DC Saunders looked at Crane and then Anderson who both nodded their agreement to his unspoken suggestion that they leave. “Thank you for being so frank, Mr Ferris,” Saunders said. “Perhaps you could come to New Scotland Yard to make a formal statement tomorrow. Someone will be in touch to arrange it and we’ll send a car for you.”
“Of course,” Ferris said and looked down at the dog and began stroking his head. He was clearly lost in his memories and turning to his canine companion for solace, so the three men let themselves out of the house.
At the cars, Crane said, “If we’re all agreed Ferris didn’t murder her…” The other two murmured their agreement. “Then we need to find out who that last client of hers was.”
33
Tyler had decided to start his investigations with the credit card company. Then, armed with that information, he’d go to the police. Making a decision had made him feel better, but for some reason he couldn’t still the looming sense of dread he kept experiencing. Something was definitely not right, but the trouble was he didn’t know what it was. He’d kept putting off going to the police, or ringing the credit card company, as though by not acknowledging anything was happening, it would make it all go away. Not like him at all.
Determined to finally do something about it, and sat in his office, cocooned by the familiar noises of telephones ringing, people talking and moving around, he picked up the handset of his own telephone and called the customer service number on his credit card statement. He heard the muffled sound of the call ringing at the other end of the line and then a robotic voice welcomed him to the company and requested that he listen to the following list, and dial the number corresponding to his type of request.
He pressed the number one for bill query and had to endure the awful music that all large companies seemed to use, to delineate the holding pattern that his call was in. As he tapped his pen on the desk in frustration, he began to feel like a large aircraft being forced to circle an airport high in the skies, waiting for the gap that would allow it access to terra firma.
“Thank you for your call,” a voice said.
Tyler quickly interjected, “I’m calling to query my - ”
But his sentence was cut short as he realised he was still pacing the fringes of the lion’s den that was customer services. “Please continue to hold. A representative will be with you shortly.”
Tyler continued to simultaneously tap his pen, listen to the music and watch the stock market. Glancing at the clock on his computer he realised he had been holding for 10 minutes already. All he wanted to do was to tell them that the three £1,000 charges to the Mayfair Club were nothing to do with him. What could be simpler or, more to the point, quicker?
After 15 minutes he was clenching his fists and could feel his blood pressure rising. The thump, thump, thump of his pulse started to reverberate in his ears. He was fortunate the markets were steady, or he would have been forced to kill the call.
The voice saying, “Good morning, this is Cherry speaking, how may I help you?” actually took him by surprise, as in his mind he was exploring possible explanations for the inexplicable doppelganger he had seen in the shop window a few days earlier.
“Oh, right,” he managed and started to tell the girl of his problem.
“For security reasons please key in the number of your credit card on your handset now,” she said.
“Can’t I just give it to you?”
“No, for security reasons, please key in the number of your credit card on your handset now,” she repeated and the line went dead.
Tyler took the telephone away from his ear and looked at it. Was anyone still there? He had no idea, but supposed he should do as the girl asked, so he keyed in the long number on his telephone keypad. Putting the receiver back to his ear, he heard a few clicks and whirrs and then the girl miraculously returned.
“Thank you,” she said. “Can I have your name please?”
Tyler obliged and then said, “There are items on my statement I don’t understand.”
“Your date of birth?” the girl asked, ignoring Tyler’s earlier words.
“Very well,” he sighed and gave her the date.
“Please give me the answer to your security question.”
Tyler exploded, “Look, I’ve been waiting 15 minutes and all I want to do is to explain…”
“Please give me the answer to your security question,” the girl repeated, not at all flustered by Tyler’s interjection. “What is the name of your family pet?”
“For God’s sake, we don’t have a family pet!”
“Thank you, that is the correct answer,” Cherry was beginning to sound robotic and was clearly sticking to her script. “How may I help you?”
“I’ve been trying to tell you that there are three items on my statement that I don’t know anything about.”
“What is the date of the statement you are referring to?”
At Tyler’s answer she said, “Thank you, I have that information on my screen. Could you identify the payments in question?”
“The three payments to the Mayfair Club for £1,000 each.”
“I can see those, please hold.”
“But, wait,” spluttered Tyler, but it was no good, she’d gone and he was once more subjected to the music. He timed her. It took three minutes and 30 seconds before she returned.
“Those payments seem to be in order, sir.”
“In order? What on earth do you mean? How can they be in order? I didn’t make the payments.”
“The correct number, name, expiry date and security code was given for each transaction.”
“But that’s impossible! I didn’t make them! I’ve never been to the Mayfair Club!”
“You don’t need to have been. It was a ‘no physical card transaction’.”
“What on earth does that mean?”
“It means the transaction was made either by phone or over the internet.”
“But I didn’t authorise them!”
“Is there anything else I can help you with you today?” asked Cherry.
“What? No! I - ”
But once again he was interrupted. “Thank you for calling and I hope you have a nice day.”
With that Cherry was gone, leaving Tyler fuming. He banged his fist down on the desk, pushed back his chair and hurried to the men’s room. As he paced the tiled floor he couldn’t believe the indifferent attitude of the girl. How dare she dismiss his complaint just like that and then put the phone down on him! He was a good customer, damn it. He had a good mind to complain. He caught sight of himself in the mirror. His shirt was stained with sweat, his hair in disarray where he’d continually run his hand through it and his face flushed. Where was the cool, calm, hedge-fund manager? Where had he gone? Tyler looked down and saw his hands were trembling.
Turning on the cold tap at a nearby sink, he scooped up water in his hands and bathed his face, rubbing the cool water across the back of his neck. He had to get a handle on his fear, as it was fuelling his anger. It was causing the trembling limbs and the lack of any control over his emotions. He wiped his face and took several deep breaths, before leaving the toilets, determined to call the police, just as soon as he had time.
34
Crane decided to bring his boss up to date on the Cunningham case in Draper’s office, rather than at the white boards downstairs, having something of a somewhat sensitive nature to tell his boss.
“Ah, Tom,” Draper said at Crane’s arrival. “I hear you’ve something for me.”
“Yes, boss,” said Crane and sat at Draper’s signal. “The Met have been as good as their word and rushed through the autopsy on Janey Cunningham. I’ve a copy for you here.”
“Thanks,” said Draper as he took the paper file from Crane’s outstretched hand. He didn’t open it, but said, “Give me the salient points, please.”
“Yes, sir,” replied Crane and flipping open his own copy of the report said, “The Home Office pathologist has con
firmed the cause of death was blunt force trauma to the side of her head. She had been bound hand and foot at some point, indicated by the abrasions found there. But in addition, her body had been subjected to a bad beating. There were no defensive wounds, such as on the side of her arms, which there would have been if she’d tried to protect her head and face with them, from which the pathologist surmises that she was still tied up during the attack. It seems it was frenzied and some sort of cosh was used. But they have been unable to identify the murder weapon as yet. There was also damage to her internal organs and bleeding from the spleen. He estimates the number of blows could be as high as 30, although it was difficult to tell because of multiple blows to the same part of the body. She had also been repeatedly, partially strangled.”
“Come again?”
“The pathologist thinks it was some sort of erotic game. The killer kept strangling her as they had sex, but always stopped before she died.”
“And he knows that how?”
“Because there was repeated bruising from hands and fingers on her neck, all in slightly different places, and damage to her trachea.”
Crane fell silent as Captain Draper briefly closed his eyes.
When his boss opened them again, Crane continued speaking. “The pathologist thinks she may have been subdued with some sort of drug so she was pliable enough to tie her up, but if that was the case, anything she might have taken would have metabolised by now and no longer be in her bloodstream. Alternatively, she could have been frightened into submission with say a knife or a gun, although no such weapon has been found.”
Draper nodded and Crane cleared his throat before continuing. “She had had rough sexual intercourse, as indicated by the tearing and bruising of that part of her body. Her partner hadn’t used a condom therefore they have semen for analysis.”
“Any news on that analysis yet?”
It was Crane’s turn to close his eyes as he said, “It is a familial match to Janey Cunningham.”
“What?” Draper sat upright. “Father, brother, what?”
“Child, we think,” said Crane. “That was the other thing the autopsy found. She’d had a child that no one seems to have known about. Ergo, she’d had sex with her own son.”
“Jesus Christ! How the hell am I supposed to tell Major Cunningham that?”
Crane had no idea, but was very glad Draper had said he was going to tell him. Crane hadn’t wanted that job for all the tea in China.
“Anderson and I thought we’d go and see Janey’s mother again,” Crane said. “See if we can get anything out of her about her daughter having a son.”
“Good idea,” said Draper. “Maybe I should wait until you’ve seen her. Then at least I might have more information to take to the Major, rather than just that shocking piece of news. Off you go, Tom. Get what you can out of her. And we need to find out who the hell this fictional Zane is. Oh God, maybe he is the one that’s her child and no one had any idea. Fucking hell. Dismissed.”
Crane rose, thankful the meeting was over. As he reached the door Draper shouted at Crane’s retreating back, “And don’t come back unless you’ve some hard facts that will lead somewhere.”
35
By the time Crane arrived at Aldershot Police Station, Anderson had already phoned the Met and got permission to interview Janey Cunningham’s mother.
“Their thinking is that it will save them a job and a trip out of London,” said Anderson as he climbed into Crane’s car.
“I wasn’t waiting for permission, Derek,” said Crane. “I’d have gone anyway.”
“I know, but you’re far more of a maverick than I am.”
“No, I’m a detective in the British Army and determined to bring the killer of an army wife to justice.”
“But it’s the civilian police who will prosecute.”
“I don’t care who prosecutes, as long as someone does,” Crane said.
“But there are rules, regulations and procedures to follow.”
“I don’t disagree, but that relates more to scenes of crime, forensics, chain of custody, as far as I can see. As long as I’m on active investigation I can interview who I like, when I like and where I like.”
“I thought you’d say that,” said Anderson.
“Anyway I’m under direct orders from my Captain to interview Mrs Carlton.”
“I thought you’d say that too,” he laughed.
Crane gunned the engine and roared away from the police station, not in the least bit bothered by Anderson’s talk of policies and procedures. Realistically he knew he had to work with the police, but only up to a point and only with those policemen he wanted to work with. Saunders seemed alright, but no one from the Met had met Janey’s mother and Crane hadn’t any intention of letting them get within a mile of her, at least not until he’d talked to her.
Mrs Carlton opened the door and looked at them through red rimmed and bloodshot eyes. “Oh it’s you two,” she said and turned away from the open door.
They walked into the house after her and Crane closed the front door behind him. He found Anderson and Mrs Carlton sat in the same stuffy over-heated room as before, where she was surrounded by her photographs, which were all she had left of her daughter now. She was dressed in an old fashioned print dress, with an apron over the top of it and a cardigan on top of that, none of which matched either in colour or style. Crane wondered how she could wear so many clothes in the heat of the room. Perhaps you felt colder as you got older, he decided. As it was, he wished he could take his suit jacket off, as perspiration began to dribble down his neck.
“I had a visit from Reading Police yesterday,” Mrs Carlton said. “To tell me my Janey was dead and that someone would be over today to talk to me about it. Is that you two?”
“Yes,” said Anderson, “If you feel up to it.”
“I thought you said you’d find her for me,” she said. “That you didn’t think anything bad had happened to her. Well you were bloody wrong there, weren’t you?”
Crane couldn’t actually remember promising her any such thing. And they had found her. It’s just that she hadn’t been alive when they had. But he kept his mouth firmly closed to stop any retort slipping through his lips. Now was not the time to alienate Mrs Carlton, they needed information from her.
“We are so sorry for your loss, Mrs Carlton,” Anderson said. “Aren’t we, Crane?”
“Absolutely,” Crane joined in. “The thoughts of the British Army are with you at this difficult time. We’d be glad to send the Padre over, if you think it would help.” Crane shut up at that point as Anderson kicked his ankle. Oh well, maybe that was going a bit too far, he conceded.
“Mrs Carlton, it seems that the autopsy turned up some information on your daughter that was unrelated to her death,” Anderson said.
At the word ‘autopsy’ Mrs Carlton had begun to cry.
“I’m sorry if this is painful,” he continued. “But we really do need to ask you some more questions about Janey. I’m sure you want to help us catch her killer, despite your distress.”
Mrs Carlton pulled a tissue from under the sleeve of her cardigan, wiped her eyes and then blew her nose. Replacing it under her sleeve she said, “Of course. Sorry. What is it? What did they find?”
“Mrs Carlton, did you know that Janey had had a child?”
Anderson was rewarded with a watery smile. “Oh yes. Can you believe that had slipped my mind? It’s just that it hasn’t been spoken of since… well for nigh on 30 years now. I’d never thought about that. Maybe I’m not as alone as I’d imagined. Do you think you’ll be able to find him for me?”
“Find who?” asked Crane, who couldn’t keep quiet any longer, even at the expense of more bruises to his ankle.
“Why, Zane, my grandson.”
Crane and Anderson stilled as the enormity of her casual words sunk in.
“Zane?” said Anderson in a strangled voice Crane had never heard before.
“Grandson?” Crane
managed to croak.
“Oh my, it seems this calls for a cup of tea. It won’t take a minute. I’d just boiled the kettle before you knocked,” and it was a far happier woman who left them to their shock, than the one that had opened the door to them.
“What the hell?” hissed Crane when she’d left the room.
“I know,” whispered Anderson. “But at least she seems willing to talk about it, him, Zane, or whatever his name is.”
And then Crane collected another bruise to his ankle as Anderson kicked him to let him know Mrs Carlton was coming back.
Crane sprang up from the chair he was sitting in. “Here, let me help,” he said and grabbed the tray from Mrs Carlton before she spilled even more tea. The tray was already swimming with murky brown liquid.
“Oh, thank you, my hands aren’t as steady as they used to be.”
Crane placed the tray on the table and he and Anderson ignored it. They didn’t want tea. They wanted information from Mrs Carlton.
“So, Mrs Carlton,” Anderson said. “You were going to tell us about your grandson?”
“It seems so long ago now,” she said, her eyes misting over and her voice wobbling. “One day Janey came back from school. She was 15 if I remember correctly. Anyways, she was very upset and said that she was pregnant. She was starting to panic about it as someone had noticed at school. I asked her, what do you mean by noticed at school. In reply she lifted up her school jumper.” Mrs Carlton closed her eyes, lost in the memory. “I couldn’t believe it. She was clearly pregnant as she had a large bump. When I pressed her, she thought she was about five months gone. I nearly died I can tell you. She’d managed to hide it with large jumpers and shirts. She’d refused to do PE for ages. The school had sent home letters about it which she’d never given me and forged my signature on a note she wrote herself, requesting permission to be excluded from all games lessons, due to an undisclosed illness. I don’t know,” she said. “I used to hear of this sort of thing happening to other families, but I never thought it would happen to us.”
Solid Proof: A dark, disturbing, detective mystery (Sgt Major Crane crime thrillers Book 8) Page 11