by Paul Gitsham
Warren stared at the screen. Richardson obligingly switched between an image of Bird entering the cinema lobby, in his distinctive white tracksuit, and a throng of youths leaving forty-five minutes later.
None of them matched the description of Bird.
Warren squinted harder. Taking control of Richardson’s mouse without asking he toggled between the two images.
Finally, he let out a breath he didn’t realise he’d been holding.
Behind him Richardson sounded rightly pleased with her work.
‘It’s one thing to dump a cheap hoodie and tracksuit in the toilet bin, but there’s no way he’d ditch a hundred-quid pair of Nike trainers, even if they are bright orange.’
‘Bring him in.’
DSI Grayson had been as excited as Warren when he saw the footage of a disguised Cameron Bird sneaking out of the cinema in plenty of time to make his way to kill Kyle Hicks.
‘Let’s just hope that Birdman hasn’t flown the nest,’ he said, in a rare moment of humour as thirty minutes later Warren confirmed by radio that they were in position outside Bird’s house.
This time they didn’t wait for Bird’s housemates to open the front door. The forced entry team smashed the cheap lock off, whilst other officers lined the alleyway behind the terraced house to stop him escaping through the rear.
The first officers in swarmed into the two downstairs bedrooms.
‘We need an ambulance,’ shouted out one of the officers entering the front bedroom. Warren glanced through the door as he followed the team in; two people, a man and a woman, lay slumped on a filthy bed, drug paraphernalia strewn across its surface.
Warren carried on, following the rest of the team up the stairs. Again, they didn’t politely knock, instead smashing the flimsy interior door of Bird’s room off its hinges.
‘Oh, shit,’ said the first officer over the threshold, ‘we’d better make that two ambulances.’
Fortunately for Cameron Bird’s two housemates, the paramedics that arrived within five minutes carried naloxone, reversing the effects of what could have been a fatal heroin overdose. Assuming they survived without too much brain damage, Warren looked forward to hearing what they had to say.
There was nothing the paramedics could do however, for Cameron Bird. The knife sticking out his chest had probably killed him in seconds, long before the police had forcibly entered the house.
‘The way his hands are clasped around the knife suggest that he plunged the knife into his own chest,’ said Professor Jordan, who’d attended the scene. ‘I’ll know more when I’ve done the PM later this evening.’
Warren thanked him and returned downstairs, his paper suit already uncomfortably hot. He exited to the back garden through the chaotic and filthy galley kitchen that looked as though it hadn’t been cleaned in years. Small wonder Bird had chosen to eat takeaways in his room, rather than risk food poisoning; besides which, his housemates didn’t strike him as the type to enjoy a leisurely evening meal with good food, witty conversation and fine wine. He felt a wave of sadness wash over him; Cameron Bird didn’t appear to have been an addict like his housemates, but his life didn’t look much better. How long would it have been until he too started using the drugs that he sold to scrape a living?
A rusty barbecue that had clearly seen better days stood on the patio, but it was obvious that a grilled beef burger and sizzling sausages were the last thing on the mind of whoever had lit it. Amongst the charred and partially melted ashes, Warren recognised the black hoodie and tracksuit bottoms Bird had changed into before sneaking out of the cinema almost exactly a week before; he’d have bet a week’s pay that fibres from the clothes matched those found in the alleyway between the garages where the murder had taken place. He must have also got blood on his prized orange trainers, as they too had been added to the barbecue.
‘It looks as though they didn’t soak everything well enough in lighter fluid before setting it alight; the fuel largely vapourised and burned off,’ said Andy Harrison. ‘There’s almost certainly enough left for us to match the blood on them to Hicks and get a shoe print of the left trainer. But I warn you now that the bloody footprint on the kitchen floor came from an Adidas trainer, and this is a Nike, and there’s no way that Lenny Seacole character could have squeezed his foot into a shoe that small.’
‘So, we’re still looking for a third person in addition to Bradley Wiseman and Cameron Bird,’ mused Warren.
Who the hell was this shadowy Madman character?
Day 9
Saturday
‘We’ve got a hit on the ANPR cameras near to Kyle Hicks’ lock-up, two hours after he was killed,’ said Richardson, entering Warren’s office with barely a pause after knocking. The excitement that caused this momentary lapse in manners was contagious and Warren immediately dropped what he was doing.
‘And you are never going to believe who the car belongs to,’ she continued.
Warren took her proffered tablet.
A dark blue Fiat Punto could be seen passing through a set of traffic lights. The same car appeared again, travelling in the opposite direction thirty-six minutes later. Frustratingly, although the angle of the camera clearly showed the license plate, it was too dark to see who was driving, or if they had a passenger.
But it didn’t matter. The name of the registered keeper was all he needed.
Suddenly it all made sense. The use of the word ‘slim’ to describe the suspect, rather than skinny. The fact that there was no description in the database or fingerprints on the system, the red bandana to cover long, blonde hair…
‘Madman doesn’t exist and is a woman in disguise, not a man,’ he breathed.
This time the arrest was low key and undramatic. The same blue Fiat from the camera footage was spotted half a mile from where its owner lived, laden with groceries, by the arrest team on the way to pick up the driver. A quick flash of the lights and a whoop of the siren was enough for the driver to pull over. She was in custody, awaiting the arrival of the duty solicitor before the low-loader arrived to take the car back to the pound to be thoroughly searched for traces of Kyle Hicks’ blood and his stolen stash of drugs.
Inside the custody suite, the suspect seemed to have shrunk even more, and Warren could see how easily, with her petite build and baggy clothes, she could have passed for a skinny man at a distance.
It hadn’t taken long to secure a confession. In fact, the duty solicitor had seemed quite taken aback and had asked for a private consultation, before reluctantly sitting silently as her client confessed everything.
‘He was already expecting Cameron Bird to arrive; he was late, and Kyle was impatient, so he rolled the window down as soon as he saw him.’
‘Then what happened?’ asked Warren.
‘I got into the passenger seat beside him.’ Her voice started to shake.
‘And he didn’t think that was strange? He can’t have been expecting to see you as well?’ said Grimshaw.
She paused. ‘He was surprised, but he knows me, so he didn’t do anything.’ She picked up her glass of water.
‘Then what happened?’
‘I used the knife to slice his throat. There was so much blood…’
She buried her face in her hands.
‘Where did you get the knife from?’ asked Warren after she regained her composure.
She sniffed. ‘Cameron gave it to me.’
‘And where did he get it from?’
She looked a little surprised at the question. ‘I don’t know, I guess he bought it from a shop somewhere.’
‘OK, let’s move on. How did you know Bradley Wiseman?’
She looked down at the table. ‘Cameron went to school with him. Bradley was a bit older than him, but he still knew him. Bradley had… problems.’
‘He was a vulnerable adult, suffering from serious mental health issues,’ Warren reminded her.
She stared fixedly at the tabletop. ‘I know. He was lonely and we took advantage of that.’
Warren could hear the remorse in her voice.
‘And so, you befriended him and then used him to cover up your own crime?’
Her voice was barely audible as she nodded. ‘Yes’.
Warren bit back his incredulity. Beside him, Grimshaw shifted but said nothing. One of the first rules of effective interviewing was not to come across as judgemental.
That was really hard sometimes.
‘Whose idea was it to substitute his anti-psychotic medication for ibuprofen?’
She paused. He could see her thinking it over. The easy option would be to claim it was all Bird’s idea; after all, he was no longer here to defend himself.
‘It was mine.’
‘And you also started him drinking and using cannabis again, even though that’s really dangerous?’
Again, she nodded.
‘Tell me what happened after you killed Kyle Hicks.’
Her gaze dropped again, her tone of voice becoming more robot-like as she described the events. ‘We left the car and went back through the gap between the garages and into Bradley’s kitchen.’
She took another sip of water, her hand still shaking.
‘I was wearing one of Bradley’s hoodies and Cameron was wearing the hoodie he changed into in the cinema. We were both covered in blood, so we went upstairs and used the clothes to smear Bradley with the blood. I put Bradley’s hoodie in the laundry basket so you would find it.’
‘Why didn’t Bradley try and stop you?’
Warren wanted to hear her admit it.
‘He was unconscious.’
‘Why?’
‘We gave him some pills earlier in the evening and some vodka.’
‘What type of pills?’
She paused, her eyes darting around. ‘I’m not sure.’
‘Who gave them to him? You or Cameron?’
Again, the pause. ‘I can’t remember.’
‘OK, let’s go back. What type of knife did you use?’
She let out a shuddering breath. ‘It was a butcher’s knife.’
‘And what did you do with it after the attack?’
‘Dropped it in the kitchen sink.’
‘And then what?’
‘We left.’
Warren signalled it was time for a break.
The complete confession had caught them a little unprepared. They’d been expecting prolonged denials over many hours, whilst they lined up all of the rest of their evidence.
Nevertheless, Mags Richardson was excited with the evidence she’d just received.
‘It’s till-point footage from when Bradley Wiseman’s contactless payment card was used to buy the murder weapon. These are the clearest images we have.’
The person buying the knife was wearing a hoodie, with a cap pulled down low, but as they straightened, placing their wallet back in their pocket, there was just the briefest glimpse of their face.
‘Cameron Bird didn’t buy that knife.’
‘She’s a devious bitch, I’ll say that much,’ said Grayson. He’d been watching the interview remotely. He handed over a piece of paper. ‘Fingerprint comparison with the unknowns on the beer cans.’
Warren nodded. It matched what he suspected. ‘Shaun, let’s go back in. Sir, will you be able to arrange everything else that needs to be done?’
‘We’re on it now,’ Grayson assured him.
Breaking the flow of an interview – however necessary – was always a gamble. Time away from the pressure cooker environment of the custody suite and the opportunity to speak to their solicitor often resulted in a change of heart by the interviewee. Sometimes it was for the better, as a previously unhelpful suspect decided that more cooperation was in their best interest. Other times, a helpful suspect would decide that honesty wasn’t the best policy and start ‘no commenting’.
Fortunately, the woman in front of Warren continued as if nothing had happened.
‘After you left Bradley Wiseman’s house, where did you go?’
She paused. ‘Home.’
‘Straight home?’
She paused even longer. ‘More or less.’
Warren opened his folder, selecting a photograph, before sliding it across the table. ‘This is an image from an automated number plate recognition camera. Do you recognise this car?’
She nodded.
‘For the record, please.’
‘It’s my car.’
Warren slid a second photograph across the table. ‘Here is the same car, at the same junction, thirty-six minutes later. That junction is on the opposite side of town to where either you or Cameron Bird live. It would be a huge detour for you to take.’
She said nothing.
‘What is out there that meant you would risk being spotted in blood-stained clothes just minutes after killing someone?’
Again, she said nothing.
‘What were you doing in the thirty-six minutes between your car passing the camera travelling in one direction and then returning? We know that your car didn’t leave that area during that time, so what were you doing?’
It was the first no comment of the interview. A perhaps surprising change of tactic given that she’d already confessed to the murder of Kyle Hicks and being complicit in the serious assault, maybe even the attempted murder, of Bradley Wiseman.
But Warren wasn’t surprised. He’d been expecting it.
‘We know that Kyle Hicks rented a lock-up garage out near there, to keep his drugs in,’ pressed Warren, ‘and we also know that he recently took charge of several kilos of high-quality heroin. By the time it’s cut and divided up, we’re looking at hundreds of thousands of pounds worth of profit.’
‘No comment.’
‘I’m not a great believer in coincidences, so I’m going to assume that there is a connection between Kyle Hicks’ lock-up being broken into and the several bricks of heroin hidden in the basement of your house.’
This time her response was weary and without conviction.
‘No comment.’
‘Why did you kill Cameron Bird?’
From the gasp of surprise, the question had caught her completely off guard.
‘Granted, it looked a lot like suicide, but it’s not easy for someone to plunge a knife into their own chest, and the alignment of the fingerprints on the handle was wrong. Was it your idea to burn the blood-stained clothes or Cameron’s?’
This time the ‘no comment’ seemed like a reflex.
‘It wasn’t a very good job, by the way,’ Warren said. ‘They only partially burned… but I imagine you intended that, didn’t you? Where have you been keeping the clothes by the way? We searched Cameron’s house four days ago and found no trace of them.’
‘No comment.’
‘Why did you bring them around to Cameron’s to dispose of them, instead of burning them somewhere else?’
‘No comment.’
Warren continued regardless. As frustrating as a ‘no comment’ might be, he was duty-bound to give her the opportunity to answer the questions that he posed.
‘You see, I don’t think that this was part of your back-up plan. I think you panicked.’
‘No comment.’
Warren ignored her.
‘The whole affair was staged to make it look like Bradley Wiseman killed Kyle Hicks. But just in case we weren’t completely fooled, you invented this Madman character, and you and Cameron started directing us towards him, knowing that he didn’t exist. I think you were so confident that we wouldn’t look any further than this ghost you created, that when we arrested Cameron Bird, and kept him in custody for a day and a half, you panicked. You were worried that even if he hadn’t said anything about you when we first interviewed him, he’d implicate you at a later date. So, what better way to destroy his credibility or stop him talking than to kill him and point all of the evidence towards him?’
She said nothing.
‘Tell me, were you and Cameron Bird lovers before you hatched this plan? Or did you jus
t use sex as a way of controlling him?’
She opened her mouth as if to protest, before closing it then mumbling ‘no comment’.
‘According to the forensics investigation, we found fresh semen in his underwear, indicating that he engaged in sexual activity shortly before his death. Did you stab him during sex, or afterwards?’
‘No comment.’
Tears were now coursing down her cheeks.
‘What were you going to do with the drugs? There was enough there to keep Hertfordshire going for a year. Did you have the contacts necessary to get it onto the streets?’
‘No comment.’
‘His flatmates are going to be alright by the way; the ones that you gave pure uncut heroin to. They’re long-time users and their tolerance was high enough to keep them alive until the paramedics arrived.’
She said nothing.
‘We have enough to charge you,’ said Warren, ‘but a bit of cooperation would really help us understand what happened.’
She stared at the tabletop.
‘Yulianna Polivanova, why did you kill Kyle Hicks and Cameron Bird?’
The explanation when it came was halting at first, but the Russian housekeeper became increasingly fluent as she started to speak from the heart, her accent becoming less pronounced.
‘I did it to protect Maddie.’
‘How?’
‘She’s been through so much… people like Kyle Hicks are evil, they prey on the weak and take advantage of them.’
‘But Madison told us that they loved each other.’
Polivanova snorted. ‘He wouldn’t know what love is. He’s a predator, and Maddie was his victim. He recognised a broken soul when he saw it.’
‘Why was she a broken soul?’ asked Warren, his tone gentle again.
Polivanova looked over his shoulder, her eyes becoming unfocused. ‘I loved her from the moment we met. She was so beautiful; those big blue eyes and curly hair. I was just seventeen you know and an only child. There were no nieces or nephews and all my cousins are older than me. I’d never even held a baby before.’
Warren said nothing, barely breathing, frightened he might break the spell. This was the moment of truth. The reason that everything had happened.