by M. L Rose
They appraised each other in silence, two people who knew each other intimately, but perhaps didn't fully understand what they knew.
Harry spoke without breaking off his stare. “The team will be here soon, guv.”
I really hate it when you call me that, she thought to herself. She wanted him to say her name. But she also knew he was following office rules, and she respected him for that.
Arla opened her mouth to speak but Harry detached himself from the door and came forward. His long legs traversed the three meters to her desk in almost one step. He sat down in the chair opposite her. The words died in Arla’s mouth. His coffee coloured cheeks were so smooth. The angle of his jaw so pronounced. The light in his eyes so directed at her.
He leaned forward, lowering his voice. “I wanted to tell you this before we get busy.” He paused and breathed out slightly. He blinked a couple of times, the normally confident, cocky mask slipping.
Then he said, “I would like to invite you to my parents’ house Arla.” There was a fear suddenly in his eyes.
Arla caught her breath. She knew Harry’s father had died. His mother lived alone. Arla didn’t have any illusions. This was a big step. She tried to understand his thinking. Was this to make her feel more...wanted? To give her a sense of belonging? Harry knew all about her tragic family. She knew that in comparison, his was a normal, happy one.
Wasn’t it too soon? Especially when they were going through a difficult patch. Arla’s senses were suddenly so muddled she didn't what to think. But Harry sat there, staring at her intently, like he wanted an answer.
And she was scared to say yes. She was scared to say no. Because all her life she protected herself against disappointment. Against being repulsed. And when her own family did that to her...well, she had spent her life sprouting thorns against emotional attachment.
And yet, she was always emotional. She could go from normal to tearful in milliseconds.
It didn't make sense. But it was who she was.
Arla got up suddenly, feeling suffocated. She turned her back to him and stared out the window at the car park below. A Volkswagen was entering through the barrier. The clouds had gone, sunlight showered over south London’s grey and red bricks. Arla rubbed her face on her hands, trying to swallow the leaden weight stuck in her throat.
She let her breath out, unable to decide and walked around the office. Harry stood up, sensing her agitation.
“I meant what I said last night. I’m here if you need…”
“Stop Harry!” Arla put her hand up. “Just stop.”
She hadn’t mean to use a harsh tone, but it came naturally. She saw the sudden anger in his eyes. His eyebrows came together. It made her feel awful. It made her sad and angry too. A Molotov cocktail of emotions smashed against the wall of her soul, sparkling into a million fractals of tarnished hope and dreams.
Scarcely aware of what she was doing, Arla strode forward and grabbed Harry’s beautiful face in both hands. She yanked him down, kissing him hard on the lips. Surprised at first, he responded slowly, his long tongue flicking inside hers like a warm, wet arousal. They kissed for a long time, then Arla let go and reeled backwards. She leaned against the table, breathing heavily.
With the corner of her sleeve, she wiped her mouth. God that felt good. She didn't want to stop. But she suddenly realised where she was. When she looked up at Harry, he was regarding her with a shocked expression on his face.
Then suddenly, unexpectedly, he smiled. “I’ll take that as a yes, then,” he drawled.
She smiled too, partly in embarrassment, partly in relief.
Something had shifted inside her.
Why should she be scared of herself? Of emotional entanglements?
Why couldn't she love and lose? So what if she had lost before - hadn't everyone else in this world?
No. She would take responsibility. She would direct this relationship, not the other way around. She didn’t need Harry to be there, when she had been there for herself.
Only me. No one else.
And I owe it to my bloody self to be happy, damn it.
But she couldn't explain all this to Harry. Someday, he would understand, and she got the impression he was beginning to. At least, he was getting a feel for her, more than anyone else ever had.
“I guess it is,” she said, tucking a loose strand back behind her ear.
He smiled then, a big, heartfelt smile like the sun coming out, and she melted inside. Emotion throbbed in her throat, and tears welled in her eyes. She turned around quickly, but not before she caught the concern on his face.
“I’ll be fine. Just give me five minutes. Get the others ready. Here, take this.” Without looking at him, she slid the phone log papers over to Harry.
He picked them up, and their eyes met again. Arla looked away, wiping her eyes. Harry nodded and left her alone.
CHAPTER 36
The Incident Room was filling up when Arla walked in. Detectives sat on the stiff-backed chairs with cups of coffee in their hands, and some stood leaning against the rows of printers and fax machines that lined the side. A glass partition looked out at the open plan office, and Arla spotted Lisa and Rob hurrying through.
Harry was setting up the whiteboard. He turned as he saw her. Arla kept her face impassive. Photos of the victim and each suspect were stuck on the board. Harry had the black felt tip pen out and was writing down jobs to do in bullet points.
Under Luke Longworth’s photo he wrote down the cell phone and the IMEI number as well. Arla looked at the points, perching her butt on the edge of the desk.
“Don’t forget the boot print match with the burglar,” Arla added.
“Yes boss,” Harry spoke without lifting his head.
“Just what I wanted to talk to you about,” Lisa said as she strode in. Her face was flushed, with a smile.
Arla looked at her expectantly. “What is it?”
“The Boot Print Database got back to me. SOCO did find prints outside Luke’s house. They are an exact match with the burglars.”
Excitement clutched Arla’s guts. Harry turned around, and their eyes met.
Harry said, “That’s good, but it doesn’t mean the prints outside Luke’s house necessarily belong to him.”
Rob said, “Or it means the burglar tried to break into Luke’s house as well.”
Arla spoke up. “We didn't see any evidence of breaking and entering, did we Harry?”
He shook his head slowly. “None whatsoever. But the burglar could just be having a look, right?”
The incident room had filled up even more. The sound of muttering voices was growing. Arla said, “Does the database have any other records for this boot print?”
“No,” Lisa said. “And before you ask, it doesn’t match the partial boot print from the front door, either.”
“Damn,” Arla said. “Cherie mentioned that there was no print on that door before. It had to come from the murderer. Anyway. All this just brings Luke into sharper focus.”
She turned to face the assembled officers in the room. Arla rapped on the victim’s photo.
“We have a body, but no motive as yet, folks.” She pointed to Luke’s photo next. “All we know is that he had a strange relationship with his son. A son we cannot contact.” Arla moved to Mike Simpson.
“The victim was funnelling money to this guy. We don’t know why as yet. He was also seen in his silver Bentley, reg number MS100, at the victim’s house the week before the murder.”
“Flash bastard,” someone muttered, and laughter trickled through the room.
Arla took a step forward and the laughter died down. She put steel into her voice. “This guy is the best lead we have. If he was getting money from the victim, that gives us a motive.”
Beauregard snorted and raised his voice. “Yeah, and this guy made a song and dance about the whole thing, by hanging him up like that with lights.”
“How do you know he didn’t?” Arla shot back. She transfer
red her attention back to the room. “We need statements from Mike Simpson and Luke Longworth ASAP. We also need teams positioned outside their houses, not in uniform please, the less attention we have now, the better.”
A hand raised and Toby, a black uniformed sergeant waved a folded tabloid paper. “Got the wife on the front cover, guv.”
Heads craned in Toby’s direction, and several others echoed what he said. Arla blew out her cheeks. “Is the Pope a Catholic?”
“Does a bear shit in the woods?” another voice said from the back and mirth ensued once again.
“Enough,” Arla said. “We didn't want this to become a media circus and now it is. Nothing we can do about that, but we can hurry up and get more leads.”
She turned back to Lisa. “Any news from Dr Banerji?”
“Nope, not yet. Still waiting for toxicology and that other thing…”
“Any metal fragments from the depression in the skull,” Arla finished. “Right. More waiting.”
“But we have strong leads now, guys. I can’t prove it, but it’s looking more likely that it was the son who burgled his father’s house.” Arla told them about the boot prints.
“So I’m going to get a warrant ordered to search his house,” she said. “I want everything on Simpson. Right from his birth. If he took a leak in the park, I want to know.”
She turned to Rupert, the new recruit. “Anything from juvenile records on Luke Longworth?”
The nervous smile with which Rupert stood up lifted Arla’s spirits. He had something.
Rupert cleared his throat and said, “Two things. He was sent to boarding school - Burlington College in Hampshire. It was a mixed school, and he was reported for assaulting a teenage girl.”
Arla’s pulse quickened. “Really? Does he have a PCNPNC record?”
“That’s the funny thing, guv. I had to dig this out from his GP records. It was reported, but the PNC was withdrawn. The database says evidence not available.”
Arla frowned. “Did you search enhanced disclosures?”
“Yes. All of it.”
Murmurs spread around the room. Harry said, “Rules are different for juvies but even then, this was an assault. Was it sexual?”
“It was groping against the girl’s wishes,” Rupert clarified.
“So, it wasn’t a full sexual assault?” Arla asked.
Rupert frowned and lowered the piece of paper he was holding. “That’s what is not very clear. The GP records state the girl broke away and ran, alerting others. Then the police were called.”
Harry interjected. “And the PNC records on the database are withdrawn.” He pursed his lips. “Shouldn’t be, if it was a sexual assault. Any other records on him - withdrawn or active?”
“Not that I could see.”
“Right,” Arla gripped her forehead. “Any leads from Luke’s phone? We need something on this guy.”
Rob stepped forward, his chubby face red as usual. He wiped his forehead. “The phone was used last night, guv. Location was in the Common.”
“The Common? Large area, Rob. Can they be more specific.”
“On the Clapham High Road side. Just before midnight.”
Arla pondered for a few seconds. What was Luke up to? Was he hiding in the common? He must know that using his phone would get him tracked. Something didn't add up. The boot print match meant Luke must have broken into his father’s house. To get rid of evidence?
“Put on an all-points bulletin with his name and description. I think we can justify searching his house under the circumstances, even without a warrant.” Arla jabbed Luke’s photo. “I want him arrested. Now.”
The meeting broke up. Andy Jackson came up and put the tabloid newspaper on the table in front of Arla. The red glaring headlines declared loudly:
“Famous director meets grisly death.”
Beneath it, the front page was dominated by a full-length photo of Cherie, face covered in dark sunglasses and hat, barely recognizable. There was even a zoom in box showing what they could of her face. The car’s registration was blanked out.
“Here guv,” Toby turned the page. Arla leaned over and read. Her heart sank.
CHAPTER 37
Arla clutched the second page of the tabloid paper, her knuckles white. If fire could emanate from her eyes, it would. Her jaw was clamped tight. She could sense Harry leaning over her back, reading the same lines as she was.
“Detective Chief Inspector Arla Baker was seen leaving the famous director’s house. Miss Baker is the same detective who cracked the notorious paedophile ring…”
Arla threw the paper to the floor. “Damn it!” Heads turned from across the floor in the open plan office.
“Easy,” Harry said softly at her elbow. “Go to your office.”
Arla turned on him, her face red. “I want to know who did this, OK? Someone in my team…?” Words failed her. She walked to her office and slammed the door shut. She was seething.
Was it one of the uniforms who had taken money from the vermin at a tabloid newspaper? If so, she would find that person.
There was a knock on the door and Harry poked his head in. “Boss wants us upstairs.”
“He can wait. Get a team ready to get inside Luke’s house. I want SOCO in attendance. Now, please.”
She lowered her voice. Harry hung his head, then nodded and went back out. Arla went to her desk and picked up the phone. The screen saver on her laptop came on - a photo of Nicole and her, taken many summers ago. Sunlight dappled their freckled teenage faces. She was the darker one, and had her arm draped around Nicole. Like she didn't want to let her go. Truth be told, she never had.
Arla sighed, rubbing her finger against the screen. She rang Banerji’s number. He answered.
“Always a pleasure to hear from my favourite policewoman.”
“Being nice doesn’t mean I let you off the hook, Doc. Have you got anything for me?”
“Toxicology is being sped up. So far, I know he didn't have any recreational drugs in his system like cocaine, cannabis or MDMA. Trace amount of alcohol but nothing else. Waiting to hear about barbiturates, amphetamines and benzodiazepines.”
“Did you have another look at the skull?”
There was a pause at the other end. “As a matter of fact, I did. I can’t see much with the naked eye, or microscopy, as I told you. And you looked yourself.”
“Well, I did have my eyes shut for a while as well.”
Banerji chuckled. “Yeah, the skull gets most people. Anyway, I took a scraping from the scalp skin at the site of the contusion. It’s been sent to Cambridge. Ask me why.”
“Why?”
“What do you think he was hit by?”
“Something hard. Metallic, maybe.”
“Exactly. Anything else would be too heavy to carry around. Addenbrook’s Hospital in Cambridge has a heavy and precious metals lab. If there’s trace amounts of any metal on his scalp, we will know.”
“How long will it take?”
“They know it’s from us, so give it 3-4 days. Normally can take 10 days to hear back from them.”
“Thanks Doc.”
Just as Arla put the mobile down her desk phone started ringing. It was Johnson. “Get up here, now,” he growled before hanging up.
Arla had a sense of foreboding. Johnson sounded annoyed. She bumped into Harry in the office.
He said, “Submitted to magistrate and got a response back. Not that we even needed it. He’s a suspect.”
“I know. But I don’t want a lawyer or the pen pushers upstairs to make a fuss later.”
They went up the stairs and knocked on Johnson’s door. Arla opened the door and stopped in her tracks. Ken Nixon, the man from MI5 was sat in the chair opposite Johnson’s desk.
Johnson spoke in a gruff voice. “Shut the door and come in.”
Arla noticed Nixon’s eyes on her. She met them coldly. Nixon attempted a smile. Arla remained blank faced and his smile slowly faded.
“The media
are all over this now, DCI Baker.” Johnson patted the layer of folded newspaper on his desk.
Arla and Harry remained silent. Johnson folded his large paws across his desk and leaned his tall frame forward.
“All the more reason to bring this to a swift conclusion. Have you made progress?”
Arla told him about the burglary and the boot print match with Luke. “We need to search his house, sir. He has not been in touch and it’s obvious he’s avoiding us deliberately. He entered the property again to remove evidence, I’m sure of it.”
Harry said, “His phone was used last night, inside the Common. We know the killer cut the cables from the post inside the Common. He might have watched the house from there as well.”
There was silence for a while. Nixon was the first to speak. “The fact that he spoke from the Common means nothing. He could have been walking through.”
Arla ignored him. To Johnson she said, “I’ve got a warrant now to search Luke’s house, sir.”
She didn't miss the quick glance between Johnson and Nixon. Her boss asked, “What about the producer, Mike Simpson? The victim had several financial transactions with him, right?”
“He’s second on our list. I want to search Luke’s house first, then interview Simpson.”
Johnson held Arla’s eyes, but he looked uncomfortable. “Leave the house alone for now. Concentrate on Simpson. He’s the more valuable lead.”
Arla frowned. “And not the son? Whose boot print matches the burglar…”
“The print in front of his door could belong to the postman or anyone, Arla. You know that. The CPS will laugh that one out of the court.”
The sense of foreboding Arla had was growing stronger. “We looked into Luke’s records as a juvenile. He had a sexual assault case. Records were withdrawn. That’s not possible for a sexual assault sir, is it?”
Arla turned to look at Nixon. He scratched the stubble on his beard and shrugged. Arla jerked a thumb at him. “Why is he even here?”
It was Johnson’s turn to frown. “Mr. Nixon is one of our colleagues and…”