by A. J. Cross
Watts kept his voice low. ‘PC Judd’s not in yet, so I can be straight with you.’ He leant forward, emphasizing each word with a finger jab on the table. ‘You look like shit.’
Traynor reached for the mug again, a tremor in his hand. ‘I’m here to work on your case.’
Watts shook his head. ‘Not until you and me have an understanding. I know your situation. I get it. But what’s at the top of my agenda right now is the Roberts family and what they’re going through, plus the family of another victim which hasn’t got its bad news yet.’ He paused. ‘I don’t doubt your skills, but if you’re going to be part of this investigation, I need consistency of commitment.’ He paused. ‘From what I’ve seen and heard, that’s a problem for you.’ He waited for Traynor to speak. He didn’t. ‘This case has to come before any demands from your personal life. PC Judd’s just finished her probationary training but she gets it. If you can’t give us that, I’m telling you, you won’t be part of it, regardless of what the chief constable or anybody else has to say about it.’ More silence. He pointed to Judd’s list of Traynor’s demands made when they saw him at his house. ‘That’s not how it’s going to be. We need your skills, your expertise, we need you, reliable, focused, gathering, sharing and interpreting data alongside the team, not “out there”, working on the periphery, fitting it in with whatever else you’ve got going on.’ He paused. ‘If you can’t do that, say so now.’
‘I understand. I’m here.’
Watts still had doubts. Traynor understanding what was required of him was one thing, delivering it was something else. ‘What about commitment to our case over time?’ He looked across the big table. ‘Well?’
‘I accept your summation of the situation. I’m in.’
Watts slow-nodded, still not convinced but deciding to leave it there. Seeing Traynor’s face, the look in his eyes, to say any more felt too much like a gratuitous kicking. Early this morning, he’d looked through information the force had on him. Eight-point-five years ago William Traynor, criminologist, had been diagnosed with severe post-traumatic stress. It looked to Watts like not much had changed. ‘In an hour or so I’m on my way to see Zoe Roberts’ family to get information from them, which means anything and everything they feel able to give us at this stage. Stuff they might not even know they know, which could give us an angle on what happened to their daughter and why. I’ve read your CV. It says you’ve written articles and a book on interviewing people and how best to get information out of them.’ He gave Traynor a level look. ‘That’s been my job for years, but I’m open to anybody with specialist skills. I want you there to meet Roberts’ family. We’ll keep it low-key, but to my way of thinking, with us working together, we’ll maximize the information we get.’
The wall clock ticked off several seconds before Traynor spoke. ‘I’m sure you’re adept at achieving that, DI Watts. I need to get home, shower and change, after which my priority is to examine the crime scene.’
Watts’ head tightened at what amounted to a refusal of his first request. He looked across at Traynor. He had a point about smartening himself up. He glanced at the clock. Time to decide which way he was going with this: accept Traynor on to the case, or inform Brophy that collaboration with him was still an issue. He got up, went to the wide-open window, breathed slowly and deeply, looked out at the small houses beyond headquarters’ railings. The low optimism he’d had since Traynor arrived dipped further as a possibility occurred to him: Traynor’s research work probably kept him from a lot of direct contact with the bereaved. His expressed preference for a crime scene visit could well be avoidance of the family’s grief. Because it was too close to his own. How could they work together on the case with Traynor hampered by problems like that? He went back to the table. ‘Get yourself sorted, then go to the scene. Forensics and SOCOs are there. Introduce yourself to Adam Jenner. He’s the head of both. He’ll fill you in on what they’re doing, what they’ve already got.’
He held out his hand. Traynor stood, took it in a firm grasp, walked to the door and out.
Watts brought the BMW to a halt outside a wide-fronted, detached house set back from the road, surrounded by gardens as orderly as a newly laid table, three cars parked on the wide drive behind ornate metal gates. He’d already noticed several people standing some yards away with a couple of uniformed officers from headquarters, all now looking in their direction. He turned to Judd. ‘Remember what I said before we left headquarters?’
‘Yes, Sarge: we’re here to get information about Zoe Roberts. We don’t get into details of what was done to her. We listen to what they tell us. I write it all down.’
He pushed open his car door, looked back at her, keeping his voice low. ‘See that lot hanging about down there?’
She nodded.
‘They’re press. We go straight to the house without looking at them.’
They headed for it, the gates drifting open as they approached. They walked up to the house. Watts rang the bell. The door was opened almost immediately by a man they both recognized. Alec Prentiss. He looked worse than he had at the appeal, if it were possible.
‘Something’s happened?’ he asked. ‘There’s some news?’
‘No, Alec, but I’m glad you’re here because this concerns you as much as your parents.’
Prentiss stepped back to allow them inside, led them across the wide hall and into a large room, thickly carpeted, its heavy curtains drawn against the road. It felt suffocating. Prentiss briefly introduced his parents sitting side by side on a long sofa, then went and sat some distance away on the arm of a chair, gazing out of a window overlooking a rear garden. Watts’ attention was caught by multiple family photographs on a nearby wall. A record of two childhoods. Zoe and Alec swimming, Zoe and Alec playing tennis, horse-riding, another of them in deep snow with other children, posing for their respective graduation pictures, laughing with friends in some kind of am-dram production, Alec at the wheel of a small sports car, Zoe on skis, her face flushed, vital.
‘My name’s Bernard Watts. I’m Senior Investigating Officer. This is Police Constable Chloe Judd.’
Judd nodded at Zoe Roberts’ parents.
Mrs Prentiss’s hair and make-up were just so, but both parents looked tense, beyond tired. Watts’ eyes went to a photograph on the wall behind them. Roberts in her wedding dress, taken in this room, standing beside a tall, dark-haired, smiling man. Christian Roberts? Had to be. Watts looked away to Rita Sharma, family liaison officer, unobtrusive in a corner of the room. They exchanged minimal nods. He knew she had prepared the family for this visit. He looked back to the parents.
‘Please accept our sincere sympathies and those of everybody at headquarters, plus our assurances that we’ll do all that’s possible to establish what happened to Zoe and who is responsible.’ He paused. ‘We’re very grateful to you for seeing us at such a difficult time.’
The parents nodded. Alec Prentiss stared out of the window. ‘Thank you, Detective Inspector,’ said Mr Prentiss.
‘Would you like some tea? Or coffee?’ Mrs Prentiss stood. Watts gave Sharma a quick look, knowing from long experience that practical tasks were latched on to like lifelines by the newly bereaved. He wanted both parents in this room, thinking, talking as much as they were able right now.
Sharma got up and went to Mrs Prentiss, placing a gentle hand on her arm. ‘I’ll take care of it.’ She left the room, Mrs Prentiss sat and both parents turned their attention back to Watts. Situations like this were an aspect of the job Watts particularly disliked.
‘We’re here because we need you to tell us about Zoe.’
‘We understand,’ said Mrs Prentiss, ‘although Alec won’t be able to tell you much. He was in London. He didn’t get home until late that evening.’
Watts nodded. ‘That’s not a problem, Mrs Prentiss. What we actually need is general information about Zoe’s life. I know that’s going to be difficult but it’s essential at this early stage that we get a sense of her as a
person. I’ll start by asking you about her phone.’
Mrs Prentiss immediately stood, walked across the room to a low chest, opened a drawer and returned with a gold-coloured phone which she placed inside the evidence bag Watts had pulled from his pocket. She went back to the sofa, her face pale and set.
Watts addressed his first question to all three family members. ‘Had Zoe mentioned having any problems recently, any concerns, no matter how trivial they might have seemed?’ He got headshakes from both parents, nothing from Alec Prentiss. He sent each of them a direct look. ‘I’ll be a bit more specific. Do either of you recall Zoe saying that she was uneasy about anybody or anything?’ More headshakes. ‘Did she mention any concerns relating to men?’
‘No, never,’ said Mrs Prentiss.
‘Did she ever express any worries about running in the Blackfoot Trail area?’
‘Never. If she had any such concerns, she would have told us. Zoe was confident but she was no fool, Detective Inspector. If there had been anything of that nature, she certainly wouldn’t have continued going there.’
Watts glanced at Judd’s pen speeding along. ‘What about you, Mr Prentiss? Alec?’
Alec shook his head.
His father said, ‘Detective Inspector, our daughter was an open book. If there had been anything troubling her, we wouldn’t have needed to ask. She would have told us.’
Watts glanced at Alec, still staring out of the window. He looked cut off, like he was still in shock. ‘Have you got anything to add to what your parents have said, Alec?’
He turned to Watts. ‘Sorry?’
‘Are you aware that Zoe had any worries about anything?’
He shook his head. ‘I’m not the best person to ask. I live in Bentley Heath. Zoe and I didn’t see each other that often.’
‘We’re a close family and a very busy one,’ said Mrs Prentiss. ‘Alec works with his father and me in the family business so we see more of him than we did Zoe.’
Watts nodded. ‘What kind of business is that?’
‘Clothing manufacture. My husband and Alec deal with the production side. I deal with the marketing aspects.’
Watts waited for a response from Alec Prentiss. None came. ‘Was Zoe involved in the business at all?’
‘Of course not. She had a first-class law degree and worked for a firm in Solihull. She’d been there for over five years. She was anticipating being made a partner in the foreseeable future.’ Hearing the pride in her voice, Watts guessed that she was still at that stage of bereavement where it was possible to lose sight of reality for a few merciful seconds.
He nodded. ‘We’ll need details of her colleagues there, Mrs Prentiss.’
She frowned, looked at her husband. ‘Zoe didn’t discuss her work with us, did she, Peter? We can’t tell you anything about her colleagues. She rarely mentioned them and we never met them.’
‘No worries. To your knowledge, did Zoe have any difficulties of any kind with, say neighbours where she lived, or problems with friends or anybody else, again no matter how trivial?’
Mrs Prentiss stared at him. ‘No. Nothing like that. Her friends are nice, well-brought-up young women, like Zoe.’
‘I’m sure they are, Mrs Prentiss, but we’ll be wanting to contact them and everyone else in Zoe’s life. It does happen that daughters and sons share information with their friends which they might choose not to share with immediate family members.’
Mrs Prentiss’s face hardened. ‘Not Zoe. As my husband said, she was an open book. If there had been anything worrying her, she would have said. Her colleagues’ names are on the firm’s website.’ As PC Sharma returned carrying a tray and began dispensing drinks, Mrs Prentiss went to the drawer from which she had retrieved the phone, took out a small book and brought it back with her. ‘I can give you details of Zoe’s main friends. They knew each other since schooldays.’ She gave three names plus contact details. Judd noted them down.
‘They maintained regular contact with each other?’ asked Watts.
‘As often as work and other demands on them allowed.’
‘Are you aware of anyone Zoe might have recently befriended?’
Mrs Prentiss clasped her hands tight on her lap, emotionality starting to surface. ‘Detective Inspector, our daughter was a young, professional woman. She worked long hours. She had limited time for socializing. When she wasn’t working, she ran, either close to where she lived or … that awful place. There was nothing in her life that was worrying her, or could have led to this … nightmare.’
Watts pushed on before emotion took hold. ‘Zoe was happy at work and with her life generally?’
Mrs Prentiss sat forward, giving him an intent gaze. ‘I know you have your job to do, but looking for something in Zoe’s life as an explanation for what’s happened is all wrong.’ She moved away from her husband’s restraining hand. ‘Zoe was a decent, caring young woman. Whoever did this to her is a monster.’ She pressed her hand to her mouth. ‘I can hardly bear to speak about him. I want him caught. Punished. Zoe isn’t to blame for what’s happened but your questions are making me think that that’s what the police believe.’
‘Not at all, Mrs—’
‘Zoe was a beautiful, happy, hard-working and successful professional woman. She didn’t deserve …’ She stopped, pressed her lips together.
Mr Prentiss put his hand on her arm again, looked at Watts. ‘I agree with what my wife is saying.’ Alec Prentiss was staring at the carpet.
Watts allowed the silence to grow. ‘Have you got anything to add, Alec?’
He shook his head. ‘My parents have said it all.’
Watts quickly reviewed what he’d heard so far. Zoe Roberts was a happy woman whose life was without problems or social difficulties, her murder an inexplicable tragedy, leaving her family and all who knew her reeling. In this kind of situation there never was a good time to push but there was something large and grey lurking in the corner of this suffocating room which no one in this family had yet referred to.
‘What can you tell us about Christian Roberts, Zoe’s husband?’
Mrs Prentiss’s face flared. ‘That’s a personal matter for this family!’
Watts shook his head. ‘I’m sorry, Mrs Prentiss, but there can’t be any personal matters in a murder investigation. Have you had any communication with Mr Roberts during the last few days?’
Mrs Prentiss looked away. ‘No. I’m sure that you’re already aware that he’s a partner at the same legal practice as Zoe but he isn’t based there. He works from an office in Brussels. The situation between him and Zoe is … was amicable.’
Watts nodded. It might explain why Roberts was still wearing her engagement and wedding rings when she was killed.
Alec Prentiss was staring at his mother. ‘What’s the point in dressing it up? They were planning to get divorced.’
His father gave him a look. ‘Alec. We don’t know that for certain. The police want facts.’ And to Watts, he added, ‘Zoe didn’t confide in us about that aspect of her life, so we’re unable to comment on it.’
Watts decided to leave it for now. He’d give it a day or two and ring Alec Prentiss. ‘Have you heard from or seen Mr Roberts since what happened to Zoe?’
‘No. We haven’t spoken with him for several months.’
‘Do you know his current whereabouts?’
‘As my wife said, he has an office in Brussels.’
Watts looked at each of them. ‘But Mr Roberts does know what’s happened to Zoe?’
‘I attempted to contact him as soon as we knew,’ said Mrs Prentiss. ‘I rang twice, left a message both times to contact us, indicating that something very serious had occurred. He would have been in no doubt that there was a problem concerning Zoe, but we’ve heard nothing from him.’
‘What do you make of that?’ asked Watts, addressing the question to both of them.
Mrs Prentiss’s chin rose. ‘We don’t make anything of it.’
‘We need Mr Robe
rts’ contact numbers.’
She reached for an expensive-looking handbag on a nearby chair, took out her phone, tapped it and handed it to Judd who copied the numbers.
Her husband frowned at Watts. ‘Those calls my wife made to him were the first I can remember in months. Since Zoe and he separated, there wasn’t a need.’
Watts looked across to Alec Prentiss. ‘Can you tell us anything about Mr Roberts, Alec?’
He shrugged. ‘Like my mother said, he works for the same law firm. That’s how they met. Christian was already a partner there when Zoe joined. She would have seen him as a good catch.’
His mother stared at him, a dark wash of colour rising on to her neck. She looked at Watts. ‘Christian impressed us all as a solid, hard-working professional. He’s a few years older than Zoe but that never caused any difficulties as far as we’re aware. Since he and Zoe separated, there’s been no contact between us. We think he may be in Edinburgh.’
Watts waited. ‘What makes you think he might be there?’
‘Zoe mentioned it when she phoned me on the evening prior to …’ Her eyes grew bright. She put her fingers to her lips. ‘Detective Inspector Watts, I don’t know if you have children, but … our daughter isn’t simply a photograph on the television news or just another victim of the kind you are probably used to.’
‘That’s not what she is for West Midlands police, Mrs Prentiss. That’s not how we work.’
‘I’ll tell you about Zoe. She never caused us a single moment’s worry.’ She turned to her husband. ‘Did she, Peter? She was all we ever wanted in a daughter.’ Her face softened. ‘From when she was a little girl, she was quick and clever, yet she still worked hard all the way through school and university. She wanted to excel and she did. She joined the Solihull legal practice and proved her worth. We couldn’t have wanted for a better daughter. Zoe was kind, she was thoughtful, she was caring and … I can’t make sense of what’s happened.’ Her voice shook. ‘I feel like I’m going mad. Whoever did this, it has to be a madman. I want you to find him and lock him up so he can’t do this to any other family.’ She clasped her hand to her mouth. Her husband put his arm around her. Their son stared out of the window.