This Little Piggy

by Rob Ashman

  ‘At last. Can I go now?’ Raynor stood up.

  ‘No, we have more questions for you,’ Bagley said noticing the presence of Cunningham. He took the seat opposite Raynor and Kray perched herself next to him. Tavener walked out and closed the door – yet again feeling that three was a crowd.

  Bagley pressed the button on the tape machine and introduced the people around the table. He stated that Raynor was not under arrest, neither had she been charged with an offence. Her whole demeanour relaxed when she heard these words only to go into melt down when he placed her under caution. It was obvious that Bagley was taking the lead.

  ‘What? What do you mean “could be used in evidence against me”? I’ve not done anything!’ She looked at her solicitor, imploring him to wave his magic wand and make the whole thing disappear. Cunningham sat and stared at his notebook.

  ‘I am going to show you a series of photographs, Sadie, and it is vital that you answer our questions,’ Bagley said.

  ‘I’ve answered your bloody questions.’

  Bagley laid out the pictures of the murder victims on the table. Raynor’s thoughts must have bounced off a couple of satellites before landing back in her head. She gazed at the images impassively for what seemed like an age, then leapt back from the table.

  ‘Jesus Christ!’ she yelled.

  ‘Please, Sadie. Sit down.’

  ‘Fucking hell! What is this?’

  ‘Sadie, I need you to sit down,’ he repeated. Raynor returned to her seat with both hands clasped over her mouth. Her eyes as wide as saucers. She scanned the parade of carnage laid out in front of her.

  ‘Oh my God, that’s John!’ She was on her feet again. ‘Fuck, and that’s Nigel.’ She walked around the interview room with her face buried in her hands. ‘Jesus Christ, he’s dead? Nigel is dead?’

  ‘Sadie, I must ask you to sit.’ Bagley raised his voice but she was too far gone to hear him.

  Kray watched the woman dissolve in front of her. With every anguished cry, Kray died a little inside.

  ‘Who…what…’ Raynor continued on her walkabout.

  Cunningham stepped up and put his hand on her shoulder. ‘Sadie, you need to take a seat.’ He led her back to the table.

  She sat there with tears running down her face. Her hands shaking.

  ‘Would you like some water?’ Kray asked.

  ‘No,’ Sadie said, picking up the coffee and spilling it over her hand. ‘Oh my God, I know them too!’ she screamed, dropping the drink. ‘That’s…that’s–’

  ‘Sadie, you need to calm down.’ Bagley was struggling to prevent the interview descending into chaos.

  Raynor had her hands on the photographs, twisting them one way then the next.

  ‘This is Vanessa, and this is–’ She clamped her hand to her mouth just as the vomit filled her throat. But it was too late.

  Sadie threw her head between her legs and spewed on the floor. The three others sprang from the table to avoid the splash. Sadie’s designer shoes didn’t fare so well.

  ‘Oh God…’ Raynor coughed up the foul-smelling liquid.

  ‘Shit.’ Kray opened the door to the interview room. ‘Let’s get her cleaned up and reconvene.’

  Bagley announced the interview was over and paused the recording.

  An hour later all four were sitting in a different interview room, three doors down from the one that was now in quarantine. Raynor was wearing a pair of flip-flops. The corridor stunk of puke.

  Bagley repeated the protocol of resuming the interview and spread the photographs onto the table. Everyone except Raynor, was conscious of having to make a sharp exit should the situation call for it.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘It was the shock. I know these people and they’re dead. Murdered.’

  ‘We appreciate this is distressing but we have to ask the questions, Sadie. You understand, don’t you?’ Bagley said, Raynor nodded.

  ‘All the victims were killed in the same way, except for this one,’ Kray pointed to the head and shoulders shot of Teresa Franklin. ‘She was forced to eat beef before she was murdered.’

  ‘Beef?’ Raynor said, screwing up her tear-streaked face.

  ‘Yes. Each of the murders followed a sequence. They followed the verses from the nursery rhyme This Little Piggy. What can you tell me about that?’

  ‘What can I tell you? Nothing! Do you think I did this?’ she shrieked.

  ‘We checked out your whereabouts, Sadie, and it isn’t good,’ Bagley said. ‘The night Vanessa Wilding was killed, you were with your boyfriend Henry. On the night that Teresa Franklin was murdered, you said you were either at the club or with Henry. The club have no recollection of you being there, but Henry says you were with him. On Monday the sixteenth, when John Graham was killed, you think you were with Henry – he says you were. And on the ninth of October, when Nigel Chapman was attacked you gave us a long list of places you might have been, and again, Henry says you were with him. In every case, you were with Henry, and in every case, no one else can corroborate your story. Do you see the problem?’

  ‘No, no, I don’t.’ She snivelled and wiped away the snot with the back of her hand.

  Bagley cleared away the photographs and laid a clear plastic bag on the table. ‘Can you explain how hair matching yours was found at three of the murders?’

  Raynor’s eyes almost popped from her head. Her mouth moved but nothing came out. ‘But … but … how can that …’ Raynor burbled.

  ‘That is inconclusive until you have the DNA results,’ Cunningham chipped in.

  ‘You’re right. We are awaiting the results. But it does look like your hair under a microscope.’

  ‘That does not constitute scientific evidence, DI Bagley, and you know it,’ Cunningham was not letting go.

  ‘I realise that but I’m building up a picture. Sadie? Hair that visibly matches yours was found at three of the crime scenes – at John Graham’s home, Vanessa Wilding’s home and a shipping container where we found the body of Nigel Chapman. What do you have to say?’

  Raynor stared at Bagley, then at the evidence bag on the table, then back to Bagley. ‘I…I…I…don’t know.’ She stuttered. ‘I have been to John’s home, but…’

  ‘How long ago was that?’

  ‘I don’t know, quite a while ago.’

  ‘Have you ever been to this place?’ Bagley produced another photograph of a derelict farm.

  ‘No, I’ve never seen that place before.’ She looked at her lawyer, shaking her head.

  ‘This is where we found the body of Vanessa Wilding. We believe your hair was found there too.’

  ‘But…but I’ve never been there.’ Raynor got up from the table again, running her hands through her unkempt locks. ‘You think that I did this?’

  ‘Please, Sadie, take a seat.’ Cunningham put his hand on her arm.

  Bagley pulled out another evidence bag containing the key. ‘What can you tell us about this?’ he asked.

  Raynor shook her head, once more seated at the table.

  ‘We found this taped to the underside of the table in your hallway. Are you saying you know nothing about it?’

  ‘What! In my hallway? I’ve never seen this before in my life.’ Raynor picked up the bag, turning it over and over in her hands. ‘How…’

  ‘It is the key to this garage.’ Bagley slapped another photo onto the table. ‘And when we opened it up, we found these.’ He dealt the blown-up photographs to her like he was dealing from a deck of cards. One showed a small red hand hoist with a chain running through the pulleys, in the corner was a neat stack of white disposable boiler suits in cellophane packets along with boxes of overshoes and latex gloves, a camping stove, a portable generator and cooking pots lay against one wall and an empty ten litre paint can was against the other.

  Raynor’s eyes were welling up with tears.

  The last three pictures showed a pair of industrial wire cutters, a packet of black cable ties and a small black box with cables atta
ched to either end.

  ‘How do you explain these?’

  ‘I can’t. I’ve never seen these before.’ Her voice cracked.

  ‘Then, why was the garage key hidden in your home?’

  ‘I don’t know! I’ve never seen this before.’

  ‘This is the rental agreement for the garage. Is that your signature Sadie?’ Bagley placed the document on the table.

  Raynor stared at it. ‘No…no, what is this?’

  Bagley laid the photograph of Vanessa Wilding in front of Raynor. ‘This woman was killed at the farm, but before she was murdered, she was abducted and held in a room in the barn. We believe hair matching yours was found there too. Are you telling me you know nothing about this?’

  Raynor shook her head, unable to speak. Tears ran down her face.

  ‘I put it to you, Sadie, that you committed these murders in an attempt to frame your ex-husband.’

  ‘Frame Kevin? Why the hell would I want to frame him?’

  ‘Revenge. You said yourself how he held you back, how he blighted your life. You concocted a story which contributed to him being sent to jail. You also told my colleague that the newspaper article was a pack of lies.’

  ‘But I wouldn’t do this!’

  ‘What happened to the money from the sale of the business?’ asked Bagley, changing tack. The question threw her.

  ‘What?’ she asked.

  ‘When your ex-husband sold his share of the business. What happened to the money?’

  ‘I cannot see the relevance of this line of questioning,’ Cunningham said.

  ‘What happened to the money, Sadie?’

  ‘I took it,’ Sadie said.

  ‘That’s right, Sadie, you took it. Three days after that money was deposited into your husband’s business account, you transferred it into your own.’

  ‘I needed the cash for the kids and for the house,’ she yelled.

  ‘You took the money to furnish a lifestyle which you believed you deserved. A lifestyle that had been denied you by Kevin Palmer. You set out to destroy him, and now, you want to see him gone for good.’

  ‘No. No, I didn’t murder anyone.’

  ‘You want to see Kevin Palmer locked up and you would do anything to make that happen.’

  ‘No. No. I didn’t do this. I swear on my kids’ lives, I did not do this.’

  ‘Are these the kids that you palm off with a babysitter while you screw around with your boyfriend? Who I’m sure also helps to fund your lifestyle and who is your only alibi.’

  ‘That is quite enough detective inspector Bagley.’ Cunningham interjected.

  ‘This is crazy. I did not murder these people.’ Sadie screamed, waving her hands around her head like she was swatting away flies.

  ‘Then how do you explain the key and how do you explain the hair? You have made it clear that you want your ex-husband out of your lives for what he’s done to you.’

  ‘Yes, I mean, no, I mean, yes, I might have said that–’

  ‘Detective inspector, this line of questioning–’ Cunningham tried again.

  ‘Sadie Raynor, I am arresting you on suspicion of murdering John Graham, Nigel Chapman, Teresa Franklin and Vanessa Wilding.’

  Raynor jerked away from the table with her hand to her mouth as vomit sprayed through her fingers and onto the floor. Bagley’s reactions weren’t fast enough this time.

  44

  If you put ten coppers in a pub, it’s going to get noisy. Put ten coppers in a pub who believe they have just cracked a multiple homicide case, and you’d be forgiven for thinking a bus load of Millwall supporters had arrived. Quade was propping up the bar getting in her second round of the evening – enjoying the popularity, however fleeting.

  Bagley was holding court with a gaggle of people hanging on his every word. He bent over at the waist and beckoned for them to lean in, he said something and they burst into gales of laughter.

  Kray sat at a table on her own nursing a small Pino, hardly bringing herself to taste it. Tavener flopped into the seat beside her. ‘Not celebrating?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Look, Roz, I know how hard this must be, but the weight of evidence is overwhelming. You have to admit that.’

  ‘Palmer did it,’ Kray didn’t look up from her drink, ‘and he’s put Sadie Raynor squarely in the frame.’

  Tavener glugged at his beer. ‘That’s not how the CPS see things.’

  ‘Maybe not.’

  ‘The DNA test results will be the clincher when they come through tomorrow.’

  ‘I have no fucking doubt they will be a one hundred-percent match.’

  ‘Look, Roz, you can’t–’

  ‘If you’re about to say, “You can’t win them all”, I’m gonna slap you.’

  ‘Yeah, well, do you know what, Roz? There are times when you can’t.’ Tavener got to his feet and joined the others.

  The lumbering bulk of Quade came into view. She dumped herself next to Kray.

  ‘Cheers, Roz, great result.’ She held up her glass and Kray chinked her drink against it with all the enthusiasm of getting a yeast infection.

  ‘Cheers, ma’am.’

  ‘Come on, Roz, we’re off duty now. It’s Mary.’

  ‘Cheers, Mary.’ Kray repeated the chink.

  ‘I know this has been tough on you, what with coming back into work and this landing in your lap, but you’ve done a great job.’

  ‘If I had done such a great job, I would not be looking at Dan Bagley right now.’

  ‘He’s is a good detective. It’s my role to take the helicopter view, and from what I could see, you needed support.’

  Helicopter view? It wouldn’t get off the ground. Kray sighed and took a sip.

  ‘I’m telling you there is something not right about this.’ Kray spun the wedding ring round on her finger.

  ‘Oh, not again, Roz. Let it drop.’

  ‘I can’t put my finger on it, but all my intuition says Sadie Raynor is not a killer. There is something wrong.’

  ‘I agree, Roz, and do you know what it is?’ Quade said leaning forward. ‘What’s wrong is you refusing to acknowledge the evidence against her.’

  ‘I know how it looks, but it’s Palmer, I’m sure of it.’

  ‘Do you honestly believe Palmer set this whole thing up? He killed those people in such a way that he put himself in the frame for murder, when all the while, he had concocted the evidence in such a way to incriminate his ex-wife. Even you have to admit that’s a long shot.’

  ‘I know but you’ve watched the interview footage. You saw the way she reacted. How many times have you seen that?’

  ‘Never.’

  ‘And neither have I. That was not for show. That was shear panic and blind fear. Sadie Raynor is not a killer.’

  ‘The evidence tells us that she is. And besides, there is no forensic evidence connecting Palmer to any of the murders, and he has rock solid alibis for three of them. You have to let this go, Roz. You backed a horse and got it wrong, it happens.’

  Bagley pulled up the chair next to Kray.

  Have I got a fucking sign hanging over my head saying, ‘please come talk to the sad person’?

  ‘Cheers, guys, a job well done.’ He held up his glass. ‘I’ve cleared it with GMP, so if it’s all the same to you, I’d like to stick around to tie this one up tight.’

  ‘Fine with me,’ Quade said.

  ‘Yup,’ answered Kray.

  A loud whoop went up as the door opened and three more police officers with smiles a mile wide joined them in the bar. There was much shaking hands and back slapping.

  ‘Looks like I’m going to be in for a busy night,’ Quade said, leveraging herself up from the chair. ‘My round!’ she called out, followed by another bout of whooping.

  ‘You okay?’ asked Bagley.

  ‘Not really.’

  Bagley swigged at his drink. ‘Hey, on a different subject, are you going to go for it?’

  ‘Go for what?’

>   ‘Jackson’s job.’

  ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’

  ‘Jackson is coming back to work but not here. He’s put in for a transfer to Merseyside and will drop down a rank. He’s bound to get it, so that leaves his seat vacant.’

  Kray screwed up her face. ‘What are you talking about?’

  ‘Mary told me. Jackson isn’t coming back, so they are going to be interviewing for his job. I thought you’d be throwing your hat into the ring.’

  ‘No, she didn’t mention anything to me.’

  ‘Oh, maybe she wants to tell you officially. She told me in passing. I have to say, I really fancy it. This is a great team and I could do with a change of scenery.’

  Kray got up from the table, gathered up her coat and left.

  The full beam headlights arced across the gravel of the empty car park as Kray swept past the gates. She didn’t bother with the parking bay lines sprayed in white on the floor. Not many people visited graveyards after dark.

  She got out and slammed the door, stomping up the grass verge, ignoring the path to the left. Wisps of grey cloud scudded across a clear night sky. The stars were coming out to play.

  In the distance, Kray could see the twinkle of the illuminations along the promenade, and the Pleasure Beach appeared to throb against the darkness. A stream of red and white car lights moved slowly along the seafront like two opposing snakes. Beyond that was the oil-black of the Irish sea.

  The view would have been one to catch Kray’s attention, were it not for her being so angry that her hands hurt from gripping the steering wheel so tight. She marched over the grassy hill and down to the peaceful place of rest for so many. Or it would have been peaceful, had she not started yelling well before she reached her husband’s headstone.

  ‘The fat cow didn’t tell me about a fucking job interview! Oh no, but she tells her Mancunian puppy dog.’ Kray stopped at the one marked Joseph Kray. ‘So, we all know how that’s going to turn out. She’s been keeping me sweet until she can replace me. Fucking bitch.’

  Kray continued to stomp around, walking up and down in front of the black marble stone.

  ‘And another thing, we’re going to bang up an innocent woman. Don’t get me wrong, she’s no fucking angel, but she didn’t kill those people. But the Mancunian puppy can’t see it and there’s nothing I can do. Oh, and to cap it all, I have Tavener acting like I’ve eaten his last Rolo, so all in all, it’s been a shitty day. And I know I’ve not asked how you are because I fucking know already – you’re dead! Why are you not here to help me? Why am I facing this on my own?’