And this upset Eddie a little. For one thing, Jeffery didn’t even think to ask if he’d found anything; and he had, he’d found something at the absolute centre of the murder. He’d found something that would finally bring Tony’s murderer out into the open, and that deserved a little pat on the back at the very least.
But the other upsetting thing about Jeffery’s curt call was that it was just like being back as a divisional CSI, where there was no room for back-patting, there was no time for appraisal, no time to reflect on a job well done or pick out the parts of an examination that could have been done better. It was all about getting to the next fucking job. And on top of all that, Eddie had a feeling that if he’d said he hadn’t finished, Jeffery would have pulled him back anyway.
“I mean, how fucking important is a double murder anyway?” Eddie thumped the wheel and pulled up sharply outside MCU. He opened the window and swiped his card. The gate took a fortnight to open and then Eddie was through, knocking his wing mirror in the process.
He proudly carried his paperwork and the bagged swab into the office and Jeffery was aiming for him already like an Exocet missile.
“Eddie. I need you to go back out. Get yourself up to Barwick-in-Elmet, here’s the address…” Jeffery handed over a piece of paper, but Eddie stood there, CID6 book in one hand, swab in the other, motionless, staring at Jeffery as though he’d had a shot of morphine. “Eddie, no time to piss about.”
“Good. Then you won’t mind if I finish my very important work.”
“Eddie, not now—”
“Yes now!” He shook the swab in Jeffery’s face, didn’t even see Lisa Westmoreland standing in her doorway watching. “This is going to tell us who killed Tony and his wife. And if ever a job was worth doing right, it’s this fucker.” He stared wide-eyed and angry at Jeffery. “So don’t tell me about pissing about.”
Jeffery stared at him, lips tight and bloodless. “Five minutes,” he said.
“Ten,” Eddie took his seat, turned his computer on, and there was the faithful old egg timer. “And if you want us to work faster, get us some computers that run on electricity instead of fucking steam!”
* * *
Jeffery marched away from Eddie’s desk and almost screamed when he got the line about the steam-powered computers. The man was almost impossible to reason with when he had his stubborn head on. And not since being here, two years ago, had Jeffery wished he was at home with a large, a very large, glass of port.
And then, as he was about to slam his office door, he saw Lisa Westmoreland staring at him. She didn’t look happy either. And then she beckoned him with one hooked finger. Jeffery changed course, stared at the carpet running backwards under his feet, and then he was with her. “Inside,” she said and closed her office door after her. “What’s he talking about?”
“He’s been to—”
Lisa hadn’t said anything to stop him talking, but she was holding out her hand in a way that said stop. “Calm down, Jeffery.”
Jeffery breathed, shoulders slumped a little, and then he began again. “He’s found something at Tony Lambert’s scene that—”
“What?”
“I said he’s—”
“Who sent Eddie Collins to Tony Lambert’s scene?”
Jeffery smiled, confused. “I did. Why?”
“Why would you? I thought we’d bottomed that scene.”
“James gave it a good go, but I thought… Cooper from Crime Division asked if there was any chance anything could have been missed. And, frankly, I couldn’t give him a straight ‘no’.”
“So we’ve been running a multiple gang murder scene all day short-handed, and you decide it would be a good idea—”
“Yes. I did. I apportioned the jobs this morning, no one was stretched.” Jeffery stood, “And I believe I’m still in charge of my scene examiners, and how they’re deployed.”
Lisa sat at her desk, head down. After a moment, she looked up, a halfway smile back on her face, an attempt to smooth over the rough edges of the conversation. “I’m sorry,” she said, “you’re right, Jeffery, of course. I didn’t mean to interfere.”
Jeffery relaxed, jutted his chin out, and mumbled, “S’okay.”
“I was very keen that’s all, to have him at this Angela Charles scene as soon as.”
“Me too. But you’ve seen how obstructive he can be.”
“Are you saying you can’t handle—”
“You were the one who wanted to appoint him!”
Silence fell on the office for almost a full minute. Jeffery had curled his hands into fists and Lisa clenched her teeth so hard that her jaws ached. But eventually, she mellowed again, blinked as though freed from a trance, and stood. She strode around her desk and extended a hand, “I owe you an apology, Jeffery. Again,” she smiled wider. “I think the stress of today is getting to me a little.”
Jeffery graciously accepted, mumbled “S’okay,” again and turned to leave.
“Jeffery?”
“Yes?”
“Just get him there as soon as you can, eh?”
Jeffery closed the door gently behind him and walked straight to Eddie’s desk. Eddie looked up. “I’ve finished. Okay? Wasn’t so bad, was it?”
“Cut the smart-arsed stuff will you, I’m not in the mood.”
“Aw, did you lose at solitaire again?”
“This address I need you to go to at Barwick-in-Elmet. We think it’s the home of Blake Crosby’s murderer.”
“Ah, not Blake Crosby’s rape victim?”
“The one and the same.”
“He got what he deserved, the fucking pervert.”
“That’s as may be, but we have to follow this thing through; this is all part of Domino, and where there’s Leeds gangs involved, we have to be one step ahead.”
“You mean instead of being a marathon behind?”
Jeffery stared.
“Tell me what you’ve got.”
“A female friend of the… of the rape victim found the address empty, but attending officers have found what they believe to be blood-stained pants, and a torn white skirt. It was the only outstanding stranger rape in Leeds according to Topaz, and they knew it was part of Domino so referred it to us.”
“And where’s the poor victim?”
Jeffery shrugged, “No idea. She’s not at the house, the officers have searched it.”
“And the gang? Won’t they be interested in her?”
“They’ve already been up there apparently; the girl who phoned it in gave a description of Tyler Crosby. He’s been in and left empty-handed.”
“Not likely to come back?”
“Wouldn’t have thought so. He’s seen Angela isn’t there.”
“So you want the blood-soaked stuff.”
Jeffery nodded, “And anything else with control DNA you can find: toothbrush, hairbrush, whatever you think. We just need to match her to him and the scene.”
“The blood at marker four, eh?”
“And the penile swabs.”
“Why do I shudder every time someone says that?”
“Okay, crack on.”
“Right, I’ll see if I can find any sign of Tyler Crosby while I’m there.”
“Okay, good.”
“I have to put this in the freezer first,” he held up the evidence bag containing a single swab. “And I want you to authorise my submission of it to the lab. On an urgent turnaround.”
Jeffery nodded, took it from him, “I’ll put it in the freezer, and I’ll authorise the submission. Just get up there urgently, please.”
“Okay, you’re the boss.” Eddie collected his CID6, then he walked out of the office.
“I sometimes wonder.” Jeffery read the handwritten label on the bag, ‘Swab of blood, bedroom carpet: tested +ive blood/human.’ Impressive, Eddie.”
“What’s impressive?” Lisa walked by carrying her briefcase.
“Home or a meeting?”
“Meeting, then home,” she said
. “It’s been a long day.” She nodded at the bag, “What’s that?”
“Eddie found blood on the bedroom carpet at Tony’s scene. Sounds promising, doesn’t it?”
“Super! If it comes back IDd, that’ll be worth a bottle of something to him.”
“Oh, not a good idea.”
“Ah,” she remembered, “maybe not,” and laughed. “Want me to lodge it in the freezer on my way past?”
“If you’re sure?”
“Give it here.”
There was a sparkle in Lisa’s eye, and Jeffery was glad to see her back to her usual self but he still couldn’t understand why she’d been so upset in the first place. Strange, he thought.
Chapter Thirty-One
— One —
It was way past five o’clock when Eddie’s van pulled up outside the end-terraced house in Barwick-in-Elmet. Just as he made a note of his arrival time, a small car drove away from the kerb behind him, and a police officer was at his door before he could even get out of the van.
“Eddie Collins?”
“Fuck,” Eddie said, recognising the officer, “is nowhere safe these days?”
“I thought you’d bailed?”
“New pastures, that’s all.”
“Good to see you again, mate. You want me to run through what we’ve got before we leave you to it?”
Together they walked to the front of the house, and in through the front door to the foot of the stairs. “What do you mean, leave me to it? You want me to examine a house and keep an eye over my shoulder at the same time?”
“Mate, really, we’ve got to roll. The damaged back door is boarded and you can lock the front.”
Eddie shook his head. “Definitely no one in here, right?”
“You frightened she’s gonna shoot you?”
“Well, she’s already killed one fella, another won’t make any difference. Anyway, how the hell did you know about a shooting?”
“Division, mate. No secrets.” Steve tapped his nose.
“So there’s no one here, right? Thoroughly searched?”
“No one here.” He nodded after the car that just drove away, “That was Michelle Hudson; she’s just got back from giving us a statement. Her description sounds like Tyler Crosby; she threatened him with a knife and he buggered off. He won’t be back; he already searched the place for this Angela Charles woman.”
“Right.”
“You know about the clothing upstairs?”
“Yep.”
“And the flowers?”
“What flowers?”
“Ah. Crosby dropped some flowers into Michelle’s office this morning pretending they were for Angela. Then he tailed her up here to find out where Angela lived.”
“Clever.”
“We’ve left them in the kitchen; don’t know if you can do anything with them.”
Eddie heard a toilet flush and then heavy feet on the stairs.
“Ready, Steve. I was fucking bursting, man.” Another officer, pulling at his zipper, joined them. He nodded at Eddie, then asked, “What shall we do with the cat?”
“Best take it with you,” Eddie said, “or find a neighbour that can take it in.”
“It’s dead,” Steve said.
“We think Crosby kicked it to death.”
“Ain’t he a sweetheart,” Eddie said. “Well, you can bury the thing before you go.”
“What?”
“Yup. I’m not having a swarm of flies in there while I’m trying to work.”
“Aw, come on, mate—”
“Or you can stay till I’ve completed my examination. Up to you.”
* * *
Eddie began with the back door. It had obviously been kicked several times. Its bottom hinge had snapped altogether and the top one wasn’t looking particularly healthy. The boarder had sheeted right over the frame, so the door was hanging inside like a huge red tongue. He began with photography and then skipped powdering for the footwear marks themselves, going straight to a black gelatine lifter which brought the dust off the door and with it the shoe pattern. Then he taped a clump of tight-knit fibres caught in the sharp splintered wood.
Next, he photographed the flowers, and wondered what the hell he could do with them. As he carefully removed the cellophane and opened it out on the table, a card inside a small white envelope fell out. Eddie smiled.
He lifted three marks from the uncrushed parts of the cellophane wrapper. The part used to carry the bouquet, around the stems of the flowers, was no good, too crinkled, too crushed, but the envelope… Ah the envelope was an excellent candidate for magneto-flake powder. A good thumb on one side and reasonable index came up on the reverse side cheered him, as did finding more on the shiny surface of the card itself, developed using aluminium powder. More photography, more lifting.
Eddie photographed the lounge, then made his way upstairs into the bathroom where the soiled and torn clothing was. More photography and then, using fresh sterile gloves and covering his mouth with a mask, he opened out the skirt and the pants onto a sheet of brown paper. After further photography he carefully wrapped them and slid them into brown paper sacks.
There was just one more simple job to do, then Eddie could get back to the office, deposit his exhibits and the keys to this place in the freezer and store, and then go home. He brought upstairs two knife tubes and two exhibit bags; one tube for Angela’s toothbrush, and one for her hairbrush. He slid the toothbrush into the tube and screwed the lid on; wrote out the exhibit bag, slid the tube inside and sealed it.
Then he went into her room, sat heavily on the bed and repeated the procedure for the hairbrush that he’d seen on the bedside table. Then he stood and walked out the door, turned to nudge off the light switch and stopped dead.
— Two —
It had been a hard day for Ros. She hadn’t stopped, not for a break, not for lunch, not even for the toilet, and she was exhausted. Not only because of the physical activity all day, but because of the lack of sleep from last night. Her eyes felt heavy and abraded by coarse sandpaper, but she worked on.
She had the dead guy in the tent and had taken every possible sample she could think of from him; the rest they’d have to do at the mortuary. She stood, arched her back and looked at her handiwork. She had swabbed and taped him, wrapped his head, hands and feet in separate plastic bags to preserve any trace evidence, then she’d placed him into a body sheet, and finally a body bag.
Only when she emerged from the tent into the brightness of the daylight did she see a second shell casing twinkling in the sun just ahead of the van’s front tyre. More work to do. She sighed and reached for the camera. Thankfully, most of the shells were just outside the back entrance to the tearoom, so James and Duffy would collect them.
After she had photographed and packaged it, she made a call to DI Taylor, to have the vehicle and the body recovered. The press were still there, snapping away at anything they thought might add mystery to their front pages tomorrow.
James and Duffy had finished with their body, and had gone off to swab some blood from the far end of the triangle, and then gone to photograph around the front of the teashop and recover more blood from there too. Sweat glistened on Ros’s forehead, and blood had dripped from her fingertips. One of those days.
The last thing was to hand her exhibits over to Taylor’s nominated exhibits man, and get the hell out of here.
— Three —
He’d only ever seen one of them before. He’d been at a burglary at an Asian house. They’d taken to hiding their jewellery there. It was a good place to hide things; no one would think to look there.
But he was certain. And now he was more than a little afraid.
Eddie squatted down facing the end of the Ottoman double bed. He clicked on his torch and shone it at the hole between the mattress and the base; it was a hole plenty wide enough to slide a hand into, which you’d need to do if you were going to lift the mattress for access to the storage space beneath.
&nbs
p; He cleared his throat, and then he remembered Blake Crosby’s body – the one with the bullet hole in the back. The one caused by a gun. The gun they had not yet recovered.
For all he knew that very same gun was pointing at him right now.
Eddie whispered, “If I promise that you are completely safe, will you come out?”
No reply.
Eddie licked his lips. “Please,” he said. “I won’t harm you. I’ll make sure you’re safe. Angela?”
Nothing.
Eddie stood, and faced a decision. Ring for back-up, or take a shot – ooh, he thought, wrong choice of word – and lift the mattress, and see what was inside. If she was in there, she would be scared shitless, and how would the poor woman react to seeing a load of coppers prancing around her bedroom? And if she wasn’t in there, how would he react to a roomful of coppers taking the piss out of him? He decided to be stupid, and stepped up to the mattress. He grimaced, and then reached down and lifted it up.
He stood back, and what he saw almost broke his heart.
She was a naked ball of grief. She peered at him through eyes that squinted in the brightness, through eyes that rippled with tears, one almost swollen closed. She had drawn her knees up, her fists curled beneath her chin seemed to clasp something silver. It wasn’t a gun though; it looked like a brooch to Eddie. Her chin trembled and her mouth moved but he couldn’t hear any words.
He knelt at the foot of the bed and tried hard to keep his own eyes dry. It was difficult. “Angela,” he whispered, “my name’s Eddie. I’m going to help you, okay?”
Inside his mind, he struggled on several planes: keep stable. The last thing a distraught person needs is another distraught person. But remember, she’s a killer too, she’s scared, easily panicked, and easily provoked; and she may be injured more seriously than you can see from here. And whatever you think, think this: she’s been to a hell you could never imagine; she is the victim here, not some bastard Crosby.
He opened her wardrobe, brought out jeans and a top. Then he went to her chest of drawers and found a bra and pants. He hated this; it felt to him as though he was adding to her grief, not only by going through her private things, but just by being here – a male in her very feminine world, a world hung out to dry by males. He hated himself and wondered if Ros would be better. Well of course she would, he thought. But if you invite someone else in here now, the girl would blow her stack.
Black by Rose Page 21