Vengeance On Tyneside

Chapter Four

Chapter FourThe following morning, the newspapers all led with the story of how a young woman by the name of Wendy Hamilton had been found with a stab wound at Newcastle Central Station. However, the news of her death had come too late for the national papers. Only the local daily newspaper carried the update.

Agnes bought a selection of newspapers from the small shop in the hotel reception to read while having breakfast. She was relieved to find that none of them contained a photograph of her. When she had called Alan after finding the victim at the Central Station, he had told her to stand well back until he arrived. She had understood his concern; on two occasions in the last eight months, she had been in the wrong place at the wrong time.

Nevertheless, she hadn't been too far away. She had stayed close by Wendy until the ambulance arrived. There was no way she was going to leave the young woman on her own. Even then, she had felt bad about stepping out of her line of sight. For heaven's sake, hers had been the only friendly face the poor woman had seen since someone had thrust a knife into her. But now, looking back, maybe Alan had been right to be cautious. What if the person who wielded the knife had still been loitering around somewhere in the crowd? And, what if the killer had been the man she had seen with Wendy earlier in the day?

Despite her earlier thoughts that the man on the beach couldn't have seen her, Agnes had to admit that it was possible he might have glanced up towards the Promenade and spotted her looking down at them. She now understood Alan's concern that the man could have noticed her in much the same way she had spotted Wendy Hamilton; by what she was wearing. Agnes clutched her throat, recalling the vivid blue skirt she had chosen to wear that day. At the time, it was because it had almost matched the cloudless sky, but now it seemed it might not have been such a good idea.

It was while these thoughts were mulling through her mind that her eyes were suddenly drawn to someone in one of the photographs. Unfortunately, the face was partly hidden as the person had a hood pulled up over his head. Also, to make matters worse, he was tucked behind others in the group. Either he was unable to get any closer to the camera, or he didn't want to be identified. Nevertheless, Agnes couldn't help thinking it was the same man she had seen with the woman on the beach. She leaned forward to take a closer look, but the picture was too small to make out much detail. However, there was one thing about him that she was certain about; the hoodie was the same colour as the one worn by the man on the beach.

* * *

The morning hadn't gone well for DCI Alan Johnson. Though, having been a detective for several years and a member of the Military Police before that, he should already have been well aware that everything doesn't simply fall into place during a murder inquiry. Nevertheless, he had hoped the victim's parents might have been able to give the detectives a lead as to where to begin the investigation.

Who she had been meeting that day would have been a start. Yet, they had no idea as to who she was seeing or where she had been going. It had been news to them that she had been seen on the beach with a man at Whitley Bay prior to her death.

“Don't kids talk to their parents anymore?” Alan said, as he paced up and down the floor of his office. “For goodness' sake, my father wanted to know where I was going, who I'd be with and what time I would be home, before I was allowed out of the house!”

“Times have changed, sir,” Andrews shrugged. “You need to keep up.” The sergeant moved his face closer to his computer screen to hide a grin.

“Don't I know it?” Alan retorted. He stopped pacing and looked across towards Andrews. “And you can wipe that smile off your face!”

“Sorry, sir.”

Alan moved over to his desk and slumped down into his chair. He sat quietly for a few minutes before he spoke.

“Do I seem old to you?” He pulled a face and shook his head. “Forget it,” Alan said, before his sergeant had a chance to reply.

He picked up his pen and looked down at his diary.

“It's just that I've been running a few things through my mind lately,” he mumbled.

But, after a moment, Alan heaved a sigh and threw down the pen.

“What I mean is – do I behave like someone older than my years?”

Andrews sat back in his chair and thought for a moment or two. He was aware that whatever he said would be the wrong answer.

“Well,” he said, after a long moment, “maybe it's just that you're a little too set in your ways.” He paused. “Anyway, what brought all this on?”

“Set in my ways?” Alan stroked his chin, thoughtfully. “Yes, I suppose I am… a little set in my ways.” He looked across at Andrews. “But not too much. I do have an open mind!”

“Yes, of course you do, sir. But like I said, what's brought all this on?”

Alan sighed. “It's some of the things Mrs Lockwood says. Oh, she's probably fooling me around, but sometimes I wonder whether she might see me as…” He broke off, seeking the right words.

“A bit of a stick-in-the-mud?” The words tumbled from the sergeant's mouth before he could stop them.

“I wouldn't have put it quite like that, Sergeant,” Alan retorted.

“Sorry, sir.” Andrews apologized for the second time.

Not knowing what to say next, the sergeant was thankful to see Morris stick his head around the door.

“Sir, the front desk has just phoned up to say that Mrs Lockwood is downstairs,” he said, looking at the DCI. “She says she needs to have a word.”