Dark Truths

by A. J. Cross

  He closed his eyes. Jesus Mary mother of … ‘Stop going on … I’m OK.’

  Judd’s face appeared above his, her eyes huge, fixed on something to his right. ‘Stay where you are, but have a look to your right. You have to see it, Sarge.’

  Following the direction of her gaze, he slowly turned his head to his outstretched hand lying between two neat rows of tiny, white stones, wondering why she was getting so steamed up. Realization slamming his head, he snatched away his hand, putting quick distance between himself and it.

  Judd whispered, ‘What do we do, Sarge?’

  ‘Get Dr Chong. Now.’ He heard her moving quickly down the incline, soon picking up the rhythmic swish of plastic coveralls. Chong appeared at his side with Adam, who planted a yellow marker. A forensic photographer arrived, began firing off multiple shots from various angles. Chong put her hand on Watts’ shoulder. ‘Are you all right?’

  ‘Yeah.’ He got to his feet, rubbing his back, his eyes fixed on what was beside the yellow marker. Having examined her efforts, the photographer gave them a cheerful nod and headed away down the incline. He and Judd watched as Chong knelt to examine the partly exposed skull. Watts glanced down at his hand, his face creasing in disgust.

  Chong looked up at him. ‘Brophy will be totally thrilled that you’ve increased this investigation one hundred per cent.’ Reaching inside her forensic suit she took out a brush and a small plastic implement, knelt closer to the skull and began gently brushing where bone met dry earth. Watts watched her place her gloved hands either side of it, test it for movement, his head in overdrive: one just-murdered, headless victim, one skull that had to have been here for … how long?

  ‘What’s she doing?’ He whirled on Judd. ‘Don’t do that!’

  ‘Do what?’

  ‘Creep up on me when I’m focused!’

  Chong gently eased the skull from its resting place and raised it in both hands, its empty sockets now contemplating the high, blue sky. She studied it then turned to him. ‘It’s undamaged, see?’

  He looked at it, feeling he was part of some cosmic joke. Judd looked at both of them. ‘What happens now?’

  He watched SOCOs steadily moving up the incline towards them. ‘We give other investigators room to work. There’s a lot of waiting about involved in investigations. Now’s your chance to get used to it.’ They headed down to the field, Watts flapping his hand at a ponderous bee, picking up birdsong for the first time.

  ‘I’ve never seen so many wild flowers,’ murmured Judd. Watts said nothing. For him, this whole area was blighted. He knew things Judd didn’t. The long hours of painstaking investigation heading their way, the heartache for two families. She glanced up at him. ‘Never mind, Sarge. Dr Chong seems to know what she’s doing. Are you two mates?’

  He sent her a repressive look. ‘Dr Chong is first class at her job, which you might be in twenty-plus years, if you keep focused and stop with the yacking and the questions.’

  THREE

  Monday 15 August. Seven fifteen p.m.

  Following several hours at the scene, Watts was inside Brophy’s office. ‘Dr Chong has confirmed the homicide victim as Zoe Roberts, sir. Liaison officers from the local force have broken the news to the family, but not yet the full details of what was done to her. You know about the other find?’

  Brophy nodded, looking like a man with a lot on his mind. ‘The skull, yes. I’m assuming you think it’s connected to the Roberts killing?’

  ‘Yes, given the location, plus the likelihood of decapitation.’

  Brophy shook his head. ‘This is a bad business, Bernard. Keep the press in the dark for as long as you can.’

  ‘I’ve already briefed officers on that, sir.’

  ‘How did PC Judd cope with seeing the body?’

  ‘She was fine.’

  Brophy’s eyes were on him. ‘You realize what this means, don’t you?’

  Watts knew what was coming. A term he had zero use for. The serial-killer label which served only to ratchet up the emotional heat, excite the press and unnerve the local populace. ‘A repeat offender, sir.’

  Brophy’s eyes were fixed on him. ‘Let’s get one thing clear between us from the off: I can’t spare any more officers. All forces are stretched and West Midlands is no exception. I know about the cold case unit you managed and what happened to it, so you don’t need any explanation from me about finances and priorities.’ Watts didn’t. He’d become familiar with both over the years. Money, followed by no money. Urgent priorities followed by changes to priorities. Priorities abandoned. Most decisions dependent on whatever hot issues the media and the government were pushing. Or so it seemed to Watts. The decision to close down the Unsolved Crime Unit still stuck in his throat. He looked up to find Brophy regarding him. ‘As SIO, what are your immediate plans?’

  ‘Given the proximity of the scene to the motorway network, I want a televised appeal on both local and national news. We need potential witnesses who were in the vicinity of Blackfoot Trail during yesterday and early this morning and it needs doing fast, while it’s still fresh in people’s minds.’ He gave Brophy a direct look. ‘You’ve spoken to the Roberts’ family, sir?’

  Brophy nodded.

  ‘How likely is it that they can put somebody up to attend an appeal? I’m thinking Zoe Roberts’ husband.’

  Brophy looked doubtful. ‘From what I’ve heard, they’re separated and it might be a bit soon for any of them to handle it. I’ll get on to family liaison to establish the current situation. I’ll also contact Internal Communications to set up the appeal for say eleven a.m. tomorrow.’ Watts was surprised by Brophy’s quick response. He wasn’t done. ‘You’ll be divulging news of the other remains?’

  ‘No, sir, not yet. I want to keep the public focus on the Roberts murder. That skull has been there several years. The immediate area where it was found is still being processed. I’ll hold off any reference to it till that’s done and we have an ID. Best keep it simple.’

  Brophy stood. Watts did the same. ‘Bernard, I know you’re doing all you can with limited resources on what is obviously a far more complex matter than we anticipated.’ He walked with him to the door. ‘I’m following up an idea to get you some specialist help, not more officers, but one specialist. How is PC Judd shaping up, generally?’

  ‘Very keen, sir.’

  Watts left headquarters and drove back to the scene. Leaving the BMW on the narrow lane, he walked down the steep hill to the car park, headed for the trail then on to the field and the incline, all of it still an area of intense activity despite the failing light. He passed officers moving portable lights into position. He’d known most of these headquarters-based officers for several years, knew their calibre, their meticulousness. If there was anything here which belonged to the skull, anything relevant to the Roberts homicide, they would find it. He did a quick calculation of costs so far, got an eye-watering guestimate. They needed progress and soon. He looked ahead, raised his hand. ‘Adam. A quick word.’ Adam came towards him, tiredness etched on his face which had caught the sun. ‘Anything to report since I was here earlier?’

  Adam shook his head. ‘Still no weapon. We’ll have to wait till tomorrow to do a coordinated fingertip search of the whole area. We’ll continue processing the area where the skull was located. If we find anything, you’ll be the first to know. I’ve asked Petrie to bring back the drone tomorrow.’

  Watts nodded. ‘If you do turn up anything phone me, regardless of the time.’ Leaving Adam, he headed to the incline, carefully tracing his earlier steps to halfway then turned to gaze down at the forensic activity in various areas. From here he could see the curve of Blackfoot Trail, the field on its other side, the houses he’d seen on the aerial photographs. In the next day or so, he’d send a couple of officers to knock on their doors. The light was failing fast now. As a murder scene it was starting to look endless. Tired, frustrated, knowing it was time to pack it in, he headed down the incline and back to where he�
��d left his vehicle.

  Thirty minutes later, he came on to his drive, parked and headed to his house, a series of tiny jingles starting up behind him. Pushing his key into the lock, he looked down at the small black animal waiting patiently next to his feet. He’d inherited it from a colleague who had left several months before. ‘Just a reminder that I had a pricey cat flap put in round the back for you. Why won’t you use it?’ Shaking his head, he went inside and headed for the kitchen, the cat following. Filling a bowl with biscuits, another with cold water, he left the cat to it and switched on the kettle. He reached for instant coffee and was pushing paracetamols out of their packaging when his phone rang. Seeing Chong’s name, he picked it up. ‘Know anything?’

  ‘Zoe Roberts’ cause of death. It was the six stab wounds to the upper chest. Removal of the head was post-mortem.’

  ‘Glad to hear it,’ he murmured, shelving the coffee, dropping a teabag into a mug.

  Chong continued, ‘I’m exhausted and guessing you’re the same. All I want is a cool shower and an end to this day.’ There was a brief pause. ‘How about you?’

  ‘The same. What’s on your agenda tomorrow?’

  ‘I’ll finish the Roberts post-mortem, then start my examination of the skull. Or, I might go a little crazy and reverse the order. I like to surprise myself, occasionally.’

  He grinned into the phone. ‘I’ll get over to the scene early to check how Adam and his team are doing. See you at headquarters some time?’

  ‘You will. Where else would I be?’

  The combination of relentless heat and the cat’s snoring was making sleep impossible. On the point of dropping off for the nth time, Watts came upright, scattering images of grinning, chattering rows of teeth. A recollection of something he’d seen when he’d stood at the top of the incline looking along the motorway, brought him out of bed. Showered, dressed, he spent a few minutes examining the aerial photographs Petrie had supplied, one in particular snagging his interest.

  Leaving the house with it, he drove along dark, almost deserted suburban roads and joined the motorway. Within a minute of passing the crime scene he saw the arrowed junction sign, another soon after: WORKS ONLY UNIT. He entered the narrow tree-lined access road, followed it past the red-on-white STOP sign and on to an open area and a sturdy, metres-high chain-link fence. He stopped, turned off the engine, reached for the photograph. The drone had captured all of it: fenced compound, road repair equipment and two prefabricated buildings inside. He looked across at them. There was a dull glow of light inside one of them. Getting out to the whoosh of passing traffic, he went to the compound’s gate, lifted the hefty padlock hanging from it by a chain, looked up at the dull glow. It disappeared, appeared again, so quickly he could easily have missed it. What he’d thought was merely a security light was evidence of movement inside. Somebody was here. He went back to his vehicle, turned on the ignition, hit the horn twice and waited. No movement from the building. No movement anywhere. He followed the fence along, searching the area beyond it. In the darkness it was impossible to see all that was there. He went back to the gate, his eyes on the small light beyond the window. Seizing the chain-link with both hands, he pulled it back and forth, setting metal squealing and jangling.

  ‘Police! … Police! Open up! Now!’ His words reverberated then died, leaving only silence, interspersed with traffic noise. Returning to his vehicle, he hit the horn again, once, twice, three times, his eyes fixed on the building. The third blast faded to nothing. All was quiet. He couldn’t get into that compound and nobody was coming out of it. Frustrated, he got inside his vehicle, started the engine. Reversing, he drove slowly down the access road, his eyes fixed on his rear-view mirror, the compound slowly growing smaller, soon lost to him. Re-joining the motorway, he thought of the proximity of that compound to Blackfoot Trail. He’d be back to find out who was inside that building and why whoever it was had chosen not to show himself. He took the junction exit which led home, thinking about the trail, the area around it and Judd and her atmospherics. She was wrong in her criticism of Roberts for running there. Zoe Roberts’ decision had been a lethal misjudgement, based on incomplete knowledge. She couldn’t have known she was running through a cemetery. He came on to his drive as his phone pinged. A text from Adam: Nothing more found after you left. Search continuing with an early start this a.m.

  FOUR

  Tuesday 16 August. Seven a.m.

  Watts was looking out of his lounge window, his mind on the events of the previous day. His eyes moved over the houses opposite, exactly like this one, except for different coloured paint and porch design. Small bids for individuality. He turned away, thinking about what he wanted from today. A name for the skull would be a start. He patted his trouser pockets, nodding to Mrs Donovan who was vigorously dusting and talking. ‘Mr Watts, I’m ever so sorry to disturb you this early but I’m leaving at midday. The council’s sending the pest control man to my house.’ Watts lifted a cushion, then another, letting them drop. ‘I daren’t miss him. I tell you, I was knocked on my heels when I got my second-best mac out of the cupboard the other day and found he’d chewed his way around the collar.’

  Watts stopped, looked at her. ‘The pest control bloke?’

  ‘The mouse.’ She took keys from her pocket. ‘Would these be what you’re wanting?’

  The extractor fan was emitting a low hum as Igor let Watts inside the post-mortem suite. ‘Is she in?’ Following Igor’s finger-point, he found Chong sitting at her desk, eyes on her screen. ‘You’re an early bird.’

  ‘Brophy wants to see me at eight to tell me about some specialist help he’s lined up and at eleven I’m fronting a news appeal.’

  ‘So I hear. I’m guessing you’d like a conducted tour of your skull find?’

  He followed her to the examination table and the rounded shape sitting at its centre covered by a thin, green sheet. She removed the sheet. He gave the stained, pinkish-brownish dome a once-over, no more pleased to see it than he had been the previous day. Pulling on white gloves, Chong lifted and rotated it.

  ‘See? It’s undamaged.’ She carefully separated the jaws, held them towards him. ‘Teeth well-maintained. Only two tiny fillings, indicative of her being born post-fluoride.’

  ‘Her?’

  Chong nodded. ‘I did a comparison with MISPER dental records and got a perfect hit.’ She held up the skull. ‘Annette Mary Barlow, single, twenty-eight years old at the time she disappeared a decade ago, manager of The City Wine Boutique off Colmore Row, which she left at six p.m. on Saturday, the ninth of September, 2006 and reportedly was not seen nor heard of thereafter.’

  Watts thought of his wife’s fight to live which had ended around that time. He sat on the edge of Chong’s desk, arms folded. ‘I was on reduced hours, but I remember it. That investigation dragged on for weeks without a result.’ Chong was holding a file towards him. ‘This is the overview. There’s more information in the basement.’

  ‘I bet. I’ll have it brought up.’ She watched him leaf through the few pages. ‘I’m hoping to finish the Roberts post-mortem sometime this morning.’

  ‘Anything you find is welcome. All I’ve got for her murder so far is a load of questions.’ He pointed at the skull on the table. ‘My worry is that some sex type has been on the loose in that area for a decade.’

  She replaced the sheet. ‘A reasonable hypothesis.’

  ‘I went back to the scene at around three a.m.’

  She gave him a quick glance. ‘It’s early days. You might consider pacing yourself in this heat.’

  ‘I couldn’t sleep because of it, plus the cat making a bloody racket. I wanted to check something I saw from the top of the incline. There’s a motorway works road just past the scene. I drove along it last night. The whole place was deserted, but there was a light inside one of the prefab buildings there. Somebody was inside. I shouted. Announced I was police. Still no response.’

  ‘Sounds like somebody was actively avoiding you.’<
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  ‘I’ll be back there, first chance I get.’ He headed for the door, the cases he’d investigated during the past five years surging into his head. Cold cases. Good colleagues. ‘You trained in America, didn’t you?’

  ‘Yes. San Diego.’

  ‘Ever get to Boston?’

  ‘No, but I heard it’s a great city.’ She watched him reach the door. ‘You still miss them, don’t you?’

  He stopped, his back to her. He knew who she meant: one-time colleagues Kate Hanson and Joe Corrigan. ‘Situations change. You get used to things in time.’

  Leaving the PM Suite, he quickly covered the two flights of stairs, pausing at the top to slow his breathing. He was in good shape compared to the start of the year, but he could do without Brophy or anybody else drawing negative conclusions, particularly given his own recent observation that the average age of officers here looked to be around thirty. Coming into the squad room he saw Judd at her computer screen, the buzz of talk from fellow officers flowing around her.

  ‘Judd! Brophy’s waiting.’

  She stood, wearing light, loose-fitting trousers. He led the way to Brophy’s office, knocked, looked down at her.

  ‘Say nothing unless he specifically asks you a question.’ Hearing Brophy’s voice, Watts opened the door and they went inside.