Deadly Fallout (Detective Zoe Finch Book 6)

by Rachel McLean

  Zoe would need to have a chat with Connie. Plant some ideas in her head.

  Was she talking herself into losing half of her team?

  “Anyway.” She brought herself back to the case. “I need you to do some poking around for me. Use those networks of yours.”

  “No problem.”

  “The victim is a copper. DS Raif Starling.”

  “Whoah.” Rhodri’s eyes widened.

  “Whoah indeed. One of the PCs at the scene, PC Kale, recognised him. They work – worked – out of the same nick.”

  “Worked?”

  “Apparently Starling left a couple of months ago.”

  “Maybe that’s when his killer got to him.”

  Zoe shook her head. “A DS doesn’t go missing for two months without people noticing. No, there’s some other reason. It could be ill health, could be that he retired. Or he could have been suspended. There might be link between that, and his death.”

  “And you want me to go sniffing around, find out what he was up to.”

  “Bingo. You know anyone at Erdington?”

  “I was on basic training with Sally Gilbert, boss.”

  “She was at the scene. Good. See what you can get from her. Be subtle, though. I need to go through the official channels, too, inform his DCI of what’s happened. Although I imagine he already knows.”

  “It’ll have got back to him in five seconds flat, boss.”

  Zoe pulled a hand through her hair. “Don’t I know it.”

  She wasn’t looking forward to this. DCI Chris Donnelly was a former boss of hers. He’d been her DS when she was a rookie DC. He’d been old-school, ‘one of the lads’. And now she was about to tell him he’d lost one of his team, and start asking uncomfortable questions.

  She sighed. “OK, Rhod. Let me know how you get on, yeah?”

  “Will do.” He gave her one of his trademark sheepish smiles and left the room. Zoe picked up her phone, her chest tight.

  Chapter Twelve

  Mo ended his call from Connie and headed up the stairs to the decking and inside the house. It was starting to drizzle and he was shivering.

  He walked into the half-empty living room, his footsteps echoing on the floorboards. He could imagine this place being nice, with a bit of work. Quite a lot of work.

  Connie had given him the contact details for the owners, in Dusseldorf. That was his next call. The estate agent had been and gone, kicking up a fuss about the mess they were making of the kitchen. Mo had reminded her this was a crime scene, which gave them the right to examine it as needed. He’d also explained that it would be put back together again. But he doubted this place would sell now. Not when potential viewers knew a body had lain unnoticed in that cellar for a week. And getting the smell out…

  He shuddered and stuck his head through the door into the kitchen. He wanted to check for any news on the forensics and update Zoe on that if needed, before he made this call to Germany. He knew he was procrastinating. The agent would already have told the owners – at least she would have done if she was any good at her job – and so Mo would be the one left to face their confusion and frustration. Anger, too, probably.

  “Adi?”

  “Down here,” came a voice from beyond the cellar door next to Mo. “Come down!”

  “On my way.” Mo picked his way down the stairs. More lighting had been rigged up which meant the stairway and cellar were now fully illuminated. Two techs filled the cramped space; Adi near where the body had been, and his colleague Rav under the stairs.

  “Found anything new?” Mo asked.

  Adi turned and stood, stooping to avoid hitting his head on the ceiling. Adi was tall, at least six foot four, and he seemed like a giant in this space.

  “We have,” he said, giving Mo a quizzical look. Mo thought back to the evening Zoe had asked him to accompany her and Adi to the pub, after Adi had asked her out and she’d said no. Did Adi know how much she’d told him?

  “Go on.”

  Adi turned towards the far wall. “This was hidden by the body.”

  Mo leaned forward.

  “Hang on,” said Rav. He shuffled backwards to make space for Mo to approach Adi.

  “What am I looking at?” asked Mo. He couldn’t see anything.

  “It’s not the easiest to make out, I’ll give you that.” Adi grabbed a hand torch and shone it at the wall, holding it at an angle.

  As the light swept across the flaking plaster, Mo spotted indentations. He squinted. “Someone scratched that?”

  “They did.”

  Mo stepped forward. He could hear Adi’s breath, sense Rav shrinking further into the space behind them. On the wall was what looked like a drawing, scratched into the plasterwork.

  “What is it?” he asked.

  “It’s a symbol, by the looks of it. Almost like a logo. We’ve photographed it from all angles and I’m going to get a tracing made. UV photography should be the most help.”

  “What symbol is it?”

  The shape consisted of a ring with something else running through it, and the shape of what looked like an animal. Mo bent his head to one side.

  “It’s a bull,” he said.

  “Yup. A crude representation, but that’s what it looks like to me. The thing sticking out of it, well that’s not much more than a line. But I imagine it’s meant to be a spear.”

  “You’ve seen it before?” Mo asked.

  “Nope. We’ll put it into the database, find out if it’s turned up at any more crime scenes.”

  “It took time to do that. To stop in the middle of disposing of a body and draw that on the wall. That was deliberate.”

  “A message,” Adi agreed. “But it might not have been the killer.”

  Mo felt cold sweat run down his back. “You really don’t think the victim could have…?”

  He tried to imagine the victim scratching this out. He’d have had to be alive, and sufficiently alert to do this. He’d have been alone.

  “Dr Adebayo said nothing about that,” Adi replied. “But it has been a week. And the full PM hasn’t been done yet.”

  Mo stared at the inscription. “Either way, it’s a message.”

  “A calling card,” Adi said.

  “Or a clue.” Mo looked at him.

  “Are there any signs he might have been alive?” Mo asked. “Any evidence of him moving around? Bodily functions?”

  “Plenty of blood, not much of anything else. If he was alive after they left him here, he didn’t last long. Poor bastard.”

  Mo whistled out a long breath. “Yeah.” Taking your last breaths down here, knowing you were never going to see daylight again. He shuddered.

  “I assume Zoe told you who he is,” Adi said.

  “She did.”

  Adi nodded. He flicked the light off. “So you’ve got a DS who’s been off work for a couple of months. And this.” He gestured towards the wall. “If it was him, he was talking to us. He knew we’d see it.”

  Mo felt cold. “He wanted us to know who killed him.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Zoe gripped her mobile, watching the constables through the glass and listening to the ring tone. DCI Donnelly wasn’t picking up.

  She wondered whether he was unavailable or simply not taking calls. Part of her was relieved; she didn’t relish the idea of speaking to him. But a bigger part was frustrated. This was a murder inquiry and she needed to let him know his officer was dead. And to find out what he could tell her about the victim.

  If he chose to tell her anything, that was. She hoped this wouldn’t end up involving Carl.

  She hung up and redialled.

  “Erdington police station, can I help you?”

  “My name’s DI Zoe Finch, I’m with Force CID. I need to speak to DCI Donnelly.”

  “Oh.” Zoe heard muffled movement, followed by voices. She tapped her pen against the desk.

  “I’m sorry, he’s out. I can give you his mobile number.”

  “Do
n’t worry, I’ve already tried that. Can you tell me where he is?”

  “I’ll put you through to his team.”

  Before Zoe could object, the line went silent. After a few moments, it was picked up.

  “Well, well. If it isn’t Zoe Finch.”

  “DI Zoe Finch. Who’s this?”

  “Don’t say you don’t remember me. Fin Weeks? We worked together.”

  She remembered Fin Weeks. He’d been Donnelly’s pet, back when she’d worked at Erdington CID.

  “Fin. How are you? Still hanging onto Donnelly’s coat tails?”

  “Nothing wrong with loyalty. I’m a DI now, and I hear you are too.”

  “Can you tell me where DCI Donnelly is, please? I need to talk with him urgently.”

  Weeks laughed. “You never did have a sense of humour, did you?” He sighed. “He’s at the crime scene you were at earlier, if you must know.”

  Why was she not surprised? “That’s a Force CID operation. He has no—”

  “Don’t get your knickers in a twist, Zoe. His man has carked it and he wants to know what’s going on.”

  Carked it? If Raif Starling worked for Donnelly, it meant he was Weeks’s colleague. No love lost there, thought Zoe.

  “The victim isn’t at the scene anymore. He’s been taken away by Pathology.”

  “Again, nothing I don’t already know. You think we don’t talk to each other here in Erdington? We’re not like you fancy Lloyd House lot.”

  “I’m not based out of Lloyd House. I’m at—”

  “Oh, yeah. Not senior enough. Anyway, I’ll tell the boss you called.”

  “Don’t worry. I’m on my way to the scene anyway.”

  “I’ll warn him.”

  I bet you will, she thought. “Fin, do something for me, will you?”

  “Try me.”

  “Tell him to stay put. It’s important that I speak to him. And tell him not to interfere.”

  A snort. “I’ll try, Zoe. Can’t say I’ll succeed.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  Anita sat at the kitchen table. A mug of tea had long since gone cold in front of her but her fingers were still entwined around it.

  That woman. Who was she? Why was David photographed with his arm around her?

  She looked young enough to be his daughter. No more than twenty-five. Anita gritted her teeth, resisting an urge to grab her phone and look at it again.

  Her phone rang and she jumped, almost falling off the chair. It vibrated on the table, skidding towards her mug. She stared at it, her mind clouded.

  At last it stopped. She turned it off, cursing it under her breath. Leave me alone.

  Was she going to speak to him, this time? She’d suspected him of having an affair for months. The late nights, the evenings when he would come home, eat and then go straight out again. Never telling her where. She’d watched him drive away from the house, trying to imagine what he was thinking. Whether he felt any guilt for what he was doing to her and the girls.

  She loved him, still. Despite the betrayal. Despite the coldness in recent months. He was permanently distracted. She’d asked him more than once if he was OK, but each time he blamed it on work stress. And he had a point; it had definitely got worse since he’d been promoted. Since the murder of Bryn Jackson, the Assistant Chief Constable.

  She shivered. She should have made contact with Margaret Jackson, after her husband died. The woman was a grey, mousy thing, scared to speak when she attended work functions. But her husband was dead, for God’s sake. Anita should have reached out, shown some sympathy.

  It was too late now. Bryn Jackson had been dead for over six months. If she called his widow now, it would look odd. And besides, from what she’d seen of ACC Jackson, the woman would be a damn sight happier without him around.

  She was woken from thoughts of the Jacksons by the house phone ringing. She dug her fingernails into the table. No one ever rang that number. Not unless they were selling something. David used his police mobile when he was in his study, and she had hers too. The girls, well the girls barely knew what a phone was supposed to be for. Unless it was posting fifteen-second videos online and taking pouting selfies.

  Damn, it wouldn’t stop. She shoved the finger she’d been grinding into the table in her mouth and chewed on the nail. She knew she shouldn’t: she’d had her nails done last Thursday. If she carried on like this she’d ruin them.

  She didn’t care.

  Oh for God’s sake will you bloody stop? She raised her head to look towards the kitchen door. The landline was in the dining room at the front of the house, best spot for the wifi router. She’d have to answer it, if it was ever going to shut up.

  She trudged through to the dining room and grabbed the receiver. She considered putting it straight down without answering but then decided better of it.

  “Hello?”

  “Mrs Randle?”

  “That’s me.” She wriggled her fingers and surveyed the chewed nail. “What are you selling?”

  “Mrs Randle, it’s Mrs Healey from the school, Carly’s head of year. I tried your mobile but there was no answer.”

  Anita felt a chill wash over her. She glanced at the clock. “Is everything alright?” It was coming up to three pm. Her girls walked home from school. It wasn’t like she’d forgotten to pick them up.

  “There’s been an incident. In PE.”

  “An incident?”

  “Another girl alleges that Carly attacked her.”

  Anita’s hand went to her chest. “Sorry?”

  “The girl says that Carly bit her. On the wrist.”

  Bit her? Carly hadn’t bitten since she was three. Fourteen-year-olds didn’t bite.

  “I’m sure it’s a misunderstanding.”

  “Well, we need to gather evidence, as I’m sure you understand. But so far we have two witnesses who corroborate the allegations against Carly. I can assure you I’ll be mounting a thorough investigation, but—”

  “Is she alright?”

  “Carly’s…. Well, she’s calm now. But she’s angry about something, Mrs Randle. I think it might help if you talked to her.”

  “Of course.”

  “And in the meantime, we had to pull her out of PE and I’d be grateful if you could come and collect her.”

  Anita stared out of the front window. A group of boys in the uniform her girls wore walked past. They looked like sixth formers.

  “Yes, right. Of course. I’ll be right there.” Anita swallowed.

  “Thank you. We can set up a more formal appointment for tomorrow afternoon.”

  “Yes. Right.”

  “See you shortly.”

  The line went dead. Anita held the phone out in front of her, her eyes fizzing. She’d spent half an hour already sitting at the top of the stairs, crying. She couldn’t start again.

  Get a grip, she told herself. She had the snap of that photo she’d taken on her phone. She’d decide what to do with it later, when the immediate crisis had been dealt with. Carly, biting people? It made no sense. She was a good girl, spirited sometimes, but so far she’d kept any rebelliousness to home. At school, she had a flawless record. Or she had done.

  Anita sighed and walked into the hall. She grabbed her handbag off the table and checked her keys were inside. She tugged open the front door, her head full of worry.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Zoe drummed her fingers on the steering wheel as she sat in the tunnels below Birmingham city centre. This reminded her of the Osman kidnapping case, all those journeys across town, all those hours she and Mo had spent sat in traffic.

  This was why they had two branches of Force CID. But DI Jane Finks, her opposite number in the north, was still away. Zoe wondered if she’d be recalled early. If her team would be taken off the case. Jane was OK; a bit territorial, like everybody else, really, but easy enough to work with.

  The car ahead of her started moving. Zoe released the brake and inched forward, muttering. By the time she bloody
got there, Donnelly would be long gone. She needed to know what Starling had been up to, why he’d stopped work.

  Maybe Rhodri would have some intel by now. She hit hands-free and called him.

  “Hey, boss.”

  “Hi Rhodri, any joy with Starling?”

  “A sniff, boss.”

  “A sniff?”

  “Well, nothing official like, but Sally Gilbert reckons he was bent.”

  Zoe’s eyes widened. “On what basis?”

  “Just gossip round the station really, but Starling left all of a sudden eight weeks ago. No leaving do, no sign of illness, he wasn’t due for retirement. The guy was only forty-six.”

  Shit. Forty-six. He’d looked twenty years older in that cellar, his skin had been so dry. But Adana had estimated forty to fifty, and she’d been right.

  “So he stopped coming into work all of a sudden and PC Gilbert has jumped to the conclusion that he was suspended?”

  “Not just her. It’s the only logical conclusion.”

  Maybe not. It was important to consider all the possibilities. That was how a person got to be a sergeant, Zoe thought. “It’s one conclusion, Rhod. And a hell of one. We need to keep our minds open until we get confirmation.”

  “He’d just bought himself a flash car, boss.”

  An officer suddenly spending large amounts of money was a red flag for possible corruption. “What kind?”

  “A Tesla.”

  “A Tesla?” She tried to stop herself laughing. She’d never come across anyone who’d spent their corruption money on an electric vehicle.

  “Don’t knock it, boss. It may be an EV, but it’s the best one you can buy. They start at forty-two grand.”

  She whistled. “Blimey. And that’s supposed to save the planet?”

  “Don’t ask me, boss. So have you tracked down his DCI yet?”

  “He’s at the scene, apparently.”

  “OK.”

  “I’m hoping he doesn’t try to take over the case.”

  “You think he will?”