“What about the papers?” someone asked from the far side of the room.
“Prints belonging to Valerie, otherwise clean but the ICP-MS tests show that there’s a strong possibility that they all came from the same sheet of paper, a standard office paper, but because of the variance of the findings that fact cannot be used as evidence but it gives us a reference should we find other paper documentation. However, we’re sure they’re from one and the same place and probably the same person.”
Cyril sighed loudly. “Handwriting?”
“Same hand. Right handed when writing. Inks different apart from the first and second note.”
“Lady’s little helper?” Cyril asked whilst he frowned at Owen.
“Clean apart from finger prints. DNA is Valerie’s. The key’s been identified as belonging to an Abus Titalium padlock. We’re looking at local distributors...”
Owen interrupted. “The tape’s been tracked to one produced for the major DIY store, B&Q so check if they stock that make of lock. Stuart put someone onto that.” Stuart made notes and nodded.
Cyril glanced round the room. “It’s obvious from the personal items found that there was more to Valerie than meets the eye. There’s drug use and possibly dependency.”
He quickly removed the last sentence from his thought as he pictured the lady prostrate and naked in the mud knowing what damage had been done to her eye.
“Interview the people whose names were given to Owen from Valerie’s parents and track those who were with Valerie for the weekend.” He turned to three officers sitting together. “Scan town CCTV images for her movements on both nights. We have a time and place for the start to her Sunday evening. Check phone records also and Internet use from Cooper’s address. Collect any office paper too, he’s bound to have a printer.” He then pointed to an officer by the door. “Shakti, interview restaurant and bar owners you know to be in the area Valerie was dropped off. I want a timeline account of their evening. Check out CCTV of all roads in the area of the murder. We have an approximate time from an eye witness. Liz, get Communications to distribute Valerie’s photograph and organise the phones, if she did attend a private party someone will have seen her. Lastly, thanks very much, it’s not been pleasant but I believe these two murders are in some way connected. Keep everyone informed, that means uplifting information immediately to HOLMES. (The Home Office Large Major Enquiry System). Each uplifted item will be allocated a unique message number opening a line of enquiry. The more details added will mean that the clues or coincidences won’t be overlooked. Liz and Owen will co-ordinate interviews but I want them doing ASAP.”
“Who’ll interview her employer?” Owen asked without looking up, knowing the answer before Cyril spoke.
***
Cyril had made notes after looking through the information gleaned so far on Valerie Atkins from her professional media profile of LinkedIn and her Facebook page. Her continued career as a broadcast journalist had been successful considering the competitive nature of her chosen profession. After a work placement, post degree, with Sky and BBC television, she had worked at Stray FM, Harrogate’s local radio station, dedicated to working on the hourly news bulletin. Cyril highlighted the words, maintaining an online presence, whatever that meant. She also was responsible for patching news to other radio stations. He checked the list. Other police visits would be required.
Her profile as a radio personality might have attracted unwanted attention and Cyril made a note to get someone to check her social media sites to determine whether she had been targeted.
‘Blame Makes the Claim’; Cyril slid a disc into his computer and watched the forty-minute documentary. It investigated the claim culture and highlighted a number of the aptly named ambulance chasing insurance companies that clearly undermined those working within the NHS, the teaching profession and the police. He identified Valerie, the main broadcaster and was impressed by her on screen presence and the depth of her strong yet professional interviewing technique; she seemed little fazed, asking controversial questions and forcing the interviewee onto a back foot. It was certainly cutting edge and controversial viewing. If she did not have enemies before it was broadcast, she surely would afterwards as certain companies were identified as not only morally borderline but clearly sailing close to the edge of legality. He noted the contact details of the production company, which had produced and distributed the documentary.
He picked up the phone.
“Owen, have you collected Valerie’s laptop or IT equipment for analysis?”
“It hasn’t been located, Sir. Wasn’t at Cooper’s according to her partner nor at her parents’ house. Mother said it was always with her but I doubt she’d take it on a night out. Nothing other than the memory stick was found in the box.”
“Her car?”
“With Forensics now but nothing of that nature found.”
“I’ll organise a search of Cooper’s place. Any IT equipment I want analysing. Anything from her brother?”
“Wigan Police have interviewed him but he hasn’t been back to Harrogate for more than six months. Told the officer that he wouldn’t be returning either, not even for the funeral!”
“Not all was rosy there then? When was the last time he and Cooper met or spoke?”
“It’s believed that Cooper acted somewhat unprofessionally when they worked together during their first year. The action resulted in Cooper’s being given promotion over James but we’re unaware of the fine details. He wouldn’t say, simply suggested that it was in the past and it was, to quote, ‘Blown out of all proportion’. The same year, Cooper started seeing Valerie. James left to take up work in Wigan. According to his mother, James never recovered from his sister’s death. From what I understand, he was with her when she was victim of the hit and run and supposedly responsible for her when the tragedy happened, even though he was a child himself. She said he was cold emotionally like his father.”
“What did she mean by that?”
“Don’t know, I remember Liz’s face when she heard that.”
“Have we interviewed the father?”
“Tomorrow.”
“See if we can get him in here so he’s away from familiar ground and away from his wife… make something up, Owen. Be creative and research Jennifer’s death.”
***
The brass plaque was in clear need of Brasso and a degree of good old elbow grease; it was a certainly not a good first impression in Cyril’s eyes. He rang the intercom and waited until a voice responded. It was if it were gargling with thick treacle.
Not understanding a word, Cyril leaned towards the small, metallic box before replying. “DCI Bennett, I have an appointment with Frederick Grant.” He spoke slowly hoping the listener could understand.
The buzzer sounded and Cyril pushed the door open. The entrance hall was brightly lit. Pictures hung on either side and to his left was a stick and coat stand. Cyril was immediately attracted to the gilt-framed images, modern and abstract, adding a powerful splash of colour that contradicted artistically the Victorian, high-ceilinged hall.
“Apologies, DCI Bennett for the rather poor intercom reception, water in the wires, I believe.” She raised her shoulders as if to show that the problem had been long standing. “This way please.”
Cyril glanced at the stairs facing him from where the voice emanated; he noticed the female figure on the landing, semi-silhouetted by a large, stained glass window depicting a number of religious scenes.
“Beautiful windows!” Cyril stared for a moment before moving quickly up the stairs.
“The original owner bought them when they were pulling down a local church and I believe he had them fitted in the 1930s. It was during a period when visitors to Harrogate spent more time on spa treatments than on spiritual healing. That’s commercialism, I suppose, one thing prospers as another withers on the vine.”
Cyril looked up and in the top section of the six-panel window was a glazed, coloured image of an eye. I
t brought immediately to mind the prostate figure of Valerie Atkins and he cringed at the thought of the physical act of her murder; he hated coincidences, always had.
“Supposedly the eye of God, Chief Inspector, but we think it’s there so that the boss can keep an eye on us.” She smiled again before turning to climb the next short flight of stairs.
Cyril glanced again at the eye before following her up the last flight of stairs.
She knocked on a door before opening it. “DCI Bennett, to see you Mr Grant.”
She held open the door and Cyril entered.
***
DC Shakti Misra added the requested timeline detailing Valerie’s whereabouts on the Sunday evening to one of the freestanding boards in the designated Incident Room. Valerie’s party had comprised five females and although they had been dropped at Pizza Express, they had neither a booking nor did they eat there. The first confirmed sighting had been in a bar on Princess Square at 18:55. The owner had remembered them for what he called their ‘immature enthusiasm’. They had then moved to a bar in John Street before arriving at a Chinese Restaurant on Crescent Road. According to the restaurant’s CCTV footage, two had left at 21:55 leaving Valerie with the others who had yet to be identified. They had left at 22:15. The next sighting had been by the Pump Room Museum where they could be seen crossing and heading to either the park or in the direction of Swan Road. There was no further sighting.
Shakti left an empty but accurately graded timeline until the moment in the early hours when Valerie had been spotted entering the park. She quickly checked what she had written and headed to her desk. Diligently she worked her way through the list of hotels and B and Bs situated in the vicinity of Swan Road.
Liz entered and went to look at the timeline.
“I have the names of her four university friends, Shakti. You can imagine their emotional state considering their long-standing, close relationship but all have managed to send photographs. Some can you believe, are selfies!” She added them to the board and dropped copies on Shakti’s desk.
Shakti checked the CCTV footage against the four photographs and quickly eliminated Sheila Walsh and Karen Johnson as being the first to leave. Liz leaned over her shoulder and kept pointing to the screen. She checked their addresses and found one lived in Sheffield and the other in Holmfirth. The remaining two were relatively local, one from Knaresborough and the other, York.
Liz tapped her on the shoulder. “Now good old police work begins. Good luck!”
Shakti smiled whilst pulling a face. “Cheers, love.”
***
Frederick Grant’s office was impressive, modern and minimalist whilst complementing the high Victorian moulded plaster ceilings and the large bow window that afforded a wonderful view onto The Stray. Known as the lungs of Harrogate, it comprised two hundred acres of open, public land that is the jewel in the spa town’s crown.
“Stunning view, Mr Grant, ever changing I’m sure with the seasons!”
“Never tire of it.”
Cyril’s eyes scanned the posters and photographs on the walls and then the statue-like silver, gold trophies and awards that were neatly lined up on the old mantelpiece above a fireplace. Fresh flowers filled the grate. He liked the order of things and relaxed slightly.
“Sad news about Valerie, Chief Inspector. I keep asking myself why someone would want to murder the poor girl.” He looked directly at Cyril as if awaiting a reply.
“What was the last independent project she was working on, the one recently accepted by a television company?”
Grant shook his head. “There isn’t a project. Let’s say she’s on leave, or was, sorry! She had success with the last production we worked on.”
“Blame Makes the Claim,” Cyril interrupted.
“Yes, that documentary was outstanding, her own idea and her own research. She was a bright girl. She was a strong presence in front of the camera as well as on radio. The documentary was licensed to four TV channels. She thought that would herald the start of great things but like all elements of this game, it’s fickle and a cruel master. One minute you can be up and everyone’s friend and favourite, the next moment you’re down. The ‘friends’ you thought you had move onto the next hot property. Remember the television personality Simon Dee?”
Cyril shook his head but made a mental note to look him up.
“Anyway, the documentary didn’t find favour in everyone’s eyes, upset an awful lot of folk.”
Cyril noted another coincidence. Someone found favour with one of hers, he thought.
“People get very protective when there are compensation claims on the NHS, the armed forces, police, teachers and our public servants. I’m sure you’re well aware of the Health and Safety issues that clearly restrict the way we all go about our work, Chief Inspector. Litigation is rife, it’s commercial, it’s big business but it’s catastrophic at the same time. It restricts challenge, daring and what life is about, risk!” He paused. “Sorry, since we worked on the programme it’s really had an effect on my perception of the parasitic lawyers. Valerie was simply presenting a point of view for the audience to consider but TV can make personalities and the personalities get the praise but also the hatred. If you put your head above the parapet you have to accept that it can be shot at.”
“And was it shot at?”
“Bloody hell, yes! Producing controversial stuff is like putting a stick into a hornets’ nest.”
Cyril looked up as he said that and whether it was Cyril’s quizzical expression or his sudden physical response, it made him pause.
“Have I said something wrong?”
“Interesting simile. No, sorry, continue, it was what you just said that brought something to mind. Please…”
“Where was I?”
“Hornets’ nest,” Cyril responded.
“Yes… hornets. She received a good deal of flak, but also a good deal of professional commendation. Nominated for a couple of awards. The TV people loved it, she was the best thing since the sliced loaf, but as you can imagine there were members of the public and certain businesses who, quite frankly, made it personal. Anyway it affected her in several ways. She was, at the time the documentary came out, working at Stray FM but her deadlines and presentation became a little, shall we say to be fair to her, erratic. You can’t have that emotional instability on live radio so she was side-lined, given ‘leave’ to get herself together.”
“How long has she been with the agency, Mr Grant?”
“We put her on our books not long after university. We took her on trust. She was very confident and had made up a show-reel, not professional, but you could clearly see her potential. We gave her more on-reel experience, more, shall we say, exposure. In the early days we helped her to get that.”
Cyril’s mind went back to the naked female prostrated over a table when he heard the word ‘exposure’.
“She became a kind of featured expert on some local, television morning shows dealing with youth issues. She was professional and knew her stuff. You might have seen a few; one in particular was on children being unnecessarily prescribed the drug Ritalin. It was shown about eight months back. It’s only brief but…I have a copy if you…”
“Don’t have a television, Mr Grant,” Cyril interrupted. He held out a hand. “For evidence, it will be viewed. Was she a drug user?”
The lack of reaction to such a sensitive question surprised Cyril. He had assumed that that such an enquiry coming out of the blue would cause a degree of surprise. He was clearly wrong.
“Couldn’t say, but I personally never experienced that in all the time I represented her. What I will say is that there is a culture of drug use within this profession and that includes an over reliance on alcohol. Seems to go hand in glove, Chief Inspector. I can also confirm that she liked a party and loved a drink.”
“Did she get herself together after the pressure she received from the documentary?”
“We managed to get her some broadcasting
work in York and she seemed to pick up. She quickly became more her professional self. Believe me, Chief Inspector, when she was on form she was bloody brilliant. I don’t act for numpties, as you can witness from the successes here.” He pointed to the awards.
“When did you last see, Valerie?”
He flicked open his desk diary and scanned the page. “Monday’s today, yes?” After licking his finger he turned back the pages. “Here, last Wednesday. Popped in as I’d organised a voice-over audition, local studio for a radio advert. Bit of a pot boiler but if you can get them, you take them. There are more and more these days what with social media advertising.” He rubbed his finger and thumb together. “Pays very well for very little effort.”
Cyril looked across the desk at Frederick Grant and noted the armpit sweat marks that had appeared like two shadows of guilt on his shirt.
“Did she do it?”
“Sorry?”
“The voice over?”
“No. Tomorrow, sadly I’ve had to offer it to another client.”
“So she never mentioned her new project to you when she saw you?”
Grant shook his head. “I can’t believe that she’d go behind my back and work independently or with another agency, we’d known each other too long.”
“I’ll need a list of your media contacts, all of them, Mr Grant, your clients too and those you represent. I note that some are listed on your website but not all. We know that she’d been accepted to work on a new documentary but at this stage we don’t know by whom. One of my officers will call in this afternoon. I’m sure you’ll have all the relevant names and addresses ready.”
Cyril never let his face slip as he stood and motioned to leave. He stopped at the door before turning to face Grant. “Thank you for your full co-operation in this murder enquiry. Lovely cool office you have, too. I’ll see myself out.” He then afforded Grant a short smile.
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