“He was released by the Professional Standards Department. I can’t answer as to why that happened.”
“DI Finch, how did you feel about having a man you suspected of corruption and had recently accused of kidnapping his own children joining your team?”
“I knew the circumstances of his posting to Force CID. I gave him the responsibilities you’d normally give a DS in a major investigation team.”
“Such as?”
“We were investigating the murder of a man in the gay village. DS Osman had responsibility for interviewing witnesses.”
“Would you agree that during that investigation, you barely let my client out of your sight and you gave him no more responsibility than you gave to the two detective constables in your team?”
“I would not agree with that, no.”
“DI Finch, did you like my client?”
Zoe gulped in air. “I was his line manager. Whether I liked him is irrelevant.”
“You wanted DS Uddin back on your team. You didn’t trust Ian Osman. And you wanted him off your team any way you could find. Is this why you’re saying you saw him tampering with one of the bodies at the airport?”
“If you check the record of my evidence you’ll find I haven’t actually said that. I observed him bending over a body.”
“And that’s all you saw.”
She swallowed. “It is.”
“His job on that afternoon was to preserve the scene, just like yourself. He was carrying out his normal duties as a police officer. He had every right to be near those bodies, as did you.”
“He did.”
“So why are you misleading the court into thinking he was undertaking a criminal act, when in fact he was just doing his job?”
“I’m just reporting what I saw.”
“No further questions.”
Chapter Forty-One
Rhodri hated DS Uddin’s car. It was a nondescript brown Vauxhall, cramped and dull. He’d rather have brought his own Saab, but the sarge had been worried it would break down.
He sat in the passenger seat, trying not to sulk. His Saab had passed its MOT only two weeks ago. It was fine. Just because it had let Mo down, back when they’d been following Ian Osman…
He sat up. “D’you reckon the boss has finished yet?”
The DS shrugged. “You know what Crown Court trials are like.”
“I don’t.”
“You’ve never appeared at one?”
Rhodri shook his head. “Magistrates’ Court, a few times. Back when I was in Uniform. But I don’t even know where the Crown Court is.”
“It’s about a hundred yards from the Magistrates’ Court. Maybe I’ll show you on the way back.”
Rhodri grunted. The longer he had to spend in this car, the more irritated he would get.
“How far now?”
They were on the M6 heading out of the city. The satnav had insisted it was the best route to Chelmsley Wood but Rhodri wasn’t convinced. If it was up to him he’d have taken the direct route via Stetchford.
“Fifteen minutes. What is this, a school trip? Are we there yet?” The sarge glanced at Rhodri, grinning.
“Sorry, Sarge. I’m not meself today.”
“What’s up? You miffed about not being put forward for promotion?”
“Nah. I knew that was a long shot. It’s… it’s nothing.”
“You can tell me, Rhod. If something’s getting to you, I want to know about it.”
Rhodri gazed out of the window and yawned. “Woman troubles.”
“Ah.”
“Ah indeed.”
Rhodri wondered if the sarge had ever had woman problems. He was married to that GP, Karine or Catrine or something. Two perfect little daughters and a tidy house in Northfield. Rhodri wanted all that one day. The job, the woman, the house.
“I’m sure it’ll pass,” said DS Uddin. “How long you been seeing her?”
“Two months. I think she’s about to dump me.”
“Ah.”
Ah again. Rhodri wiped his nose on the back of his hand.
The DS pointed to the glove compartment in front of Rhodri. “Box of tissues in there.”
“Huh? Oh, yeah. Sorry.” Rhodri opened the glovebox and pulled out a box of mansize tissues. He took one and blew his nose loudly.
“You got a bin?”
“Best if you pocket it,” the sarge said. He indicated; they were filtering off the motorway. At last.
“Thank God for that,” Rhodri said.
“You don’t like my driving?”
“I’m just not a very good passenger, is all.”
“Makes a change for me. The boss normally drives.”
“In that Mini of hers. Must be a squeeze.”
“I’m not a beanpole like you.”
“Yeah. Sorry.” Rhodri eyed the sarge, all five feet eight inches of him. Same height as the boss, which looked all wrong when you saw the two of them together.
“Don’t be,” DS Uddin said as he turned left past a supermarket.
“This it then?” asked Rhodri.
“It is. Let’s hope we’re not too late.”
They pulled up opposite the police cordon. Forensics techs were dismantling the tent and Adi was trawling the grass beneath it for anything they might have left behind.
“Morning,” the DS said as he approached the FSM, his arm outstretched.
Adi pumped DS Uddin’s hand and then reached for Rhodri’s. Rhodri flinched as he was subjected to the same powerful grip.
“Morning, lads,” said Adi. “No Zoe?”
“She’s in court,” replied the sarge.
“Of course. Poor her.”
“You almost finished here?” Rhodri asked.
“Yeah. Just doing final checks then we’ll be lab-based.”
DS Uddin gestured towards the industrial estate behind them. “I’m going to go door-to-door. See if I can find any witnesses or CCTV.”
“Uniform already knocked on doors,” said Rhodri.
“I’ve got their list. There’s a couple need following up.” The DS walked away, his hands in his pockets.
“You in charge now?” Adi asked Rhodri.
“The boss is trying to give me and Connie some more responsibility.”
“So you get forensics, and DS Uddin gets the grunt work.”
“Not entirely grunt work.”
Adi shrugged.
“I was expecting Yala,” Rhodri told him.
“They released me from the Boldmere crime scene. Yala wanted to get a start on the lab work for this one.”
“Fair enough. Anything new to tell us?”
“Come with me.”
Rhodri followed Adi to the patch of grass, now standing empty.
“There’s nothing here,” he said.
“Not anymore. But I wanted to show you what there had been.”
“OK.”
Adi stepped onto the grass. He stood to one side, next to a hedge. “So this is where we found the body. You can see the stains on the grass.”
“Blood?”
“Blood and other bodily fluids. He’d been dead a week, he was what you might call leaking.”
Rhodri grimaced. “We still got no idea who he is?”
“That’s what Yala’s working on. We took DNA before he was moved to the morgue. Should get the results today.”
“And you found that badge on him.”
“Hold your horses. Let me walk you through it first.”
“Sorry.” Rhodri put his hands in his jacket pockets, wishing he’d worn something more substantial than a suit.
“So. He was face down here. Tangled up. Like a yoga pose, Yala said. Thread the needle.”
Rhodri nodded, feeling his flesh tingle. Izzy, his girlfriend, did yoga. If she still was his girlfriend.
“He was posed?”
“Well, you’d think so,” Adi replied. “But he was put here at least a day after he died. Probably later, given that no one saw him. It’s
a busy area.”
Rhodri looked across at the supermarket. Two kids stood outside it, legs astride their bikes, watching them. Rhodri wondered if they should be at school.
“So when d’you reckon he was dumped?”
“We’ve checked weather in this area for the last week. It rained on Monday night, and his clothes were damp, but not soaked. He’d been attacked by animals – foxes, judging by the bite marks – but not badly. I think he wasn’t here more than twelve hours.”
“So he was kept somewhere else in the meantime.”
“We’re examining his clothes for any fibres or debris from a location he might have been kept at.”
“Or killed at.”
“Or killed at, indeed. And then there’s the badge you’re so keen on.”
“The same symbol found near the dead copper.”
“I’m not s’posed to talk to you about that.”
“The boss is working with DI Whaley. We’re operating jointly.”
Adi raised an eyebrow. “You are, are you?”
Rhodri nodded.
“I’ll have to check that out. I’ve got strict instructions, and I’ve already… never mind.”
Rhodri frowned but didn’t push it. Adi’s phone rang and the FSM raised a finger for quiet.
“Hi, Yala.” Adi looked at Rhodri as he listened. Rhodri’s heart picked up pace.
Adi’s eyes widened. “You sure?… Yeah… I’ve got DC Hughes with me… yeah. OK, you do that.”
Rhodri stared at him, shifting from foot to foot. Was it the DNA results?
Adi was still talking. “I’ll tell him. They’re not going to be happy…. I know. See ya.”
He hung up.
“Well?” Rhodri said.
“We’ve got a match for the DNA. It’s probably not what you were expecting.”
Chapter Forty-Two
Mo stood outside a scruffy looking building in the industrial estate opposite the spot where the body had been found. The two constables who’d been here yesterday had made a note of the CCTV camera above his head, and he wanted to follow it up. A sign above the door advertised the place as Chelmund’s Cross Gym. From here it just looked like a neglected industrial unit.
He looked up at the camera, then turned to check the angle. The camera wouldn’t be able to see the dump site, but it might have caught someone approaching it.
A voice came over the intercom. “We’re not open yet. Come back after two.”
“I’m with West Midlands Police. We’re following up an incident in the local area.”
“What kind of incident?”
“A murder. We’re hoping your CCTV might have picked something up.”
“It won’t.”
Mo looked up at the camera. The voice was female, Scottish.
“I’d like to check, if you don’t mind.” Mo pulled up his collar, it was starting to drizzle.
“Wait a minute.”
Mo huddled into the doorway, trying to get away from the rain. Good job this hadn’t started while they were taking the forensic tent down, he thought.
The door opened and Mo almost fell through. He grabbed his ID from his inside pocket and held it out.
A woman stood in front of him. She was skinny, with dyed purple hair and a cigarette hanging out of her mouth.
“That CCTV isn’t working properly,” she said.
“Not working at all, or not working properly?”
“Not working properly.”
“What times is this gym open?” He looked at the sign on the wall. If it was a gym, it certainly wasn’t Bannatyne’s.
“Two pm till midnight. Six days a week.”
“Do you have both floors of this building?”
“We do.” She shoved a hand in her jeans pocket. Mo coughed as a blast of cigarette smoke hit him.
“Can I come inside please? I’d like to see what the view is from upstairs.”
“Like I say, we’re closed.”
Mo bit down his irritation. He couldn’t force his way in, but this woman wasn’t doing herself any favours.
“Are you the manager?”
“I am.”
“You own this business?” He got out his notepad.
She cocked her head. “Do I look like I own a fuckin’ business to you?”
Mo stared at her. He could try and track down the business’s owner. Or he could come back when they were open, hope there was someone more cooperative on site. If that didn’t work, he could always go back to tracking down the owner.
“Who does own this business?”
“RJ Holdings.”
“Do they have a director?”
She shrugged and took a drag on her cigarette.
He sighed. “Is there any chance I could take a look at your CCTV footage from the last few days?”
“We wipe it every morning.”
She’d told him it wasn’t working properly. Now she was saying it was wiped. “After you’ve checked it?”
“Look. If nothing’s happened, we overwrite it. No law against that, is there?”
Mo looked up at the camera. It was the only thing on this building that looked cared for. He would bet it was digital.
He noted down the make of the camera. Connie could check how it operated.
“Thanks for your time,” he said. “I’ll be back later.”
She grunted and closed the door in his face.
Chapter Forty-Three
Zoe sat in a café opposite Birmingham Crown Court, her mind racing. She didn’t feel ready to drive yet, so she’d headed to a trendy corner cafe, and ordered a coffee and two slices of toast. They’d only had sourdough.
A young man with his hair pulled back in a man-bun put the plate of toast down in front of her. It was laden with butter, just the way she liked it.
She picked it up and tried to stop it dripping onto her shirt as she shovelled the thick toast into her mouth. She closed her eyes, trying to cast the image of that smug barrister from her mind. A solicitor had been sitting next to him, a large woman with blonde hair and ruddy cheeks. Zoe wondered when Edward Startshaw, Hamm’s solicitor, had stopped representing Ian.
Her phone rang as she put the second half of the slice in her mouth. She gulped the toast down, almost choking, and grabbed it. It was Rhodri.
“Hey, Rhod.” She licked her lips. “Sorry. Just eating some toast.”
“Sounds good, boss. Trial go OK?”
“Let’s not talk about that. You in Chelmsley?”
“Yeah. Me and the sarge.”
“OK.” So Mo had given Rhodri the job of calling her. “What can I do for you?”
“They’ve got the DNA results, boss.”
“Go on.”
“It’s a man.”
“Well, that’s no surprise.” She slurped her coffee then cursed herself: it was hot.
“We know him, boss. Well, you do.”
Zoe put her coffee down. “I do?”
“His name’s Howard Petersen.”
“Howard Petersen?” She cupped her hand around the phone, thinking back to the large, bloated body. The blond hair. “Howard Petersen from the Canary case?”
Howard Petersen had been one of three men they’d arrested for child abuse, just before she’d become a DI. He’d been given a suspended sentence for money laundering, and it still pissed her off.
“Same guy, boss. Checked against records from that case.”
“Damn.”
“What d’you want me to do, boss?”
“Is Mo with you?”
“He is.”
“Someone needs to tell Mrs Petersen.”
Zoe pictured the young, glamorous wife. She’d barged into the Petersen house last October, when they’d been searching for Ian’s daughter. For a time, she’d worried the girl had been taken by the paedophile ring.
“You want me and the sarge to do that?”
“He lives in Four Oaks. Get the address from Connie. Talk to the wife, see if she’s got any idea why
someone might have done this.”
“You don’t see her being a suspect?”
“He was a big man. Unless she had help…”
And besides, domestic murders didn’t generally involve keeping bodies for days then dumping them on waste ground.
“No,” she said. “I don’t. But watch her reaction anyway. You know what to look for, don’t you?”
“Surprise, mainly.”
“That and the authenticity of her reaction. Report back to me when you’ve spoken to her.”
“Will do, boss. See you back in Harborne?”
“Yeah.” Zoe hung up. She had someone she needed to talk to, and he was a five minute walk away.
Chapter Forty-Four
Colmore Circus was busy, office workers heading back to their desks after their lunch break. Zoe checked her watch: ten to two. She took the zebra crossing leading to Lloyd House, West Midlands Police HQ, and stopped outside.
She looked up at the thirteen-storey building, chewing over what Rhodri had told her.
If someone had killed both Petersen and Starling, then it had to be linked to the Canary case. To Trevor Hamm. And by extension, to Randle.
Carl might already know. But if she gave him the information, there was less chance of him pushing her out of the second case. She needed to know what would happen next.
But first, she needed a sounding board.
She strolled down a side street and huddled next to the wall. She dialled Lesley’s number.
“Zoe, everything OK?”
“Yes ma’am, why wouldn’t it be?”
“You only call me when you’re worried about something. Sometimes that something’s me. But more often, it’s a case.”
“Am I that obvious?”
Lesley chuckled. “I don’t mind. Bored off my tits anyway. Hit me with it.”
“So you know about the Erdington CID detective we found dead in Boldmere?”
“DS Starling. I do.”
“I don’t suppose you know anything about the investigation into his death?”
“I thought you were SIO on that.”
So Lesley hadn’t been informed. No surprise there.
“PSD swooped in and took over,” Zoe said. “Starling was bent.”
“And you want an in on the evidence.”
Deadly Fallout (Detective Zoe Finch Book 6) Page 14