‘Fine.’ Dave sat back in his seat. ‘Some bloke was out there too. When I threw the bag away I saw him, walking quickly. At first I thought he was afraid, bit of a pussy, big bloke like that, scared of walking that time of night, but then I thought he was looking for someone.’
‘What did he look like?’
‘Taller than me.’
Kate looked at Dave Fletcher; he couldn’t have been more than five foot three. Everyone was tall to Dave.
‘All right, all right,’ Dave muttered, reading her thoughts. ‘I know what tall’s like. Taller than him.’ He pointed at the solicitor.
‘I’m six foot,’ he said.
‘Okay, and?’ Kate gestured for him to continue.
‘Long dark coat. Nice shoes. Pretty face. You know. For a bloke, like.’
‘Do you think you could identify him?’
‘Yeah, I think so. Yeah.’
Kate and Yates stood in the corridor, the excitement jumping between them.
‘For once I’m glad I’m wrong,’ Yates said. ‘What should we do now? Get some photos?’
Kate nodded. ‘Work with the solicitor to get a good impartial mix, I don’t want to be accused of bias later. Use some photos off the internet as well as the usual mug shots. Include all the suspects – those nightclub owners, as well as the husband.’
‘And Harry Becker?’
‘Yes,’ Kate said slowly. ‘And Harry Becker.’
42
Thea listened to the click click of the central heating, of water rushing round the pipes of her house, bringing it to life. She heard cars on the road outside, the rhythmic tick of the clock by her bed. She craned her neck round to look at it: 12.32.
She moved her head gently, then stretched her legs out under the duvet. Nothing felt too bad, she thought, which was reassuring. Her head still throbbed, but it was a dull pain rather than the sharp sledgehammer she’d experienced before. She slowly pulled herself up to a sitting position.
Laughter filtered up from the floor below. She recognised it – Harry. She listened, heard him talking, then a pause. She couldn’t hear an answering voice. He laughed again and she smiled.
Thea dragged herself out of bed, surprised to see she was wearing a pair of pyjamas she hadn’t worn in years. She pulled a jumper over her head, slippers on her feet, and went downstairs.
Harry was sat at the kitchen table, phone to his ear, laptop in front of him. He heard the door open and turned, smiling when he saw her and ending the call.
‘I’m sorry, did I wake you?’ he asked, replacing the phone on the table. There were papers strewn around him, a notebook open, a pen resting, lid off.
She shook her head. ‘What day is it?’
‘Tuesday,’ Harry laughed. ‘Are you feeling better?’
‘Yes. Yes, I think I am.’ Thea went to fill the kettle but Harry stood and took it from her, steering her to the kitchen chair. ‘How did I lose Monday? Have you been here the whole time?’
‘You obviously needed the rest,’ Harry said, making two cups of tea and bringing them over to the table. ‘You have been awake occasionally. Don’t you remember?’
‘Not much.’ Thea thought back. She remembered snippets, people moving in the dark. ‘Has Gabi been by?’
‘No,’ Harry said quickly. ‘I haven’t seen her.’ His phone vibrated on the table and he looked at it, then rejected the call.
‘Are you working?’ Thea asked.
‘It’s fine, I can phone them back later. Are you hungry? I can cook you something. There’s toast, eggs, baked beans, cereal.’
‘Weetabix,’ Thea replied instantly. ‘I need Weetabix.’
Harry fetched her breakfast and went back to his laptop. She ate it in silence, watching him. He leaned his head on his hand, his elbow resting on the table, tapping a few keys.
Harry had always been good at silence; he wasn’t someone who needed to fill the space. Thea thought it was the only reason they’d been able to rattle on together for so long. He understood her need for solitude, for quiet.
Love, Thea thought, wasn’t a big bang or a rush of passion. For her it was a culmination of little moments. A series of events that showed you cared, of just being there for the other person without asking for anything in return. It was sitting next to someone at the table, eating breakfast in silence, and being perfectly comfortable. For Thea, there was something rare about that feeling.
And she did feel better today. Her fingers still ached but the dirty grey tape binding them together felt uncomfortable and she pulled it off. She stretched them out and winced. Maybe she wasn’t as healed as she thought she was. She reached for her pills, taking two with a big gulp of tea.
A loud bang on the door diverted their attention. Thea got up carefully and made her way to the front door, Harry following behind. Through the glass she could see the yellow and blue of the police car and the black of their uniforms. She looked at Harry and opened the door.
The police officers didn’t hesitate. They caught a glimpse of Harry behind her and barrelled into the hallway, standing either side of him, blocking his exit. They were large and broad-chested; they filled the hallway and Thea backed off, moving away up the stairs.
‘Harry Becker,’ the one nearest the door began, and Harry nodded. ‘We are arresting you on suspicion of the attempted murder of Thea Patterson on Sunday 20 January on Southampton Common.’
Thea could see DS Munro and the other woman detective watching by their car at the end of the driveway, their faces stern.
Harry looked stunned. The police officer continued his warning and Harry turned to Thea as she stood above them on the stairs. ‘I didn’t do this, Thea, I swear,’ he pleaded. ‘This wasn’t me.’
The other officer took handcuffs out of his pocket, pulling Harry’s arms roughly behind him. He’d gone pale, his eyes wide.
Thea watched as Harry was pushed down into the car, the police officer’s hand on his head. The doors slammed and they drove away.
She slumped onto the stairs, putting her head in her hands. The front door was still open, and a cold breeze blew into the house. What had just happened? Why did they think it was Harry? She needed to call Gabi; she’d know what to do. They’d get him out.
Because it couldn’t be Harry. She’d have known. She’d have noticed. Wouldn’t she?
43
As the police car left for the station, Kate and Yates walked towards the open front door. Kate could see Thea in the darkened hallway, talking on the phone. She put it down as they approached.
‘Can we come in?’ Kate asked, and Thea grudgingly moved backwards, letting them into the hallway. ‘How are you feeling?’
‘Why have you taken Harry?’ Thea demanded. ‘It wasn’t him – I’d have known.’
‘Have you remembered anything?’ Yates said and Thea shook her head.
‘No, it’s just … I’d have remembered that, I know I would.’
Yates continued: ‘And was Harry aware you’d been pretending to be Gabriella?’
‘No,’ Thea replied curtly.
Kate wandered down the corridor as Yates persisted with her questions. She stopped in the doorway of what she assumed was the study, taking in a large desk and the back wall lined with bookcases. Kate walked to the far side and picked up one of the hardbacks, looking at the title: Principles of Corporate Finance.
Kate put the book back, and as she did she noticed a hollow noise as the book hit the back of the shelf. She pulled out another few, and knocked in the space. It sounded empty.
‘What’s behind here?’ she called back.
Thea appeared in the doorway. ‘Wall,’ she said, scornfully. ‘I think you should leave,’ she added. ‘That’s enough snooping for today.’
Kate nodded and went back into the hallway. Thea opened the front door wide, glaring at them.
‘If you think of anything else, please call,’ Yates said as they left. Thea scowled, saying nothing and closing the door heavily behind them.
Yates walked over to the car, but Kate stayed outside the house, looking at the front left wall. She walked over to it, then took a few paces from the edge of the wall back to the front door. She frowned. Something wasn’t adding up.
‘Sarge?’ Yates called, starting the engine. ‘What are you thinking?’ she asked as Kate climbed into the car.
Kate looked back to the house. She took in the battered brickwork, the dirty windows. Fifteen years ago something strange had been going on behind those walls. It was the same today, she knew it.
‘Let’s go back to the station,’ Kate said. ‘I want to know more about that house, and every single little sodding detail about those murders.’
44
They needed something else – anything would do. They needed more than the eyewitness testimony of a drunken known criminal wandering around at night to secure a conviction. More evidence, and preferably something that pointed towards a motive.
Now Harry had been arrested, the team could search his flat, but Yates had returned with nothing more than a pair of muddy shoes. She’d stood in the doorway as Kate looked up expectantly.
‘I’m sorry,’ she’d said. ‘There’s nothing there.’ No sign of a small purple and silver button, it seemed.
Briggs glanced up from his desk. He’d been scrolling through the seemingly never-ending CCTV footage, looking at the parts the techies had sent back over from the street cameras. They were no better than before. There was no way they could definitively say the man walking was Harry Becker.
‘Can’t you blow it up or something?’ Kate had ranted at them. ‘Make the image sharper.’
The techie had looked at her, his head tilted sideways, patronising. ‘A pixel is still a pixel. You make it bigger and it doesn’t get any clearer. It just turns into a bigger grey pixel.’
‘Should we interview him now?’ Briggs asked.
Kate was on edge, and had been since Dave Fletcher’s identification. All Harry Becker had to do was tell someone what they’d been up to and she knew she’d be suspended with a Professional Standards investigation on her head. But she was pissed off, too. He’d lied to her. Harry had sworn blind he had nothing to do with the attack and yet there he was – walking on the common at the same time as Thea had been attacked. The deception stung; it made her feel stupid and gullible and weak.
Kate thought of Harry down in the cells. She thought of the cold bare walls, the thin plastic mattress. The smell of piss and dirty protests that no amount of cleaning ever got rid of completely. Then she thought of Thea Patterson. Drunk and freezing and alone. Left for dead.
‘Leave him,’ she said. ‘Let him have a shitty night in custody. We’ll talk to him tomorrow. Go home, both of you – let’s think again in the morning.’
They didn’t wait to be told twice; Briggs and Yates had gone even before Kate had dragged herself off the floor. She was surrounded by case notes from the original murders, picking over them again, desperate to find something on Harry. Fifteen years was a long time to hold a grudge, it was true, but the twenty-four hours they had to charge him was ticking by and she was starting to despair.
Despite her fear, her police instincts were still strong. Solving the case was paramount, even if she would get fired.
The notes from the murders only confirmed what Kate had assumed: Jennings and the other detectives investigating back then hadn’t been thorough. She looked at the scarce reports, the scribbled notes, the incomplete lines of enquiry. They’d had their man; why should they bother with anyone else?
She stretched her arms towards the ceiling, the search report held in her hands. As she held it above her head, a page fell out and fluttered to the floor. She bent to pick it up – it was the original warrant, dated 2004. She looked at it, the judge’s signature at the bottom, and then back to the search report. It was long, more than twenty pages, detailing where the police officers had been, what rooms they had checked and how, and a long list of the evidence taken with them at the time. Clothes, shoes, an old laptop, but no murder weapon – no gun. That morning the old architects’ drawing of the house Kate had requested had come in, and she now cleared the table to open it out fully. She switched another light on and studied it closely, following the route the police officers had taken, what they’d picked up and where.
The drawing had been done more than thirty years before, when it looked like the studio had been built on the back. The architects had been detailed and had included drawings of all aspects of the house. Kate looked at the photos of the front, the study and the lounge on opposite sides, then searched for a floor plan. Something seemed off. She looked again. Sure enough, the dimensions were out – the study was too small for the size of the house. She rubbed her eyes and squinted at the writing. Then she saw it. A small asterisk in the top-left corner of the wall of the study. Kate jumped, and searched around the edge of the drawing for the key. Then, there it was, in black and white: *staircase to basement hidden behind false wall.
‘There’s a basement!’ Kate shouted, and collapsed heavily in a chair, clutching the search report. Study, kitchen, art studio, bedrooms, bathrooms. They had ripped up floorboards, pulled apart furniture, but they hadn’t found the basement. This was it! This was the evidence they needed.
They had a suspect in custody; they could search wherever they liked. So what if it wasn’t his house – it was where he spent most of his time. All they needed was approval from the DCI and they were away.
A fucking basement! The gun was there, she knew it.
Wednesday
45
Kate’s heart was thumping so loudly she was convinced the whole room could hear. Thea had led them into the kitchen, clutching the search warrant in her uninjured hand.
‘We’d like to start in the basement,’ Kate said. ‘Please?’
Thea looked at her, but didn’t move.
‘I know where it is,’ she said, and walked out of the kitchen towards the study.
Kate strode confidently to the desk, standing in front of the bookcase. She could see Yates and Briggs exchange a nervous look.
Kate pointed to the bookcase. ‘If you could be so kind?’ she asked.
Thea pushed past her, then reached forward and pulled on one of the books. As she did so, the whole unit of shelves moved forward, and Thea heaved it to the left.
‘Well, fuck me,’ Kate heard Briggs whisper behind her.
She looked back to where Thea stood, her face like thunder.
‘Go on then,’ Thea said. ‘Have a good dig around. I don’t know what you think you’ll find, there’s nothing down there except dust and spiders.’
Taking a deep breath, Kate moved forward into the dark hole.
The corridor led downwards and Kate could see the edge of a wooden stairway. It was narrow, the thin treads disappearing at a sharp angle into the black.
Thea reached round and a fluorescent bulb flickered into life. Kate edged down the stairwell, Briggs and Yates following carefully behind.
Thea hadn’t been kidding. It was a small room, with bare brick walls and a low ceiling. Briggs had to fold himself in two to get inside. The floor was uneven brickwork, some loose and scattered across the floor. The air was cold, and filled with disturbed red dust, making Kate cough. Apart from the three of them, there was nothing in the room. Not a single box or belonging. Just four brick walls, a brick floor, the wooden staircase leading upwards and a narrow passageway leading away, under the house.
‘Where does this go?’ she shouted back up the staircase.
When she didn’t get an answer, Kate clicked her torch on, then shuffled along the tiny corridor. The beam of light highlighted graceful spider webs and broken bricks, until she came to a wooden door at the end. She pulled the bolt across and pushed it open with her shoulder, squinting into the daylight.
The passageway had opened into the front of the garden, just under the window to the kitchen, the small door disguised with years of foliage. Kate looked out into the wilderne
ss, then headed back to the square of light where Briggs and Yates waited.
‘Let’s get to work,’ Kate said, directing Yates to search one side and Briggs the other. ‘It must be here,’ she muttered under her breath.
‘I can’t believe you managed to persuade Jennings to let you search the house. Becker doesn’t even live here,’ Yates said.
‘Not to mention this case is dead and buried,’ Briggs added. He scuffed his shoe across the floor, watching the dust settle across its pristine shine. ‘I assume Armed Response are standing by if we find it?’
‘Mmm,’ Kate said. She bent down and pulled at one of the bricks. It was stuck fast, but the one next to it came loose. She poked in the dirt below it.
‘Look for loose bricks,’ she told the other two. ‘It could be hidden below. Check the walls too.’
I bloody hope it’s here, the voice said in her head, because otherwise you are in a fuckload of trouble.
The truth was the chief had not been keen, throwing her out of his office after barely five minutes. ‘What’s the point?’ he had asked, not even letting her finish her argument. ‘Who cares about a missing gun when you don’t even know if these cases are related?’ She knew, she did. But she couldn’t tell him why and risk his wrath for not handling a piece of evidence – the button – correctly. Not to mention explaining why she’d been sitting in a pub with one of the chief suspects to an attempted murder investigation only days before.
She had stomped down the corridor, back to the operations room. Back to the whiteboard and the suspects looking out at her, mocking. If I could just find that bloody gun, she thought. If I could just get this case moving the tiniest bit of distance along …
It was early, before Yates and Briggs had made it into the office, and she sat down on one of the uncomfortable plastic chairs. She put the report in front of her, the old authorisation paperwork poking out the side.
She pulled it out and looked at it.
Ask Me No Questions Page 18