Catherine

by A J Hollingsworth

  'Don't worry the first week is always the hardest but you'll soon settle in. We have a good bunch of kids coming here.'

  'Yes, just a case of jitters I guess.'

  'Well, if you need any help just let me know and I will always be happy to help where I can,' Michael stated before raising to his feet. 'See you around,' he added before leaving the canteen with a freshly made mug of coffee.

  Nathan moved over to the kettle and made himself a brew.

  Chapter 10

  'Would you like any refreshments?' asked the officer who was on duty.

  'No,' stated Daisy barely looking up from the top of the interview room table.

  Daisy was sat in interview room three at Fulford Road Police Station, the handcuffs had been removed, however the police officer remained by the door of the room just in case. Although Daisy's petite frame differed largely from that of the majority who had sat in this room and could not equally been seen as a threat.

  'Sorry to have kept you waiting,' Rachel said as she stepped into the interview room.

  'I don't have to say anything, you know.'

  'I am well aware of your rights, Daisy.'

  'I was just saying.'

  'Daisy, I just merely want to chat. To clarify a few points, that's all. You do have the right to stay quiet, but if you co-operate with me, this will be over a lot quicker.'

  Daisy scoffed and raised her eyebrows towards Rachel with a look of contempt on her face, fitting for the most sadistic characters of any Disney film. A knock at the door interrupted the staring competition between the pair. Rachel nodded across to the officer stood by the door and she proceeded to open the door to another police officer standing there with two cups of coffee in plain white mugs on a scratched wooden tray. She walked into the room and paced the tray on the table in front of Daisy.

  'I thought you may like a cuppa?' Rachel said softly.

  'I'm OK, thanks.'

  Rachel smiled softly at Daisy before moving across to the table and after adding two sugars and milk to one of the mugs, she sat opposite Daisy and began supping her coffee.

  'Where were you Daisy last night?'

  Daisy remained quiet, playing with her fingers in her lap and doing her best to avoid eye contact with Rachel.

  'Daisy, you really need to tell us where you were last night.'

  'I was in my room,' she snarled back.

  'On your own?'

  'Yeah.'

  Rachel opened the cardboard folder that was sitting on the table in front of her and pulled out one of the letters she had sent to Catherine.

  'Did you write this letter to Catherine?'

  Daisy looked down at the letter that Rachel had placed in front of her on top of the desk.

  'It looks like my handwriting.'

  'It either is or it isn't Daisy!'

  'Yes, I wrote the letter.'

  'Thank you.'

  Rachel sat back in her chair looking at Daisy waiting for a reaction, she wasn't looking for any particular reaction because the numerous times she had been in this situation, she never got the reaction she was expecting. Sometimes the people would break and spill their hearts out like a can of beans across the table and others would continue with the lies. Some would get mad or stay quiet and refuse to talk at all. Everyone had their own agenda that dealt with being sat in a police interview room.

  Daisy remained quiet. Rachel hated that, it was a complete waste of her time, sat there looking into space thinking about Nathan and what the pair could be doing together. Her anniversary and here she is sat in an interview room with the silent angry love scorned teenager. Getting mad herself wouldn't work, she had to be patient and delicate like she was nurturing a seedling.

  'Daisy,' she said softly whilst leaning across the desk trying to catch the gaze of her. 'All I want to know is what happened to Catherine. If you had anything to do with her death I strongly advise you to tell me now.'

  She remained silent playing with her black varnished fingernails looking down towards the floor.

  'Why did you write the letters?'

  Silence.

  'Daisy, please talk to me. I only want to help you.'

  The silence was suddenly broken with the sound of soft sarcastic laughter from Daisy.

  'You don't want to help me. You want to blame me for Catherine's murder.'

  'I don't Daisy. I just want to know what happened and the way I see it at the moment, you wrote to Catherine threatening her life and then here we are now with her body growing ever more cold by the second. Way I see it, you have ever reason to kill her.'

  'Because she stole Mark, you mean.'

  'Your words if I remember correctly less than an hour ago.'

  'Yes I was angry and yes I wrote those letters, still doesn't mean I killed her,' Daisy's voice now raised in anger and frustration.

  There was a knock at the door before Rachel could carry on asking her questions. The police officer opened the door and in came a man dressed in a pin striped grey power suit, with a red tie.

  'Hello DCI Lambert. Congratulations on your promotion,' said the man.

  Great, Rachel thought to herself. She recognised the man instantly. The lawyer.

  'If you don't mind DCI Lambert I wish to speak with my client alone for a moment.'

  Rachel was out manoeuvred and as requested rose from her chair and headed towards the door. She was almost there when another man in jeans and a blue cotton shirt with crocodile skin effect shoes on was standing in her way.

  'May I help?' she asked him.

  'It's OK DCI Lambert. This is Mr Reynolds, Daisy's father and I would like him to remain in the room if you have no objection?'

  'Of course not,' Rachel said humbly before leaving the room and shutting the door behind herself.

  Rachel knew Daisy's new lawyer extremely well, they had been old friends at secondary school and were, in fact, dating one another before she left for University. Richard Byers had left for Bristol University to study law and had talked about being a lawyer since he was twelve. The distance between the pair had led Rachel calling an end to their relationship after her first Semester, but she never forgot about him and it was seven years later when there paths crossed again.

  He had made ripples with his aggressive approach defending his clients, a genius, he could unravel what the police thought was an airtight case. So to say, he had made many enemies along the way. Rachel was a new investigator, still yet to get her feet wet, when a twelve year old boy had vanished. The main suspect was the boys own father, who had previously been incarcerated for aggravated assault when he got into a fight at a local bar. The boys mother had also suspicious bruises on her, she had claimed happened when she was sleep walking one night and lost her balance on the flight of stairs in the family home.

  Rachel was adamant she was covering for her husband, but no evidence was found for this crime and the boys body was never recovered. The only evidence they could find was the boys blood and semen were discovered in the father's car. They pressed charges off sexual assault and premeditated murder. Richard claimed that the police had been incompetent and had not investigated ever possible avenue, rather they had found the boys father an easy target and were relentless in that pursuit despite so little evidence. The boys father was found innocent by only one more vote from the jury.

  She was angry for months after that case, as in the pit of her soul she just knew the father had been guilty of both charges. With him poking around in this case her weekend had just taken on a very sour taste. The door of the interview room opened as Richard invited Rachel to rejoin them.

  'Are we going to have a chat now Daisy?' she asked as she reentered the room.

  'My client is and has always been willing to cooperate DCI Lambert but she will not tolerate been bullied.'

  Bullied. How dare he accuse her of bullying Daisy. She had refused to comment on every question Rachel had asked and if she was so innocent then why is she been so candid with the truth?

&nbs
p; 'I can assure you Mr Byers that my only desire is to discover what happened to Catherine and ask that Daisy just tells me the truth of what happened on that night.'

  Rachel looked across at Daisy's father, who was scowling at her.

  'I think it is only right that Catherine's parents discover the truth about what happened to their daughter before they say there final goodbyes and attempt to carry on their lives with an enormous void hanging over them. Wouldn't you agree Mr Reynolds?'

  Daisy's father never spoke but his face did soften a little before he avoided keeping eye contact with Rachel by looking down at the floor. For the next few moments no-one said a word.

  'Daisy. What happened?' asked Rachel.

  'I didn't kill her. I would never kill her. I didn't like her and that's no secret but I wouldn't kill her.'

  'Where were you last night Daisy?'

  'I was...' she paused looking at her father. 'Dad, do you mind just standing outside a minute.'

  'Darling?' her father protested but with a sweet look from Daisy his stance subsided and he left the room.

  'What happened Daisy?' reiterated Rachel.

  'I was having sex!'

  'I can understand why you didn't want your father here. But I need more details than just that Daisy.'

  'His name is Dexter Collins. He is a student at the University and gorgeous. I was not going to pass up a night with him.'

  'Did you spend the entire night together.'

  'Yes. Well kind of. I fell asleep after midnight and then when I woke up in the morning he had left. That was the deal. He's not my boyfriend just someone I wanted to have fun with and I hope we can again soon. He knew what he was doing, if you know what I mean.'

  Rachel smiled knowing exactly what Daisy meant, 'I will need to confirm this with him Daisy.'.

  Daisy had no objection to this and gave Rachel Dexter's contact details and address. He lived locally with his parents.

  'Is Daisy free to leave DCI Lambert,' Richard asked.

  'Not until I have checked her alibi. No.'

  'DCI Lambert the only evidence you have against my client is a bunch of letters, some of which she wrote a long time ago and with no previous encounters with the police and what I believe is a genuine alibi, you have not enough to press any chargers against her. I am sure Daisy will agree to remain in the area, but I feel for her own mental health she would feel far more comfortable at her dorm room rather than a police interview room.'

  'Richard I am not as sure as you are about her alibi and I need to check that out. If she is lying then I feel I will have enough evidence to press the chargers.'

  'That is not acceptable and not that I believe it would, but if Daisy's alibi wasn't accurate, you would only have the letters as evidence.'

  'Richard, if she lies then there will be suspicion which could be defined as guilty by omission.'

  'You are grasping at straws Rachel, there is not enough evidence against my client to take this to court and you know that.'

  'I am still waiting for pathology to compile their report.'

  Daisy sat, watching the back and forth arguments between the pair of them, was becoming increasingly amused and began to chuckle slightly.

  'You find all of this funny?' asked Rachel, offended by her insolence. 'This is very serious Daisy and I would start acting like you know that.'

  'I do know how serious this is, but I have done nothing wrong. I may not be the biggest fan of Catherine, but as I have already said. I didn't kill her!'

  Chapter 11

  Rachel had left after barking her orders at Logan. He was not unsympathetic towards Rachel, on the contrary, it was her anniversary and murders were always messy. To have one land at your feet today, he could understand why she had taken a minute to be selfish but he also couldn't accept it either.

  Was he being hypocritical? Probably, yes! But DC Logan Langley was married to the job. Not for the reasons most would have assumed though. He was an old-fashioned, hard-nosed copper, brought up through the ranks, one ladder run at a time. Rachel represented the new school method, straight from university into a senior position.

  He didn't like it or want it! He couldn't see that there were any problems with the old way, wear the sole off your boot on the beat first and gradually take on more responsibility, giving her a full and appreciative understanding of the role of those beneath. That was absent for her and it would only be one step away from anarchy if she didn't gain it fast.

  He had just pulled up outside of Fulford Road Police Station, when little droplets of rain began falling on his windscreen. He sat for a while watching each droplet roll down from the top of the windscreen collecting more drops on the way as they built up speed before dashing into the water grill at the bottom. He contemplated his future, while watching those drops, he envied them in a way. One purpose for the rest of eternity and he never heard a complaint from a raindrop before. He wished he could be like that, content! He had wondered about filling a transfer request to a different police station but was fearful he would only be taking a step back. He'd joined the police force shortly after leaving school and swapping careers was not an option for him after over twenty years.

  Five minutes had passed since he'd pulled up and his legs had turned to jelly. He couldn't explain it. He shuffled them up and down, stamping as hard as he could on the floor of the car, but it didn't work. He felt a tingling sensation starting at his hips and following through down to his feet. Was he having an heart attack? That was the first question that popped into his head. No, couldn't be. There was no chest pain, his breathing had become heavier and besides which, why now? What was different?

  He sat a while longer, counting his breathes, he was having a panic attack. He couldn't think why he was having one now. He began to take a deep breath in as far as he could and then exhaled for as long as he could. He closed his eyes and turned off the car stereo, and cleared his mind of everything but the waves off the Devonshire coast. He had read about this techniques inside a magazine one of the female officers had once. The typical woman's magazines filled with puzzles, readers stories and so-called helpful tips. He found this under the heading, "How to elevate stress in the Modern World". Apparently picturing somewhere that relaxes you helps and the waves reminded him of his childhood.

  The long summer days when the sun was high and his father bought him as many ice-creams as he could shovel into his mouth at once. Grains of sand wedged inside his cheese sandwiches and the aroma of sun-tan lotion was all part of the fun. The early evening chill as the sun began to dip beyond the horizon notifying him it was time to start packing away his bucket and spade while his mother would nudge his father awake. He had slowly calmed his breathing and his pulse wasn't about to jump out of his skin. "That's what reading trashy women's magazines teaches you," he muttered to himself.

  ◆◆◆

  Still haunted by his unexpected panic attack it was over ten minutes later hen he pulled the door handle and exited his car. The cold breeze that was now drifting in over the midday air caused him to shiver a little. He zipped up his overcoat and lifted the collar up around his neck.

  Fulford Road Police Station was condense, holding all the facilities a modern day detective would require yet held in one of the smallest police stations in the area. He walked up the four small concrete steps holding the handrail as he went, before he approached the main door, pushing it gently aside as he stepped into the foyer. He greeted the office clerk with a simple hello before typing in the four digit code into the keypad on the wall at the side of the reception window. The door in front of him opened with a click of the release of its locking mechanism. Once through the door, the officer at the window sat to Logan's left on what can only be described as a bar stool with a padded backrest. This being an improvement of the previously standing up requirement for four hours at a time. Logan remembered doing it himself like it was only five minutes ago.

  The corridor in front of him had a variety of offices and interview room
s splatted on each side with, he walked down to a flight of stairs at the back of the station. One flight down and he was in the basement. The bare concrete walls and overhead strip lighting bars emphasising the functionality of the basements nature. The morgue was located at the far end of the corridor next to a lift up to ground level where the victims were brought in around the side of the station.

  Coroner Thomas Adamson had been called in as a favour of the Superintendent who was eager to provide Rachel with all the tools she required. Logan didn't object to this privilege Rachel had been so generously accommodated, in fact it was quite the opposite, having to wait till Monday for the autopsy findings would have hindered any further progress of this case.

  The morgue was centralised between two separate examination rooms neither big enough to fit any more than three people in at a time, not that that was a regular requirement. Logan had been informed that the preliminary report was complete and although it may not have captured all the evidence available would at least provide the essentials. The time of death and what would have caused it and possibly any signs of a struggle, which could indicate the sex of the killer. These bits of evidence, whilst not enough for a conviction, would hopefully help to narrow down the list of suspects.

  Logan came across Thomas as he opened the door to the morgue. He was sat at his desk just a few feet within the room. Positioned in a u-shape was three stainless steel desks, Thomas was sat at the first one facing the door to the morgue with his head buried in the paperwork of Catherine's autopsy.

  'Hello DC Langley,' Thomas said looking at Logan from above his glasses, that teetered on the edge of his nose.

  'Hi Thomas. Is that the report on Catherine Holmes?'

  'Yes, just finishing off some of the finer detail. Not be a mo.'

  Logan took a vacant seat near the entrance, usually intended for the families of victims who would have identified the body of a deceased loved one. It was never a pleasant experience. The worst moment for a mother as she looks at her son laying on hard cold steel like a joint of pork, with uncontrollable tears water-falling onto the plain concrete floor. The father holding his dear wife tightly while manly holding back the emotion so clearly told in his eyes. Every detective had lived that moment, many times. Just another part of the job.