s get back to some real police work, shall we?”

  “Absolutely, sir,” I reply.

  “Great – back to Blackwell Station please,” Morgan tells the driver. “Go easy, though, we have a couple of celebrities on board.”

  With a knowing smirk to DCI Morgan, the driver pulls away and heads towards Blackwell. “Right you are, sir. I will have you and this pair of celebrities safely there in fifteen minutes.”

  By the time we arrive at the station, most of our colleagues are already back at their desks and we once more must run the gauntlet of handshakes, congratulations, and welcome-back speeches.

  This new-found celebrity status will probably last only as long as our next failure or screw up, but we might as well milk it for now and Morgan waits patiently as we both soak up the praise. I can tell, though, that he is keen to get to work and after ten minutes, I nod to Cath and we follow Morgan to his office.

  Detective Sergeant Sarah Gray is waiting for us and she stands up and smiles when we enter the room.

  “Sean, really great to see you back. You look well and congratulations on a job well done. Your commendation and promotion were both very well deserved.”

  My promotion hasn’t really sunk in yet, so Sarah addressing me by my first name causes me to flush slightly with embarrassment.

  “Thank you, Sarah. It’s good to be back.”

  Then she turns to Catherine and adds, “DC Swain, you’re also looking well. Your commendation was much deserved. Personally speaking, though, I think it should have been a medal for what you did. Perhaps if you had been a man … Don’t you agree, sir?”

  Now it’s Morgan’s turn to be embarrassed and he looks like he is unsure if DS Gray is joking or not.

  “Um, yes, perhaps, but a chief constables commendation is not something that is given away lightly, DS Gray.”

  Then turning to Cath and me, he adds, “Both of you are a credit to the force and to this team. Now, please, let’s get down to business, shall we?”

  Morgan takes his seat and removes a thick manila folder from the top drawer of his desk. I can see already from its condition that it is much older than anything we currently handle. This is confirmed when Morgan drops it in front of me.

  Handwritten on the
front of the folder is the name ‘Lucy Partington-Brown’ and surprisingly the date: March 14th, 1972.

  I reach over to take it, but Morgan stops me.

  “Is that name familiar to you, Sean?”

  My face gives away the fact that the name means nothing to me. Morgan speaks again before I can answer.

  “No, I guess it wouldn’t. This case was a bit before your time. I was only a youngster myself, but it was headline news in 1972.”

  “Is it a murder case, sir?” I ask.

  “That’s what I need you and DC Swain to find out, Sean. It’s currently still classified as a missing person case, but pressure from surviving family members looking for answers has resulted in the case been handed over to us to take a fresh look.”

  The longer a case has been cold, the less likely it is for any new investigation to reveal any new evidence, so after a break of forty-six years, making any progress on this case under normal circumstances would be extremely difficult. It must be a particularly significant or high-profile case for it to be re-opened now.

  “After more than forty years, sir, that must be some significant pressure from the family, or have they provided some new information?”

  “No new information, Sean. It’s the Partington-Brown name that has been the influencing factor in bringing this case to our attention. Lucy Partington-Brown is, or was, one of the daughters of Sir David Partington-Brown. At the time of Lucy’s disappearance, he was the Member of Parliament for Spalding in Lincolnshire.”

  “So, the sister has been applying pressure, sir?” I ask.

  “No, Sean, it’s Sir David himself that reached out to the home office to have the case re-opened.”

  “The father is still alive? Wow, he must be cracking on a bit. He must be at least a hundred by now, sir.”

  Morgan is not impressed with my comment and lets me know it.