Sixty-six
James Green sat in his armchair, eyes glued to the TV, watching the lunchtime news. He’d spent the morning flicking from one channel’s newsreel to another, catching the breaking news about the discovery of a body in Richmond Park, where reports had gone from speculation about the victim, eventually to confirmation that it was missing Detective, Ella Bloom. For hours, his body had been tingling. With this latest news came a series of jolts that gave his head a magnificent buzz. A photograph of Ella in police uniform appeared on screen. Seeing her face fired a bolt of electricity that made him hard again. He closed his eyes. The image of Detective Bloom crying, then screaming, begging him to stop, pleading for her life, was as vivid as if she was still in front of him. He opened his eyes and returned to watching the TV. He was wired. He didn’t want this unbelievable feeling to end. This was his most euphoric experience yet. It wasn’t just the killing that was giving him a thrill but the getting away with it. The plan he had for Detective Macey’s ending would be the icing on the cake.
Sixty-seven
In the ladies’ toilets at Sutton Police Station, Scarlett stood in front of the mirror checking her make up. She added a little more mascara in an attempt to disguise her tired looking eyes. She hadn’t slept a wink, even after two bottles of beer and with Alex cuddling her. All night, images of Ella’s brutalised body re-ran inside her head. She hadn’t been able to shake them away and now she was knackered. She thought she had learned over the years to handle death as a cop – put aside her emotion, focus on the evidence – but yesterday, all that had changed. Seeing her close colleague and friend, dumped like that, had been like a stab to the heart and stopped her functioning. She had managed to hide it, and the forensics team and uniform colleagues had done their jobs, so thanks to them the Squad had something to work with this morning. Putting away her mascara, she took a final look in the mirror, realised she was fighting a losing battle, straightened her blouse and left for the incident room.
Everyone was in. The incident board had been updated. The crime scene images of Ella were new additions, but she only gave them a glance: she did not want to be reminded again of the horror of yesterday. As she sat down she glanced at a few of her colleagues. There were no smiling faces this morning or pleasant greetings. The atmosphere was heavy. She had just placed her handbag on the floor beside her chair when her mobile rang. It was Alex. She swiped to answer. Before she had time to say anything, he said, ‘Can you talk?’
She hugged the phone close to her ear and answered softly, ‘Yes.’
‘I’ve got something for you about James Green.’
His response silenced her for a couple of seconds. She responded, ‘What do you mean?’
‘After you showed me all those photos of his place last week, I’ve been doing a bit of digging around. I can’t give you my sources...’ He broke off, giving a half laugh. ‘But when you mentioned his mother’s name last night, I’ve got a result which I think you’ll find very interesting.’
‘Alex, that’s great.’
‘Have you got a pen and paper handy?’
Clamping the phone between ear and shoulder, she rummaged around her desk, snatching up a pen and several sheets of scrap paper. ‘Pen poised with bated breath,’ she said.
Alex laughed. ‘And you can’t say where this came from. You did your own digging around, okay?’
‘That’s good with me. It means I’ll get all the brownie points.’
‘Okay, you were right to think that James Green might not be his real name. I don’t think it is. I’ve been able to access Dorothy Green’s data, and she did have a son called James, but he died in 2004, aged seven. I can’t get much else without questions being asked, but it’s a good start for you. Dorothy should be able to fill in the dots. Didn’t you say she was in a care home?’
‘Nursing home, somewhere in Feltham. I think it's one of the tasks this morning to visit her.’
‘Well it’ll give you something to talk to her about, but it’s left you with the mystery of not knowing who your guy really is.’
‘I know, but that’s a real help and it’s reinforced my thoughts about him.’
‘Listen, I might be able to help you a little further.’
‘What with?’
‘Didn’t you say that Ella had received a call on her BlackBerry purporting to be from the communications room?’
‘Yes. We’ve accessed her phone records. It’s a mobile number. It’s with the technicians. They’re still working on it.’
‘Look, give me the number and I’ll use the resources I’ve got. He’ll have left a footprint which might help pinpoint where he is. I should be able to get something in a couple of hours.’
‘You sure?’
‘Sure. And ask no questions Scarlett. This didn’t come from me.’
‘One day I’m going to find out what you do, Alex King, although I think I already know.’
‘Remember what I said, if I tell you, I’ll have to kill you.’
It was her turn to laugh.
‘Now give me the mobile number.’
She had just passed Alex the mobile number from Ella’s BlackBerry and ended her call, when Lucy walked into the office holding aloft a padded envelope. ‘The receptionist downstairs asked me to give you this. It was left at the counter.’
Scarlett took the padded envelope from her, turned it over and recognised the handwriting.
Sixty-eight
Scarlett dropped the package as if it was a hot potato and stared at the writing. James Green’s name exploded inside her head, even though she now knew this was more than likely a false one. Everyone crowded over her and she glanced up. Diane Harris and Hayden Taylor-Butler had joined the group.
She said, ‘It’s the same writing as on his bedroom wall and on the other packages I’ve been sent.’ She reached inside her desk drawer, took out a pair of latex gloves and pulled them on. With finger and thumb, she picked up the padded envelope by a corner, and angling it, slowly slid out its contents. It was a DVD in its case. Most of her colleagues looked puzzled. She took out the DVD and inserted it into her computer. The room was silent as the whirring disc loaded up. After a few seconds the screen flashed and then a picture emerged. It was Ella. A full body shot of her, fastened to a chair. Someone behind Scarlett gasped. The camera zoomed in to capture an upper body shot. Scarlett could see dried and congealed blood on the left-hand side of her friend’s head. Ella was crying, soft moans drifting through the tape across her mouth. Her nose was snotting and she was struggling to breathe. Scarlett’s stomach lurched. Bile rose in her throat and she swallowed hard. A burning sensation to the back of her throat caused her to blink. She was about to heave again and put a hand to her mouth in a vain attempt at stopping herself from being sick. She knew it wasn’t going to work and grabbed the waste basket. She threw up as she got the metal basket to chest height. Her vomit hit the edge. Her second wave of vomit slapped the bottom.
In the ladies, Lucy patted Scarlett’s shoulder as she splashed water over her face and scooped cold water from the tap to rinse out her mouth.
‘Are you okay?’
Scarlett gripped the edge of the sink and looked in the mirror. She was pale. ‘Sorry Lucy I couldn’t stop myself.’
Lucy gently massaged the back of Scarlett’s neck. ‘Don’t apologise. None of us expected that. We’ve got to catch this bastard.’
Scarlett could see the colour beginning to return to her face. She let go of the sink and straightened, taking in a deep breath. She let it out slowly.
‘Feeling better?’ Lucy asked.
‘A lot better, thank you.’ Scarlett grabbed a handful of paper towels and wiped her face and mouth. The strength in her legs had returned. Screwing up the towels and binning them, she faced Lucy and said, ‘Come on let’s go and see if we can find James Green. We can’t let him get away with this.’
They headed back to the incident room. As Scarlett drew level with the gents she heard muffled
curses coming from inside. It sounded like Taylor-Butler. A sudden flashback jogged her memory. Her first wave of vomit had sprayed over the edge of the waste paper basket and the DI’s trousers had been showered. As she passed the toilet door, she turned and looked at Lucy. They burst into a fit of laughter.
Sixty-nine
Scarlett was at the office door with Lucy when her mobile went. It was Alex, so she told Lucy to go ahead, and retreated onto the back stairs, stepping down to the ground floor while answering.
‘Hi Alex.’
‘Can you talk?’
‘Yes, no one can hear.’
‘I promised I’d get back to you about the number you needed tracing.’
‘Crikey Alex, that was quick.’
‘I have some good contacts. I’m guessing your tech team haven’t come back to you yet.’
‘Not as far as I’m aware. Morning briefing has been delayed.’ She told him about the DVD and how it had affected her.
‘Good God Scarlett, are you okay?’
‘I am now thanks.’
‘I’d hate to be this guy when you catch up with him. And on that note, I’ve got something that might help you.’
‘Brilliant.’
‘The number is a pay and go, just as I expected and he hasn’t used it for long before taking it off line. It was first activated at 14.22 hours the day before Ella was abducted. My guess is that he was testing the SIM card and that’s where he’s slipped up. That activation was in a building on Lemon Grove at Feltham, but the phone was only on for just over a minute before it was switched off again. The beauty about modern phones is that they give GPS locations, and I’ve Google Mapped the location to a block of high rise flats called Belvedere Place. The check doesn’t pinpoint the exact address, so you’re going to have to do some work on that.’
‘Alex that’s really great, thank you.’
‘The next activation is 00.03 hrs when the call was made to Ella’s BlackBerry. That call was made from Deptford. He was on the A202 and I’ve been able to follow the signal all the way to the industrial site at Greenwich, where Ella was abducted, so it looks as though he was in a vehicle. The signal went off at the industrial estate at 00.28, and it hasn’t been activated since, so I’m guessing he’s removed and destroyed the SIM card. Or at least he will have done if he’s any sense. I’m going to text you the GPS locations and the times so you can check your roadside cameras.’
‘Alex that’s fantastic.’
‘Your tech unit should be able to give you the same, but it’s given you the heads up to start doing some digging.’
‘I owe you one Alex.’
‘More than one, I think. You and I have a date the moment you finish this case. A proper date!’
‘Deal,’ she answered breaking into a grin. ‘And now Alex King, some of us have work to do. Can’t stand chatting to you all day.’ Before he could respond she finished the call.
She took the stairs back to the incident room two at a time. At the top she just avoided colliding with Hayden Taylor-Butler. He had a face like thunder and she made her smirk vanish.
She said, ‘Sorry boss, didn’t see you there. I’m just going into briefing.’
The DI stopped in front of the doors, blocking her way and glowered at her.
Scarlett couldn’t miss the damp patches down the front of his trousers. It looked like he had pissed himself and she wanted to laugh, but she daren’t. Holding in her stomach she brushed past him, pushing open the doors. ‘Sorry about the accident,’ she said.
Diane Harris was taking morning briefing. The DCI broke off, ushered her and the DI in and continued. The DCI was allocating tasks. As Scarlett took her seat, Diane Harris said, ‘Scarlett, I was just telling George, I want you and him to carry on working together until Tarn returns. We have finally traced Dorothy Green to a nursing home near Grosvenor Park at Feltham. I want you two to go and see if she is related to our James Green, and if she is, get some background history and an address for him.’
Scarlett hadn’t shared the information Alex had given her about James Green being Dorothy’s dead son. She had been wondering how to feed it in and a perfect opportunity had been handed to her. She acknowledged the DCI’s request with a nod.
Seventy
The nursing home where Dorothy Green was being cared for was a two-storey modern complex in its own grounds, just a street away from Grosvenor Park. Scarlett found a parking spot and she and George walked across the car park to an entrance, with automatic double doors. The reception area was large and well lit, the walls adorned with colourful framed prints. Two young women in lilac scrubs were chatting behind a light oak counter-cum-work-station. They fell silent as Scarlett and George approached. Scarlett showed her warrant card and explained the purpose of their visit.
‘I’m one of the carers here. You do know that Dorothy has early onset dementia don’t you?’ The woman was in her early twenties with flaxen coloured hair, tied high in a ponytail. Her English accent was tinged with Eastern European.
‘We want to ask her about her son.’ Scarlett responded. ‘Is she able to talk to us? Would she be able to answer questions about him?’
‘Dorothy has good days and bad. Which son do you want to talk to her about?’
Scarlett glanced at George, then turned her attention to the carer. ‘She has more than one son?’
The young woman’s drawn-on eyebrows knitted together. ‘Oh yes. Well she had. One of them is dead though. I believe he died in a house fire a few years ago. She constantly goes on about him.’
‘His name wouldn’t be James by any chance, would it?’
The young woman nodded. ‘Yes, that’s him. I think he was only young when he died. That’s the impression I get when she talks about him. I believe she lost her husband in the same fire. I don’t know any details, it’s just what Dorothy has mentioned when she has her good days.’
‘And this other son?’ Scarlett asked.
The carer looked to the receptionist, a woman in her mid-to-late thirties.
‘Do you recall the name of the man who visits Dorothy?’ The carer asked.
‘I can check through the signing-in book,’ said the receptionist. She lifted a heavy bound volume off the counter and began to flip back the pages.
‘The man comes regularly to see Dorothy?’ Scarlett asked.
‘Fairly regularly. Twice a week at least,’ said the carer.
Scarlett reached into her bag and pulled out the mug shot of James Green, holding it out for them to see. ‘Is this the man who visits her?’
The carer nodded, ‘Yes that’s him.’
‘Jason Cabett!’ the receptionist responded, looking up from the signing-in book. She had her finger over an entry. ‘He was here three days ago to see his mum. He always brings her flowers. Nice young man. Always polite. Sometimes brings chocolates for us.’
Scarlett asked, ‘You don’t have an address by any chance?’
***
Walking across the car park to their vehicle, Scarlett rang Diane Harris and relayed to her what they had just been told. The DCI ordered them back to the station and called an early briefing.
‘We didn’t need to see Dorothy after all,’ Scarlett addressed her colleagues. ‘The nursing home provided us with enough info to enable us to do some digging without talking to her. When we got back, I put in a call to the Feltham Chronicle’s archive section, gave them what we’d got about the death of James Green in a house fire and asked them to do some searches for us. It took a good hour, but they came back with everything I needed.’ Scarlett scoured the room, a thin smile on her face. She was doing her best to hide her smug feeling. ‘There’s two important parts to this. The first, which is very relevant, relates to her first marriage. That was to a man called Thomas Cabett, in 1988. Thomas Cabett is a very interesting man and I’ll come on to him in a bit.’ She took a short breath. ‘Two years after they were married, in 1990, they had a son, Jason. When we showed the care staff the photo we have of
James Green, they told us they knew him as Dorothy’s son Jason.’ She saw a number of her colleagues faces light up. ‘They say he is a regular visitor there. Always brings his mum flowers. And the flowers bit fits in with what we learned from James Green’s neighbour at Twickenham.’ She stopped for a moment, then said, ‘Is everyone following me?’ Several of the team nodded. ‘Now I’ll go back to Jason’s father, Thomas. The paper has quite a bit of information about him.’ Scarlett glanced down at her notes. ‘I said to you that Thomas is a very interesting man. Well, Thomas had a teenage history of arson, which resulted in him being sent to a young offender’s institution. Apparently in 1980, at the age of fourteen, he set fire to a number of cars in Feltham, for which he received an eighteen-month sentence. He came out when he was fifteen and a couple of years later he met Dorothy. They married when he was twenty-two. At some stage, in between that, he became a carpenter. Jason was born when Thomas was twenty-four. Five years later, in 1995, Thomas set fire to a pub in Feltham, and one of the bar staff, who rented the flat above the pub, was killed. Although convicted of manslaughter, Thomas was assessed to be mentally unfit and detained in a medium secure mental health unit. He is still there. I got all of this background, and the background to the fire, from the articles they wrote about him during his trial. According to those stories, he had been working at the pub, doing a refit of the bar, but had fallen out with the company who owned the pub, over payment. In a drunken rage one night he’d set fire to the pub, not realising someone was living in the flat above.’ She explored the faces of the squad again. She had their attention, ‘And now I come on to James Green. In 1997, Dorothy marries a man called David Green.’ Pausing, she broke away from the main flow of her story, ‘I got that from the hatched, matched and dispatched section of the Chronicle. I’m surmising she divorced Thomas while he was in the secure unit.’ Picking up the thread again, she said, ‘That same year, six months after her marriage, James was born.’ She looked around the room again. ‘And this is where it gets really interesting. In 2004, there was a fire at the house where they all lived, on Waterloo Close, at Feltham. David and James died. Jason, who was fourteen at the time, apparently rescued his mother. There was quite a big article in the Chronicle about it. He was praised as a hero. The fire was recorded as an accident; David was a smoker and it was reported the fire had started in the chair where David normally sat. David and James are buried in Feltham Cemetery. James was only seven. Jason and his mother were re-housed in a flat at Belvedere House, in Feltham.’
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