Flesh Evidence: a heart-stopping crime thriller
Page 18
“Nothing. According to the hotel, he wasn’t seen last night and he didn’t appear in for breakfast. They’re checking to see if he used his ticket today, it should be on their system. Has anyone thought of looking in the boot of his car? Have the CCTV images been checked for the date he arrived?”
Cyril looked at Owen and frowned. “Someone’s clearing up.”
“The last jar, Sir, Goddess of Punishment. Where’s Pamela Shepherd right now?”
Cyril called Liz. “Get over to Pamela’s aunt’s immediately, don’t ring or forewarn her. Take protection and have backup standing by. If she’s there and all looks normal call me immediately.”
“Sir, call just in. A cleaner has found Jenkins’ body in another room of the hotel. The room was registered to a Dr Smith. We’re awaiting CCTV.”
“Ilkley, Liz, as quickly as possible. Be careful!”
Cyril turned to Owen. “Pay a call on Dr Brewster Smyth.” Cyril jotted the address. “I want to know where he’s been since I was speaking with him. Also check to see where his car’s been. This place here is going to be thoroughly stripped for evidence.”
***
Liz sat in the car and checked that the West Yorkshire police back up vehicle was in position. A light, misty rain swept from west to east, smudging the view of the moor well beyond the station at the top of the road. It had been falling for most of the journey. She smiled at the accompanying officer.
“Ready?”
“Ma’am.” He adjusted his stab vest and his hands ran over the equipment attached to various belts, a habit that he’d always had.
There were no outward signs of occupation but she knew someone was home as the aunt went nowhere. Liz knocked on the door loudly.
Pamela Shepherd opened the door. Liz didn’t know what to expect but the look of astonishment on Pamela’s face left no doubt that she wasn’t expecting to see her.
“Liz, this is a nice surprise. I thought it might be the carer. Are we meant to meet today?”
Liz shook her head. “May we come in?”
The familiar smell of lavender grew more strongly the further they entered.
“Is everything all right?” Pamela asked. There was no guile in the query.
“Have you been home all day?”
“Apart from shopping and a coffee whilst the carer was here, yes. I thought that was her, she left her umbrella.”
“How long would that be, Pamela?”
“What, leaving the house? No more than an hour. Why?”
“I’ve some bad news, you’ll hear about this soon enough but as you know these people, you need to be informed. Mr and Mrs Jenkins have both been found dead.” Liz obseved Pamela’s body language intensely, looking for the slightest hint of guilt but there was the exact opposite.
Pamela stood as if frozen. She put out a hand to hold onto a high-backed winged chair for support, her other hand moved towards her mouth.
“An accident?” Pamela managed to collect herself and ask.
“Forensics are investigating but from the evidence we have at the moment it looks as though they were murdered.”
Pamela’s face screwed into a look of incomprehension. “Why? They were such kind people.”
There was that word again. Why was everyone kind? “Sit down. What I’m about to say to you may come as a shock.”
Pamela sat.
Liz looked at the officer and nodded to the kitchen. “She needs a brew and so do I.”
He moved through to the kitchen and Liz heard him opening cupboards and then filling the kettle.
“Don’t make too much noise, my aunt will get upset. I’ve just managed to get her to sleep. She was awake most of the night.”
“We think whoever killed them was responsible for the kidnap and murder of the two Harrogate boys. We believe that the perpetrator has been spooked and that he’s now clearing up. What his connection was with the Jenkins is unknown at this stage, but obviously there was some involvement. Once checks on the property have been completed we should have a much clearer picture but until then we can only guess.”
The officer brought in two mugs of tea. He then stood to one side.
“Drink it!” Liz urged.
Pamela wrapped her hands around the mug and sipped. “I was involved with Bruce. Am I safe?”
Liz looked directly into Pamela’s eyes. There was something in what she had just asked that brought a kick to her inside. “Should you be a target?” Liz kept direct eye contact and Pamela looked into the mug.
“I thought you might know. You said, the last time we met, that the missing boys might have some bizarre connection with the incident I experienced at school all those years ago. I’m sure that’s not the case. Besides I’m not going to spend my life looking over my shoulder, I’ve enough on my plate with…” She didn’t finish but sipped more of the tea.
Liz looked at her colleague and raised an eyebrow. “We’ll place a WPC with you for forty-eight hours, by which time we should know more.”
Pamela shook her head. “You’re not listening, thanks but no thanks. We’ll be fine.”
The officer sneezed. “Excuse me, the lavender, sorry.”
“Pamela, is that Samuel I can hear? Pamela? Pamela?” The voice drifted down the stairs, sounding feeble and weak.
Pamela looked at the officer. “Thanks for that.”
“Are you sure about a WPC? I can’t force one on you but it’s my advice that you have some support, even for a few hours.”
“No, thanks. Now I must attend to my aunt.”
The officer stood by the car door and inhaled deeply. “It was that bloody lavender, brought tears to my eyes. Seemed worse in the kitchen.”
Handing him a tissue, Liz sat in the car and called Cyril.
***
Owen had spoken with Dr Brewster Smyth and two witnesses corroborated his whereabouts for the dates in question. He’d been nowhere near Birmingham and neither had his car. Strangely Smyth seemed more upset that he’d lost a customer than concerned that he’d been questioned.
***
“Bennett.”
“Sir, quite bizarre really. Instead of confronting a murderer I’m now consoling a frightened puppy. Really very upset. We don’t know if Pamela will be targeted because she knew the Jenkins or if the case revolves around her past, but she adamantly refused some short-term protection. It’ll upset her aunt having strangers in the house. Either way, there’s a slim possibility that she might be a target. Can’t force an officer on her.”
“ What was your gut feeling, Liz?”
“I don’t know, but there’s something hidden and for the life of me I can’t see it.”
“Did you mention that Mrs Jenkins told you that a Samuel worked for her husband when she was unavailable?”
“Deliberately kept that quiet. Do you want me to mention it?”
Cyril knew that it would be worth hanging on to that snippet, as it would make no difference if Pamela already knew. It might prove valuable later.
“No, least she knows about, the better, at the moment. Get back here as soon as.”
Chapter Twenty Three
Owen was sitting at his desk when Liz walked past.
“You look as though you’ve lost a tanner and found a farthing.” Her attempt at conversation didn’t even warrant his eye contact. “Why was I so eager to get involved in this bloody case, Owen? Jesus, it’s like riddling soot whilst turning bloody circles. I keep thinking of that song, ‘Girls will be boys and boys will be girls…’ can’t even think who sang the damned thing, I’m so mentally battered.”
“It’s The Kinks, from their song Lola. My dad used to like that.”
“Bloody hell, he speaks and you’re right. I’m certainly mixed and muddled. And its definitely shook up.”
Owen’s face cracked slightly and then pointed to the chair directly in front. “Have you a second? There’s something I need to ask you as you’re a woman, like.”
Liz looked at Owen and cou
ld see that he was embarrassed. “Full of compliments, Owen, never thought you’d noticed.” She observed his facial expression and realised that he was serious. “Sure, fire away, as long as it’s not the birds and the bees enquiry.” She smiled hoping that a joke might make him relax a little; it didn’t.
“I asked a girl out for a drink the other day and I got a flat refusal, a straight no. There was no excuse or even a maybe, a straight no thanks. It’s happened twice recently. Do you think it’s because of my dress sense or do I have bad breath or body odour?”
Owen didn’t lift his head. He played with his hands and looked down whilst he asked the question. Liz wanted to laugh but stifled it before appearing to give his enquiry serious consideration.
“You’re smart enough, you don’t have bad breath and you don’t smell apart from, on occasion, some cheap aftershave you splash all over.”
Owen looked up. “That was a present from Cyril last Christmas.”
“Throw it and chose your own. Look, you might not be her type. Some women like big men others don’t.” She felt as though she were digging a rather large hole the longer she spoke. “You’re a handsome man, a catch for the right woman. Remember, your job doesn’t help. Look at the hours you keep, they’re irregular and not ideal for a committed relationship. That’s why coppers marry coppers; teachers marry teachers, as only they understand the dedication and time needed to do the job right. Whom did you ask out for the drink?”
“The Pathologist’s new assistant, Hannah Peters.”
“That’s an easy puzzle to solve, Owen. She’s going out with one of the Tech lads, has been for some time, so it’s nothing personal. You’re better off single, if you ask me.”
Cyril walked in. “You two, we have some results, Incident Room in ten. Owen, coffee please, clean cup and saucer.” He smiled.
***
Owen looked at the photograph on the screen as he carried the requested coffee and placed it on the desk in front of Cyril. He was tempted to touch his forelock but then thought better of it as Cyril thanked him.
“The box you see here was delivered by courier to a Mrs Hackworth. Anyone recollect the name? If not, you’ve not been memorising the details of this case. Well?”
“Headteacher of the school Samuel Dixon, AKA Pamela Shepherd worked at and was dismissed from.” Owen spoke with confidence after looking at something Liz had scrawled on a piece of paper and pushed towards him.
“Thank goodness Owen’s awake.”
Liz squeezed his leg and smiled.
Cyril pressed a button on the handset and another image appeared on screen. It was a collection of tattooist’s equipment next to which sat a jar.
“All from the box. Honey jar, marked with the same label as the previous jar, Poena Honey 2015. It appears that there is a piece of tattooed flesh within the jar and from all accounts…” He pressed the button again and a new image flashed up. “It simply says Lying bitch. Skin sample has been sent to Forensics for DNA testing and Lancashire Police are with Mrs Hackworth now. As you can imagine, she was somewhat shocked. The delivery has been traced back to Harrogate, to a Courier Service point on Oxford Road. CCTV shows a man with a goatee beard, dark glasses and a hooded jacket, the same character that was seen on tapes at the hotel where Jenkins was found, the same ‘kind’ man with twinkly eyes as described by the kids who were given a jar in exchange for a kiss like a bee kisses a flower and finally by Sonya James, a match for the man who gave her the bottles of energy drink to distribute. This mystery man also signed the paperwork as Bruce Jenkins and gave Jenkins’ address but you can see from the person’s build that it’s not Jenkins. Besides, Jenkins was probably dead when this box was brought in, the time, 11:46 am is marked on the copy of the receipt. We’ve checked CCTV for areas around Oxford Street and there was a sighting by the bus station but then nothing. Images from the camera near the Cenotaph show that he crossed carrying the box there before making the deposit. Officers are questioning shop keepers in the vicinity of that camera.”
An officer walked behind Cyril and placed a note on the table. He read it.
“A waitress described seeing a regular customer with a cardboard box matching the description at about 10:30. She asked for a quiet table, a man later joined her. The waitress emphasises that the lady left without it and that the gentleman took the box out. She’s identified the woman as Mrs Jenkins.”
“So, we can safely assume that Jenkins knew what was in the box, therefore we can presume that the box was at the Jenkins’ house and used there. So, my question is…” Cyril paused and looked at the many faces.
“Why move it? Why post it to the Headteacher? Why risk all of that?” Stuart Park asked.
“Why kill your partner or partners in crime?” Liz offered.
“He’s done what he set out to do for whatever reason. He’s tested us and so far we’ve failed even with the clues he’s posted.”
“Maybe he’s now leaving a trail to some grand finale.”
Cyril listened but said nothing. He sipped his tea, following the interaction within the room before asking. “Who had visible tattoos of all the people we’ve interviewed?”
“Jenkins, Sir. On his hands and only his wife knows where else.”
“Correct. The report says self inflicted, done at home with ink and needle and not very well executed to boot. Who else?”
The room fell silent.
“Strangely, Dr Brewster Smyth had a tattoo on his arm. It wasn’t really clear but I could see the shading beneath his shirt, professional and one of those popular Polynesian designs. Stood out like a sore thumb. Funny, before that interview I would never have put scientists and tattoos in the same sentence. I’m meeting his son this afternoon. Owen, you’re with me. As soon as we have anything from Forensics, both from the Jenkins’ place and the equipment from the box, I want it sending to Owen.”
***
The Leeds hotel reception was modern and light. Owen thumbed through the magazine that he’d picked up from a rack whilst Cyril checked his nails before removing his electronic cigarette. He inhaled deeply enjoying the quiet moment. It was a blessing being able to vape inside. He watched a gentleman exit one of the lifts and approach the Reception Desk. After a few words he turned and looked across at Cyril. He crossed the room.
“Detective Chief Inspector Bennett?”
Cyril stood and smiled. “Dr Smyth, thank you for making time in what I believe is a busy schedule to see us. May I introduce DS Owen?”
Smyth shook Owen’s hand and then Cyril’s. “ No trouble, I’m away for a few weeks in a couple of days, well earned rest. I’m a victim of my own success and the demands on my time are crushing.” He paused and turned to the Receptionist and pointed towards a room to the left. She smiled and nodded. “Shall we go through to the Residents’ Lounge, it will be more private?”
As soon as they had sat down, coffee was brought. “I thought you might like some refreshment, I took the trouble of ordering coffee, I hope that’s all right? What can I do for you, Chief Inspector?”
Cyril briefly discussed his understanding of what had occurred at Clearmount School.
“Long time ago but it’s an indelible memory because I was branded a liar and a trouble maker. The sexual impropriety happened, I didn’t make it up.” He paused as if collecting his emotions. “I discovered that my father was having a relationship with someone, an affair. My parents constantly rowed about it and this person’s name came up. I knew my father secretly dressed in my mother’s underwear, he didn’t know I knew at the time. I saw him when he thought I was out of the house. Anyway, Dixon, our Science teacher, was a little limp-wristed shall we say to be polite and out of the blue I mentioned, inaccurately, to some of the lads that I’d seen him dressed as a woman in Manchester one Saturday. “
Cyril immediately thought the branding of a liar was therefore correct but didn’t interrupt.
“It was a joke at the time, a bit of fun, a schoolboy prank but the implicat
ions proved devastating.”
He took a drink of coffee. Owen who had been taking notes paused.
“After that, some of the lads started putting items of clothing, knickers and the like, on Dixon’s car and on his desk. He didn’t get angry, he just sort of moved them but he always seemed to focus on me, as if he had some kind of sixth sense and knew that I was the one who had start the malicious rumour. He couldn’t have known, I thought at the time, unless someone had grassed. It was only later that I realised the truth of the matter. I was held back by Dixon after a late lesson under the pretence that he wanted to go over some of the work I’d completed. He’d done this before without any worries, I guess you’d say I was the best Science student he had. On this occasion, I was standing next to his desk when he suddenly grabbed my genitals and squeezed. It came as such a shock. As he held me, he told me that he knew that it was me who had started the rumour and that he would begin to make my life absolute hell. He then confided in me that he was, and I remember the words clearly, Shagging your father and I have him by the metaphorical balls too! It was then that the abuse started, the fondling and the like. There was never penetration. It seemed to be expected more and more frequently; I was called back to his office regularly. I don’t even think he enjoyed it sexually, it was more a punishment, more out of revenge. I just couldn’t take it, my studies and schooling were suffering so I informed the Head, Mrs Hackworth. I couldn’t mention it to my father. I also mentioned it to three mates who supported my story by fabricating their own. We thought we’d be stronger in numbers. My father went ballistic when the Head contacted him. We boys naively thought that making a complaint in numbers would be to our advantage. How wrong we were! Little did we know that two lads would weaken? A great deal of pressure was put on me to retract the allegations. Obviously my father was looking after his own interests as well as those of his lover and the school was frightened and therefore defending its reputation and so I was side-lined.”
“So no police?”
Smyth shook his head. “Chief Inspector, I was fourteen, let down by two friends at a time when I needed them the most, but more importantly, I was discarded by my own father. The one school friend who stuck by me sadly is no more. He died in an accident, I believe.”