Dark Truths

by A. J. Cross

  Watts looked at him. ‘Did you say “early stage”? I feel I’ve been on this case for ever.’ He gave his face a brisk rub, reached for his phone. ‘Maybe Adam’s got some news. I’ll give him a—’

  They looked up as the door opened. ‘Your ears must be on fire.’

  ‘I’ve got something for you,’ said Adam, ‘but it’s not good.’

  ‘We’re used to “not good”. Let’s have it.’

  ‘I’ve just checked with the officers searching CCTV footage from the motorway. The recordings are poor quality, very grainy due to the low spec of the cameras. Plus, the poor light of the very early timings didn’t help.’

  ‘Anything that looks even slightly hopeful?’

  ‘One motorbike recorded at three ten a.m., leaving the motorway for the service road, then re-joining it about an hour later. No number plate or other identifying details.’

  ‘Anything on the footprints?’

  ‘Yes. They were made by a designer trainer, size ten, Walk ’n’ Dior, to be exact which retail for around six hundred pounds.’

  Watts brows shot up. ‘You what?’ He looked from Adam to Traynor. ‘There can’t be many idiots about who’d pay that much for what’s basically a pair of pumps.’

  Adam and Traynor exchanged glances. ‘You’re wrong, there,’ said Adam. ‘I’ve checked the UK sales for this year: in the thousands. If any were purchased here in Birmingham, the Midlands, we’ll follow up the details.’

  Watts stood. ‘I’ll tell you now, there won’t be any. We’ve got more sense here.’

  Adam grinned. ‘We’ll also check online orders as soon as we can, but it’s a big job. It could take a while.’

  ‘Thanks, Adam. Appreciate it. Come to think of it, those trainers have got my interest. It looks like one of our victims was a sex worker and I’ve met a fair few types in my time who make a lot of money out of women, and most of them are into designer stuff.’ He headed for the door. ‘I’m going to the squad room to see if Miller’s found anything on Gerry Williams who works nights at that compound.’

  Adam held out an evidence bag to him. ‘Roberts’ phone. It’s been processed.’

  Watts took it, glanced at Traynor. ‘What’s in this phone could give us the details we need about Roberts’ life, plus some clues as to her connection to the other victims.’ He looked back to Adam. ‘What did you find?’

  ‘She had two calls, one at eight, the other at eight fifteen on the morning she was killed.’

  ‘From?’

  ‘Her office. Presumably wanting to know where she was for her early meeting.’

  ‘What about the texts, emails?’

  ‘There aren’t any. Just those two calls.’

  Watts stared at him, then at the phone. ‘The family never said it was new.’

  ‘It wasn’t. It looks like she wiped her iCloud storage. Everything on it, prior to those two calls, has been deleted. That’s not all. We used data software to access historic texts and emails. Still nothing. She, or somebody, had it restored to factory setting.’

  Watts stared at him. ‘This is a thirty-year-old, professional woman we’re talking about. Why would she do that?’

  Traynor came to them, his eyes on the phone. ‘It looks like Zoe Roberts had something she wanted to conceal.’

  ‘Like what?’

  Traynor shrugged. ‘Maybe she was a secretive person or, maybe there was a man, a plan, a scheme or a big problem.’

  Watts seized the desk phone, jabbed an internal number and waited. ‘Any more calls to the tip line?’ He replaced the phone, looked at them. ‘Nothing. I’m going upstairs to see what Miller’s found on Gerry Williams.’

  Miller headed across the squad room to Watts, the results of a PNC name check in her hand. ‘Here you go, Sarge. Nothing for Christian Roberts so far, but the details you gave me for Gerry Williams, night security worker at the compound, match a Gerald Williams for age and employment history.’

  Watts took them. ‘Why’s he on our records?’

  ‘Prolific shoplifter.’

  He grimaced. ‘I was hoping for something with a hard edge. GBH. GHB. Either would have done it for me.’

  ‘His last shoplifting conviction was over twenty-four months ago.’

  Watts read the details. ‘This makes no sense to me. He’s got an extensive record going back years, he’s working nights for minimum wage, his days are free for his “retailing” activities, yet his last arrest was two years ago.’ He looked at Miller. ‘That make sense to you?’

  ‘No, Sarge. Unless, like Dr Traynor said, Williams has got better at it? Or, he’s earning more now.’

  Watts’ brows rose. ‘Not as a security guard, he isn’t. No mention of driving offences involving a motorbike?’

  Miller shook her head. ‘What you’ve got is what there is.’

  Watts studied it. ‘I’ll pay him a surprise visit.’

  The door swung open and one of the reception officers leant inside. ‘Been looking for you, Sarge.’

  ‘You’ve found me. On my way out.’

  ‘There’s somebody downstairs wanting to speak to you.’ Watts went past him and through the door. ‘He asked for you specifically, Sarge. He says it’s about the Blackfoot Trail murder. He runs there.’ Watts stopped, turned. ‘He’s sitting in Reception, looking dead nervy.’

  Watts was halfway down the stairs. ‘Get back there. Put him in the informal interview room. Don’t let him leave.’

  ‘He doesn’t look too happy to be here, Sarge.’

  ‘Him and me, both.’ He went into his office and stopped. Judd was sitting at the table, reading through a file.

  She looked up at him. ‘OK, I’m going. I just started looking through this and got—’

  ‘Where’s Traynor?’

  She looked up at him, her face pale, dark smudges under her eyes. ‘He said he had somewhere to go.’

  ‘Drop what you’re doing and come with me.’

  ‘Where to?’

  ‘For once in your life, Judd, do as I say without following it with a question.’ Watts spoke briefly to an officer on the reception desk who nodded towards the small room, a male figure just visible through the glass. He headed for it, smoothing his hair, dragging a genial expression on to his face and opened the door. ‘Mr Lee Townsend?’

  The man shot to his feet. ‘Yes?’

  Watts came inside, held out his hand. ‘Thanks for coming in, Mr Townsend. I’m Detective Inspector Bernard Watts. I’m in charge of the investigation at Blackfoot Trail. This is PC Chloe Judd. Sorry about the heat in here. How about a cold drink?’

  Townsend pointed to a sports water bottle on the table, shook his head. He was built like a greyhound, except for the well-developed calf muscles below his to-the-knee shorts. Watts absorbed the close-cut hair, his attention dropping to the inscription on his T-shirt: Run for your life! Townsend was just the type he’d been hoping for since this case started. What had been a dead-loss day so far looked like it might be coming good.

  He sent him an encouraging smile. ‘Have a seat, Mr Townsend. We understand you’ve got something to tell us.’

  Townsend looked from him to Judd, then back. ‘I saw the appeal on the television. It’s probably nothing.’

  ‘That’s for us to decide, so don’t you worry about it.’

  Townsend gave him a nervous glance. ‘I wasn’t going to come at all. It’s hardly anything.’

  Watts’ smile was now fixed. ‘How about you tell us and we’ll see?’

  Townsend gave the table between them a worried look. ‘I was there. At the trail. When that woman was there.’

  Sensing a start from Judd, Watts said, ‘Which woman would that be?’

  ‘The one you were on television about. The one that was murdered.’

  Watts slow-nodded, wanted every single thing Townsend thought he had, but first there was a bottom line which needed checking. ‘What did this woman you saw look like?’

  ‘I didn’t see her face.’


  ‘Tell us what you did see.’

  ‘She was blonde. Her hair was tied up at the back and she was wearing a white top and running shorts. Black, I think, maybe navy, with a horizontal silver stripe running across the back.’ He pointed to a stripe on his own shorts. ‘Like that. All decent sports gear has them. I can tell you about her trainers. Black Nike Downshifter Sevens.’ He looked at Watts. ‘I know my trainers.’

  Chong’s schedule of clothing removed from Roberts’ body zoomed into Watts’ head: white vest, black shorts, silver stripe. Downshifter Sevens. ‘What time was this, exactly?’

  Townsend reached for the gym bag on the floor between his feet, lifted it on to his lap and brought out a hardcover notebook. ‘This is my training regime. I can tell you exactly.’ He flipped it open, turned pages, pointed. ‘Monday the fifteenth of August. I was at the trail from six thirty-five a.m. until seven twelve. I ran the whole length of it.’

  Resisting a strong urge to wrest the notebook from Townsend’s hand and clap him soundly on the back, Watts said, ‘Talk us through everything you saw.’

  Townsend sat back, looking marginally more relaxed. ‘I was running in the same direction as her. That’s why I didn’t see her face. That trail has some long curves. I first saw her some way ahead of me. I soon passed her and ran on.’

  ‘Where did you finish your run?’

  ‘The car park.’

  Watts waited. ‘That’s where you were parked?’

  Townsend shook his head. ‘I didn’t drive there. I still had five miles of road running to do after I finished at the trail. I do marathons. I ran straight out.’

  Watts kept his tone light. ‘Notice anything in the car park as you ran through it?’

  ‘Only the two cars.’

  ‘Just to be certain what you’re telling us, Mr Townsend, you saw these vehicles as you were leaving the trail?’

  ‘Yes. I started my run from the other end.’

  ‘Describe both cars.’

  ‘One was a dark colour, very dusty. It might have been an Audi but I’m not sure.’

  ‘Did you notice a registration number?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Tell us about the other car,’ said Watts.

  ‘A red Volkswagen. I’m not much into cars but everybody recognizes a Volkswagen Bug, don’t they?’ He gave Judd an uncertain look.

  Under the table, Watts gave her foot a nudge. ‘That’s very helpful, Mr Townsend. Is there anything else you want to say?’

  Townsend looked at Watts. ‘No. Not unless you want to know about the man. But I can’t see how he’s useful to you.’

  Watts eyed him, heart rate picking up. ‘Everybody at that trail on that day is of interest to us. Describe him.’

  Townsend appeared to give it some thought. ‘I’d say he was older. I mean older than me. Say, thirty-plus. He didn’t look very fit.’

  ‘What gave you that idea?’

  Townsend shrugged. ‘Just the way he was standing, his general build, but it can’t have been him who killed that woman.’

  ‘What makes you say that?’

  ‘He was injured.’

  ‘What do you mean? How?’

  ‘He had his arm in a sling.’

  Watts stared at him. ‘A sling.’

  ‘Yes. Beige-coloured, looped around his neck, supporting his arm.’

  ‘Which arm?’

  Townsend thought about it. ‘His left. I had a similar one myself once when I fell and hurt my shoulder and—’

  ‘Did he speak? Say “Good morning” or something as you ran past?’

  Townsend shrugged again. ‘If he did, I wouldn’t have heard him. I wear earbuds so I can listen to music on my phone as I run.’

  Watts was on his feet. Townsend gave him a startled look. ‘We’re very grateful to you for coming in, Mr Townsend.’

  Townsend smiled. ‘Well, I hope what I’ve said is a help—’

  ‘I’ll leave you to give a detailed statement to PC Judd.’

  Townsend’s smile disappeared.

  ‘Don’t worry. Just a formality. She’ll take you through it.’ With a glance at Judd, who had pulled a Witness Statement form from the back of her notebook, he sent Townsend a reassuring glance. ‘While you’re here, we’d appreciate you providing a description of this man to our e-fit expert.’ Seeing Townsend’s mouth open, he said, ‘He’ll talk you through the process, see what you manage to recall.’ Watts headed for the door, his genial facial expression disappearing as soon as he was out of the room. He took out his phone. He didn’t care who it was Townsend had seen at the trail that morning. Whoever he was, this individual was a potential witness.

  Thirty minutes later, Judd came into the office and placed Townsend’s statement on the table next to Watts. He picked it up. ‘Townsend struck me as the timid type, so I thought it might be easier on him if you did it. How was he?’

  She sat opposite. ‘Fine. Quite a talker, actually.’

  ‘Do you think he’s a reliable witness?’

  ‘I’d say so. I think he did pretty well, considering he was on the move when he saw what he saw.’

  ‘Fair point. Did he add anything to what he said when I was there?’

  ‘No. I used all the usual how-what-when-where-why-who triggers but his statement is basically what you heard.’

  Watts looked through it. She’d been very thorough. ‘So, what we’ve got here is one unidentified male with an arm injury, plus one possible Audi, that’s possibly his. It could be worse. Did you tell Townsend we might be in touch?’

  ‘Yes. I took all of his contact details.’ She looked away. ‘Sorry about what happened at Roberts’ office, Sarge.’

  He regarded her steadily. There was a lot about her that got on his nerves but he knew there was a bigger picture. She was quick, she worked hard and she was committed to the job. Maybe too committed. ‘Think of it as an early lesson. Ends don’t justify means in this game. Don’t do it again.’ He pointed at the board. ‘That note you’ve written about your wine shop visit is too short. I want details and I want it on paper.’

  ‘Yes, Sarge.’

  ‘Where’s Traynor?’

  ‘Not here, is all I know.’ The door opened and one of the forensic officers came in holding an A4.

  ‘How did Townsend do?’ asked Watts.

  ‘Pretty good,’ the officer replied as he handed Watts the piece of paper.

  Watts stared down at the e-fit produced from Townsend’s description. ‘Let’s hope this is accurate enough and detailed enough to ring some bells. Give it to Communications for immediate release. I want it on the six o’clock news.’ He hesitated, e-fit still in his hand, wondering whether to include a reference to the second vehicle Townsend had described. Information could be gold in these situations but that depended on how reliable it was. There had been no indication from him that the car and the man with the sling were connected. He handed the e-fit to the officer. ‘Quick as you can.’ The officer left. Watts stood, eyeing Judd. ‘I’m on my way to the squad room to put basic details of Roberts’ homicide into PNC. See if there’s anything remotely similar in the unsolved database.’

  Subdued, she nodded, watched him go to the door.

  He turned. ‘Move yourself, Judd!’

  She leapt to her feet.

  Traynor raised the high-spec digital camera and took two wide-angle shots of the car park, then another two of the area in the corner close to the trees where Zoe Roberts’ body had been found. He continued on to the trail. Reaching the hedge and its widened access he took another two shots. Going through it he walked the dried-out field, stopped at the incline, camera raised and took several more. Heading quickly up the incline to halfway he turned, raised it to the field sloping away on the other side of the trail.

  ‘Hey, Will!’ He turned to the voice, saw Adam coming down towards him.

  ‘You’re not satisfied with our two hundred-plus efforts?’

  Traynor smiled. ‘How’s it going?’

  Adam p
ointed across to the other area of high ground where the footprints had been found. ‘We’ve finished a comprehensive search of that area. No more found, but you’re welcome to take a look.’

  They headed downwards, across the field and up to where a dozen or more officers were packing away equipment. Traynor watched them. ‘You’re throwing everything you have at this, Adam.’

  ‘Yes, and getting nothing. No footprints, other than the ones you know about. No anything.’

  Shielding his eyes, Traynor looked down at the Works Only compound where he’d parked an hour before, then at the ground immediately in front of him sloping down to it. ‘You said that all of this area has been processed?’

  ‘Yes.’

  He started down the hill towards the compound. SOCOs and forensic officers watched, faces rapt as Traynor got into the Aston Martin, heard it thrum to life, its sleek shape moving past the compound and start its ascent of the steep hillside, its engine deep-throated as it came steadily upwards. They watched it crest the slope on another roar of powerful engine and pass close to where they were standing. On a final wheel turn, Traynor brought it to a halt, engine idling then falling silent. The driver’s door opened and he got out to whoops, hand claps, and a shouted, ‘Va-va-voom.’

  He walked to Adam, pointed at the steep ground he’d just driven up. ‘Blackfoot Trail is accessible from the motorway. Roberts’ killer could have driven up here.’ He pointed to the Aston Martin. ‘That’s almost sixteen years old. It didn’t break sweat. Any good quality, modern car could do the same.’

  Adam gazed down the incline. ‘You’ve convinced me.’ He frowned. ‘Who’s that, do you think?’

  Traynor followed his eyes to the compound, a male figure moving across it. ‘Probably Shaw, the day security worker DI Watts spoke to. Given the motorbike recorded leaving the motorway and driving up that service road, anybody around that place is a potential witness. I want to talk to him. I’ve got an idea I want to follow up with your help, Adam. Got a blood kit with you?’

  ‘Never go anywhere without, plus a lot more.’

  ‘Good. Give me a few minutes and I’ll ring you.’

  Adam reached out his hand, his eyes fixed on the scene below. ‘Wait, Will.’