by Carol Wyer
‘What’s going on, William? You haven’t dragged me upstairs to haul me over the coals over my flare-up. I was justified and you know it.’
‘Did you send Emma to the lab to uncover what was on Heather’s computer?’
‘Yes. We needed to know what was on it.’
‘You were told the computer was with the technical team and that you’d be informed if they found anything relevant to the investigation, but instead, you instructed an officer to find out, first-hand, what was on it.’
‘Sorry, you’ve lost me here. Why is that a problem?’
‘The computer contained highly sensitive information that appertained to other investigations and wasn’t for your or your officer’s eyes.’
She couldn’t believe her ears. ‘That’s crazy. I take full responsibility for tasking Emma with it, but she only requested information relevant to the investigation. There was a third victim in hospital and it was imperative we checked to see if there was a connection between her and Heather.’
‘I don’t think reading through Heather’s emails was relevant.’
‘Well, I do. There might have been clues in them. She might have struck up a friendship online via email with her killer.’
William thawed slightly. ‘And were there any clues?’
Now was the moment to say something about Dickson, but Chris had included William’s name on the list of potentially corrupt police officers, and until she worked out why it was there, she couldn’t trust her boss. ‘None that we know of.’
He sighed. ‘So, on the one hand you berate me for not giving you extra manpower and yet you wasted one of your team’s time checking up on something that could have been dealt with over the phone.’
She was at a loss for words. She lifted her hands in submission. ‘Okay. I accept that might not have been the best use of Emma’s time, but when I sent her to the lab, I had no way of knowing it would lead nowhere, and we were scratching around for leads, any leads.’
His expression didn’t change but his voice softened. ‘Well, now we understand each other, maybe you should get back to the task in hand and try not to fire off at me again.’
‘Understood.’
She left the office, irked by William’s behaviour. They’d worked together for many years and he’d never chastised her before when she’d followed her instincts and gone out on a limb. The only logical explanation was that Dickson had found out about Emma’s visit from Felicity and ordered William to admonish Kate. Shit! It seemed Felicity hadn’t been able to keep quiet about it, after all.
She had no time to dwell on the matter; there were other more pressing ones. She stormed into the office and picked up her car keys. She caught the look Emma gave her. ‘I’ve got something to sort out. You can reach me on my mobile. You know what you’re doing here?’
‘No problems.’
Kate paused. ‘I’ve not come across a pattern of acceleration like this before and it makes me wonder if the killer already has form for stalking, raping or GBH against women. Go back over any cold cases where there were similarities to these attacks and dig through unresolved rape cases. I have a feeling our man has a history of violence towards women.’ She took off, her jaw set. She wanted to talk to Deepa Singh – alone.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Deepa shifted in the wide chair and shuffled her bare feet on the blue matching footstool, until she was more comfortable. She stared out of the French windows onto the small grassed area. A large bouquet of yellow roses, arranged in a blue vase, perfumed the room and Kate inhaled their delicate perfume while Deepa gathered her thoughts.
‘I liked working with Heather. Not everyone did. She could be . . . intense, but I understood why. After she split up from her husband, the job became even more important to her and she poured herself into it to the point where it was all-consuming and almost her only topic of conversation.’
‘You shared an office, didn’t you?’
‘That’s right.’
‘Were you good friends?’
She hesitated then shook her head. ‘Good? We got along well. Heather was . . . a closed book. Personally, I think it was a front; others might disagree.’
‘Did this happen after she and Greg split up?’
‘No. She was always stand-offish. She rarely let slip what was going on in her personal life. It was always job first with her, and if she wound people up, she’d shrug it off and say she wasn’t there to make friends.’
‘Did she wind many up?’
‘A few. She was a doer. She wouldn’t suffer fools so if an investigation was stalling, she’d voice her opinion or concern.’
‘Had she annoyed anyone in particular over the last few weeks?’
Deepa gave a small splutter of mirthless laughter. ‘Probably everyone at Trentham House. They called her Hot Sauce.’
‘Hot Sauce?’
‘On account of the fact what you saw wasn’t what you got with Heather. She could be very hard-going at times. That was the way she got results. Not everyone liked her approach.’
‘Can you think of anyone in particular who she fell out with?’
‘No. Sorry.’ She shifted position again. ‘Are you sure I can’t get you a cup of tea or anything?’
Kate offered her a smile. ‘No, thank you. I’ll be upfront with you. We’re struggling to find out who might have attacked her, and I could do with your help.’
‘I’ve told your officers everything I know.’
‘I know you have and you’ve been helpful, but maybe there was something she spoke about in confidence, or you overheard, or something that took place in the office that felt wrong at the time.’
‘I can’t think of anything.’
‘Were there no instances when she voiced any concerns or seemed worried about anything?’
Deepa’s dark eyes glistened. ‘Over the last couple of days, I’ve thought about her a great deal and I’ve raked my memory for any clues to help work out why this happened to her. And all I established was, I actually knew next to nothing about her other than bland, insignificant details. Yes, we’d chat about television shows, clothes, even food, or moan about a case we might both be working on, and I’d talk endlessly about my family. She only had one passion outside of work – horse riding. She owned a horse, Tobias the Third, and took him eventing in her free time or simply around country lanes, or would spend hours grooming him and clearing out his stable. The only time I ever saw her animated was when she talked about her horse or riding.’ She gave a sad smile.
Kate made a mental note to talk to the hands at Blackfields where Tobias the Third was stabled. They might have seen a different side to Heather. ‘She didn’t fall out with anyone you can think of?’
‘No.’ She scratched the top of her head and then said, ‘Apart from Superintendent Dickson. She was working on a case with him last month – all hush-hush, and went to a meeting with him. When she came back, I could immediately tell that it had gone badly. She wouldn’t tell me what had transpired, but the upshot was she’d been removed from the operation.’
A tingle raced over Kate’s scalp, but she kept her questioning casual. ‘She didn’t mention what the case was about?’
‘She was too professional for that.’ Kate spotted the sudden flush to her cheeks.
‘Do you know what the investigation was about?’
Her cheeks reddened further. ‘I might have overheard the odd conversation. It wasn’t intentional. We did share an office, after all.’
‘I understand. It might help me, if you told me what you heard.’
‘She spoke to somebody about an illegal, underage prostitute. Might that be relevant to your investigation?’
‘I’m not ruling anything out at this stage. You didn’t overhear a name, by any chance?’
She shook her head very slowly. ‘No . . . Erm . . . Maybe . . . Somebody called Fadhi, Fahad . . .’
‘Farai?’ asked Kate.
Deepa’s eyebrows lifted. ‘Yes. You�
�re right. I think it was Farai. Do you know him?’
‘I’ve come across the name in connection with drug-dealing.’
Deepa pushed herself upright with a soft groan.
‘Are you all right?’
‘Fine. The baby kicked me, that’s all. My husband is convinced it’s a boy and that he’ll be a professional boxer or kick-boxer.’
Using the interruption to her advantage, Kate moved on, away from the focus on Farai and Dickson. ‘I understand it’s difficult to think of anything that might be relevant, but if you cast your mind back over the last couple of weeks or even longer, can you recall any strangers hanging about outside the building, or maybe waiting in the car park?’
She shrugged both shoulders. ‘I didn’t notice anyone acting suspiciously.’
‘No unusual activity . . . a car that appeared regularly for a while and then disappeared?’
Deepa rested her hands against her belly again. ‘Sorry.’
‘Whoever did this knew Heather was working at Trentham House on Saturday evening. Looking back, can you think of anything at all that might be relevant – a sighting of a car you didn’t recognise, a delivery person, a telephone engineer, working outside?’
‘We spent all day in the office, and you can’t see the street from our window. We didn’t even leave for a lunch break.’ She gave a sad shake of her head.
A robin landed on the garden fence and stared at the women, its head turning this way and that as if weighing them up. Kate watched it drop to the lawn and peck at an insect before flying away again. She had what she’d really come for – information about Dickson. It was time to depart so, with thanks, she got to her feet and found her way back out to her car.
Heather had been working on a case involving an illegal prostitute and Farai. The pieces were slotting into place: Dickson, Farai and underage prostitutes. If she could only uncover Dickson’s reasons for removing Heather from Operation Agouti, she might even be able to link him to her death. No. She wasn’t acting like a proper detective, allowing fantasy to replace clear logical thinking and facts. Dickson wouldn’t be so audacious as to have a CIO killed and her death made to look like the work of the rapist. Yes, he would. Look at what had happened to Chris.
A shimmering, ghost-like vision of Chris watched her from the garden: a strangely comforting sight. He had not yet deserted her. She would probe deeper because Dickson was up to no good – a dirty copper who hid behind his badge of seniority.
The alarm on her mobile buzzed to remind her of the time. The families of three women were counting on her, and as much as she wanted to pursue this new line of enquiry into Dickson, she had to attend the crime scene reconstruction at Trentham House. Chris vanished, leaving a vacuum in her chest. She sighed sadly and rang Morgan to ensure the team was on their way too. If the killer was going to show his face, they’d need to be ready to pounce.
She parked fifty metres from the car park where Heather’s body had been found and, half-hidden by television crew vans, she walked briskly towards a group of dark-clothed individuals, relieved to see a crowd of only about thirty interested citizens gathered on the pavement opposite, held at bay by a man holding a megaphone. A young woman in a blouse, skirt and jacket similar to Heather’s was in conversation with a short, bespectacled man. Snippets of conversation lifted on the breeze and Kate caught the odd comment, ‘we’ll start there’, ‘Trentham House’, ‘walk at the agreed pace’, ‘one take’. Catching sight of William in plain clothes, elbows on the roof of his car, she slowed her pace and joined him.
‘Not many here,’ she said, taking up position next to him. From here she had a clear view of the onlookers.
‘There’s time for more to arrive.’ He turned around, back to the crowd. ‘You’ve got a clear view of the onlookers from here and we’ll arouse less suspicion if it appears we’re chatting.’
She scanned the faces. Morgan was standing behind everyone, back against a wall, a bored look on his handsome face. Emma was further up the street, phone pressed to her ear as if having a conversation with someone. She couldn’t see Jamie at first then spotted him talking to a middle-aged woman in a blue Puffa jacket, blending in perfectly.
‘We had no choice but to pursue this angle, Kate.’
‘I know.’
‘This isn’t a reflection on you or your team, but we have to do whatever we can.’ He paused before saying, ‘Laura’s father is making an appeal tonight.’
‘Is that wise? Won’t the public get jittery?’
‘He insisted on doing it.’
‘I thought the media office was supposed to be drip-feeding information to the press. Now we’ve got reconstructions and appeals and it will only lead to one thing – panic.’
‘Things changed.’
‘An appeal and a reconstruction in the same night! As soon as the media starts shouting out about a serial rapist and murderer—’
‘Look, this wasn’t my call to make.’
‘Whose call was it? The superintendent’s?’
‘It came from even higher up. We only heard about it an hour ago. Richard Dean contacted the press, not us. These are two separate events. I’m as unhappy as you are about it, but we knew we couldn’t keep a lid on this forever.’
She let the silence that fell between them swell. It carried greater gravitas than words. Heather’s stand-in and the man parted company. Her bobbed hair framed her small features and she stepped away with the grace of an accomplished actress or dancer. Kate was again reminded of how similar the victims had looked. Although different ages, they’d exuded a youthfulness, enhanced by slim hips, narrow waists and shoulder-length glossy hair. Maybe their attacker had chosen them because they seemed easy targets, rather than because of their fragile beauty. There was a pattern, a reasoning to his choice and it frightened Kate because somewhere, another woman who was similar in looks was probably being stalked at this very moment and might well be attacked tonight. Standing here was squandering the valuable time she needed to track down this bastard.
Another couple joined the other curious bystanders. The camera crew were in position, cameras hoisted onto shoulders and a booming voice instructed everyone to remain silent during filming. The megaphone was lowered and mobile phones lifted to film as if celebrity spotting. Kate couldn’t understand it. What attracted people to something as morbid as this?
She allowed her gaze to bounce over the eager spectators on the opposite side of the road, hunting for somebody whose face or posturing gave him away. Heather’s double was walking purposefully along the pavement, head lowered, handbag over her shoulder. Kate searched the faces: two women in their twenties, glued to the spot; a man next to them, head down, texting; a couple of twenty-something-year-old men, one with a long-lensed Nikon camera pointed at Trentham House, the other observing in silence – reporters for the local rag, mused Kate. She caught Emma’s eye and made no sign of acknowledgement. Emma slipped next to a trio of young women, with arms interlinked. Kate studied the couple in their late forties, the only pair not videoing the proceedings, and mumbled, ‘None of these people look like a potential murderer.’ William grunted.
She picked out two guys in dark clothing and hoodies, leaning against the wall, hands in pockets. Morgan had clocked them too and was keeping an eye on them. Jamie was still talking to the woman in the blue coat; his gaze, however, was falling over her shoulder to the people behind her. Some late arrivals meandered along the pavement. Kate kept her eyes trained on the group opposite. William kept his focus on the woman and said, ‘She’s almost reached the point where Heather was attacked.’
Nobody displayed any signs of excitement or anticipation. Kate glimpsed a late arrival, a middle-aged man in a duffel coat, carrying a plastic bag. Did he seem out of place here? She honed in on his unshaven face. The killer would recognise the spot where he’d struck Heather and dragged her into the garden. Maybe there’d be a widening of eyes, a licking of lips or an intensity to their gaze, but she spotted non
e of those giveaways. The man watched with the interest of somebody watching a dreary television drama. The scene played out, the woman was felled with a blow and dragged away from sight.
‘Nothing,’ she said. ‘I can’t see anyone who strikes me as odd.’
William shifted position, glanced in the same direction as her. ‘The guy in the red beanie?’
She latched onto the young man, head lowered over his mobile. ‘No, he’s been more focused on texting than on what’s going on. The killer would want to watch every move.’
‘The two hooded lads?’
‘Their stance is all wrong. They’re jokers, attention-seekers. They’re not really interested in what’s happening. They most likely want to get on camera and pull faces.’
‘What about the man with that plastic bag?’
‘It’s a local supermarket bag. I have a feeling he’s on his way home from there and got caught up in this.’ She watched as a few individuals drifted away. The camera crew were moving down the road towards the car park, further away from the dwindling crowd.
William sighed.
‘What time is Richard doing his appeal?’
‘It’ll be the lead story on the local news.’ The station broadcast the news at seven and the reconstruction would go out at eight o’clock.
‘Action!’ She lifted her head. The woman walked down the road again, the light bounce to her step reminding Kate for a brief moment of Tilly. She wondered how her stepsister was getting on and hoped she and Daniel were doing something interesting and fun that would encourage them to settle here for good. She’d give her a call as soon as she could. More people broke away. The hooded youths shuffled past Morgan. Jamie had left the woman in blue and joined Emma, who was shaking her head.
‘William, this is hopeless. The killer isn’t here. I’m calling off the team,’ she said.
William gave her a nod and she signalled to Morgan to meet by her car. They arrived one after the other to join her. The film crew stood about, waiting for confirmation that they had enough footage, ignoring the few stragglers still waiting for more filming. Kate took another look at those who’d remained. There was nothing to indicate they were anything other than curious bystanders.