Drew let out a long breath. “That’s proof then?”
“It’s going to take a little convincing and we’d need to talk to the coroner about it all but, yeah. I’d say you’ve got your smoking gun with this.”
Chapter Sixteen
Drew sat in the stiff-backed chair and waited for DCI Gregson to explode. If the colour of the man’s face was anything to go by, he wouldn’t have very long to wait.
“You’re telling me you went behind my back and contacted an outsider so you could bring them onto a case? A case I said was closed?”
Drew contemplated all the different answers he could give to his boss. Of course, not one of those answers would save him facing the DCI’s wrath.
“I followed my intuition sir, and it paid off. Dr Quinn is in agreement with me about what we’re dealing with.”
“And just what is it that Dr Quinn thinks we’re dealing with?”
“It’s her expert opinion that Sian Jones was murdered.”
The silence in the room was heavy and Drew had to force himself to take a breath.
Gregson leaned forward and pressed his thumb and index finger against the bridge of his nose, pinching down hard enough that Drew could see the outline of the man’s fingers in his ruddy complexion.
“I thought you understood,” DCI Gregson said. “I thought we were on the same page here, Drew. And then you go and create a shit-storm like this.”
“Sir, I wouldn’t have done this if I didn’t think it was important.”
Gregson let his hand drop down to the desk and met Drew’s gaze head on. “Well get her in here, let’s see if we can’t make sense of this mess.”
Drew kept his expression deliberately blank as he stood and moved to the door. Pulling it open, he beckoned to Harriet who sat waiting at his desk.
She stood; every male eye in the room surreptitiously followed her movements as she smoothed down her unruly hair and picked her way through the desks to the office.
“DCI Gregson, I’d like to introduce Dr Harriet Quinn.”
Gregson stood behind the desk and held his hand out toward Harriet. She took it and shook the other man’s hand firmly before taking the offered chair next to Drew’s.
From the corner of his eye, Drew watched as she leaned back; a picture of ease despite the obvious hostility in the room.
“I’d like to thank you for agreeing to speak with me,” She started to speak and Drew winced as Gregson dismissed her with a wave of his hand, effectively cutting her off.
“Let’s cut to the chase here, shall we?” Gregson said, there was no mistaking the authority in his voice. It was something Drew had always admired in the other man. When the DCI was firmly on your side there was nobody capable of standing against him. Fights were easily won, or at least that was how it appeared. For all Drew knew, the toll it took on his boss was a heavy one.
It was certainly that way in his case.
“You don’t really believe that we’re dealing with a murder here. At least not deep down you don’t. We both know it’s a tragic suicide and the last thing either of us wants is to drag the family through anymore hurt by scrutinising every little detail of their life and their daughters’.”
“DCI Gregson, I think—"
He raised his hand. “If you’ll let me finish please, Dr Quinn. I’ll give you your chance to respond in a moment.
“I’ve reviewed the case files myself. I’m familiar with the evidence presented and it’s my opinion on this matter that the case is closed. DI Haskell here made a mistake by getting you involved and—"
“DCI Gregson,” Harriet said, cutting the older man off before he could continue.
Drew didn’t know her but the few hours he’d spent in her company had given him the impression that Harriet was not a woman to be so easily dismissed.
“I’m not here to tell you how to do your job. What I am going to tell you is that these cases deserve more than just a cursory glance.”
DCI Gregson straightened up in his chair, his face taking on an unbecoming shade of crimson.
“Just who do you—"
“Who do I think I am? I think I’m the only person in this room who has spent years researching and studying the human mind. I think I’m the only one in this room who has published several papers on suicide, particularly that among young teenagers and the clustering that can occur in particular age groups. I think out of everyone here, I am best qualified to tell you that no matter how much you want this case to be an open and shut tragedy. The likelihood of it being just that is infinitesimally small.”
Drew held his breath as Harriet sighed. It was an opportunity for the DCI to cut her off and Drew expected his boss to order her out of the office for such disrespect. The fact that he didn’t and instead sat back in his chair as though he were actually listening to what she had to say gave Drew the kind of hope he’d been dreaming of.
“Go on,” DCI Gregson said finally.
“There are several inconsistencies in this case. I can’t speak to the other two yet because I haven’t fully reviewed their files. But in the case of Sian Jones it’s my expert opinion that it should be—for the time being at least—considered suspicious.”
“You still haven’t told me why you think that.”
“The necklace she was wearing,” Harriet said. “I have a few questions that I’d like answered regarding it. From my cursory examination of some of the evidence DI Haskell here provided me with, it’s not clear how it came to be in her hand and not around her neck. Not to mention today’s discovery of her diary, which I feel should be reviewed with an eye to her state of mind directly leading up to her death.”
“Her diary?” The DCI quirked an inquisitive eyebrow in Drew’s direction. “And just where did you discover this diary?”
“At Sian Jones’ house,” Harriet said.
Drew swallowed past the lump in his throat. “Dr Quinn felt she would get a better feel for the victim if she had access to the girl’s bedroom and the place where she died.”
“Oh, did she now?” The warning in Gregson’s voice was implicit but if Harriet picked up on it, she made no acknowledgement of it.
“There are questions that need answers, DCI Gregson. Important questions. And I think Sian deserves our respect in following up on them.”
“You still haven’t told me anything that as yet would make me believe that these are anything other than they appear.”
“Sir, Dr Quinn mentioned to me when we were attending the crime scene that she would expect to find defensive wounds on the victim’s body. The coroner doesn’t mention any such injuries in his report. Shouldn’t that at least warrant a closer look?”
DCI Gregson gave Drew a frosty glare and any other detective sitting in the chair might have withered beneath such a look. Drew held his nerve.
Why was it so important to him that these not turn out to be so straight forward? Perhaps the others were correct to question his motives and mindset regarding the case. It wasn’t impossible that he was jumping at shadows and searching for a bad guy when there was nothing there.
“Fine. You can speak to the coroner and if he agrees with yours and Dr Quinn’s assessment on this then I will allow an inquiry.”
“And the other two cases?” Harriet asked, her voice steely in her determination.
“You can review the case files for those as well,” Gregson conceded. “However, if Jackson says these are open and shut suicides then I’m going to take his expert opinion over yours Dr Quinn, no offence.”
“None taken,” she said. Drew found himself wanting to leap out of the chair and swing her around the small cramped office space but thought better of it.
“I’ll set up an appointment with Dr Jackson,” Drew said instead, pushing onto his feet.
He left the office in a daze and made a beeline for his desk.
“DI Haskell?” Harriet’s voice pulled him up short and he turned to find her hovering at his elbow.
“Sorry,” h
e said. “I was miles away.”
She nodded and gave him a tight smile that never touched her eyes. She was definitely an enigma and Drew found himself wanting to get to know her better. Just what was she hiding and holding back from him? What secrets lurked in the depths of her blue eyes?
“I was just wondering if you could get me set up with a copies of the other files and the images I requested earlier?”
Drew found himself nodding as he scooped up the telephone from its cradle. “Of course,” he said. “I can get them all sorted for you in the morning and—"
Before he could finish speaking, Harriet was already shaking her head. “No, I was rather hoping I could get them now. That way I can have a jumpstart on them for when we meet with the coroner.”
Drew stared at her in surprise. What in the world had given her the impression that she would be meeting with the coroner?
“I don’t think that’s going to be possible,” he said.
“Which part?”
“All of it really,” he said, scrubbing his hand over his face, his stubble rasping against the palm of his hand. Christ he must look like some sort of mountain man. It was a wonder the Monk hadn’t pulled him up on his appearance yet.
Harriet pursed her lips and folded her arms over her chest. “I’m afraid I’m not following you. I thought my request seemed perfectly straight forward and given the time constraints, understandable.”
“It is, except I’m just one bloke. The files are more than extensive and going through them to—"
“You mean picking and choosing the elements of the files you’re willing to share with me? The bits and pieces you think I need to see?”
Drew felt the weight of Maz’s eyes on the back of his neck. He wasn’t the only one staring either, just the most blatant.
Reaching out, he took Harriet by the elbow and steered her toward the empty briefing room at the opposite end of the office. With the door closed, he turned to face her.
“I’m not going to cut you out of the loop, not when you’ve helped me keep the case open.”
“Then what’s the problem?”
“The files are huge,” he said. “Do you know how much goes into an investigation, even one like this? Every item from forensics catalogued. Each witness statement. Every report I’ve had to file on each dead kid.”
“I should hope it’s extensive not to mention thorough,” Harriet said icily. “What’s your point?”
“My point is, it’s going to take me some time to put it all together for you. To make copies of everything and—"
She laughed, a high tinkling sound that caused the hairs on his arms to stand to attention. It was the kind of laugh you could get used to hearing and he found himself suddenly wishing he’d caused it.
“I can stay here this evening and go through the originals myself and help you copy them. That way I can get a head start on it all.”
Drew nodded. In a way it made sense. He wasn’t entirely comfortable with it but it would at least free him up to pursue other things. Not to mention he owed her. Without Harriet’s help he would be sitting here having Gregson put his rubber stamp of approval on closing the case down. As it was, she had bought him some precious time.
“Fine. We can do that.”
“Great,” she said, before she paused. “Was there something else you had to say?”
“I can’t take you with me to meet with the coroner.”
“Why not?”
“Because it’s not professional. At the most you’re a consultant and even that’s tenuous.”
“I’d have thought that described this relationship perfectly.”
Drew sighed, a knot beginning to form between his eyes. “DCI Gregson hasn’t signed off on it. Without his consent—"
Harriet shook her head. “That’s nonsense. I don’t need his consent to visit the coroner.”
“No, but Jackson doesn’t like outsiders and unless the order has come down from on high he won’t want anything to do with you. In fact, he’ll probably dig his heels in and insist they were all suicides without doing one ounce of extra probing.”
“I don’t understand, why would he do that?”
Drew shrugged. “Your guess is as good as mine. All I know for certain is that Jackson is a stone cold bastard when he wants to be and—" Drew cut off. “Shit, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.”
Harriet shot him an incredulous look. “Don’t apologise on my account. I’ve heard much worse.”
“It’s unprofessional of me,” he said.
“It shows you care,” Harriet said. Was she just saying that to be kind or did she really mean it?
She was almost impossible to read which frustrated the hell out of him. He’d never met anyone like her, at least not since—
He killed the line of thought his brain was meandering down and pulled his attention back to the task at hand.
“If you write everything down for me, I promise I won’t screw it up.”
A mutinous expression flitted across her face but it was there and gone in the blink of an eye making Drew doubt he’d ever seen it at all.
“Fine. But if you can’t get all the answers from him to my satisfaction then I’m going to see him myself. It’s his job to at the end of the day. He’ll do it, if I have to make him do it.”
Drew stifled his laughter and hoped his expression remained suitably serious.
Harriet pulled her jacket off. “Right, so where are these files then?”
Chapter Seventeen
Walking down the corridor after DI Haskell, Harriet couldn’t help but feel a thrill move through her. How had she gotten tangled up in all of this? Only a few hours ago, she’d been settling in behind her desk in preparation for an afternoon of mind-numbing tutorials. It wasn’t that she disliked teaching the students, it was just that many of them had no interest in their chosen topic; a situation which Harriet struggled to understand. And the irony wasn’t lost on her.
Why bother doing a degree in behavioural psychology if you had no interest in how the people around you ticked?
Watching Drew attempt to navigate the choppy waters in his bosses’ office hadn’t been pleasant. She’d gotten the impression that DCI Gregson was a fair man but he’d been beaten down by the system he’d been sucked into. There was only so much you could take at the end of the day and as far as Harriet was concerned, he’d passed that line a long time ago.
It was something she’d feared herself when she had worked clinically. The risk of getting jaded towards those you were treating was extremely high. At the end of the day you were only human and there was only so many times you could sit there and listen to a woman coldly and calmly discuss how she wasn’t the one responsible for her children’s deaths; or a man explain how his feelings about the filthy whores he’d killed were justified, before you started to grow somewhat numb towards the horror.
The moment that happened you were done.
It would eventually happen to everyone who worked in that kind of environment. It was the reason police officers working violent crimes or child pornography could only do so long in the trenches before a change was necessary to maintain their equilibrium and sanity.
Harriet had never reached the point of no return in her clinical work and for that she was grateful. The idea of it happening to her had frightened her. Would she have recognised the symptoms and signs before they happened, or would it have insidiously crept over her?
Drew pushed open the door to the records room and ushered her inside. The place was piled floor to ceiling with shelving units that housed boxes, filled with files Harriet presumed.
“Take a seat over there and I’ll bring over the first box.”
Harriet pulled out the plastic chair he’d indicated and laid her coat across the dusty seat before she lowered herself gently onto it. The room looked like it had seen better days and she found herself studying the boxes of case files stacked on the shelves nearest to her.
“Are all of
these open cases?”
Drew tugged a box down off a shelf near the door and carried it back to the table before he answered her.
“Some are. Most are closed. They get shipped out of here pretty regularly to the main storage unit.”
Harriet nodded and watched as he pulled the lid off the box. Despite the relative newness of the cases, the boxes were loaded with dust and as Drew disrupted the contents, it puffed into the air, causing Harriet to sneeze violently.
“Sorry,” he said. “It can get pretty bad in here.”
Harriet nodded and took the proffered case file. “Is this the first one?”
“Yeah, Jack Whitly, aged seventeen. He lived on the other side of Tollby and didn’t attend the same secondary school as the other two victims.”
Harriet flipped open the file and stared down at the photograph of Jack. He smiled broadly at the camera, his brown eyes were crinkled at the corners, his smile wide, dark hair tousled over his forehead giving the impression that it was a windy day when the picture had been taken.
Harriet took in the image and Jack’s black T-shirt.
“Where was this taken?”
“Over in Whitby,” Drew said. “The Goth Weekend last April, I think his parents said.”
“And was he a goth?”
Drew shrugged. “I couldn’t tell you. It didn’t really come up. Why, would it have made a difference?”
Harriet shook her head. “Probably not.”
“You don’t think him being a goth would have meant he was depressed after all? You hear a lot of stories about them dabbling in things they shouldn’t.”
Harriet smiled and lifted her head to meet Drew’s gaze head on. “I think you’re confusing Goths with emo,” she said. “Typically, people interested in the goth lifestyle are happier than the general public.”
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