‘Surprise attack. Quick, passionless, violent and opportunistic.’ It was Emma Hide who spoke first.
‘I agree. Motive for murder?’
‘Someone ordered them to do it,’ Emma replied.
‘Precisely. Whoever did this didn’t do it for themselves, they did it for someone else. I’m talking to the husband as soon as he’s identified the body. Liaison officers will stay with the family as long as necessary. Mr Watson’s mother is on her way from Manchester to stay with them. We start there. Now, on to the photography and evidence lists. Very little, I’m afraid. Again, the speed of the attack makes our job that much harder. The coroner said they might have got away without any blood on them too, amazingly. Her wounds spurted in front of her and away to the side of the road. They were very likely behind her: this would explain the headphones being knocked off.’
She brought up the crime-scene photo of Ella lying on her side, her headphones a foot away in a pool of undisturbed blood. It was a singularly tragic scene. Ella Watson was about the same age as DS Umshaw, who also had teenage children.
‘You can see from the photo that she’s still wearing her watch and expensive rings, and her iPhone X is still in the running wallet. No robbery.’ Nobody spoke. ‘Mr Watson has been informed that they’ll have to vacate the family home while we undertake a thorough forensic search. If I can, I’ll organise it for first thing tomorrow. The warrant has already been requested. Kate, I want you to coordinate the land searches and door-to-door witness statements. Will, you and I will continue to dig around into violent crime and policing on the Beacon Estate. Rob, can you work on an interactive map of the estate and Potton Park. And Emma, can you coordinate the physical evidence and liaise with the labs; also collate all the information from the two house searches this morning – they should have both been completed. I think that’s all for now.’
Her team dissipated and Kelly went to her office and logged on to her computer to finish the report. A police underwater search team from Lancaster had replied to her email and said they could schedule a search of the pond first thing tomorrow. She replied telling them the rendezvous point. They could be there at 10 a.m.
She also had an email from Superintendent Neil Ormond at HQ. A quick glance at it left her speechless. Neil Ormond had been on the force for the whole of Kelly’s life. He was a giant man with keen eyes who sucked up the air in a room. He wasn’t known for his by-the-book approach but more for his opinionated damnation of do-gooders. She reread the email and stared at the screen.
Neil Ormond and Thomas Watson were golfing buddies.
Several problems swirled around her head. One was the huge conflict of interest. A plus side was that it might mean sudden miraculous funding for policing the Beacon Estate.
But what really bothered her was the super’s language. He referred to Ella Watson as a ‘respectable, law-abiding woman’ and Kelly couldn’t help thinking that if the victim had been a lowlife from the estate, he would have considered that she’d deserved her fate. It reminded her of the Yorkshire Ripper case, when the victims weren’t taken so seriously due to their immoral activities as supposed prostitutes. Peter Sutcliffe got away with his crimes for years longer than he should have.
HOLMES, the pithy and conveniently memorable acronym for the Home Office Large Major Enquiry System, came into use as a direct result of that case, which had generated so many leads that it was estimated it would have taken decades to plough through them had Sutcliffe not been finally picked up on a minor traffic offence and confessed. It was a period in the force that had changed everything. The fact that Kelly was standing here today, leading a serious crime unit rather than making the tea, was down to that case.
Ormond told her that he was going to come down hard on those responsible for Ella Watson’s murder, but Kelly didn’t think for a second that he should be anywhere near the investigation. He made it clear that he wanted the case to be high profile. Honourable middle-class white lady gets whacked, and HQ want an abrupt end to knife crime. It would look good on all sides. The whole tone of the email sat uncomfortably with her, and she decided to confront him face to face.
Chapter 6
Kelly drove to the constabulary headquarters on the perimeter of Penrith. If Superintendent Ormond was putting his head above the parapet and admitting this was a personal matter, then for one, he shouldn’t have direct executive power over the case; and two, he could give her an interview about his friends the Watsons.
She’d been many times before to the dated stone and glass building languishing peacefully behind trees, away from the harsh day-to-day working of case files. She appreciated that this was where the brains were. The top brass, who’d spent their lives on the force, shaping policy, doing their best, diving for cover from the yo-yo dizziness of consecutive governments barking their U-turns. It wasn’t for her. She had an inkling that the Ella Watson case was about to turn into a circus, and she needed advice.
She parked her car and signed in at the reception desk. She was given a new pass to wear as well as her Eden House one and shown through a labyrinth of offices. Finally she was left at a door and informed that she was to knock and go in: Superintendent Ormond was expecting her. She did so, and his voice boomed from within.
Neil Ormond was an old-fashioned copper: as big as a house, steely-eyed, and welcoming as a teddy bear. He beamed at her, but also looked at his watch: it was gone 7 p.m.
‘DI Porter, you’ve been making quite a name for yourself.’
‘In a good way, I hope, sir.’
‘Indeed, very.’
‘Thank you, sir. Just doing my job.’
‘Of course you are, and damn fine at it you are. Well done. Promotion on the cards, I’m sure.’
‘I’d rather stay operational, sir.’
‘I bet you would. Bloody good at it. You’ve got the nose, Porter. What can I do for you? Is this about Ella Watson?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Sit down. Coffee?’
‘Yes, thank you, sir.’
He buzzed a junior, no doubt sitting close by to keep his cup topped up all day. She’d bet her life it was a woman: some habits never fully died out. Sure enough, a woman in uniform scuttled in with a tray and placed it between them on the desk. Ormond didn’t acknowledge it, and she left.
‘Sir, I appreciated the candour in your email, and I’d like to go over a few things if I may?’
‘Fire away. I want this bastard caught.’
‘Possibly bastards plural, sir.’
‘What?’
‘Coroner is convinced there were two attackers. I’ll confirm after the autopsy.’
Ormond looked a little confused and Kelly waited for him to gather his thoughts again. She went straight on to the reason she’d come.
‘I’d like to find out how well you know the Watson family, sir. It could help our inquiry. Thomas Watson is, understandably, with his children at the moment and we haven’t had a chance yet to interview him fully.’
‘I understand. I met Tom when he moved to the area three years ago. Decent chap, friendly, genuine, and a golfer. That’s where we met. I met Ella and the children when we invited them to ours for lunch one weekend. Lovely family, not a jot of badness between them. Kids doing well at school – they go to St Catherine’s, I believe – and thoroughly hard-working, respectable people.’
That word again.
‘It’s appalling what’s happened.’
‘I know, sir. I’m sorry about your personal involvement. I presume, with respect, you’ll be passing on this one? I’ll keep it in-house and report to DCI Cane as always.’
‘Not at all, I want to be informed every step of the way. You report direct to me, do you understand?’
Kelly’s stomach felt heavy. ‘Yes, sir.’ Her hands were tied. She wasn’t about to disagree with a superintendent and go behind his back. She’d have to put up with him breathing down her neck from now on until she cracked the case. However, the unorthodox nature of
what he’d just asked her to do unsettled her. He was breaking protocol. No one was supposed to go unilateral on a case this huge, and there was a massive conflict of interest here. It was impossible for Ormond to be impartial.
‘So, we’re going with the gang lead, then? Residents of the Beacon Estate – high on drugs probably – attack an innocent woman who appears wealthy and get away with… what? A phone? A ten-pound note?’
Again, Kelly was perplexed by his frankly unprofessional approach to this case; he’d been off the street for too long.
‘Sir, there are many theories and I doubt a gang hit is the one. It wasn’t a robbery. Nothing was taken from Ella’s body, and she was wearing expensive jewellery and had a top-of-the-range iPhone.’
Ormond looked shocked – no, irritated. He’d had it all sorted in his head, thought Kelly, which was exactly why she didn’t want him on this case: he was making assumptions before the evidence was even in; it was the worst kind of police work. She had a horrible feeling that this could be the trickiest case she’d faced so far since moving back to Cumbria from the Met.
‘We also haven’t discounted the husband yet, sir. That’s always the first port of call on the death of a spouse.’
‘But that’s ridiculous! Tom wouldn’t…’ He realised his mistake and trailed off. ‘Of course, you’re right. You have to carry out a full inquiry to rule him out. Let me know when you do, will you?’
‘Yes, sir. Would you like me to keep you in the loop by email?’
‘No, call me. Day or night. This is my mobile number.’ He scribbled on a piece of paper and gave it to her. Her heart sank further. She finished her coffee.
‘Did Ella Watson strike you as a happy person, sir?’
Ormond thought about his answer. He appeared guarded.
‘I don’t know what you mean, Porter. Happy how?’
‘Did she come across as the woman who had it all, like I’m being told?’
‘Now you mention it, she wasn’t as relaxed as you would expect. There always seemed to be something on her mind, other than what was going on in the here and now, if you know what I mean.’
‘I think I do. Did Tom ever share what she got up to during the day?’
‘Men don’t bother with that sort of niff-naff, Porter. I have no idea. She was a housewife, isn’t that a job?’
‘Of course, sir, but I’m trying to build up a picture of her character. Did she seem depressed?’
‘Like I said, she sometimes came across as deep in thought. A bit serious, I suppose.’
‘What about Tom, sir? What type of man is he?’
‘Very accomplished. Enjoying his early retirement. His handicap is fifteen!’ He looked away and coughed.
Kelly kept her face straight, deciding that Superintendent Ormond wasn’t quite the legend she’d been led to believe.
‘Sir, I wonder if you could assist me in gaining access to the criminal informant data regarding the Beacon Estate. One of my officers mentioned that policing there has declined sharply but that they do rely on informants.’
‘It’s your department, Porter, you should know.’
‘Yes, sir, I understand that. However, I’ve only been in post for three years and have had very little to do with the Beacon Estate, perhaps for that very reason: because not much crime is investigated there after it’s reported. Either charges are dropped or evidence is lacking. It’s curious.’
‘Oh, I don’t know about that, I think it’s normal for such a den of iniquity. Come on, Porter, you worked in London!’
She didn’t know what to say. It was as if he was telling her that giving up on certain sections of society was normal, required even. It was not just old-fashioned, but dangerous.
‘You could always speak to the patrols on the ground. They’ll know any informers, I wager.’
‘But aren’t all informants supposed to be logged and regulated now, sir?’
His face went slightly pink. She’d come across as the girl from the city lording it over the sticks, and she could have kicked herself. She still had a lot to learn. He leaned across his desk and stared at her.
‘Call me when this thing is done and dusted and I can announce it to the press. Definitely looks gang-related to me, though, Porter.’
She left the room and took a deep breath.
This wasn’t going to be easy.
Chapter 7
Thomas Watson was a broken man.
After he’d spent some time with his children, he made the short journey with a liaison officer to the Penrith and Lakes Hospital, to identify the body of his wife. The woman who’d given birth to his kids, raised them to be the outstanding young people they were today; the woman who’d made him laugh and made him cry lay under a sheet on a cold metal table, lifeless and empty of breath.
He stumbled and almost fell, and the officer took his arm.
‘You all right, sir? Would you like to sit down?’ There were plastic chairs along the wall.
Thomas shook his head. It had been a hell of a day. The worst day of his life. Telling Jordan and Millie that they were never going to see their mother again. Ever.
They’d wanted to come to the hospital. He’d said no. Now he was regretting it. Selfishly, he wanted them here by his side, supporting him, because he didn’t think he could go through with it on his own. He felt sick and leant against the wall.
‘Would you like some water, sir?’
‘No.’ They carried on. A woman in a white coat waited for them, but he didn’t look at her. He didn’t want to see another sympathetic smile. He had no more tolerance for pity left inside him. His wife was dead. He was living a nightmare.
He was led into a room and he noticed that it was cold. The woman spoke gently and explained to him that in the next room was a glass screen, and beyond that a table on which lay the deceased, covered with a sheet. She would go behind the screen and lift the sheet, and he was to confirm or deny identity. For one crazy moment he realised that it might not be Ella in there: they could have made a tragic, ridiculous mistake. But then reality hit him like a steamroller and he rubbed his eyes. His heart pounded in his chest and his head felt odd. His vision blurred and his hands were sweaty and hot.
‘Thomas?’
He looked at her. She was so young.
‘It has been explained to you that you can’t touch her?’
He nodded.
He’d been told that he couldn’t hold his wife until after the autopsy. She was to be sliced up like some laboratory animal and he couldn’t comfort her.
They went in. He swallowed hard and tried to keep the pain from exploding out of him. Another uniform was in the room, and Thomas realised that he was there as a heavy, to make sure he didn’t go crazy and barge behind the screen to hold and kiss his dead wife. His stomach hit his knees as he turned and saw the table beyond the glass screen. The woman went behind the screen and looked at him. His hands were clammy and his throat constricted.
She turned back the sheet, just to Ella’s neck. Thomas’s legs collapsed and he fell to the floor, hitting it hard. He could hear himself babbling on about being sorry. A man’s voice spoke and a hand helped him up.
‘Thomas?’
‘It’s her. It’s Ella.’ The sobs came.
The sheet was replaced and the woman came back out of the room and indicated that it was time to leave. It was over. Thomas’s whole body cried out to hold her, yearning for her to caress him, to take his hand and hug him in return. He could smell her perfume, bought last Christmas, still clinging to her dead skin. If only he could make love to her one last time and tell her how much he adored her. His face was soaking wet and snot dribbled down his chin.
The woman blocked his view and he turned towards the door. A cacophony of bangs and clangs bombarded his head. He couldn’t remember getting the lift upstairs but found himself in an office. Somebody brought him coffee, and tissues.
A different woman sat opposite him – he’d lost count of everyone who’d dealt
with him this afternoon – and he realised that now it was time for the questions. No doubt questions about his marriage. He knew the game: the police had to rule him out as a suspect. It was their job. He had to prove that he hadn’t hired some thug to take Ella out. He looked at the woman intently. Her eyes were green and her hair was auburn. Her skin was clean and fresh like Ella’s had been in life. The male uniformed officer who’d taken him downstairs stood behind her.
‘Hello, Thomas – may I call you Thomas? I’m Detective Inspector Kelly Porter. Take your time.’
He took a sip of coffee and blew his nose. He must look like crap. He felt like crap. He took a deep breath.
‘I’m ready,’ he said. ‘And you may call me Thomas.’
‘Thank you. You understand that this is procedure.’ He nodded. ‘I’m very sorry for your loss. Mrs Watson – Ella – was a keen jogger, I believe?’
Was.
It crushed him. He nodded.
‘Did she often run in Potton Park?’
He shook his head. ‘The only reason she was there was because she was going shopping, doing errands, I don’t know what. No, wait. Jordan said he’d broken his phone.’
‘Your son, Jordan?’
Thomas nodded. ‘Yes, she was going to the Apple Store.’
‘Did you know that she was intending to run afterwards?’
‘She did mention it, yes, but I had no idea where.’
‘Did she know anybody in the area? Could she have arranged a meeting?’
‘Potton Park? No. Her friends – our friends – all live outside town.’
‘So she hadn’t made arrangements to meet anyone in the park?’
‘No, that’s ridiculous, why would she do that?’ He looked at the woman and realised that she was digging to see if Ella had been having an affair. He also realised that he had no idea if she had been. He couldn’t prove or disprove the theory. DI Kelly Porter must have seen his confusion. She tried a different approach.
Little Doubt Page 4