It would be worth finding out more about Luke Boulden — where he lived, his livelihood, his personal circumstances. Maybe something would come out of it. Lydia printed the sparse conviction record, gathered her notes together and made her way to the briefing room, ready for the Monday morning meeting.
* * *
‘Just keep it low-key, will you, Lydia? I know you’re angry, but don’t let it show and, for God’s sake, don’t upset Bruce Pitman across there. It’s taken me ages to build up a good working relationship with him and I don’t want it put at risk unnecessarily. Okay?’ Kevin seemed more relaxed today.
‘Sure thing, boss. I’ll keep all the balls in the air and a smile on my face. Jimmy is coming with me to Weymouth to have a look around for this man Boulden. We’ll keep you posted. See you later.’
Lydia grabbed her coat and bag and made for the door. She checked the time. They should be able to make it across to Weymouth inside an hour, enough time to see the elusive Andrea Ford before lunch. Kevin had agreed to smooth the way by contacting his counterpart, Bruce Pitman, in charge of Weymouth CID. Although Lydia’s mood had mellowed over the weekend, she was still puzzled by Ford’s non-appearance on Saturday and wanted to get to the bottom of the problem, if there was one at all. During the drive she thought back to that morning’s meeting, particularly her boss’s supportive attitude. Clearly, he’d also been upset by the no-show, particularly since it had potentially put Lydia in danger. She had sensed his unease particularly when she’d shown him the criminal record for Luke Boulden.
They made good time and she dropped Jimmy at the quayside on her way to the police station. She entered the building twenty minutes earlier than she’d arranged and made her way to the reception desk, where she asked for Ford. She noticed the slight flicker of anxiety that crossed the receptionist’s face.
‘You’re early.’ The receptionist picked up her phone.
‘Not a problem, is it? I’ll go straight up. I have clearance, of course.’ Lydia waved her Dorset police pass, walked to the security door and swiped it. She walked quickly up the stairs and turned into the corridor, where she spotted a frowning DI Pitman emerging from the general CID office.
‘Morning, sir,’ she said cheerfully. ‘Kevin sends his best wishes.’
‘Um, yes. Good. Look, I’m aware there was a bit of a mix up on Saturday. Too much going on as usual. Understand? She’s in there.’ He pointed to the office he’d just left. She thought he looked uneasy.
Lydia gave him a bright smile. ‘Thanks, sir. I’m sure there was a good reason.’
She moved towards the CID office before he said anything more. She needed to see Andrea Ford before telling the unit commander about the item she’d spotted before leaving the Bournemouth office that morning. Better to keep it from him until later.
There were five desks inside the office, but only three were occupied. Two detectives were working in the area near the window and glanced up briefly as she passed them. Andrea Ford was alone at the far end. Interesting, Lydia thought. Does that mean the others don’t know anything about why I’m here? She could sense that Andrea was watching her as she approached, even though she appeared to be reading some documents. She decided to be formal.
‘Good morning, DC Ford.’ She pulled a spare chair across and sat down opposite the older woman. Ford had made no attempt to welcome her, despite Lydia’s more senior rank. Well, well. She’d obviously chosen the right approach.
Andrea looked up. She put a hand to her blonde hair and attempted to smooth it back, even though it was already in a tight pony-tail. ‘Look, Lydia, it was a mix up pure and simple. No one was to blame.’
Lydia raised an eyebrow and cleared her throat softly, a trick she’d learned from Sophie Allen.
There was a pause. ‘Ma’am,’ Andrea finally added.
Lydia smiled. ‘That’s better. I’m aware of the reasons why you weren’t there, and your boss reminded me as I came in. But what about your informant? Did he or she turn up at some point?’
Andrea shrugged. ‘I don’t know. He hasn’t been in contact since.’
Lydia frowned. ‘I need to get this right. Do you mean he hasn’t tried to contact you, you haven’t managed to contact him, or both?’
‘Both.’
‘But you have tried? To find out, I mean? Who is he, Andrea? Can you tell me?’
‘No. That was part of the agreement we made. I’d keep his identity to myself.’
‘How does that square with Saturday? You’d arranged for me to meet him. Didn’t that present a problem?’
‘I’d promised him that it would go no further than you. And you wouldn’t ask anything about him. You agreed, remember?’
Lydia frowned again. ‘Of course I remember. So he’s not responding to your calls?’
‘No. I only have a mobile number for him. I don’t know where he lives.’
‘You must know something more about him. You said he had inside knowledge of the local prison system.’
‘I told you. I made a promise to keep what I knew secret.’
Lydia thought for a few moments. How good an actress was this woman? She seemed to be unaware of the other weekend news. Time to tell her? ‘Are you aware, Andrea, that a recently retired prison officer was found dead at his home in Dorchester on Saturday afternoon? His name was Tony Quigley. Was it him I was due to meet?’
‘Jesus.’ Andrea looked shocked. It was impossible for Lydia to see if she’d turned pale, such was the thickness of her make-up. But her hands, gripped tightly together on the desktop, started to shake.
‘So, it was him.’ Lydia said.
Andrea nodded.
‘It looked at first as though he died from natural causes, but the local plods were a bit suspicious. We know the official reason for his early retirement was ill health, but that was only partly true. There were rumours that he was bent. Did you know?’
‘No.’ It sounded somewhat hesitant.
‘Officially, they won’t know any more about the circumstances until after the post mortem. If it shows anything unusual then the big guns will be wheeled in. You know who’ll be in charge, don’t you? Anything else you want to tell me before it’s too late?’
Andrea shook her head, though she still looked miserable. Lydia left the office and knocked on the DI’s door. Pitman needed to be kept up to date on the news. Kevin McGreedie had insisted on it.
* * *
‘Wow, Jimmy, that’s brilliant.’
Lydia met Jimmy in the prearranged cafe, where he told her he’d managed to discover some useful information about Luke Boulden, the thin man from Saturday’s pub encounter, including his work address.
‘Do we pay him a visit?’ he asked.
‘Let’s keep it low-key at the moment. We’ll have a quiet look around just to see the lie of the land.’
They drove the short distance to the quayside area, parked the car in a secluded spot and went for a walk. Lydia was wearing a long coat, a woolly hat, boots and gloves. She hoped that this was sufficient for her not to be recognised if they did happen to come face to face with Boulden. She’d insisted that Jimmy also wore a hat and kept his collar up, despite his grumblings. Anyway, it would help to keep the chilly wind at bay. She looked around. In summer, this place would be heaving with tourists, all visiting the quaint shops, cafes, pubs and chandleries. But today, on a cold Monday in late January, it was almost deserted. The few people who were out braving the chill hurried along the pavements and walkways, trying to get out of the increasingly biting wind. Even the dogs, trotting along beside their owners, seemed somewhat unenthused with being outside.
The duo reached the commercial port area and wandered through the open gates as if they were a couple of dozy tourists. The place was almost deserted, unsurprising considering the loss of its cross-channel ferry service to local Dorset rival Poole. They stopped every twenty yards or so and looked out across the bay, pointing at landmarks as if they were tourists spotting points of interest, al
l the while noting any workers in the vicinity, although such people were few and far between. Some repair work was going on to the quayside further along the jetty, so the two detectives wandered in that direction, still acting like dim-witted sightseers. Although the workmen were clad in high-visibility jackets and hats, the foreman stood out because of his height. Lydia nudged Jimmy.
‘Is that him? He’s got the height and could be quite thin under all those clothes.’
‘It looks like our bloke. You stay here. I’ll get closer,’ he said.
Jimmy wandered towards the group, pulling his woolly hat down and wrapping his scarf around his chin and neck. The tall man glanced at him and he turned back to Lydia, standing with his back to the group. They strolled off.
‘It’s him. I’m sure of it.’
‘I wonder if some of the others in that group were also in the pub on Saturday. It’s impossible to tell when they’re wrapped up against the wind like that. They must be bloody freezing. I know I am!’ She stamped her feet. ‘Let’s get back.’
Chapter 4: Promotion
Monday Afternoon
‘Hi, Benny.’ Sophie Allen pushed open the senior pathologist’s office door and backed in, trying to balance two brimming champagne flutes. A folder of documents was tucked under her right arm. ‘I’ve probably overfilled them but I haven’t spilled any yet.’
‘This is so typical of you,’ he said. ‘Any normal person would have made two journeys or called for help. Or maybe even waited to pour the champagne until you were in here and had my desktop available?’
She scowled. ‘Wouldn’t have had the same dramatic effect.’ She carefully put the glasses down and pushed one across the desk surface. ‘Anyway, here you are, as promised.’
‘Am I meant to make a solemn speech?’
‘Only if you must. Just knock it back, as far as I’m concerned.’
They chinked the flutes together and each took a sip.
‘Seriously, congratulations,’ Benny said. ‘I’m still a bit concerned though. You always said you’d never go above DCI. I’m still uneasy at the thought of you flying a desk rather than trampling about in the outside world. Is your sanity going to be at risk here?’
‘It’s not a problem, Benny. The vacancy was there, ever since Matt Silver got his promotion. They wanted me in the job, so we negotiated a special deal. I’m still heading up the unit, but as a detective superintendent rather than a DCI. I get more money and a bigger office, but I’m also more involved in the senior decision making. They get to keep me in Dorset. It’s been on the cards for some time, ever since the Met decided to start phasing out the DCI role. Other forces were bound to follow suit. It’s meant to streamline things, lead to faster decision making and save money.’ Sophie rolled her eyes at him and took another sip of champagne.
‘How’s it gone down at home?’
She grimaced. ‘It’s a bloody nightmare. Martin keeps saluting me and calling me ma’am. And as for Jade, well, she uses the word super as often as she can. Meals are super, TV programmes are super, parties are super, even school dinners are super. It’s driving me mad. I tell you, if it goes on much longer I’ll walk out on the two of them. What did I ever do to deserve a husband and daughter like them?’
Bennie grinned. ‘That’s one of my best friends you’re talking about there. He might expect me to start looking after him, doing his laundry and stuff. Even kipping down on my sofa. I know he’s a close friend, but I don’t want my own relationships ruined. No, just stick with ’em, Sophie. They’ll run out of enthusiasm soon enough.’
‘Hang on, I said I’d walk out on them. It’d be me trying to kip on your sofa and my laundry you’d be doing.’
There was a moment’s silence. ‘Uggh. You mean your undies and stuff? What, me? I might be gay, but there are limits.’
‘Enough said. Down to business? What have you got for me?’
He swallowed another mouthful. ‘He was suffocated. Clear as day. Do you want a look?’
They went through to the theatre where Bennie pointed to the corpse spread out on the bench. ‘Cyanosis of the face was obvious when he first came in, though it’s gone now. But there’s the usual slight bruising around the mouth and nose, and oedema of the lungs. Lots of other clues in the lungs as well. No doubt about it. I hope forensics are examining the pillow. They should find his saliva all over it.’
Sophie frowned. ‘Anything else?’
‘Light bruising around the neck from someone’s fingers. He was pushed down into that pillow, hard.’
‘Any traces of a fingerprint pattern?’
He shook his head. ‘Gloves. Whoever did it wasn’t stupid.’
‘That means they were prepared, which goes against it being a domestic,’ she said. ‘Maybe someone was outside watching and went in right after his wife left. Unless she’s involved in some other way.’
Benny raised an eyebrow. ‘Am I meant to hear these rambling thoughts of yours?’
‘Just keep them to yourself. Anything else of interest?’ she asked.
‘His heart was in poor condition, his lungs were a bit dodgy and he had cirrhosis of the liver. I’d guess he’d been a heavy smoker and drinker. What was his line of work?’
Sophie pursed her lips. ‘A prison officer, though he retired early a couple of years ago.’
‘Lots of stress, then. No wonder he smoked and drank.’
Sophie glanced at her watch. ‘I’d better be off. I want to pay a quick visit to the Quigley house. It’s on the way to the office and I might catch Dave Nash still there.’
Benny laughed. ‘Women! You’re all alike. Any excuse to drool over a bloke with film star looks. Good job he’s not my type.’
She punched him gently in the stomach.
* * *
The Quigley house was on a modern estate, built in the eighties. The gardens were all well-established, with mature shrubs and a few decorative trees scattered among the lawns and flower beds. Not that many had foliage left on them at this time of year, just a few Leylandii and a decorative holly in a garden a few doors away from the Quigley house. Sophie noticed the absence of a lawn or flower beds at the Quigley home. The front garden had been paved over completely, with nothing to soften the starkness of the geometrically arranged paving bricks. She parked her car in the road, showed her warrant card to the uniformed constable on duty at the front gate and ducked under the crime-scene warning tape.
‘As she entered the house, Dave Nash, Dorset’s senior forensic officer and George Clooney lookalike, appeared in the hallway, looking around him as if he was about to leave.
‘All finished, Dave?’ she asked.
‘He looked at her in surprise. ‘I didn’t expect you along, Sophie. It was Stu Blackman from CID who lodged the request for forensics. What brings you here?’
‘I’ve just come from seeing Benny Goodall at the hospital and thought I’d call in before I go back to base. Anything interesting cropped up?’
The forensic chief pursed his lips, causing Sophie to wonder what it would be like to snog him. Most of the female contingent of Dorset police were probably having similar thoughts. She forced herself to concentrate on what he was saying. ‘There’s no sign of a forced entry, if that’s what you mean,’ he said. ‘If someone was here, they came in via the patio door at the back, which would have been easy if they knew or guessed the combination to the key safe. Or someone let them in. No fingerprints anywhere, though. We found a few dirt stains on the rug just inside, but that’s not really a surprise. That’s what the rug was there for, so it may not be relevant.’
‘But? Come on, Dave. I can see by your face that you’re holding something back.’
‘A streak of dried mud on the top of the fence at the bottom of the garden. It’s unlikely to have come from here, because the lawn extends right to the fence. Come and have a look.’
He dropped the bags he was carrying and led the way through a neat sitting room to a patio door that looked out across the small r
ear garden. The late Tony Quigley had obviously not been a keen gardener. The rear area was almost entirely set to grass, although a few decorative pots stood on the patio, still containing some dead or bedraggled looking plants. Dave pointed to the timber fence that marked the property’s boundary.
‘Close to the left-hand corner. That’s where we spotted the mud streak. It looks to be soil from the vegetable bed on the other side. It’s level with their main entry from the road. If someone trotted down their driveway and vaulted the fence, that’s exactly where you’d expect a mark to be.’
He unlocked the door and led Sophie across the scrawny grass to a point where she could peer over the lightweight barrier. It looked to be about five feet in height.
‘Ideal for an intruder, that garden, isn’t it? With all those shrubs, they’d be unlikely to be spotted if they were quick,’ Sophie mused.
‘That’s what we thought. It was a bit of a drab afternoon on Saturday, so that would help even more. This is all conjecture, mind. Until we get the lab tests done on the soil, we can’t be sure.’
Sophie took one final look at the scene then followed Dave back towards the house. ‘I’ll get a door to door started. Maybe we’ll be in luck and someone will have spotted something suspicious,’ she said. ‘Did you get any footprints from the soil on the other side?’
‘No. The owner’s a keen gardener. Can you believe that he dug over that patch yesterday morning, ready to plant spuds? He said it looked a bit flattened but didn’t consider delaying, so you’re out of luck there.’ He looked at his watch. ‘I need to be off, Sophie. We’ve got another team up at Guys Marsh prison checking some stuff that’s been smuggled in and looking at a breach in the perimeter fence.’
Sophie frowned. ‘The dead guy here was a retired prison officer, but at Portland.’
SHADOW CRIMES a gripping crime thriller full of twists Page 3