Dark Truths

by A. J. Cross

  His phone rang. It was Brophy. ‘Sir.’

  ‘Where are you?’

  ‘I’ve just left the Rhodes family home. I’ll be at headquarters in about twenty minutes—’

  ‘Come straight to my office.’

  Watts arrived in reception looking and feeling overheated. The officer on duty pointed. ‘Christian Roberts, Sarge.’

  Watts looked at the pacing fortyish, heavyset male in a formal suit and striped tie who stopped pacing and looked back at him. Watts went to him, hand extended. ‘Mr Roberts, DI Watts, SIO of your wife’s murder investigation. We appreciate your coming in.’

  Roberts gave a brief handshake. ‘You want to talk to me about my wife’s death.’

  ‘Yes, in two minutes.’ He turned to the duty officer. ‘Show Mr Roberts into the small interview room. Get him whatever he wants to drink.’ Leaving Roberts frowning after him, Watts headed upstairs to Brophy’s office, knocked and went inside. ‘Sir, Christian Roberts is waiting downstairs for me—’

  ‘About time he made himself available. What’s your thinking where he’s concerned?’

  ‘Mixed, until I talk to him about his relationship with his wife. I also want his account of his whereabouts during the last couple of weeks and why it’s taken him several days to contact us. I’ve requested details of his movements between Brussels and the UK during the last ten days and I’ll be asking him about his relationship with a work colleague.’

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘There’s a possibility he could be involved with one of the other partner’s wives.’

  ‘Sounds hopeful, if a little late in the day.’ He looked away from Watts. ‘Bernard, there’s something you need to know.’ Watts knew from his face that whatever Brophy had on his mind, he wasn’t going to like it. ‘As from tomorrow, I’m giving you a maximum of one more week on this investigation. If there’s no significant progress I’ll be requesting the chief constable bring in somebody else to run it.’

  Watts wasn’t surprised. Hearing it was a shock. ‘We’re making progress. We’ve got a person of interest for Zoe Roberts.’ He told the chief about Nilsen.

  The chief regarded him. ‘Evidence?’

  ‘E-fit identification.’

  ‘It’s not enough.’

  ‘If we need more, we’ll get it.’

  Brophy looked back at him. ‘You need more.’

  ‘What about Traynor and Judd if I have to hand over the case? They’ve given a lot to the investigation so far.’

  ‘They’ll continue under whoever replaces you.’ There was a brief silence. ‘I have no choice, Bernard. All I’m hearing is more remains being recovered and no real progress, the whole case a growing mayhem.’

  Watts looked down at him. ‘If remains are there, it’s our job to locate and investigate them.’

  Brophy stood. ‘I know that. I also know that it’s your job as SIO to get a grip on whatever a case throws at you. You’re working long hours but I’m not seeing any results and the media knows it.’

  Watts considered several possible responses clamouring to be said. He went with one of them. ‘You know what we’re facing. Four homicides. Four lives to explore. A hell of a lot of work for my team in this heat—’

  ‘And I’ve got the chief constable on the phone at least twice a day, demanding results because of the sky-high press interest. Right now, he’d settle for an indication of real progress, but if you can’t make that happen during the next few days, that’s it, Bernard. You’re finished.’

  Watts left the office, went down the stairs processing Brophy’s words. He’d considered asking him what he thought he and the team might do that they hadn’t done so far. Or, more relevant, what anybody taking over might do to bring the case to a quick resolution. Pointless questions. Brophy hadn’t got any answers. The best he could come up with was the solution of desperation. New broom. Coming into reception, he looked towards the interview room, which was empty, then at the officer on the desk.

  ‘Where is he? Where’s Christian Roberts?’

  The officer looked up. ‘He said he’d be back in half an hour, Sarge.’

  ‘Let me know, soon as he is!’ Watts pounded the corridor to his office, fed up with being side-lined.

  TWENTY-ONE

  They watched the sleek, black Mercedes slide into a parking space and the well-dressed male get out of it. ‘What do you think of Christian Roberts, Sarge?’

  Watts turned away. ‘What’s there to think?’

  Judd pointed. ‘Would you say he looks like somebody whose wife was brutally murdered only days ago, because, I don’t. Hey, look! Dr Traynor’s outside. He’s giving Roberts a once-over.’

  The desk phone shrilled. Watts went to it. ‘Yeah, we’ve seen him. Dr Traynor’s just arrived. Ask him to show Roberts upstairs to Interview Room Three.’ He put down the phone, reached for his interview notes, aware that Judd was looking at him.

  ‘Can I come?’ she asked.

  ‘Yes. I’ve got a job for you.’

  Looking eager, she followed him. As they approached the interview room, he opened the door of the room next to it, showed her inside and pointed at a dull rectangle of one-way glass, a small desk below it. ‘This is where you’ll be.’

  She looked around the room, grimaced at the observational glass, then up at Watts. ‘I haven’t participated in a single formal interview yet. Why can’t I be part of this one?’

  ‘Roberts is here voluntarily. It won’t be recorded and I need you here, watching, listening and learning, if that’s possible.’ He jabbed a button below the glass. It brightened. She went to it, stared through it to the interview room next door. ‘There’s pads and pens here,’ he said, opening a drawer of the desk.

  She dragged out a chair and sat. ‘All I ever hear on this case is, “Follow me, do this, don’t do that, write this down”.’

  He headed for the door. ‘And why do you think that is?’

  Reddening, she looked away from him. ‘You don’t trust me. Maybe if I was one of “the lads”, it would be different.’

  He turned, pointed at her. ‘Don’t you lay that card on me. I didn’t choose you for this investigation but you’re on my team, which means I’ll do all I can to help you show that you’ve got what it takes.’

  ‘I have.’

  He looked at his watch then at her. ‘It’s not that simple. If I let you have too much rope on a big homicide case like this, it would be unfair to you and it could jeopardize any result we get.’ He eyed her. ‘But we already know that, don’t we?’

  She flushed again.

  ‘Watch, listen, write. That’s all I want you to do.’

  Movement beyond the glass alerted him to Traynor’s arrival, followed by Christian Roberts. Leaving Judd to it, he headed for the room next door, took the chair next to Traynor, giving Christian Roberts a direct look. ‘We met earlier, Mr Roberts. Detective Inspector Watts, SIO of your wife’s murder investigation.’ Roberts made no response. ‘This is Dr William Traynor, criminologist, who’s assisting our investigation. We appreciate you coming voluntarily to headquarters for this informal interview. You are not under arrest and you may leave at any time.’

  ‘I know,’ responded Roberts coolly. ‘Ask whatever you want so that I can do that.’

  Watts’ eyes fixed on him. ‘During the several days since your wife’s murder you made no effort to contact us or her family.’ He glanced at the open file in front of Traynor. ‘I left three messages on your mobile phone, requesting you to contact me, Mr Roberts. Your deceased wife’s family also left messages. Why didn’t you respond to any of them?’

  Roberts gave him a direct look. ‘A couple of days prior to my wife’s death I left my office in Brussels and flew to Edinburgh for a few days’ leave. I’ve been ignoring my phone.’ He reached into an inside pocket of his jacket, brought out small pieces of paper which he placed on the table. Watts looked down at Lufthansa plane tickets. ‘They’re proof of what I’m telling you. My being here without representa
tion should indicate good faith on my part. There are just two things I want to say. First, I did not kill my wife. Second, I understand that an officer who is part of your investigation into my wife’s murder visited my firm and obtained information about my personal life via subterfuge.’

  An image of Judd’s face flashed inside Watts’ head. ‘The officer in question lacks experience and has been spoken to. Have you got anything you want to tell us about your private life, Mr Roberts?’

  ‘Yes, but once I’ve said it, I won’t be answering any questions. As I’ve already stated, I did not kill my wife. We’d been separated for over twelve months. That situation was by mutual agreement. It suited both of us. As to other aspects of my personal life, I am involved with a female colleague who is aware that I have come here.’ He stood. ‘That’s all I’m prepared to say at this point.’ He reached inside his jacket again, pulled out a business card and one folded A4 sheet, placed both on the table. ‘That’s my position statement. If you need to speak with me again, it will be with legal representation.’

  Watts stood. ‘We’ll take a look at what you’ve just made available but before you leave there are three names which we’d like you to consider. The first is Annette Barlow.’ Roberts made no response. ‘The second is Daniel Broughton … and the third, Justin Rhodes.’

  ‘I’ve never heard of any of them and I’m leaving.’ They watched him go, the door slowly closing on him.

  They were back in the office, Judd staring moodily ahead. Watts tapped the sheet left by Roberts. ‘He categorically denies killing his wife. He says he likes the Prentiss family, describes them as nice people.’ She rolled her eyes. ‘He goes on to describe his relationship with his wife. According to him, it took him eighteen months from when they got married to realize’ – he sat up – ‘that it was a mistake. Listen to this, Traynor. “I left when I could no longer deal with the relationship. Zoe was bright, clever, ambitious but also extremely self-centred, moody, impatient and demanding.” He says she kept pressuring him to push her progress at the firm, demanding a partnership, despite his telling her he couldn’t make that happen.’ Watts pointed. ‘He’s alleging a couple of incidents when Zoe Roberts attacked him physically, threw things at him. This is a new view of her.’

  Judd sent him a sidelong glance. ‘Am I surprised? Not.’

  ‘We don’t know enough about Christian Roberts to accept what he’s saying,’ said Traynor.

  Watts was re-reading Roberts’ statement. ‘True. For all we know, he could be the problem, a control freak who resented her being independent, made her life a misery, but he’s given us a picture of her which is a million miles from what we got from her parents.’ He looked up at Judd. ‘I know. You said the mother was overly positive and unrealistic. Either that’s how the parents actually felt about her—’

  ‘Or, they’re compensating,’ said Traynor. ‘Compensating for what they really knew. What else does he say?’

  ‘That he would regret the Prentiss family becoming aware of his perceptions and experience of Zoe but that it needs to be said … and he goes on that he had little contact with his wife during the preceding twelve months, that the last time he saw her was about six months ago, at the Solihull office where she worked. The impression he gained at the time was that she had more money available to her than he would have anticipated.’ He looked up. ‘He doesn’t say what his impression was based on, but it sounds to me like another line of inquiry for us.’

  Hearing Christian Roberts’ words, Judd said, ‘Get Damian Blunt to check the firm’s accounts, Sarge. She might have been helping herself.’ She found herself under scrutiny. ‘Just saying.’

  ‘Judd, Blunt is a lawyer. If he knows half of what Roberts has told us, he’s probably doing it right now.’ Watts looked at Traynor. ‘What’s your view of Christian Roberts now we’ve met him and got this information?’

  Traynor shook his head. ‘I’m not seeing him as the killer of our other three victims, if that’s what you’re asking. Why would he?’

  ‘I’m not ruling him out of anything until we know more about him. I still don’t get why the mother gave us that spiel about Zoe.’

  ‘Because it’s what families do,’ snapped Judd. ‘They say good stuff about people they want in the family and rubbish about those they don’t.’ She got up and headed for the door. ‘And I was right about Christian Roberts having a thing with Fiona Webb … although I shouldn’t have got the information the way I did.’

  Watts waited until the door closed on her. ‘Moving on for the sake of my sanity, this is Judd’s report of a talk she had with Alec Prentiss yesterday.’ He pushed it across the table. Traynor reached for it, slid it into a file, pushed the file into his backpack. Watts looked at him.

  ‘I want a check of the Merc Roberts drove here.’

  ‘I already did it. It’s a rental car. He got it three days ago.’ Watts studied him. ‘Something on your mind, Traynor?’ He was about to repeat his question when Traynor got to his feet, went to the board and began writing.

  He tracked the words. ‘“What is motive?” That’s not even a question as far as I’m concerned.’

  ‘Then it needs to be. Motive is one of the reasons we’re struggling with this case. We haven’t identified what it is.’

  Watts stared across at him. ‘Yes, we have. We agreed these are most likely sexually motivated homicides—’

  ‘I’ve reconsidered.’

  Watts watched open-mouthed as Traynor pointed to what he’d written. ‘I had no solid reason to doubt it as a motive for the Zoe Roberts and Annette Barlow homicides and I still didn’t when the remains of Broughton and Rhodes came to light. I’ve worked on enough homicide cases to know the extremes of deviant sexual behaviour directed at both genders.’

  Watts waited. ‘So? What’s your problem?’

  ‘I was slow to see it.’ He tapped names. ‘Broughton. Barlow. Rhodes. Roberts. All found in the same geographical area, all four decapitated, three of their heads buried there.’ He turned to Watts. ‘Place, plus behaviour. Given the huge risks involved, both were hugely important to whoever killed them.’

  ‘I don’t get where you’re going with this.’

  ‘These weren’t random sex killings. I think their killer knew all four.’

  Watts went to the Smartboard, called up data, sent it flying across the big screen. ‘In case you need reminding, Traynor, have a look through this lot … at this … and this. We’ve spent hours talking to the families, other people who knew them, reading the files, looking for a common link. If what you’re saying is right, why haven’t we found it? I’ll tell you why. There isn’t one.’

  ‘There is. There has to be.’

  ‘Says you,’ snapped Watts.

  Traynor shook his head. ‘No. What he did to them and where he did it, says so. He killed them and kept them together in that one place for a reason.’

  Watts sat heavily. ‘All the cold cases I’ve investigated have shown me that that’s what repeaters do.’

  ‘Did all of the victims in those cold cases differ as widely as ours? Not just in age and gender, but backgrounds, education, work, lifestyle?’ Watts didn’t respond. ‘These victims didn’t know each other but their killer had to know them, perhaps only indirectly. Which might explain why we can’t find him anywhere in their lives.’

  ‘All it’s saying to me right now is that after hours of being out there in thirty degrees, following up everything we can, we’ve got nothing and I’m on my way out of this investigation.’

  ‘You’re wrong about us having nothing. We know how each of these victims lived their lives.’ Traynor came to the table, placed his hands on it, looked down at Watts. ‘Zoe Roberts: not the positive personality portrayed by her family. Selfish, demanding, money-hungry. Annette Barlow: sex worker. Daniel Broughton and his utter disregard for the rights of his neighbours.’ He saw Watts’ mouth open. ‘I know what you’re about to say: that those behaviours lack equivalence, but the victims’ out
looks on life, their attitudes, the way they lived, were similar, don’t you see?’

  Watts shook his head. ‘Where does Justin Rhodes fit into that? That newspaper woman you spoke to described him as a decent young bloke. A regular boy scout.’

  Traynor went to the Smartboard, pulled up data, pointed. ‘Jess Meredith told me that on the day he died he’d been planning to write an article on two Birmingham disappearances.’ He looked at Watts. ‘Two. How many disappearances does this case have, prior to Rhodes’ own? Two.’

  Watts stared at him. ‘You’re expecting me to redirect the whole investigation in its final week, on the basis of a vague theory that—’

  ‘That’s exactly what I’m saying. I think it’s possible somebody made a judgement about them, that they deserved to die.’ Deserved. The word resonated inside Watts’ head. Traynor continued. ‘I think their killer has a lot of problems, not the least of which is probably a God complex. I think there could be more remains at that scene—’

  Watts was on his feet. ‘I don’t know about any God complex but if there are more, I won’t be investigating them.’ He stared at Traynor, a ghost of a suspicion surfacing. ‘You’ve got another victim inside your head and I know who she is! You want to look for her in that damn place!’ He watched colour ebb from Traynor’s face.

  ‘While Claire was still alive, there were references in the local Oxford press to her charity work, to the fact that she was a wealthy woman. She got a couple of calls from a male she didn’t know, offering her an investment opportunity. She declined. He never contacted her again.’

  Exasperated, Watts said, ‘That’s what happens! Well-off people get targeted. What’s that got to do with our case?’