‘And now, we have to deal with other developments,’ Field said. ‘As you should be aware, Dr Keith Hemingsby came in voluntarily to speak with us about the Rebecca Arnold investigation. What he had to say threw the focus of our investigation in a somewhat different direction. Whilst we will not be completely writing off Doctor Hemingsby as a person of interest, another name has come up, one that will require more careful consideration and Will. Not. Go. Out. Of. This. Room.’
Tess felt the frisson of interest flutter through the assembled group. She wondered how long it would be before the phrase ‘pillar of the local community’ came up.
‘Doctor Tom Reece.’ Field affixed his picture to the board. It appeared to have been lifted from a group shot and she guessed he’d found it on the internet.
‘Unusual in that he’s both a medical doctor and a PhD. Specializes in the mental health of kids and adolescents. Teaches at the local university and as a visiting professor at several more. Writes for prestigious journals and, well, you’ve guessed it, is considered to be—’
A pillar of the local community, Tess thought. Right, that’s got that out of the way.
‘Now, this may be nothing but mud-slinging for reasons we’re not aware of yet. It could be that DI Jackson was chasing shadows or had some bee in his bonnet about Reece or that Hemingsby has over-egged Jackson’s interest in Reece in order to deflect from himself. It could also be that Reece is guilty.’
Tess listened as Field handed out tasks for the day. She knew already what hers would be. She and her team would spend what looked through the mucky windows to be a bright spring morning ensconced in a stuffy little office raising dust from long-closed files.
She exchanged a glance with Alfie Briggs and knew he was missing his usual routine too. He should be out there in his community, not in here trawling through archaic notes.
But, she supposed, someone had to do it.
‘Who’s taking what,’ Nat Cooper asked as they settled in for the duration.
‘OK, you and Vin work the Trey Baxter enquiry. ‘Alfie and I will do the overview of the Sadie Rahman case. We’ll get them written up and then take half of the Fincher stuff each. I’ve not even looked at it yet.’
‘OK,’ Nat said. ‘I had a quick peep into the boxes. Looks like lecture notes, notebooks, bills and lord knows what else.’
Tess groaned. ‘First things first,’ she said. ‘Do we know who turned up these two murders?’ she asked Nat, hoping that as a member of Trinder’s team she might have been told.
Nat shook her head. ‘All I know is they turned up this morning. I think, from his reaction, even DI Trinder didn’t know about them.’
That was true, Tess thought. He’d seemed genuinely surprised.
‘Onwards and upwards then,’ she said. ‘We’ll break for lunch and compare notes at, say, twelve?’
THIRTY-NINE
Gregory had arrived at Naomi’s flat just as she and Alec came back from walking Napoleon.
‘Wondered when you’d show up,’ Alec said. ‘Where’s the other half of the double act?’
‘Nathan’s gone to see Annie and then book us into a hotel,’ Gregory said. ‘How is everything?’
He waited until Napoleon had his harness removed before greeting the dog and Naomi could hear the happy tail wagging as her guide dog made the most of meeting an old friend.
‘Everything’s as fine as you’d expect it to be,’ she said. ‘We’ve been interviewed a couple of times and it won’t be the last. DCI Field is the SIO, you may remember him from your last little adventure down this way and Tess is checking back through old files. I think they’ve uncovered five deaths so far.’
‘Seven,’ Gregory said. ‘They should have two more by now. And there’ll be others, maybe not as dramatic, but others none the less.’
Naomi nodded. ‘And you know this because?’
‘Because a contact of Nathan’s ran another search for us. What she found has now been added to the local enquiry. There are five different forces in on this, including the Met. And a span of twenty-odd years.’
‘Really? Jesus wept. I know they found Hemingsby, supposed to be Joe Jackson’s number one suspect in the Rebecca Arnold murder, but it turns out to be a different kettle of fish altogether.’
‘Make me a cup of tea and a sandwich and tell me all about it,’ Gregory said, ‘and I’ll share what we’ve got so far.’
Patrick had driven over to Bob’s and taken his preliminary work on the Madonna with him. He set it up on his studio table, and stepped back. Somehow, everything looked very different in Bob’s studio. It was probably just the light, but simply being in that space seemed to lend clarity to Patrick’s thoughts and enable him to get some perspective on his work. Sometimes that was a good thing; sometimes not, but today he decided was a positive one.
So far he had only begun to lay in the base colours. It was a time-consuming job as the underpainting was done in egg tempera and the process of working in many tiny, cross-hatched strokes was not one that could be rushed. For a long time, Bob had told him, it would look all wrong, would feel as though he was getting nowhere. It was only by building and shading successive micro thin layers that the right effect could be created. Then it would be a question of laying in sheer, pure glazes of oil colour over the top and dammar varnish to bring unity to the whole and prevent dead – dry and matt spots – from spoiling the clarity of light bouncing through the layers.
It was slow, precise and calming work, Patrick found, rather like drawing and shading with a pencil but far more demanding as you couldn’t smudge to shade or change from hard to soft to get a different effect.
Leaving his own work he crossed to the table where Bob left instructions for what he needed Patrick to do. This could be anything from editing photographs of Bob’s work, emailing information – Bob left a crib sheet as a Word file from which Patrick could cut and paste – to grinding pigment or preparing canvases. Patrick loved the work, the mix of modern technology and medieval tradition. He was alone in the house today having let himself in through the studio door. The day Bob and Annie had presented him with a key had been the proudest moment he could recall. This was one of Annie’s regular teaching days and Bob had to deliver some prints to a gallery, a job he tried to do in person whenever possible. Increasingly often, he took Patrick with him.
Today, Bob had left a recipe for Patrick to mix. A bleach for removing the foxing and cleaning the end papers he and Patrick had harvested from the rattiest of the auction books and he’d left a few other instructions for emails that needed sending and photographs taking. He started with the chemicals mix, taking care to get the proportions right. When he heard the front door open he assumed it must be either Bob or Annie returning. Then a voice called out from the hall that belonged to someone else entirely.
‘Anyone home?’
‘In here.’
Nathan came into the studio. ‘You on your own?’
‘Yes. Bob’s doing a delivery and Annie’s teaching. She’ll be back in about an hour.’
‘Right. I’ll make us both a coffee. What’s that stuff you’re mixing?’
Patrick told him.
‘And what’s that?’ Nathan asked going over to take a look at the picture Patrick was working on. ‘That’s definitely a Bob project and not an art school exercise.’
Patrick laughed. ‘The original’s over there. It’s fantastic. Bob says it’s a fake but I really don’t care.’
Nathan withdrew the cloth from the little painting and gazed at it. ‘I don’t imagine Bob cares either,’ Nathan said. ‘So, why’s it here?’
Patrick told him about the authentication Bob was doing and found himself confiding his worries that the beautiful little object might be destroyed.
‘No, that’s not right,’ Nathan said. ‘Someone created this with skill and a lot of love. Don’t worry, Patrick, Bob will find a way out of the dilemma. He’s a good man.’
‘You think so?’
�
��I think so.’
‘And are you and Gregory here to catch the killer?’ Patrick asked, an ironic smile twitching at the corner of his mouth.
‘Let’s say we’re going to give it a try. Your dad’s worried, I know that much.’
Patrick nodded. ‘He gets scared about a lot of stuff these days,’ he said quietly. ‘It’s like he’s been overloaded by things to be afraid of.’
‘I can sympathize with that,’ Nathan said softly. ‘Overloaded is a good word. I sometimes think that life will reach critical mass one day and just blow up in all our faces.’ He smiled, tried to break the mood. ‘Listen to me. Sometimes the whole mortality thing feels like a big joke. A really bad joke. I’ll go and make that coffee.’
By the time Annie got home Nathan seemed to have broken out of his mood but Patrick could see the pain behind his eyes.
FORTY
Naomi had been surprised when DI Trinder turned up and even more surprised by what he asked.
‘Does the name Tom Reece mean anything to you? Joe Jackson might have mentioned him.’
She laughed. ‘Oh, you mean Doctor Tom. Yes, he was lovely. I think Joe knew him, yes. Why do you ask?’
Trinder paused. ‘Doctor Tom … how did—’
‘After Helen went missing. I was a mess for a while. My GP referred me for counselling and Tom Reece did my initial assessments. All the kids called him Doctor Tom. My main counsellor was Beatrice … Toon, I think her last name was. But Doctor Tom tended to follow up his kids personally so I still saw him on a semi-regular basis for quite a few months. Why?’
Trinder still hesitated. ‘And what did you think of him? Have you seen him since? Met with him as an adult?’
‘I thought he was nice. He was gentle and persuasive and patient, I suppose. You’re still not telling me why—’
‘And have you seen him since then?’
‘Um … only once I think. It was at work, he and Joe were talking about something and I recognized him, of course. Went over to say hello and thanks.’
‘And how did Joe take that?’
How had Joe taken that? Naomi frowned, worried now by the direction the conversation was leading. ‘How should he have taken it?’
‘You tell me.’
‘Actually … actually he wasn’t too happy about it. At the time I thought it was just because I’d interrupted them and maybe he thought I was being rude. I apologized and went on my way.’
‘And do you still think that?’
‘What is all this about. What’s Tom Reece got to do with anything?’
‘He was the man Joe Jackson suspected of killing Rebecca Arnold. The real suspect.’
‘He what? No, that’s just crazy. Joe would never think … Tom Reece would never … You’re serious, aren’t you?’
‘And you have no contact with him now?’
‘No. Why should I have?’
‘Good. Don’t let that change.’
‘You really are serious. On what evidence?’
‘Circumstantial as yet.’
‘So, nothing then.’
‘Nothing but Jackson’s suspicions and a few things that don’t add up. For instance, why would a man need two completely separate alibis for the same night?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘The night Rebecca Arnold was killed Tom Reece stated he was home with his family. A colleague stated he was out having a drink with him until the pub closed at eleven and then that Reece went back to his place.’
‘A mistake. People get their times and dates mixed up all the time.’
‘And that’s true, but the colleague came forward voluntarily when he heard on the grapevine that Tom Reece had been questioned by the police.’
‘He was brought in for questioning?’
‘Once, yes. Jackson interviewed several medical professionals who might have come into contact with Rebecca Arnold. He made it look as though it was an innocuous element in a complex investigation.’
‘Which it might have been. What contact did Tom Reece have?’
‘Which it might have been. Rebecca’s mother worked as a cleaner in the Stainford wing, which was then used by the CAMHS unit. Rebecca went to help her out a few times when they were short-staffed. And in the school holidays when they needed extra cover for absences.’
‘So?’
‘So it gave Jackson an excuse to speak to several members of staff, including Tom Reece.’
‘And a friend heard about this and thought he might need an alibi. Trinder, that’s stretching things. People overreact to police involvement, however peripheral, you know that, especially when they’ve had minimal contact previously. It’s a traumatic event when a policeman knocks on your door, even more so if you or someone you know is actually questioned. People close ranks, get protective.’
‘Perhaps.’
‘Is that all you have? That he has too many alibis. It’s so thin you can see through it.’
‘And Joe never mentioned anything to you?’
She began to shake her head and then paused, a half-formed memory worming its way forward.
‘Remember, I wasn’t around for the Rebecca Arnold murder. So I must have run into the pair of them talking a couple of years later. I knew nothing about the operational events of the Arnold killing … Joe talked to me the day after I’d spoken to Tom Reece, asked me what I knew about him and I told him he should know the answer to that. He and Tom Reece had come into my life at pretty much the same time. He warned me off. Told me I should stay out of his way. That people around Reece had a nasty habit of getting hurt. I had no idea what he meant and he wouldn’t say, but I remember how serious he was. I gave it very little thought though. Joe was protective. He was my mentor. I thought he was my friend.’
‘He was maybe just recognizing a fellow predator,’ Trinder said.
FORTY-ONE
‘Trey Baxter, fifteen years old. Out with friends at a street carnival. When he disappeared it was assumed he’d just gone off with another group of friends or was with family so it was a couple of hours before anyone realized anything was wrong.
‘He was discovered four hours later at the home of a girlfriend of a family friend who’d been with them that afternoon. The young couple had alibis for the whole day and were never suspects but it was always assumed that the killer must be someone who knew the flat would be empty and therefore knew something about Trey and his family and social group.’
‘How was he killed?’
Tess glanced at her notes, but she knew the details by heart. ‘Signs of partial asphyxia and on that occasion tiny bits of plastic were found wedged between his teeth as though he’d tried to bite down on something. Speculation was that a plastic bag was placed over his head. He was then injected with ketamine and killed in pretty much the same manner as Leanne Bolter. As you can see, the crime scene photos are very similar.’
‘We’ve prepared detailed notes,’ Nat Cooper said. ‘But there were no obvious suspects and no leads from the interviews with friends and family. Police put out a call and the family requested help from the community which was forthcoming but which generated only false leads so far as the original investigation was concerned. We’re still sifting but so far, we’d have to agree with them.’
Tess took up the narrative. ‘A standard review on day eleven suggested that there may have been a gang-related element. The young woman whose flat was used for the killing had, when she was much younger, had some gang associations. This was rapidly dismissed. There simply wasn’t anything to support it and the SIO went on record as saying that he thought the review was trying to shift potential blame in a misleading direction. It caused a lot of ruffled feathers, but the SIO looks to be in the right here.’
‘Sadie Rahman was nineteen when she died. She was studying to be a teacher and had been on her way home from university when she disappeared. As you can see from the map, her route took her through central Manchester and then she should have taken a bus home. She’s seen several ti
mes on CCTV, as you’d expect. There was also a CCTV camera on the traffic lights exactly where she should have crossed to her bus stop, but she never appeared on it. So the theory is she disappeared between here and the bus stop.’ Tess indicated a point on the map outside a McDonald’s where Sadie had last been picked up on camera.
‘She was a creature of habit, apparently. Always took the same route, went straight home after classes unless she was meeting friends, in which case she always texted her mother. And there’s every suggestion that she was simply heading home on the day she died.
‘Her body was found in a hotel room the following day. The hotel was just a few hundred yards off her route. And CCTV in the hotel lobby shows her talking to a tall, bearded man – sound familiar? Keith Allen was also reported talking to a tall, bearded man before he died. The pictures unfortunately aren’t worth a damn. He’s aware of the camera, never looks towards it and the image quality is pretty awful anyway and as it’s pre-digital attempts at enhancement have been pretty bleak.’
‘She must have known him,’ Nat says. ‘Everything family and friends say about her indicates that she’d never have gone to a hotel alone with a man, and looking at the CCTV footage, she seems quite at ease with him. She’s certainly not afraid of him at that point.’
She and Nat fielded a few questions, knowing there would be more after the briefing notes had been read and her colleagues had time to absorb the information.
‘Whoever the killer is, he is not someone they feared. He got in close, in some cases he seems to have been invited into their homes. He’s organized and not afraid of risks, the BIA preliminary report emphasizes that he is capable of risk minimization, even in circumstances where that conclusion seems counter-intuitive. It’s likely that he enjoys the sense of power that comes with knowing other people are in close proximity but he then does all he can; subduing the victim, working silently, to keep from being discovered.
‘He is likely to be someone in his forties or fifties and educated, professional, having status in the community he lives in. This is not some misfit with a grudge, this is a man who probably has it all but still wants more. And, above all, he’s capable of great self-control. There are wide gaps between murders. There’s no indication that he needs to escalate or that the impulse to kill is getting out of control. This is not a man who makes obvious mistakes. He is intelligent and devious and—’ Tess took a deep breath – ‘he’s good at what he does, hideous though that might be. We’ve just got to try and be better.’
A Murderous Mind Page 18