by Carol Wyer
He scooted to his desk and tapped at the computer keys. ‘There!’
‘What have we got?’
‘There’s a small surveillance camera attached to St Mary’s church. It picked up some strange activity on Sunday morning.’
‘Why didn’t we get hold of this earlier?’
‘When I asked about it, I was told it only covered the church grounds and the gates were padlocked, so it wasn’t a top priority. It turns out the camera wasn’t set at the correct angle; something had knocked it off balance. The church warden noticed it earlier and alerted the team, who then checked it.’
Lucy pulled up a seat to examine the footage that had been sent through. The first shot was of the church footpath, verges neatly trimmed. It slowly moved left to right, sweeping over the gravestones. Lucy could make out inscriptions on the tombs, and flower arrangements and small ornaments on one grave. The picture continued and the camera now settled in position. They could now see the top of the wall and the footpath beyond. The timeclock counted the minutes and seconds, and at 12.43 and 15 seconds, the front tyre of a motorbike came into view. Lucy held her breath as the bike halted. There was nothing for several minutes, merely flashes of movement that indicated the driver was there. Without warning the camera began to swing back.
‘No!’ said Lucy, straining forward to see the person who was now walking past. She glimpsed a dark figure moving away, with what appeared to be a can in their gloved hand. The camera rested on the footpath.
‘Shit! That’s not much to go on, is it?’
‘It’s something. The technical team are trying to establish the make of bike.’
‘Remind me which bikes the Curtis boys own.’
‘They both have 125 cc bikes. Charlie’s is a Yamaha YZF-R125 and Seth owns a Honda CB125.’
‘When we went around on Sunday morning, Charlie’s Yamaha was in the yard. Paul worked on it that afternoon after Cathy left. That could be Seth’s bike.’
‘But who’s riding it?’
‘It could be any of them except they all claim to have alibis for that night.’ Lucy scraped back her chair. ‘I’ll run it past Natalie and let her decide what to do.’ She thundered down the stairs towards the interview room, tapped on the door and asked if Natalie could step outside for a minute.
Several minutes later, Natalie presented the fresh information to Paul, who shrank in horror. ‘I wasn’t there. It isn’t me. I don’t own a motorbike.’
‘But Charlie and Seth do. You could have borrowed theirs.’
‘Charlie’s had been misfiring all week and wouldn’t run properly. I was working on it. You know that. Seth wouldn’t let anyone borrow his bike, not even me. The keys to it are on his key ring, which he hangs onto. He’s very protective of his bike. I couldn’t have used either bike, and after I finished playing video games with the boys, I went to bed.’ His shoulders began shuddering again. ‘Cathy confirmed it. She knew what time I went to bed. If only she were here to tell you again!’ He wiped his hands up and down his face to clean them of tears and snot.
He was a snivelling wreck; a broken man. Natalie wasn’t sure which way to turn. They had little to nothing to place him at the scene of the arson attack, or at any of the crime scenes. Was she barking up the wrong tree? Had Seth duped them and driven to St Mary’s church, parked up and taken a can of petrol to the house to set it ablaze? Was Habib wrong about who he’d claimed to have seen?
She studied the whimpering man in front of her. Gavin had called him weedy and a wimp yet he’d attacked a young woman, Sandra M, at the nightclub and broken her nose. His ex-girlfriend had claimed he could be violent but had withdrawn her complaints. There could be another side to this man. If Cathy were alive, would she reconfirm his whereabouts or would she say that she’d been mistaken, got the time wrong, or maybe even covered up for him? She made an instant decision to search all of Paul’s flat. They still had the warrant they requested when searching for the Adidas trainers. Maybe they could uncover something that would help place one of the Curtis family at the scene: identify the bike from its tyre or, ideally, retrieve the receptacle that had contained the petrol.
Thirty-Four
Wednesday, 4 July – Evening
The afternoon dragged into evening. Social services were dispatched to arrange for the Curtis boys to find alternative accommodation for the time being. Paul was still being held for questioning but continued to bleat his innocence. Tucker was cautioned and sent to a cell for the night. Reluctantly, Natalie wound it up for the day. As much as she would have liked to press on, they were all only human, and they needed some time to recuperate.
Drawing up onto her front drive, Natalie realised she was glad to be home. No matter what troubles they’d faced or what problems still lay ahead, her home was her sanctuary. The thought of sitting down with her family with a glass of chilled wine was tantalising, and for the time it took to walk inside from the car, she felt relief at being here.
A burst of laughter came from the sitting room that lifted her spirits. There hadn’t been enough light-heartedness recently. Leigh was having a fit of giggles. The sound warmed her heart. She glanced in and spotted David in his favourite chair, a glass of whisky balanced on the arm of it. He caught sight of Natalie and paused the film.
‘Hey, Mum!’ said a pink-cheeked Leigh, squirming about on the settee to focus on her. ‘We went to McDonald’s after school and then we bought this DVD, Humor Me. It’s hilarious.’
‘It’s about a grown man who has to move in with his ageing father. It is pretty funny,’ said David.
‘I’ll come and watch it with you. I need a quick shower and a glass of wine but not in that order.’
‘I’ll get it for you. I bought a bottle today and put it in the fridge in case you fancied a glass.’ David eased forward to stand up.
‘No, stay there. I won’t be long.’ She was pleased at such thoughtfulness.
‘You sure?’
‘Yes. Carry on.’
He flopped back into the cushion and set the film off again. A cloud of giggles followed her to the kitchen, where she reached for the wine and poured a large glass. It was cool and refreshing and tasted slightly of lemons. Perfect! After another mouthful she topped up her glass and, taking it with her, padded upstairs to the bedroom. Josh’s door was slightly ajar. She poked her head into his room to say hello but it was empty, the computer paused on a game he’d been playing. She was about to move off when the bathroom door opened and he stumbled out then hesitated when he caught sight of her.
‘You okay?’
‘Of course I am.’
‘Josh, look at me.’ She placed the glass on a chest of drawers, her desire to drink it forgotten.
He faced her, eyelids flickering as if struggling to stay open. His pupils were dilated, his speech very slightly slurred. She lifted a hand to his forehead to check for a temperature and he flinched.
‘I’m not a baby,’ he grumbled.
‘Are you sure you feel all right?’
‘Yes.’
‘Have you eaten today?’
‘Yes.’ His sulky response was out of character.
‘Have you been drinking?’ she asked cautiously.
‘No!’ He breathed out exaggeratedly into her face.
His reaction caused further concern. He didn’t smell of alcohol but it was apparent to Natalie that he wasn’t himself. Of the two children, Josh was always most alert, better behaved, less volatile and the one she’d come to rely on to behave sensibly, yet he was behaving cagily, his whole stance suggestive of somebody who was guilty – but of what? Her maternal instincts kicked in first. He might actually be sickening for something and these were warnings of some underlying serious condition or illness. She smiled warmly and put a hand on his upper arm.
‘Sorry. I’m just being an over-concerned mum. What have you been up to today?’
‘Not much.’
‘Did you go out?’
His brows knitted together. ‘N
o. Yes. I did for a while.’
His confusion caused more red flags. She hadn’t asked a difficult question.
‘Come and sit down for a sec,’ she said, walking to his room.
He dropped his head. ‘I don’t need another lecture.’
‘No one is giving you a lecture.’
‘Dad does… every day.’
‘Sit down.’ She dropped onto the edge of his bed and patted the crumpled duvet.
He chose the chair by his desk.
‘Josh, are you unhappy?’
‘No. Of course not.’
‘It must be weird having no school to go to and hanging around with Dad all day.’
‘It’s okay.’
‘You’re not worried about your exam results, are you?’
‘No.’
His eyelids half-closed, causing her to react with, ‘Have you taken any pills or medication from the cabinet?’
‘No.’
‘You seem out of sorts. I want to check there’s nothing that might be making you act this way. Have you taken anything?’
‘Act in what way?’
‘Please don’t avoid the question. Be straight with me, Josh. I can forgive anything but just be honest with me. That’s all I ask.’
‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’
‘I think you do.’ She knew her children and husband, and all the indicators that they were being economical with the truth or hiding something: Josh’s was a physical reaction that gave him away – a reddening he couldn’t control; Leigh would squint into the distance as if she’d spied a tiny bird on the horizon; and David had numerous tells – scratching, suddenly humming tunelessly or head-rubbing. She’d given birth to this boy and lived with him for almost seventeen years. She knew him inside out, and now, seeing him sat with floppy limbs and a scarlet flush spreading up his neck, she knew he was keeping something from her.
‘What have you taken, Josh?’ Her voice was firmer this time.
‘Nothing.’
She stood up in one movement and pulled out the bedside drawer.
‘What are you doing?’
‘Looking for whatever you’ve taken.’ She rifled through playing cards and notes and tangled earbuds.
‘Get off my stuff! This is my room. It’s my private space. You can’t do this!’
She ignored his protests and continued searching. Josh yelled at her to stop and David appeared.
‘What’s all the noise about?’
Natalie looked up. ‘Josh is on something.’
‘Don’t talk daft!’
‘David, look at him. He can hardly sit up straight. He’s not been right for a few days.’
‘He hasn’t taken anything. He’s tired, that’s all. He’s been glued to that computer most of the day.’
‘He couldn’t remember what he’d done today.’
‘I get like that too. It’s called boredom. Calm down. He hasn’t taken anything.’
‘I don’t need to calm down because I’m not worked up.’ She put the drawer back carefully. She stared at Josh, who couldn’t meet her eyes. ‘I’m concerned about you, Josh. That’s all.’ She left them both in his room and headed for the shower. When she emerged in her robe with a towel around her damp hair, she found David in the bedroom, leaning against the wall.
‘What were you thinking of?’
‘He’s showing signs of drug abuse,’ she said.
‘He’s showing signs of a teenager who spends too much time online. It’s little wonder he’s sluggish. He’s never off one device or the other.’
‘I want to search his room.’
‘No. I won’t let you do that. While you were in the shower, I talked to him about it. He said he wasn’t taking any drugs, so we’re going to leave it at that.’
She pulled the towel from her head and patted her hair dry. She was sure Josh was lying to them both. David took her silence to mean she’d accepted what he’d said.
‘You need to separate work and home life. You’ll only make matters worse if you pursue this. We’ll keep an eye on him.’
She wanted to disagree. Her boy needed protecting from himself but she accepted she’d handled it badly. She’d been more like a police officer and less like a mother. There was probably a better way of dealing with such matters, and she wished somebody had written a handbook on bringing up teenagers because at the moment she was stumped.
Thirty-Five
Thursday, 5 July – Morning
Leigh had been her usual grouchy morning self, David frosty, and there’d been no sign of Josh when she’d left the house. Natalie kicked her car door shut and marched into headquarters determined to resolve the investigation. At least it was something over which she had control.
As she’d stared at the ceiling wondering how best to handle Josh, her thoughts had jumped to the case and she’d had a thought, one that had caused her to ring Murray at eight o’clock and ask him to head to Armston before the morning meeting.
She headed straight upstairs to Forensics to see what, if anything, had been found. The news wasn’t great. A unit was still at the flat in Clearview and had nothing to show for their searches.
Darshan looked over his rimless glasses at her, his expressive eyes full of apology. ‘As you can see, the more the technical team enhanced the image of the motorbike’s tyre, the grainier it became. While it was possible to identify the letters “P” and “I”, indicating it’s a Pirelli tyre, they really couldn’t get sufficient clarity to determine a tread pattern. Pirellis are popular tyres and on both the Honda and the Yamaha belonging to the Curtis family. We’ve also tried here. We took tyre casts but we can’t match them, even using the latest cross-referencing software. Sorry, Natalie.’
It was a blow but one she’d half-expected. ‘No sign of any container used to carry petrol yet?’
‘None found so far.’
‘There has to be something.’
‘Unless they disposed of all evidence.’
Natalie suspected he was right. If any of the family had been involved in the fire or the murders, they’d have got rid of everything that might implicate them.
She stood outside the laboratory, mobile in her hand, waiting for Murray to ring. A group of white-coated officers, like a group of young doctors, approached and greeted her. She acknowledged them and paced back down the corridor. Sunlight streamed through the floor-to-ceiling windows that overlooked the road and bounced off her shoulders. Outside it was another brilliant blue day, the sort of day that ought to be spent beside the sea. She could never think of sunshine without thinking of the seaside and ice cream and walks along a sandy beach. The phone rang at last.
‘I’m emailing you a photograph,’ Murray said. ‘Your hunch was correct.’
‘You know what to do next then, don’t you?’
‘That’s an affirmative.’
She waited for the email alert, opened the attachment and then bounded down the stairs to join her other officers.
Paul sat hunched over like a toad in the corner of the holding cell. Natalie searched her soul to find some sympathy for the man but found none. Ordinarily, she wouldn’t be down here talking to a suspect, she’d leave such matters to the officers, but she wanted to sow extra doubt in his mind and add to the pressure he was undoubtedly feeling.
‘We’re going to question you further. You have the right to legal representation,’ she said.
‘I don’t know any lawyers,’ came the tired reply.
‘There’s one on-site and I strongly advise you to take up his offer to represent you.’
‘You’ve found out something, haven’t you?’
‘I’m not at liberty to discuss anything with you. I wanted to ensure you knew your rights.’
‘Are you going to charge me?’
‘You’ll be brought upstairs shortly.’
She turned on her heel and hoped she’d given him enough to weaken his resolve.
Natalie, Ian and Lucy were all present during
the interview. It took much the same format as the previous one with Paul denying any wrongdoing. Natalie decided to use the information she’d received earlier from Murray.
‘I’d like to go back to Sunday afternoon, soon after Cathy had gone to visit her friend. You claimed to have been working on Charlie’s motorbike. Is that correct?’
‘Yes.’
‘What was wrong with the bike, exactly?’
‘It had a bad misfire and an oil leak.’
‘Could it still be ridden?’
‘No. It was likely to break down or seize up completely.’
‘Is it working now?’
‘Yes. I fixed it yesterday. I had to find something to do to take my mind off what’s happened.’ The tears started again.
‘It is a Yamaha YZF-R125 bike. Is that correct?’
‘Yes.’
‘And it takes Pirelli Sport Demon tyres. Is that also correct?’
‘Yes, and so does the Honda. They’re popular tyres. Why are you asking me this?’
‘Just answer the questions, please. When did the leak on the Yamaha become apparent?’
‘I don’t know.’ The answer was sharp and quick. He suddenly tucked his hands under his armpits. ‘Why?’
‘You told us you went to bed at about midnight the night Roxy died. Cathy confirmed the time.’
‘Yes.’
‘Tell me, Paul, how did she know what time it was?’
‘There’s a clock by the bedside. She must’ve looked at it.’
Natalie studied his face, waiting for him to realise he was being backed into a corner. His forehead began to glisten slightly. She reached into a file and pulled out the photograph printed from the email Murray had sent her. She studied it before passing it across the table. Paul kept his hands clamped under his arms.
‘For the recorder, DI Ward is showing the suspect a photograph numbered JB8,’ said Ian.
‘This is a photograph of the bedroom you shared with Cathy. Which side of the bed do you sleep on, Paul?’