‘Do you recall who was there?’
‘Yes, I’ve a good memory for faces. Names though just disappear like mist in the morning. I never could remember stuff like that. Maybe a couple of names if I’m lucky.’
Carlos looked across at Tony and read his thoughts.
‘I could write some down that I remember but I must warn you that my spelling is atrocious and my handwriting, you really don’t want to know. Carla said I should’ve been a doctor as nobody could decipher it. That was one of my early problems when filling in the diary. I’m dyslexic, see. I had a shit time at school. I’m not thick, I know that, I’m more creative, arty my teachers used to say. Kids though, can be cruel.’ He looked at April and then Tony as he shrugged his shoulders.
‘A doctor? They’re renowned for their illegible writing, I’m told.’ For the first time April saw a smile. ‘I will want you to come to the station with us to look over some photographs, Brian, if that’s okay with your boss. You don’t realise just how much you can help her if your memory is as good as you say it is. Would you be willing to do that, Brian?’
‘Anything.’ His expression changed immediately as he looked at his hands.
April and Tony allowed him time to think. They sensed he had been afraid to say something and they wanted to afford him some space. It was an interview technique gained only from experience when the person you were interviewing begins to feel safe enough to talk openly. They had both picked up on his body language. Brian was about to break his silence.
He turned to look directly at Tony. ‘When you came in the other day you were with the officer with the glass eye? She asked me when I’d last seen Carla. You will know that I agreed with my boss, that it was the evening before she went missing, when she left here. That wasn’t the truth, I’m sorry.’
‘So, Brian, where did you see her last?’ April asked. She rested a protective hand on his arm.
‘I should have said, I’m sorry.’
‘Don’t worry, just tell us where you last saw her, Brian?’ April asked again, her voice reassuring. Tony knew to say nothing. However, he smiled inwardly at Carlos’s description of Skeeter. It was not the first time someone had made the mistake of referring to her eyes in such a way.
‘A few weeks back I was telling her I was putting on weight, too many biscuits and chocolate. She was beautiful and so slim. I knew she ran most days and she suggested I should start. I knew where she ran and she offered to run with me but I told her I was going to start walking and then build up to a jog. Can you believe she bought me some shorts and a top? That’s the kind of person she was, certainly was to me at any rate.’
April glanced at Tony and she knew what he was thinking.
‘Go on, Brian, she obviously liked you very much.’
‘It went well and after a week I was walking and running. I needed a lot of rests but I didn’t give in. On occasion we passed each other – well to be honest she passed me. She ran a circuit by Park Golf Club. Most times I’d be walking but once I was running and she came up behind me and …’ He paused, giggled and blushed slightly. ‘Tapped my bottom. Cheeky minx!’
‘Was that the day she went missing?’
‘No, I think it was a couple of days before. On the day she disappeared I was running down Fleetwood Road just before you turn onto Park Road. Do you know the area?’
April nodded. ‘Go on.’
‘She had passed me about five minutes before. She paused briefly, pulled off her headphones before kissing my cheek. “Good for you!” she said and then ran on. I’ll never forget that. Made me run a bit faster. As I got to the corner that’s when I saw her. She was in the passenger seat of a car.’
‘And it was definitely her?’ April quizzed.
‘Without a doubt. On my mother’s life.’
Tony leaned forward. ‘Did you and Carla always run in the same direction. Clockwise around the course?’
‘Every time I saw her, she ran that way, yes, that’s why I did the same.’
Tony glanced at April and raised an eyebrow.
‘Brian, the running gear Carla bought you. What make was it?’
He flicked his finger as if making a tick. ‘Nike, the one like she wore, the one with just the tick.’
Chapter 15
The investigation into the car seen on the webcam near the golf club entrance had so far failed to find a match to that colour, make and model, even when those with number plates closely matching some of the details had been eliminated from the enquiry. It was likely that the car for which they searched had received a false or modified number. The vehicle was probably now hidden in a garage or under cover. Michael had produced an image with the number plate as seen on the webcam and posted it on Merseyside Police social media sites in the hope of jogging someone’s memory and knowledge. No details of the broken brake light were mentioned. Long shots could often prove to be successful.
Stuart Groves sat alone listening to music streamed from his phone and played loudly through his car’s speakers that were attached to a holder to the right of the steering wheel. The music should have been unfamiliar to a young man, but this had been a favourite for many years. His hands beat out the rhythm onto the wheel, his eyes were closed and his head rocked to the heavy beat; the occasional tuneless lyric passed his lips. Wishbone Ash was not everyone’s cup of tea but he had loved the album Argus since childhood; it was his father’s favourite band. His friends had often remarked that he had been indoctrinated.
Hidden from view, the lone figure emerged from the door that led from the stairwell. He had seen the car arrive from across the road. Checking the time, he waited in the hope Groves would be settled before making an entrance. The carpark was once manned but now it was fully automated and with that had come the inevitable cameras. However, they were concentrated on the cars entering and leaving rather than the parked vehicles and public’s security. Over the last couple of weeks, the area had been checked for CCTV. The one pointing down Tulketh Street was not a problem; those within the lower stairwell and the one on the roof were easily avoided by simply looking down.
Sticking to the peripheral wall, he was confident he could remain out of sight of the car ensuring that Groves did not notice his approach. The high brick structure behind which the car was parked, the spot where he had been instructed to park the car, left him isolated and vulnerable. He believed his afternoon’s activity would be neither honourable nor respectable so it suited the purpose perfectly. It was a good thirty seconds before Groves sensed someone standing by his driver’s window. It startled him. Seeing the broad smile across the stranger’s face made him relax and he stopped drumming, quickly muted the music before opening the window.
‘Stuart?’ The smile remained. ‘Hi, good music. Carla sent me.’
‘Carla?’ His face changed and a look of concern spread quickly. ‘She’s okay?’
He nodded and rested a hand on the door frame. ‘You couldn’t make this up, goodness, that girl. Good job we love her, Stuart! She knows I work just across from here and she left a message to say she’d had an accident, dropped her phone down the loo. She didn’t spare me the details!’ He chuckled.
‘That’s Carla I’m afraid.’ Stuart laughed, visualising her dilemma.
‘So, here it is, warts and all. She got up after having a pee and she had the phone tucked in the crook of her neck. When she stood and went to flush the loo, she dropped it in the bog, not long before she was due to meet you. Women! I asked what she was doing chatting whilst … she said, ‘Don’t men?’ It’s probably in a bag of rice as we speak drying out. Never let a woman tell you she can do two things at once, especially where a phone and a loo are concerned!’ The laugh seemed genuine.
‘That sounds just like her. Had she been drinking?’ he laughed, hitting the steering wheel a couple of times.
‘Good question, Stuart. She would never admit to it I’m sure.’
Stuart’s smile quickly deserted him as he turned to look up at the st
ranger. ‘So why not message me?’
‘She said she’d tried using Twitter or something but you’d not responded. I guess she didn’t want you sitting here expectantly. Don’t shoot the messenger.’ He smiled again moving his gloved hand from the frame and holding it up.
Groves blushed as he saw the wink and the knowing look from the stranger but did not register the latex glove. He was too caught up in the moment.
‘She also asked me to give you this.’
Thrusting the raised hand through the open window he grabbed the seat belt that ran over Grove’s right shoulder. He tugged it forcefully locking him into his seat. His left arm was now extended. Groves turned his head, his neck rubbing against the fabric of the belt before looking up and out of the open window. The action immediately exposed the right side of his neck. The startled and confused look quickly reappeared. The attacker had taped the weapon to his closed hand. The precaution would ensure the inevitable viscous covering of blood would not make it slip from his grasp. The bladed hand moved swiftly into the gap and penetrated the taut, exposed flesh of Stuart’s neck. He struck powerfully, hitting the main target area just behind and below his left ear.
‘Not laughing now, Groves, are you?’
The blade dragged forward, tearing and slicing open a red, oozing void.
Brian Briggs sat in the area set aside for visiting social workers and solicitors, it provided a better ambience and a smell of lavender, courtesy of the two plug-in air fresheners, pervaded the room. He stood and admired the long, framed photographic print of the Liverpool river front. The colours had slightly faded, and to the detriment of the image, not evenly. The area closer to the high window was almost devoid of colour.
‘Your green tea okay, Brian? We’re not usually asked for that but a colleague had some in his locker.’
Brian turned and approached April, holding out a hand to collect the mug.
‘Lovely, thanks. Sorry! Never get tired of seeing our magnificent city.’
‘We’re grateful to you for coming in. I’d like you to look at the screen here with this young lady. She’s our expert on facial recognition. Her name is Lynda.’
April had collected as many images she could from the Facebook friends retrieved from Carla’s and Cameron’s social media sites. Like pyramid selling, they quickly grew in number so if they added the friends of those friends, the list could have been endless. The decision had been taken to use only the most recent contacts.
‘We’ve added names just in case that might jog your memory too, Brian. Just take your time. What you’re doing will be a great help to Carla. Remember, you’re doing this for her.’
Within twenty minutes, they had seventeen faces and names. They put the people they knew including her work colleagues, Gaskell and Smith to one side. They retained Jennings, Rodgers, Sutch and Stuart Groves, a name that had not come up before and a name that was only linked to the Facebook data of Sharpe and Gaskell.
‘Do you know this man other than at the parties you attended, Brian?’ She produced the printed image of Groves.
‘I’ve seen him in the studio, not often just once or twice. Quite some time ago. A bit of a foreigner, cash in hand.’ He looked at April. ‘I don’t know if I should be saying this but I regretted not telling you what I knew before so …’
‘Trust us, we’re not interested in a bit of cash changing hands at this stage.’
‘Carla and Nicola each had a night, an hour or so after we shut, if the work was there. Mainly it was for friends and friends of friends or when people had a special occasion and we couldn’t fit them in during the regular hours. It was a back pocket type booking. It was never put in the book. He would come for some CACI treatment, that was Carla’s forte. She introduced the beauty therapy, a kind of non-surgical face lift. Sometimes I’d watch and learn.’
‘Did you ever watch when she was with him?’ April’s finger dropped onto the photograph.
‘No, I was usually leaving as he arrived. He didn’t come often, maybe three times at the most. There was one other, but he only came the once. That was quite a few months ago and maybe even longer. It’s hard to keep track.’
He’ll not be on the CCTV either, April thought.
‘We don’t get many men of that age in for this kind of treatment. In fact, we don’t get many men in for beauty therapy at all and yet we should.’
‘Could that be, Brian, because they might be getting something other than CACI?’
April watched Brian’s reaction and she witnessed a metaphorical penny drop.
‘You don’t think … not Carla. I refuse to even consider that suggestion. She’s a good girl.’
‘Right, yes, sorry for even suggesting that. And this second man wasn’t in any of the images you’ve seen today?’
‘No, I might not be able to recognise him. I saw him for a few moments and I never saw him again.
‘Was there a name?’
Brian raised his shoulders suggesting not.
‘One last thing. Have you seen this man before?’ She placed Simon Taylor’s photograph on the desk.
Brian picked it up and studied it carefully. He shook his head. ‘No. Was he at the parties?’
‘We believe so.’
‘He wasn’t at the ones I attended. I would certainly remember that face.’
‘Thank you, Brian. I’ll get someone to drive you back. You’ve been a real help. One last thing! If you get a call that suggests it’s from Carla’s phone do not answer it just call me.’ She passed him her card. ‘Any time, do you hear?’
He read the card and slipped it into his phone case. ‘Will she ring me?’
She let the question hang in the air.
April watched as he left before scribbling the words, ‘friends of friends’ on her notepad.
Within minutes they had tracked Stuart Groves’s details and a call had been made to KP Financial.
‘I’m sorry, Mr Groves is out of the office until later this afternoon. May I say who called?’
April decided Fred should go and await him at his office. They really needed to talk with him. The findings on the tests of the metal tip had come through and the update meeting in the Incident Room was due to start.
‘If you inspect this, the type of blade looks innocuous enough. The twin notched concave blade is made from high quality tungsten British steel. It’s immensely strong and honed to produce the perfect cutting edge. It’s a blade that’s designed to slice through the toughest of carpet cleanly. Inserted into the thin handle and locked by the two notches, the blade remains totally secure and easily replaced. Each time the weapon was used it would become obsolete and cheap enough to be disposable. If the knife was like this model, the blood would have crept into every nook and cranny of the handle’s crisscrossed textured grip and the inside making it a forensic expert’s dream.’
Tony took great delight in showing the image of the type of knife and blade used in both murders. ‘Pathology has suggested this was the type of blade used considering the depth and extent of injuries seen on both victims. This is a Royal Blade, a professional carpet fitter’s tool. Cheap as chips and readily available over the internet. We’ve requested records from the distributers for addresses within fifty miles of Southport. The blades, however, will fit any craft knife. We tend to class them as Stanley knives. We also know that our man is right-handed from the angle of the cut and dragging motion. A great deal of force would be needed to execute this kind of damage using such a blade. It’s been suggested it’s a hook and pull motion. Dig in hard and then drag, keeping the force against a secured neck. According to the pathologist, what you don’t sever you damage. Considering the major blood vessels running within that area there’s a very high chance of death resulting from the incision.’
‘Wouldn’t the killer be covered in blood?’ Lucy asked, her face patently indicating her disgust at the method used.
Skeeter turned over one of the sheets and drew from memory the Nike swoosh logo. It was
not just a line but more the shape of a handle-less blade.
‘According to Forensics and Pathology it would depend on certain conditions – where you were standing, angle of the head and speed at which you could move away. So, in a confined space, yes, more than likely there’d be a good deal of blood spatter. Out in the open where you could move away quickly? Then possibly not. I don’t suppose our killer was too worried about that initially. I believe it would have been considered at the early planning stage as I feel these killings were well conceived – they’ve a look of an execution about them to me. If he assumed that the bodies would not be found for some time, then he would have used that time to sort himself out and dispose of any evidence.’
‘Surely that couldn’t have been predicted in such a public carpark?’ Lucy announced. ‘It could have been discovered at any time.’
‘It’s about the location within that space and the likelihood.’
‘Are there any clues as to whether we’re looking for a male or female executioner?’ April asked, also believing in Tony’s use of the title.
‘Considering the force and power needed to cause the damage sustained, there’s a greater chance that the killer is male but I’ve known some bloody strong women in my time. I work with a couple so I’d keep an open mind. I’m sure there are people who have in the past been lulled into a sense of false security by a female and not lived to tell the story. As I say, keep an open mind.’ He turned his focus on Skeeter knowing her physical attributes were more than capable of such a show of strength.
‘A minute.’ Skeeter stood and held up the sheet containing her doodle. ‘Anyone recognise this?’
Kasum appeared. ‘Groves has failed to return to his office. Not only that, he’s missed an appointment which was at four and that’s most unlike him according to his secretary. Fred’s waiting for instruction. They’ve tried Groves’s mobile but that’s now switched off. Apparently, that’s also unheard of as he’s practically married to it. Today he altered an earlier appointment, brought it forward but didn’t inform the secretary until the last minute. His behaviour was out of character they said and they’re worried.’
Syn (The Merseyside Crime Series Book 2) Page 11