by Carol Wyer
The television was on and Thea was alone in the sitting room, the toy dog on her lap.
‘Hey!’
She glanced up briefly but didn’t answer, attention tugged back to the singing princess on the screen. Natalie drew away and almost bumped into Josh.
‘Hi! You have a good time at Chatsworth?’
‘Awesome. Want to see some videos of it? The fireworks were amazing and there were dancing robots.’ He flicked through his phone apps, stopping at the photo gallery, and passed it over. Scarlet sparks burst across the screen, perfectly synchronised to an upbeat dance track. It was followed by a succession of bangs and pops and more colours as the sky illuminated with an impressive display.
‘That’s what I could have done with – a really decent box of fireworks, choreographed to explode in time to music. My display was woefully pathetic in comparison.’ Mike looked relaxed in his round-necked jumper and jeans, a glass of wine in his hand. ‘Josh showed me the videos. Brilliant, isn’t it? Forget laying on a party next year, we’ll book to go to Chatsworth ourselves and bugger all this messing about here with toffee apples and party games.’
Josh grinned and pocketed the mobile. ‘It’s definitely worth it. Right, I’ve got an assignment to tackle. Catch you later.’
‘Sure.’ Mike put an arm around Natalie’s shoulders and directed her into the kitchen, where he placed his glass on the table. ‘Thea is firmly engrossed in Beauty and the Beast, so do you fancy a cheeky glass of wine?’
‘I wouldn’t say no.’
‘Good.’ He headed to the fridge and lifted a bottle out. ‘I’m making the most of my last few hours off.’
‘You’ll find you’ve a lot to catch up on. The investigation is turning into a major one. Three victims.’
He poured out the wine and passed Natalie the chilled glass. ‘Do you think they’re connected?’
She sipped the cool liquid and thought briefly of Rachel. ‘Yes. I’m concerned the killer’s becoming more confident. They wrote a one-word message, in biro, on her forehead.’
‘What did they write?’
‘Guilty.’
He raised his own glass and drank then said, ‘Guilty of what?’
‘Don’t know. She doesn’t seem to have annoyed anyone we’ve spoken to. She had no family other than a father who thought the world of her and a stepmother who buzzed off home to Argentina. We can’t find any connections between her and the other victims, except she was killed on Marston Street, where Katie used to solicit, and she might have been a drug user.’
‘Mistaken identity? In the wrong place at the wrong time?’
‘I’d have agreed had it not been for the writing on her head.’
‘Who’s writing on their head?’ Thea asked.
‘Somebody silly,’ said Mike, quickly.
‘That is silly.’
‘Has the film finished?’
‘Uh-huh.’ She gazed at Natalie. ‘And Natalie promised she’d play Mario with us. You will, won’t you?’
‘I certainly will,’ said Natalie.
Mike put his glass on the table. His eyes twinkled merrily. ‘Come on, let’s show Natalie how it’s done.’
Chapter Fifteen
Sunday, 3 November – Evening
Natalie leant back against the settee. This was the most relaxed she’d felt in ages. Although Thea still hadn’t hugged her goodbye, she’d waved as she’d sprung along the path to her mother’s car. Natalie felt she’d made progress yet she also knew the next time Thea came to stay, she’d be back to her prickly self. Two weeks with Nicole and all the good work Natalie had accomplished would be wiped out.
Mike put an arm around her. ‘She likes you, you know.’
‘She isn’t making it obvious.’
‘She spoke about you when you weren’t here. I told her you chose the talking snowman. She was really pleased with it. You’re doing great. It isn’t easy for her.’
‘I know it isn’t.’
She snuggled into his warmth. He dropped his lips to her ear and whispered, ‘Thea’s left, Josh is working in his room and we have unfinished business.’
The buzzing of her phone on the coffee table suggested otherwise and he pulled away. She smiled at him. Mike, unlike David, wasn’t jealous of the interruptions and didn’t resent her job in any way.
Lucy spluttered out her words. ‘The Hatfield Herald has posted an article online. You’re not going to like it and the super will do his absolute fruit when he sees it.’
‘Hang on, Lucy, I need to read it.’
‘It’s on their website.’
Natalie crossed the room to the desk and turned on the computer. A few clicks of the mouse and she found what she was looking for. Mike joined her and read it over her shoulder.
NEW CRIME UNIT A WASTE OF TAXPAYERS’ MONEY
Chief Reporter – Bev Gardner
When Superintendent Dan Tasker announced the formation of a new crime unit, a super-team consisting of highly trained individuals, the residents of Samford were hopeful of a rapid reduction in crime levels, which had reached an all-time high.
Two weeks ago, this crew moved into its new premises, an 18th-century town house, Holborn House, located on upmarket Lichfield Road and once owned by Lord Samuel Samford. Valued in the region of £2,000,000 and refurbished by top design company Taylor and Match at a cost of around £850,000, the elite fighting squad have the most up-to-date technology to help them fight crime, yet in spite of the gross expenditure, the town has seen three murders in as many days. The victims, all female, have died under similar suspicious circumstances. You may well ask what is being done. DCI Natalie Ward, who heads this crack team, has only seen fit to issue one statement to the press. Certainly, she has offered no warning to the general public, nor has she addressed the growing concern there might be a serial killer targeting Samford’s young women.
The latest victim is 23-year-old Rachel Hardy, daughter of Eugene Hardy, owner of the oldest department store in Samford, Hardy’s, where she was senior sales manager. Rachel’s body was discovered early this morning on Marston Street, only metres away from the store. Her father is desperate to know if anybody witnessed the attack on his daughter.
Speaking to me, a devastated and tearful Mr Hardy said, ‘Rachel was a wonderful, warm person, respected by all who worked for and with her, as well as a brilliant career woman. She was instrumental in organising the annual family charity auction for Samford Hospital. It has, in its time, raised sufficient funds for an MRI scanner. How this can have happened to somebody like her is beyond me. I urge anyone who might have seen something last night to come forward.’
To date, there have been no arrests, and one source from within the team told me their one potential suspect has gone to ground, and the case was ‘baffling’ officers.
All of which leads this reporter to question the amount of taxpayer money already sunk into the formation of this unit that seems more intent on luxuriating in its refurbished offices than cracking crime.
In the absence of any direction from the leading officer, recently promoted DI Lucy Carmichael, this newspaper urges local women to not walk the streets alone at night.
‘What the…?’ said Natalie.
‘I know. It’s all bollocks. The media team at HQ issued a statement to the press to keep them informed, and who ratted us out and spoke to that bitch?’
‘Have you spoken to the team yet?’
‘No, I rang you first. Murray found the article. I know it won’t be him. He hates all journos and her in particular.’
‘I’ll come in. We need to do a damage-limitation exercise and I’ll have to issue a statement. Hang fire until I get there. I’ll try to talk to Bev first, see if I can convince her to hold her tongue and uncover our mole.’
‘Good thing I’m not speaking to her. I’d want to punch her in the face.’ With that parting statement, Lucy rang off.
‘Bev is a perpetual thorn in my side.’
‘Thorn? I’d say she
upped the stakes. More like a bulldozer. It reads to me as if she’s trying to topple you.’
‘She can think again, and as for Eugene Hardy! He didn’t want us to issue a statement and now I understand why.’
‘You might have your work cut out for you with him too.’
‘How do you mean?’
‘He has contacts – officials, politicians, you name them – and they’re probably mates with Eugene.’
‘Cheers. I’ll warn Lucy.’
‘Who do you think spoke to Bev?’
‘No idea.’
‘Maybe nobody did and she made it up for the hell of it.’
‘I don’t believe she’d fabricate something like that. I’ll talk to her, see if I can appease her. Looks like our unfinished business will have to wait even longer.’
‘I can wait.’ He put his hands on her shoulders and squeezed them then pulled away. ‘You’d better get going before I change my mind.’
Bev refused to name her source. ‘You know the rules as well as I do. If somebody wishes to pass on information, then I am duty-bound to protect their identity.’
‘You’re damaging the reputation of a new department at a time when it needs your support.’
‘Tell me, DCI Ward, are you anxious about the reputation of the department or your little protégée, DI Carmichael?’ She studied Natalie through half-closed eyelids. The open-all-hours café they sat in was close to the offices of the Hatfield Herald, where Bev was chief reporter. Too close for comfort for Natalie but one of the few places open on a Sunday evening and the only one where Bev was prepared to meet.
‘I’m concerned you will have struck fear into the hearts of people and led them to believe we are unable to find a serial killer who is preying on young women.’
‘Well, you aren’t able to locate the assailant and it’s extremely likely the same person murdered all three. All the victims were strangled.’
‘Your source told you that, did they?’
‘Maybe.’
‘We’re not playing on a level field here. Exactly how much do you know?’
‘Read the paper tomorrow and you’ll find out,’ she replied smugly.
‘This is serious. If you divulge too much information, you will at best stall the investigation and at worse scupper it. Both are irresponsible. I can prevent you but I’d prefer to ask you face to face not to publish anything which might jeopardise this case. We are chasing leads and we have a suspect who we are pursuing. You were given information out of the media office at HQ.’
‘They gave a bland statement. Besides, that’s not what I was told. You’re hunting for a potential suspect who you can’t find and who, by all accounts, has no link to the third victim. Rachel’s father is distraught. He told me you even suggested she’d been soliciting and taking drugs. How unkind of you, DCI Ward.’
‘Mr Hardy was upset at the news and he jumped to conclusions. We most certainly did not insinuate any such thing.’
‘But it’s true to say the first two victims were sex workers, and by virtue of the fact you told Mr Hardy you were looking for a man in connection to his daughter’s death, who might also have killed Amelia Saunders and Katie Bray, you implied his daughter was also one.’
‘That’s rubbish and you know it.’
‘I’m sure the public will interpret it the same way I have, and given Rachel was highly thought of, gave generously of her time for her charity work for the hospital, and was a respected career woman, your team is going to come out of all of this in a poor light.’
‘What do you want from me, Bev?’
The journalist’s eyes glittered. ‘A statement might do it, one in which you tell us exactly what you’ve established to date and how the crime team intend protecting the townsfolk from any further murders.’
‘I’ll give you a statement and I’ll tell you everything once we have the facts.’
‘Sorry, not good enough. I can get those from my source. I want to know what they can’t tell me… what you know.’
Natalie shook her head. ‘No. I can’t. We need to keep some vital information under wraps. Don’t you care that you could blow this wide open and the killer could escape?’
‘My main concern is keeping the public informed. It’s their right.’
‘It’s their right to stay safe and you are putting them in danger. We’re done here. I’ll get an injunction.’
Bev chuckled. ‘Go ahead. I’m sure I’ll be able to write something else, maybe even about the nepotism going on inside the force, and how you protect your favourites.’
‘You do come out with some crap. My sole concern is ensuring the killer doesn’t strike again. Lives are at stake. The lives of real people with families. They are at risk. You know me, Bev, and you know my team is dedicated and determined and eventually we’ll catch this killer.’ Natalie got to her feet. It was pointless trying to persuade the woman – she had as much emotion as a cold-blooded shark. She made for the door and heard Bev call her name. She turned around.
‘I’ll hold off for forty-eight hours but no longer.’
Natalie gave a curt nod and departed. It bought them a little time to make headway. Now, they needed to plug the leak in the department.
Chapter Sixteen
Sunday, 3 November – Night
The new headquarters were, as Bev had written, housed in one of Lord Samford’s town houses. For many years it had been owned by one of his distant relatives and been a museum dedicated to the life of the man after whom the town had been named, a man who, in his time, had also been chief of police. Following the death of the owner, the house had been gifted to the police force. It might well be valued at £2,000,000 but it hadn’t cost the taxpayer that amount, although the building had required structural reconstruction and internal work, which had run close to the figure flagged in the article.
Natalie climbed the three stone steps to Holborn House and held her pass to the scanner. The security camera blinked its red eye as she waited for the door to open with a quiet click onto a hallway which she crossed at a brisk pace, her rubber heels squeaking on the black-and-white polished tiles. She’d rung Lucy to let her know she was on her way and advised her to speak to the team. The leak had to be plugged.
‘We don’t need this sort of attention from the press. The investigation is difficult enough, and whoever has leaked this information has undone all the work we’ve managed to do so far. You were all selected because of your track records. You know how important it is that we are seen to be on top of this investigation yet somebody has undermined that.’
Natalie walked in to find Lucy with hands on her hips, voice quiet but filled with irritation. The team, minus Ian, was gathered in the room, faces long and grey. She folded her arms and waited by the door. Murray caught her eye and gave an almost imperceptible shake of his head. She took it to mean they didn’t know who had spoken to the journalist. Lucy hadn’t finished.
‘Anyone want to own up?’ She glared fiercely at each of them, met defiance when she landed on Andy, sprawled in his chair. ‘You know where to find me if you want to explain why you felt the urge to blab to Bev Gardner. Let me be clear on this matter: if this happens again, I’ll hound the person responsible and ensure they’re disciplined appropriately.’ She let silence hang in the room and then gave a nod of her head to indicate she’d finished her rant. ‘I’m calling it a night. Bugger off and get some kip.’
The office emptied quickly, leaving Natalie, Lucy and Murray alone.
Lucy sat with an exhausted sigh. ‘I hope whoever it was will keep their trap shut from now on.’
‘Whoever it is is a pain in the arse,’ grumbled Murray.
Lucy agreed then said, ‘Natalie, we found out where Rachel was the night she was killed. The waiter at Di Angelo’s bar recognised her photograph and said she was waiting for somebody to join her. Nobody came and she walked out after a couple of glasses of wine. He didn’t see where she went.’
‘Guv?’
&n
bsp; Celeste was back. Lucy gave her a wary look.
‘You know I had a meeting with my contact earlier and she claimed not to know anything about Tommy or Amelia. Well, she’s just rung me with Amelia’s address.’
‘Great. We’ll check it out. He might be there.’
‘It’s weird but Amelia also lived in The Towers, only she lived at number 52.’
‘You’re kidding!’ Lucy brushed away her fringe and held it in place on top of her head, forehead creased and scar over her nose plainly visible. ‘Same block but a different flat. Murray, what do you reckon? Shall we check it out?’
‘Definitely. Tommy might be hiding out there.’
‘You go home, Celeste. We’ll look into it.’ She let the hair tumble forwards again.
She made for the door but turned back.
‘Is there something else?’
‘No. Nothing. Forget it. Night.’
As soon as she’d gone, Murray muttered, ‘You don’t think she spoke to Bev, do you? The way she started to say something then backtracked. Reckon she was going to confess?’
‘Quite frankly, I don’t give a damn at the moment. Let’s check out Amelia’s flat.’
They left, and once their voices had receded and the front door opened and shut, Natalie headed to her office. Her futile meeting with the journalist had only served to further annoy her and she was more determined than ever to support Lucy. She couldn’t return home until she knew what they’d found at Amelia’s flat. She also had to prepare a statement for the press, one counteracting any negativity from the reporter’s article, and there was one more person she needed to speak to – Dan Tasker. She braced herself for the conversation.