by Linda Regan
“I thought we should get things moving as fast as possible,” he said quietly.
Not your call any more, she almost said, but bit it back. He was right, of course. The important thing was that the investigation was under way.
They looked at each other for a moment, then Banham took a deep breath. “Look, I’m sorry I left so early. You knew I’d promised to get to Lottie’s before the children woke. I need to find out what’s wrong with Bobby.”
She nodded. “We’ll talk later. I need to focus on this for now.” She set off in the direction of the pond. If she was honest, it was a relief not to have to think about last night.
Banham caught her up. “Are you annoyed that I left early?”
“No. I’m thinking about the woman in that pond.” She turned to face him. He was smiling, one of those smiles which made the sides of his eyes crinkle and her tummy think it was in competition with the Red Arrows.
He put a hand on her shoulder. “I promised you a slap-up Italian meal when you crack your first case, remember?”
“You’ve been promising me a slap-up Italian meal for years.”
“Well, I’ve chosen the restaurant.”
She looked at him.
“Italian as agreed.”
She sensed there was more.
“I think you’ll like it. It’s in Venice.”
The victim’s face was just visible through the moss-muddied slime. The eyes were blurred, and an arm, stiff with rigor, pointed away from her body as if she was directing traffic. Alison willed the corpse to tell her what she was doing in the park in the small hours of the morning.
“Welcome and good morning,” Max Pettifer chortled from the pond. “Come in and join us, we’re having a quacking time.”
For once Banham ignored the tasteless humour.
The area was crowded with uniformed police and forensic officers. The exhibits officer was videoing the scene and two forensic officers stood by, a black body bag at the ready, next to the mortician’s black van which had reversed to the pond, its rear doors open.
“Has the FME been?” Alison asked. The duty forensic medical examiner had to pronounce life extinct before the body could be moved.
“First person I called,” Banham said.
“But...” As senior investigating officer all this was up to her. Irritation welled in Alison’s chest; didn’t he trust her to do the job properly?
No point raising it now; there was too much to be done.
Penny Starr had a white breathing mask over her face, a stark contrast to her toffee-coloured skin. She stood with one foot in the water, comparing the gun with the bullet Crowther had found.
Max Pettifer was still in the shallow water shouting his orders. The ducks kept their distance, squawking their protests on the far side of the pond as they swam around an upside-down rusting supermarket trolley. Alison zipped herself into a forensic suit and pulled the white mask over her mouth, then stepped into a pair of waders and into the water, to get a good look at the victim before she was taken away. For once she was grateful she had such long legs; the water looked disgusting and smelled worse.
Max watched her with amusement. “You’ll need a sense of humour as well as your thermals in here, ducky,” he shouted, his short stocky frame vibrating as he laughed at the feeble joke. Alison’s teeth clenched; she understood exactly why he got on Banham’s nerves. “Can we get on with it?” she snapped. “It’s freezing.”
“Oh, not in the mood for joke quacking!”
She let out an irritable sigh. Max she could cope with, but the water would wash away any DNA clinging to the body, making their job harder. They’d need a lot of luck to get a quick result.
“Let’s bag her up and move her out,” Max shouted.
“Check her clothes first,” Banham shouted to Alison. “Is she fully dressed?”
“Oh, I’d never have thought of that,” she muttered under her breath.
“Must be,” Max shouted. “None of the ducks are peeking. Peeking – Peking. Get it?”
“Give it a rest, Max,” Alison snapped. She checked the body and climbed out of the pond. “Hey, there’s a footprint here, on the path.”
Max Pettifer was behind her. “We know,” he said patronisingly. “I think you’ll find it belongs to the clown of an officer who discovered the body.” He inclined his head towards the two PCSOs who sat on the far side of the pond.
Alison closed her eyes. “Don’t they get any training?”
“They’re both new, and greener than pond slime,” said Max.
“They walked towards the pond, saw the body in the water, and waded in to investigate.” That was Penny Starr.
“What?”
“It gets worse,” Penny said, shaking her head. “When she realised it was a body the female PCSO threw up, actually on the crime scene.”
Alison rolled her eyes. “Get their shoes.”
“We’ve got them.”
Crowther was talking the PCSOs. The female was a pretty blonde; Alison and Penny exchanged glances. Alison shouted, “I want their clothes, too. Get someone to drive them home and then bring them straight back to the station to make statements.”
She turned back to Max. “Anything at all to go on?” she asked hopefully.
“The skin is missing from one side of her face.”
“We’re looking for particles of that on the pathway,” Penny told her. “So far nothing, but we’ll keep at it.” She gave Alison an encouraging smile. “We’ll get you something, never fear.”
Alison smiled back. Penny was a godsend to the team. She knew everything about forensics and never minded working all hours to get results. She was also strikingly beautiful, and even made the shapeless blue plastic overalls look elegant. And she was totally besotted with Crowther; Alison couldn’t understand why he strayed.
“Looks like Col’s bullet matches the gun I found,” she told Alison. “It’s a .22 Astra Cadix.”
“Where was it exactly?” Banham asked.
“Over there, just off the pathway.” She pointed to a spot near the entrance, not far from where the bag was found.
“There was a fight?” Banham suggested to Alison.
“The killer took the gun and threw it,” Alison nodded.
Banham’s face brightened. “Could be our first piece of luck. Let’s hope he wasn’t wearing gloves.”
“Why didn’t they dump it with the body?” Alison mused.
“Couldn’t find it?” Banham shrugged. “It was dark.”
“Not very experienced then,” Alison said.
“Or he panicked,” Banham suggested. His face became a mask, and he turned quickly and started walking. They were bringing the body out of the water, and zipping it into the black bag to be taken to the morgue.
Alison followed him over to Crowther, who was talking to the PCSOs. Both were visibly shaking.
“We’re going to send you home with a forensic officer,” Alison told them “We need you to change out of your uniform and give us the clothes you’re wearing.”
“I’ll go with them,” Penny offered.
“Then we’ll bring you back to the station to give full statements,” Alison told them, “but tell me now, briefly, what happened.”
“In your own time,” Banham added, a little too sensitively in Alison’s opinion.
PCSO Andrew Fisher’s clothes were grubby and his complexion pale. His uniform looked a size too small. His fingers covered his mouth; he moved them, and spoke with a slight northern accent. “I thought it was... well, I’m not sure what I thought it was... but I didn’t think it was a body.”
PCSO Millie Payne spoke in a monotone. “I know her. I... er... I threw up. It was such a shock. I think I’ve messed up the DNA tests.”
Banham shook his head sympathetically, but Alison was unimpressed. PCSOs were trained to be the eyes and ears of the force, not to go investigating on their own. This woman might have been new to the job, but she should have known enough to call
it in. “Who is she?” she asked Millie.
“Her name’s Sadie Morgan. She works at a club called Doubles. I work there too. It’s the Marilyn Monroe club. She was their top impersonator.”
Crowther looked at her sharply. “Doubles, opposite the supermarket?” He exchanged glances with Banham. “Eddie Chang’s den of iniquity.”
Millie blinked her large blue eyes. “I’ve been working there, with her.” She looked at Alison and took in her shocked expression. “It’s not against the rules of this job,” she said. “I checked before I applied. My actress friend Lily Palmer worked there as a Marilyn Monroe impersonator too, then she got a proper acting job, playing Marilyn in a touring play. She introduced me to the owner and suggested I take over her nights until her play finishes. He auditioned me and took me on as a trainee Marilyn.”
“Eddie Chang?” Crowther asked.
Millie nodded.
Crowther blew out a breath. “He’s a villain, Millie, and highly dangerous. We’re talking drugs, arms and woman-trafficking.”
Millie looked nervous. “No one told me.”
“How well did you know Sadie?” Banham asked her.
“I met her when I went for rehearsals. She was so like Marilyn Monroe – the punters loved her.”
“Someone didn’t,” said Andrew Fisher.
“I know where she lives,” Millie offered.
“Good,” Banham said. “Tell me about her.”
“Married – well, separated. He’s Italian. He turns up a lot at the club, shouting. No one likes him.”
“What does he do?”
“I think he’s a chef.”
“Where?”
“I’m not sure. A local Italian I think.”
“What’s his name? Alison asked.
Millie wrapped her chin length blonde hair around her finger, like pastry around a sausage. She frowned thoughtfully. “Bruno, I think.” She looked at Crowther for reassurance and he responded with an encouraging smile.
It didn’t need a detective to see what was going through Crowther’s mind.
“What time was it when you found her?” Alison asked.
“About five-thirty.”
“At the end of our shift,” Andrew added.
“Will I be in trouble for working at the club?” Millie asked Crowther naïvely.
“As you say, sweetheart, it’s not against the rules.”
“You should have cleared it with your duty sergeant first,” Alison added sharply, flicking an angry glance at Crowther. “You are allowed to do other work, but there are limits. If you’d asked if you could work there, you’d have been refused permission.”
Millie nodded, and lowered her eyes.
“Best thing you can do is offer your knowledge of the club to help the investigation,” Banham said gently.
“I’m happy to help any way I can.” “Good,” Alison said flatly. “Go home with Penny and change your clothes, then meet us at the station for a statement.”
Unable to trust herself, she set off down the path. Banham caught up with her after a few moments. “Go easy on them. “They’re very new officers, just out of training, and they’ve had a shock.”
“Sadie Morgan’s family will get a bigger one.”
“All I’m suggesting is that we tread gently. We’ll get more out of them that way.”
“For God’s sake, they’ve just contaminated my first crime scene!”
“Haven’t you ever made a mistake?”
She paused. Her eyes held his for endless seconds. “Yes. I have.” She turned and walked towards her car. There was no time for this.
“OK, so what have we got?”
Alison stood in front of the whiteboard in the incident room with Banham beside her. A second board held photos of the dead woman, her eyes glass-like and open, wet green slime clinging to her bleached hair, and one side of her face looking as if a rabbit- skinning knife had been at work on it. The peeled skin had crusted in caked blood, and the broken nose and cheekbone dragged one side of the face down.
Alison addressed the dozen or so murder squad detectives gathered in the hope of cracking the case in the first twenty-four ‘golden’ hours.
“We believe she was killed near the bushes, then dragged across the pathway.” She pointed to the close-up of the face. “Hopefully we’ll find some of her skin on the pathway, and may get DNA from that. For now, we’ll work with what we know.”
“The post mortem will be Monday morning,” Banham butted in. “But this could be straightforward. We may even have the killer by then.”
“Door-to-door is ongoing,” Isabelle Walsh informed them. “But so far no one saw or heard anything.”
“The two support officers who found her, Millie Payne and Andrew Fisher are here and waiting to give their statements,” Crowther added. “Millie has already mentioned a jealous ex-husband.”
“Millie Payne knew the victim,” Banham told them. “She also has been working at the Doubles club with the victim.” Crowther opened his mouth to speak, but Banham put a hand up to silence him. “Not now, Colin.”
Crowther subsided, then began again, with a quick shake of his head in Banham’s direction. “The victim had a .22 calibre bullet in her bag. And an Astra Cadix gun was found nearby. The odds are high that this will lead us back to Doubles.”
Eric, an older detective with a cigarette behind his ear, pushed his body off the wall and stood up straight. “Oh, come on, guv, we all know about the CO19 operation.”
The room fell silent, and everyone’s eyes were on Banham. Alison saw a smile twitch the corner of his mouth. “Talk about jungle telegraph,” he said. “Just keep your mouths shut, that’s all. One word in the wrong ear and it could all fall apart again.”
Heads nodded and a rumble of agreement went round the room. Eddie Chang was the slipperiest villain on Banham’s patch. Drugs, firearms, under-age girls for the sex trade – there was little he wasn’t involved in. The Serious Crimes squad had so far failed to pin anything on him; covert surveillance produced plenty of information, but hard evidence eluded them.
“OK, Colin, you’d better tell us what the position is.” Banham used a foot to hook a chair towards him and sat with folded arms, looking expectantly at Crowther.
The young sergeant was in his element. He walked to the front of the room, pushing up the folded-over sleeves of his anorak. To Alison it looked like one a mother would buy for a child, hoping he’d grow into it. Crowther’s dark brown curls stood away from his head like a little corkscrews, and he looked as if he’d slept under a bridge. No one who didn’t know him would guess he was one of the shrewdest detectives on the force – something she was sure he used to his advantage.
“According to our informant,” he began, “Chang is waiting on a supply of Mac 10 sub-machine guns. There’s a bunch of girls expected too − Ukrainians, all under-age, for prostitution. There’s talk of a consignment of crystal meth as well, but that’s not the main focus this time.
“The girls are going to be moved in next Wednesday. Surveillance is in place, and if they arrive as scheduled the club will follow two hours later. So if Eddie Chang’s club is part of this investigation, we’ll need to keep CO19 in the loop.”
Banham stood up, rubbing his fingers over his mouth. “The fact that the victim was carrying a gun and worked at Doubles certainly takes us back there as a starting point,” he said. “But we don’t want to get in CO19’s hair with a raid imminent. No one needs reminding what could happen if Mac 10 sub-machine guns make it to the streets of south London. And it’s taken Serious Crimes six months to get this far. Nevertheless, we’re investigating a murder. So we need to find out, and quickly, if there is a link between Doubles and the death of this woman. As I’m sure Detective Inspector Grainger will agree.”
Alison was beginning to feel out of her depth. Leading a murder enquiry was one thing; getting involved, or rather, trying not to get involved, in a major Serious Crimes operation was quite another.
> Crowther was talking again. “I’ll talk to my snout,” he said. “We got him a job at Doubles, to help with the CO19 operation. Let’s see what he can tell us about the victim.”
Alison took a deep breath; time she asserted herself as senior investigating officer. “I want you with me to interview PCSO Millie Payne,” she told Crowther, “I think she liked you. And we need to bring in the victim’s husband; that’s top of my list of priorities.”
“Let’s hope Penny can up with something that will give us a lead,” Banham said.
“She will,” Crowther assured them, crossing his arms confidently in the oversized sleeves.
“She will as long as you behave yourself and don’t upset her,” said a voice from the back of the room. It was Eric, the older detective. “Better put your Y-fronts on the wrong way round with that pretty blonde support officer.”
Crowther looked at the floor and said nothing.
“That pretty blonde support officer walked on the crime scene then vomited on it,” Alison reminded them. The room went quiet.
“She knew the victim, though,” Crowther pointed out. “And she found the body.”
If Eric’s remark had embarrassed him, Alison, thought, it didn’t last long.
“Any chance it could have been an accident?” Isabelle asked.
Crowther laughed. “Try to keep up, Walshie.”
“She could have been drunk,” Isabelle argued. “Praps she dropped her bag and crawled around looking for it, then fell in the pond and hit the bottom. It’s shallow, she could have knocked herself out. It’s possible.”
“She lived very near the park,” Crowther said flatly. “We’ve got her address from her bag, and the keys. So she knew the area, she’d have known where the pond was. Drunk or not, she wouldn’t have fallen in.”
Isabelle was loud-mouthed, tough and ruthlessly ambitious, but Alison and the whole department knew that much against her nature she’d fallen for Crowther. He had taken advantage of it; where women were concerned he couldn’t help himself. Their affair had been shortlived, but there was still a spark between them.
Alison still wondered if she should pull Isabelle off the case, but she was pretty sure the young DC would set aside her personal feelings and make it work. Isabelle was determined, and would pull out all the stops to get a result and prove her worth. And Alison knew they needed a quick result.