‘All right,’ said Kay. ‘It was worth a shot.’
As the detective constable walked away, Kay could sense the other woman’s disappointment. It seemed that every time they felt they were getting close to a breakthrough, they ended up taking two steps back. However, that was often the case with investigations of this nature.
She rolled her shoulders, and began to flick through the notes she’d taken to date.
A hubbub of noise filled the incident room – raised voices on phones, shouts across the office between members of the team, and somehow, somewhere in amongst all that, a mobile phone cut through the air with an eighties pop-rock ring tone.
Kay glanced over her shoulder at a loud whoop.
Gavin threw his mobile phone onto her desk, and spun his chair to face the rest of the team.
‘Eli Matthews,’ he said. ‘Twenty-six years old. Van’s registered to a street off Queens Road.’
Kay frowned. ‘That’s mostly shops and offices along there, isn’t it?’
‘Yes, but there’s also a block of garages owned by the council up at the far end,’ said Gavin, and held up the notes he’d been taking. ‘And that’s where the van’s registered.’
‘Good work,’ said Sharp. ‘Right, you lot – I want everything you can find out about Eli Matthews. We have an address for where his vehicle is kept, but where’s he living? Find out if he’s on the national systems already. If he isn’t, check with other divisions near here, just to be sure.’
He approached Kay. ‘Can you deal with this? The chief superintendent’s asked DCI Larch and myself to brief her on this case, and I’m already running late.’
‘Sure, no problem.’
‘Okay – phone me if you need me.’
KAY STRETCHED her arms above her head, and winced as a muscle in her shoulder twitched.
The incident room had been quiet for the past twenty minutes, as she’d sent everyone out for a half-hour lunch break. They were all in need of some fresh air, and as she glanced out the window towards the entrance to the narrow cobbled street of Gabriel’s Hill, she wondered if she should heed her own advice and go for a short walk, despite the inclement weather.
Instead, she wandered over to the whiteboard, her eyes running over the various words and lines that criss-crossed the surface.
Her gaze fell to the photographs of Melanie Richards. One, a normal teenager beaming at the camera, her freshly ironed school uniform immaculate. The second, a tortured soul whose life had been cut short by an evil being who didn’t deserve to be roaming the area, free.
‘Boss, you need to see this.’
Kay looked away from the whiteboard at the excited tone of Barnes’ voice.
He pointed to his computer screen. ‘Eli Matthews is a courier.’
‘How do you know?’
‘His name came up on the system for police checks,’ he said. ‘He applied in Suffolk, but as he’s from here, he had to get clearances from Kent Police for his application with County Deliveries in Ipswich because of the confidential nature of some of the businesses they have contracts with.’
Kay’s heart missed a beat. ‘Print out a copy of his photograph.’ She pulled her jacket off the back of her chair and swung it over her shoulders. ‘Carys, you’re with me.’ She patted Barnes’ shoulder as she dashed past.
‘Nice one. We’ll speak to Yvonne Richards, see if she recognises him. If she does, we’ll bring him in for questioning. Go find Sharp and ask him to be ready in case we need him to request a search authorisation for that lock-up.’
FORTY
Eli placed the plastic cup under the hot water jet, and stared sightlessly at the brown liquid that shot from the machine, steam rising in front of his eyes.
His hand reached out to the small wicker basket on the counter to his left, and plucked out two sugar sachets. He blinked, picked up the cup, and wandered over to one of the white plastic tables against the café wall.
Exhaustion consumed him.
Between working early mornings and ensuring the site was ready, he’d had less than a few hours’ sleep the past week, and it was beginning to show.
His manager had already had a quiet word with him yesterday, asking if everything was okay. Somehow, someone had figured out a while ago about the bruises on his arms and face, and reported it. He’d tried to cover them as best as possible, the embarrassment writhing in his veins, making him squirm every time one of his colleagues passed him and lowered their gaze.
He’d managed to avoid his mother the past few days – she’d been asleep, passed out, by the time he’d got back to the house, and he’d crept from the front door to his room, locking the door behind him before collapsing into a fitful sleep.
His back ached, and he pulled out a packet of painkillers from his pocket.
He was used to the weight of most of the boxes he lifted on a daily basis, but the girl had been heavier – and when she’d tried to squirm away from his grip as he’d been carrying her across the site, he’d felt a muscle spasm shudder down his spine. He’d cursed under his breath. In his hurry to continue his plans, he’d rushed and made a mistake with the dosage. He’d only managed to stagger through the tunnel and secure her before her eyelids had fluttered open and she’d stared wide-eyed at him.
He’d punched her a split second after she’d opened her mouth to scream, her cry cut off before it could echo off the brick tiles.
She’d struggled as he’d tied her wrists above her, wriggling and moving from side to side.
Silently, he’d wrapped a gag around her head, filling her mouth with the bunched material.
He’d retrieved the needles next, and the girl’s muffled screams had echoed off the walls as he’d inserted one, then the other into a vein in her arm in quick succession before he’d leaned against the opposite wall, admiring his handiwork.
Her ragged breathing filled the space, alternating with his as he worked to get his breath back after the exertion.
He’d felt a grin stretch across his face as he’d watched her.
Terror filled her eyes, her face so pale it almost glowed in the pale light from the camping lantern he’d strung from the ceiling of the tunnel.
‘You know what happened to the last girl,’ he’d said, and straightened. ‘What do you think your chances are?’
He’d turned then, climbing up the tunnel incline back to the exit to the underground car park, the girl’s frantic muffled cries soon silenced by the twists and turns of the path. It was all he could do not to turn around and have her then, but he had to wait.
It had to be perfect.
He pushed the packet back into his pocket, swallowed the two white pills with the first mouthful of coffee, and ignored the next twinge that seized his back muscles as he hissed through his teeth.
The need to continue outweighed any regrets, though.
He wrapped his hands around the warm cup and closed his eyes.
‘Are you okay?’
He jerked awake at the sound of a woman’s voice.
She stood over him, concern etched across her features, a tea towel in her hand.
‘I-I’m fine,’ he managed, and rubbed his hand over his face. He’d only rested his head on his arms for five minutes.
‘You look like you could do with a holiday,’ the woman smiled, and went back to wiping down tables.
Eli checked his watch. He’d only been asleep for a few minutes, but he couldn’t afford to draw attention to himself. Not now.
His shift ended in an hour, and he was ahead of schedule.
He stood, dumped the coffee cup in a waste bin, and ignored the waitress as he exited the café and hurried to his courier van.
As he pulled the door open and climbed in behind the wheel, his gaze drifted to the clouds scuttling across the sky.
‘Soon,’ he murmured.
FORTY-ONE
Kay jogged from the car across the gravel driveway, and headed for the shelter of the front porch as fast as possible.
She turned as the door opened.
Yvonne Richards stepped to one side, and beckoned her in.
‘Hello, Yvonne,’ said Kay. ‘Where’s Dawn’s car?’
Yvonne pursed her lips. ‘She’s gone,’ she said, then shrugged. ‘I sent her home.’
‘Oh, I see.’
Hazel appeared from the kitchen, her brow furrowed. ‘Morning, Detective.’
‘Morning, Hazel.’
Kay shut the door behind her, and withdrew the photograph of Eli Mathews from her bag. ‘Do you recognise this man?’ she said to Yvonne.
‘I’m not sure,’ said Yvonne.
‘He’s a courier driver,’ said Kay. ‘Have you seen him before?’
Yvonne shook her head. ‘Like I said, I can’t be sure.’
‘Maybe you’ve seen him here, near the house?’
‘We don’t get parcels delivered here,’ said Yvonne. ‘And all our personal mail goes to a post office box at Downswood.’
‘What about at the business?’
Yvonne bit her lip. ‘I’m sorry, I don’t really get involved in the admin side of things. That’s what I pay people for.’
Kay bit back an exasperated sigh. ‘No problem. I’ll head over there now.’
CARYS HAD FOUGHT a losing battle with the windscreen wipers between the Richards’ residence and the furnishings business.
She parked as close to the building as possible, and the two of them hurried into the warehouse as a roll of thunder filled the air.
Despite all the lights in the ceiling being on, the lack of daylight lent a gloomy atmosphere to the space, and it took a moment for Kay’s eyes to adjust.
‘Well,’ said a familiar voice, ‘it’s nice weather for ducks.’
Sheila Milborough peered out from behind a pile of boxes, a role of packing tape in one hand.
They made their way towards her.
‘I’ve got a few more questions for you, Sheila,’ said Kay. ‘Got a minute?’
‘Of course,’ said Sheila. She put down the packing tape, and wiped her hands down the front of her jeans. She indicated an old sofa at the back of the warehouse. ‘Come on, we can sit down over here.’
She led the way past a row of metal shelves, and pulled out a battered, old wooden chair while indicating to the two detectives to take the sofa.
‘Sheila, when we last spoke, you mentioned Melanie usually flirted with Neil Abrahams, the courier, didn’t you?’ said Kay, as she sat down.
The woman leaned forward on the chair and nodded. ‘Yeah. They were really friendly.’ She sat back and shrugged, her face crestfallen. ‘I don’t know. I thought, maybe, there could’ve been something between them, given time.’
Kay suppressed a snort. Given Abrahams’ current marital problems, she wouldn’t have been surprised. She pulled out the photograph of Eli Matthews. ‘Do you recognise this man?’
Sheila’s lip curled. ‘Yes. He’s been here a few times.’ She handed the photograph back. ‘He’s a courier, too. Used to do the morning run, but there was some sort of shift change at the depot two months ago. Neil changed to our morning drop-off, and he,’ she said, pointing at the photograph in Kay’s fingers, ‘became our afternoon collection.’
‘Any problems with him?’
Sheila placed her hands behind her head, and re-tied her ponytail. She sighed as she dropped her hands to her lap. ‘There was one instance,’ she said, frowning. ‘I didn’t think anything of it afterwards, to be honest. Just told them not to be mean. Why?’
Kay sat up straighter. ‘Can you tell me what happened?’
‘It was a few months ago. We’d had one of those late afternoon showers.’ Sheila jerked her head towards the open doors of the warehouse. ‘Nothing like this, just an hour or so of rain. I was upstairs, sorting out the last of the orders to go out, so it must’ve been, what, about half past four? Melanie was sitting downstairs at reception, and I heard the front door go. I dashed downstairs because I didn’t want to miss him – we had some urgent stuff to go.’
‘The poor man was soaked through – he must’ve got drenched running in and out of businesses like this, so I grabbed the towel from the downstairs bathroom for him to use,’ she said. ‘When he wiped at his arms, there was a stain on the towel. Looked like make-up – you know, when you’ve been out late and you don’t take it off so it stains the pillowcase?’
Kay nodded, but said nothing.
‘Anyway,’ said Sheila. ‘I noticed then that he had all these horrible bruises on his arms, and one on his face. Before I could say anything, the girls started laughing at him, poor mite. Tony came downstairs at that point and joined in, and then Emma took a photo on her mobile phone.’ The older woman shook her head. ‘Awful thing to do.’
‘What happened to the photo?’
‘Melanie was telling her to put it on social media,’ said Sheila. ‘As soon as I heard that, I snatched the phone from Emma and deleted the photograph.’
‘What about this man?’
Sheila sighed. ‘He took the parcels and left. Couldn’t get back to the van fast enough.’
‘What happened the next time he came in?’
Sheila looked down at his hands. ‘I felt sorry for him. So I made sure Melanie and Emma were kept away from the reception area at that time of day in future. Then he stopped coming here after a couple of days, and the other chap started collecting the parcels again.’
‘You’ve been most helpful, Sheila – many thanks,’ said Carys.
They both rose, and Kay straightened the creases in her trousers before glancing around the warehouse area. ‘How are you doing?’ she said. ‘Are you managing okay without Yvonne?’
Sheila shrugged. ‘We’ll be fine,’ she said, and waggled her finger at the photograph in Kay’s hand. ‘You just concentrate on finding who did this to her family.’
Kay nodded. ‘We’ll be in touch.’
‘What next?’ said Carys, as she unlocked the car.
Kay lowered herself into the passenger seat, and stared up at the office windows.
‘I think we need to speak to Eli Matthews.’
FORTY-TWO
Kay held up a finger to silence Carys as the door behind them opened, and a man appeared, wearing a short-sleeved shirt and casual trousers.
‘I’m Damien Ashe, the HR Manager here,’ the man said by way of introduction. ‘I’m afraid Bob isn’t available right now, but I’ll do my best to help you any way I can.’
Kay resisted the urge to snatch the papers out of his hands. Unless Eli was charged, she wouldn’t have access to his personnel file. She could only hope his managers would let them have as much information as legally possible.
‘That’s fine, Mr Ashe,’ she said. She checked her watch. ‘When will Eli be back from his delivery route?’
‘Another twenty minutes.’
‘How long has he worked here?’
‘About seventeen months.’
‘Any issues with his employment?’
‘Not really. He’s a bit quiet,’ Ashe said. ‘Tends not to come along to social gatherings. We organise the occasional barbecue in the summer out the back of the depot, or a few drinks at the pub maybe every couple of months.’ He shrugged. ‘If he does turn up, he usually hangs around at the edges. Do you know what I mean?’
Kay nodded. ‘Why do you think that is?’
‘I don’t know. Shy, maybe?’
‘How does Eli get to work?’
‘He has a moped. Parks it around the back of the depot. An old one, mind. I’m surprised it’s still going.’
‘When Eli transferred from Suffolk, were any issues noted?’
‘None at all. Exemplary record. Same as here.’
‘He’s from Kent, though, isn’t
he?’ she said. ‘Any ideas why he was in Suffolk?’
Ashe shook his head.
‘Was he based here before he left for Suffolk?’
‘No. Suffolk was his first employment with County Deliveries.’ He lifted a page from the bundle in his hand, his eyes flickering over the content. ‘Before that, he was working at a printing firm here in Kent.’ He replaced the page, and pushed a phone away from his side of the table before dropping the file onto it. ‘They went into receivership two years ago.’
‘Before or after Eli left?’
‘After.’
‘Well, thank you for letting us have some background about Eli, it’s much appreciated,’ said Kay. ‘Obviously, I need to ask that you don’t discuss this conversation with anyone else.’
‘Of course. Is he in trouble?’
‘We’re simply seeking his assistance with some questions we have,’ said Kay. ‘The only address we have on file for him is non-residential, so we thought we’d come here.’
‘He lives with his mother. I’m okay with giving you that address.’ He shrugged. ‘He’ll tell you anyway.’
‘Thanks,’ said Kay, as she watched him write down the address on a sticky note before handing it to her.
She passed it to Carys, fighting down the excitement that was building.
If his employers knew Eli’s home address, then it appeared the address of the lock-up garage was a secret that Eli kept from both his employers, and perhaps his mother.
The question was, why?
Kay resisted the urge to take out her phone and check for any missed calls or texts. She would have heard it vibrating in her bag if Barnes had called with the news that their search authorisation had been granted. She mentally crossed her fingers, and hoped Sharp’s powers of persuasion had worked on the superintendent he’d sought the documentation from. They’d been hasty, yes, but given Kay’s theory of two people being involved in the kidnapping and subsequent murder of Melanie Richards was beginning to take form, some of her colleagues were starting to wonder if she had a point.
Scared to Death (A Detective Kay Hunter novel) Page 16