If Frederick Grant had been unaware of the severity of the investigation and his part in it, then Cyril Bennett wanted to leave him in no doubt that he would be investigated fully.
As Cyril arrived at the top of the stairs, he glanced at the stained-glass eye. For some unknown reason he wondered if it were God’s left or right eye that was watching his every move as he approached the landing. Suppose it depends on whether he was left or right handed, he thought as he opened the door to leave. At the same time, Frederick Grant wiped his forehead before removing a mobile phone from the top drawer of his desk.
Chapter Seven
John Cooper sat in the waiting area of Harrogate Police Station. It was 16:35. His left foot bounced involuntarily as if catching the beat of some inaudible tune. Owen watched him on the security camera before going to meet him. Although it was a voluntary interview, he would be cautioned and it would still be recorded. Owen was at great pains to explain his rights to Cooper, emphasising the relevance of the interview and that he was free to go whenever he chose.
Computer equipment taken from the house had revealed nothing of relevance and the phone records of both Cooper and Valerie had shown no out of the ordinary variation. Owen had decided that his questioning would follow three strands at this point: their relationship, her professional career and his relationship with her brother, James. If anything further were to be revealed then he would pursue that also.
Leaving a trail of droplets on the floor, Owen collected two polystyrene cups of coffee and went into Interview Room Four. He left the door ajar.
“As I’ve said, Mr Cooper, you control this chat. We can stop at any time you feel distressed or too upset to continue; we are aware of the difficulties you face. We must, however, remember that we’re working together, we’re chasing your partner’s murderer and the more information we can get at this stage, the better chance we have of catching him or her.”
“Her?” John Cooper lifted his head up.
Owen just lifted his shoulders. “Not all murderers are men, Mr Cooper, not by a long way.”
“Mr Cooper, how long have you known Valerie?” Owen sipped his coffee trying to help the man who appeared a bundle of emotional nerves to relax.
“I met her through James, her brother. We were both working in the same school. I’d been there a year when he arrived. We got on well, same interests with teaching the same subject. It just grew from there. It’s been five years…” He stopped to think before forcing a smile. “Five years on December 19th. He brought her to a school production.”
“When did you start living together?”
“Pretty much straight away. She was pleased to get away from home. Still goes back, she runs away from conflict, the smallest row she just goes home for a couple of days and then returns as if nothing’s happened. Considering the intensity of her job and the way she’s so determined to extract the truth on camera, it has to be said that her professional life belies her true self. She’s very naïve, Sergeant.”
“What do you know about her latest independent project? We heard that she’s just had a new television commission accepted.”
“God! She was so thrilled. She’d had great success previously with a documentary and she thought she’d made the grade but things went quiet. Suffered a lot of social media animosity, too. She’d expected some backlash but when it came, boy did it come! It wouldn’t have been the programme it was if it hadn’t divided some elements of the viewing public. Many still crucified her though. Consequently, she suffered a severe bout of depression. Have you ever seen or known a sufferer?” He didn’t give Owen chance to answer. “Bloody dreadful, they close in on themselves and reject any kind of help. I told her to look at the positives in her life and to remember the praise she received, but that made matters even worse. I now know it was totally the wrong approach. It’s like watching someone drowning and although you can reach them, they reject your hand almost deliberately submerging themselves. It’s heart-breaking! She’d suffered before when her sister was killed but that was way back, before I knew her.”
He put his head down and sipped his coffee. Owen waited hoping the pause would make him expand.
“Do you know something that’s bloody strange? One minute she could be the life and soul and then the next minute she could be dragging herself from the deepest and darkest of places.”
“Was she on medication?”
“Venlafaxine, I think it is. There’ll be tablets in the kitchen cupboard but her GP will give you all the details. I think she was on Prozac too at some stage. For the last six to eight months she’s been very positive and with the acceptance of her latest project, she was truly bubbling with excitement.” He paused and drank the remnants of his coffee. “You asked about the project, didn’t you? Sorry! I’ve seen nothing other than the working title she had; she turned the laptop round one evening and showed me. She’d typed, ‘Modern Day Farming’. When she showed me she laughed as if it were some great conundrum or riddle. I think she said that I’d never guess what it was really about but that it would make everyone sit up.”
Owen pulled a face; he was rather taken aback by the title before writing it down and repeating it. “And you don’t know what it’s about? Had she been visiting local farms?”
Cooper shook his head. “She could be very secretive. Sometimes I wondered if she were making it all up, kind of a false hope but she was unfathomable when she was like that. Sadly, I don’t think she understood herself.”
“Do you still see her brother?”
“He moved away, Wigan, I think. We had a fall out over exam marking, stupid really and very mundane. He accused me of cheating, suggesting wrongly that I guided my students’ course work in order to gain higher pass percentages for them. He threatened to approach the School’s Governors. I don’t think he did, didn’t have the facts nor the bottle. Shortly afterwards, we both applied for the post of Second in Department and I was successful. He resigned from his position and moved away. Neither seen nor heard from him since!”
“Last question and thanks for your honesty.” Owen smiled. “Did either of you enjoy recreational drugs?”
John Cooper put his head down and laughed. “You want me to incriminate myself, Sergeant?” He paused and looked Owen straight in the eye. “Haven’t we all?”
Owen returned his eye contact and felt himself nodding.
“Yes, bit of grass, the odd tablet but for me very little. I tend to like to be in control of my faculties, besides drugs and education don’t make good bedfellows. I love my job and don’t want to lose it.”
“Valerie?”
“Same.”
“Thanks very much, Mr Cooper, you’ve been most helpful. Has Ruth Jones been looking after you?”
When Owen mentioned Ruth’s name, a pressure seemed to suddenly evaporate from the atmosphere in the room, bringing a smile to John Cooper’s lips.
“Thanks, yes. Helping me get things organised. She’s enabling me come to terms with the situation. She explained about the Coroner and when Val’s body might be released. She’s good at her job, Sergeant, bloody good and I’m grateful for her support, thanks.”
Owen simply nodded. “Murder cases take time but we all want the same outcome…we want justice for Valerie.”
John looked back at Owen. “I’d kill the bastard myself, that would be my kind of justice.”
Owen didn’t respond, he simply stood and escorted him out of the building.
It was remarkably quiet once outside. Owen stood at the top of the steps that looked down onto the small car park. The Mini Cooper’s rasp broke the stillness of the early evening before heading towards the station entrance. Owen took a deep breath and stretched; he felt tired. Through the trees that bordered the police building from the road, he could see a line of smudged, turquoise light that formed the eastern horizon. The subtle colour blended swiftly into the autumn evening’s dark until it completely vanished. He wondered why Valerie had kept all her loved ones in ig
norance of her latest project. Was she frightened of the content or was she simply protecting them from her own disappointment, the truth being that there was no actual documentary and no offer? Maybe the project was purely a figment of her disturbed imagination. He wondered if the truth would ever really be discovered or whether it would simply vanish like the subtle, evening light.
“Beer?”
Owen turned. It was Liz.
“Deep in thought then big fella. If you want a beer it’s your round.”
“I’ll be five minutes.”
Chapter Eight
Cyril sat in Dr Julie Pritchett’s office for only a few minutes before the mystical objects trapped in jars or displayed loosely on the shelves attracted him like a child to a sweet shop window. Ever since he had first met her in this very room, he had been fascinated by the motley collection and, on occasion had been repulsed by the various anatomical specimens she had amassed. He noted that at the far end of the bottom shelf was an item that he had not seen before. He bent down looking at the white ribbon-like object trapped within a tall, transparent jar. He did not hear her enter.
“Taenia Solium, Cyril. You really don’t want one!”
Cyril turned and smiled. “Tapeworm, if I’m not mistaken?”
“Correct, Sherlock, but which one?”
“Don’t know but what I do know is that your shelves still need a good dusting.”
“From pork. They can live inside their host for thirty years and grow to lengths of twenty-six feet. Need a lot of feeding!” She smiled and sat down. “Dust- free offices and tidy desks… Listen to your doctor…they are both the sign of a sick mind.”
Cyril just pulled a face; he could not tolerate either.
“I bet your mother used to clean the house at midnight before you went on holiday, too, just in case the bus crashed and some strangers would have to go in! I can hear them now… Ee, Mrs Bennett were proper house proud, not a speck o’ dust! Such a shame! Do ya think anyone ‘ll notice if I nicked that vase?”
Cyril just pulled another face and blushed a little at the truth. “No complaints, Julie, no complaints.”
She realised she had trodden on ground that was a little too personal and moved on quickly.
“Now, Cyril, the reason for your visit. The toxicology results for Valerie Atkins are here. Isaac Caner has asked me to talk you through them. He also wants to see you about some further findings.” She turned the computer screen round. “Make interesting reading too! There’s a fair old list: Valium, marijuana, mephedrone, as well as her prescription drug, Venlafaxine. She’d suffered from depression since the death of her sister and according to her GP, she’s had a bit of an emotional roller coaster these last couple of years. The prescribed dosage has fluctuated over time depending on her need. She was drug dependent looking at the tests on brain and liver samples. It’s frightening how quickly physical dependency can result when Diazepam is abused.”
“If she was already being treated for depression with medication why take Diazepam?”
“Gives a feeling of euphoria, like feeling a little drunk. It helps you to forget for a while. Trouble is, when the withdrawal kicks in, you suffer further anxiety, irritation, which leads to greater depression. That leads to further drug abuse, that’s why we find mephedrone and the like. Vicious circle, Cyril, but when she’s hooked, she’s hooked. We also found traces of Ketamin. It’s an anaesthetic, taken to help you forget, but at the same time it can render the taker extremely vulnerable and out of control. It’s said that it pushes away your problems for a while. You’ll know it as the date rape drug and from my medical perspective it’s incongruous, why would she take something like that? She wouldn’t! In my opinion it’s been carefully administered to her.”
“Amnesia?”
Julie nodded. “Exactly, debilitating. So for someone who liked to be in control, it would be anathema to her in my opinion.”
“We know she’d arranged to meet someone so what you’re saying contradicts that. She could have allowed herself to be totally manipulated. When she was dropped off, she might have had no recollection of what had happened to her or where she’d been and possibly with whom. We know for a fact that an eye-witness noted that she was a little unsteady as she came down the road shortly before she was murdered.”
“Possible. The previous occasions she had found her way home or was taken home but on this occasion that wasn’t the case, other plans may have been made. This was possibly the only time the drug was given; there was a change in the rules or she’d broken them.”
“What about the videos?”
“I’ve seen them, all four, and she appears to be in charge of all her faculties during the filming. I assume that they were consensual, she was clearly a willing participant. However, you can’t discard a more sinister element on this occasion, one that she had no control over whatsoever.”
“Evidence of sexual abuse?”
“Some vaginal scarring but nothing to suggest anything too bizarre, possible rough, over-enthusiastic intercourse. No evidence of anal damage, which quite surprised me. She’d had sex the night she died. Testing at the moment.”
Cyril rubbed his chin. “None of the drugs taken was directly responsible for her death we have to remember. She was murdered and murdered very brutally.”
“I’m only furnishing you with the evidence. I’ll leave the pipe, magnifying glass and bloodhound-on-a-string sleuthing to you and your able team.” She stood. “Other bodies demand my attention.”
She came round the desk, smiled and gave him a peck on the cheek. “Ring me and I don’t mean next week, Cyril… And Cyril… Bring your duster next time.” She blew him a kiss and went to leave.“And don’t forget, Caner wants to see you!”
Cyril stood and followed her to the door. He ran his finger along the nearest shelf leaving a clean line, before she turned right and he left. The walls of the corridor were glass panelled and although certain rooms were closed from scrutiny with venetian blinds, others remained fascinatingly open. He glanced at the white, lab-coated figures huddled together. He then noticed Caner. He paused. Caner spied Cyril in the corridor and waved a hand holding up two fingers.
Another inappropriate greeting, Cyril reflected and smiled.
Caner appeared at the door, a light blue, bouffant cap covering his hair. He held up his gloved hands. “Thanks for stopping by, Cyril. Two things. Julie talked you through the Toxicology, yes?”
Cyril nodded.
“Good. Your killer is left handed, no doubt. We tracked the trajectory of the steel by analysing the way the tape covering her eyes responded to the force of the initial insertion. Left handed.” Caner smiled. “If you’ll excuse me, just doing more tests. Will forward as soon as.” He returned to the group.
***
Owen stood in the Incident Room and stared at the timeline Shakti had drawn. He sipped tea from his new mug. There were four brown tide-lines from the lip to the surface of the tea, clearly dating the last time the mug had been washed. He read the notes from the interviews Liz had held with Sheila Walsh and Karen Johnson, occasionally referencing the times against the markers on the wall. They reported that Valerie had simply been Valerie over the weekend, fun loving, jovial and as usual, slightly ‘pissed’. She had displayed no real anxiety throughout the whole of their time together. He noted that both friends had made references to her successes but nothing had been said of her failures. Neither had volunteered that she had suffered from depression nor that she had any medical issues. He turned to Shakti.
“What of the other two?”
“It’s worth noting that they were all, apart from Nancy, partakers in recreational drugs, Marijuana mainly but the occasional cocaine. University habit only. They emphasised that they are occasional users, touch nothing for weeks. It was clear that Valerie had supplied them this weekend but it was with very little…allegedly.”
As she spoke, Shakti turned to her computer and her fingers danced across the keyboard.
/> “Nancy Anders… lives in York. She was the last to see Valerie. They had all stayed at The Croft Hotel. Two checked out Sunday but Anders and Gough were checking out on the Monday morning so the three went back to their rooms after the meal. Valerie stayed until just before midnight. They said she’d organised a taxi. Nancy reported seeing her get into a car and then they both went to bed. She was, they say, slightly, and I quote, pissed.”
“None of them thought that she was acting any differently from previous weekend dos?’
“Their weekend soirées?”
Owen pulled a face and raised an eyebrow, making a mental note of the word. He’d look it up later.
“No. Anders and Gough checked out together at…” She checked for the time. “08:15, neither took breakfast. Nancy dropped Gail Gough in Knaresborough on her way.”
“CCTV?”
“From the hotel Reception. No sign of Valerie leaving but we see them arrive and the check out times all correspond.”
“Any other camera footage?”
“Sorry!”
“Are you checking their social media accounts?”
“In hand but I’ve only two of these and you’re occupying them!” She lifted her hands and waggled her fingers. She then smiled. “Passed it to the Techy people.”
Owen grinned, sipped more tea and moved to the boards.
***
Cyril typed the name Simon Dee into Google and read the Wikipedia entry. He was initially shocked that they shared the same Christian name, Cyril; Simon Dee being his stage name. He was also surprised to learn that he too had been aradio and television interviewer for a time and on more than one occasion had fallen out with his employers before eventually spending time in prison. It was after reading about the blonde model and the E-Type Jaguar that he vaguely remembered the programme. Grant had obviously seen the similarities in both Dee’s and Valerie’s career paths but why had he not stepped in with more support? Why had he no recollection of her planning a new project when he knew that she was fragile? Surely part of his role would be to safeguard her professional welfare. He then thought of the video Liz had presented and her words came back to him… none of the men has been identified, they were each different in every video. Could one of them have been Grant?
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