* * *
The incident room was looking lacklustre despite the best efforts of the local officers to smarten it up with some posters. Since the decision had been made to close the police station and move to cheaper accommodation, no money had been forthcoming for sprucing up the doomed Victorian building and it showed.
Sophie opened the briefing. ‘Please chip in as appropriate. We’re still short of a great deal of useful information at the moment, so perceptive comments and questions will earn lots of brownie points. Can we start with you, Barry?’
‘We now know more about Brian Shapiro. He was a uniformed cop in Hampshire, working for a while in Southampton’s east end before transferring to Portsmouth. There he was suspended and charged with abusing his position by having sex with vulnerable women he met while working. The women who made the complaints refused to testify so the cases never came to court. He was sacked. This was about four years ago. A photo of him came through earlier this morning and I’ve copied it for you. I also took it to the Hawthorns and had Mrs Fantini check it. She’s pretty sure it was the man who booked in on Friday evening with the same name, Shapiro. I’ve got the booking details but the address he gave is false. The only way we can trace him is through his credit card and bank, but I haven’t got that far yet.’
‘Can’t we get an address from his time on the force?’ asked Jen Allbright. She had been moved from her normal duties to help with the investigation. Her local knowledge from the time she spent on the beat was second to none. She had excellent observational skills.
‘Trouble is, since he left the Portsmouth unit he’s been seen on the fringes of the criminal community. According to my source he’s moved from his previous address. He and the others have been so careful to cover their tracks the chances are that the address the bank’s got might not be up to date. But we’ll see.’ Marsh settled back into his chair.
‘Jimmy?’ Sophie prompted.
‘Still nothing about a Derek that matches our description on any records. It would be so much easier if we had a surname to work with. But I have found a bit more about Sarah Sheldon. It confirms what you found out on Saturday, ma’am. She worked as a false-claims investigator for one of the big insurance companies. Well, not out in the field. She was doing the clerical side of things, computer checks and the like. She’s only worked there for the past year or so. The offices are in the city centre.’
‘Go and speak to them. Find out from her boss and her colleagues what they thought of her. Have a look through her desk, and if she has a work laptop bring it in. Get a copy of any of her personal files held on the company system, particularly emails. Check if they can get a record of her browsing history, or anything else useful. You may need to see someone from their IT team about that. As soon as we’ve finished this briefing, okay?’
‘On my own?’
‘Yes, on your own. You’re a big boy now, Jimmy. I’m sure you’ll do it right. Just don’t rush it. Once you’re there, take it slowly, carefully and thoroughly and identify anything that might help us build up a picture of her through her work.’ She paused. ‘Rae may have found a prior incident at a jazz festival in Bath a couple of years ago. Any more details, Rae?’
‘Yes. It’s still on record as an open investigation by the local police team. No one’s ever been apprehended for the attack, if it can be called an attack. The details seem to be that a forty-five year old woman, who may have had a bit too much to drink, was invited back to a small party in a hotel room. She thought she was with one man who’d been chatting her up, but once there she was given more drink then pressured into group sex with several men. She reported it the next day and claimed it was against her will. The local force never got anywhere because the men had gone by the time they got to the hotel and the address given for the booking was false. They’d paid the bill in cash so there were no bank details to check up on. Her descriptions of the men were a bit hazy, so they didn’t have much to go on. And the results of a medical examination carried out late the next morning weren’t clear. There was no evidence of violence being used. She admitted she had expected to have sex with the man she’d paired up with, but not with others.’
‘How many?’ asked Sophie, tucking some stray strands of short, fair hair behind her ear.
‘She wasn’t sure. Either two or three in total, she thought. But her memory was hazy.’
Sophie thought for a few moments. ‘I’ve decided that we need to follow up on it. It seems uncannily similar to the picture we’re building up of Saturday night. The one big difference, of course, is that no one was killed. Rae, I want you to build up a list of all the jazz or blues festivals in the South West or central South. Get dates for them, stretching back, say, four years. Then get onto the local police in each case and see if there were any similar incidents reported during the festivals. Also contact the festival organisers in each case and see if they heard any rumours of incidents of this kind. Could you help where you can, Jen?’
The uniformed officer looked pleased. ‘Of course, ma’am.’
Marsh spoke. ‘Should one of us visit Bath and speak to the victim there? And the police who interviewed her?’
‘Yes, of course. I’ll do that, Barry.’
Sophie studied her notes, not looking him in the eye. Marsh nodded slightly.
‘The formal results of the post-mortem on Sarah are in and they back up what Benny Goodall told me. She’d been sexually active, probably with two or three men, and had enough booze in her system to have clouded her judgement. The blow to her head would have rendered her unconscious and she died from drowning in tap water. There are sets of faint finger-sized bruise marks on both sides of her neck, consistent with her head being held tightly from behind. I’d guess that was while she was being held under water. By the way, I’ve asked the forensic crew to check all the waste pipes in the hotel room, just in case some fluids are still trapped in them. It then looks as though her body was smuggled out of the hotel through the door to the garden. They must have had a car there. Our two suspects claimed they didn’t have one when they checked in to the Hawthorns. However, we think they parked one in the Victoria Avenue car park instead of taking it to the guest house, though it was gone the next morning. We’ve a possible sighting of the vehicle on Friday evening in that car park, and the witness reports a couple of men getting out and taking some luggage from the boot. Apparently it might have been a small, red car. I’ve asked Tom here to put some uniformed officers onto a house-to-house to see if any of the local residents noticed a car coming out of the Ballard View Hotel’s parking area in the early hours. Then the same for the lane out to Peveril. We might be in luck and find someone who spotted a suspicious vehicle, but don’t be too hopeful. It was fairly misty and drizzly after midnight on Friday night, so visibility was poor. So let me sum up. Jimmy’s following up on Sarah Sheldon and her work. Rae can finish off her probe into previous music festivals. Barry, you and Jen are going to concentrate on the men, starting with Shapiro. I’m off to Bath to see if I can track down the woman Rae mentioned. Have I forgotten anything?’
Marsh spoke. ‘We ought to make copies of that photofit of John Renton that Jimmy made up with the staff at the hotel, then check it around the pubs. You know, Brodie the gay guy, and the roadie with the band. They seemed observant. And maybe with the bar staff at the Red Lion?’
‘I can organise that, Barry,’ said Tom Rose, the station’s senior officer. ‘I expect this will be the last big case I’m ever involved with before I leave. I’ll get Jack Holly onto it and, if necessary, I’ll help him out myself.’
‘I’m sure he’ll thank you for that,’ Sophie said. Jen Allbright was Holly’s usual partner, and knew his idiosyncrasies well. The rather staid constable would not welcome having the town’s chief of police accompanying him on his investigations. ‘And our Mr Brodie is going to really enjoy being questioned by someone as straight-laced as you, Tom. Or even Jack. Be prepared, that’s all I can say. He’s a very entertaining guy
.’ Sophie smiled. She tidied her notes together and stood up. ‘Let’s try to meet up at six this evening. Happy hunting, everyone.’
* * *
The drive to Bath took longer than Sophie had anticipated. The road runs almost due north from Wareham, twisting and turning through rolling agricultural land. The driver who is unlucky enough to find herself behind a slow-moving vehicle can do little but sit tight and curse. Sophie did plenty of cursing. Tractors were replaced by lorries, followed by late-season caravans. She calmed herself by listening to some Bach on the car’s stereo.
She’d phoned before setting out and an officer was waiting for her. It took less than an hour to gather all the information she needed. Then she asked her contact to point her in the direction of the fraud investigation offices. Lydia Pillay looked up from her desk at the sound of approaching footsteps. Sophie saw the worried frown that settled on the young DC’s dark face.
‘Hello, Lydia,’ Sophie said. ‘I was hoping you’d be here. How are you?’
‘I’m fine, ma’am.’ She put down her pen and gave Sophie a guarded smile. ‘I half-expected you’d appear one day. I suppose you want an explanation?’
‘No, not really. Barry told me his theory about why you left. I do feel partly to blame, being away at the Home Office for so much of the summer. But you must have realised I wasn’t well even when I was around, since I was always heading off for therapy sessions.’
‘So you’re disappointed in me? For taking the chance and jumping ship while you weren’t there and fully fit?’
‘I suppose I am, yes. It puzzled me. I wouldn’t have stood in your way, Lydia. I’ve always thought too highly of you to stoop to any underhand tricks to keep you. Like so many other things that were happening to me at the time, your leaving left me bemused.’
‘Maybe it wasn’t entirely what Barry thinks. I’ve always loved Bath ever since I was a student here. And I’d already met my new boss on a course I went on. When he contacted me with news of the job, I just jumped at the chance.’
‘But it was partly due to what Barry had guessed? That you thought it was me who assaulted Duff?’
‘It’s not as simple as that. I know you didn’t actually do it. Barry convinced me of that.’ She paused, as if picking her words carefully. ‘But I know you were involved somehow. I still think that. Do you deny it?’
Sophie said nothing.
‘You see?’ Lydia continued. ‘It’s what I always knew. But Barry’s right. There’s no proof whatsoever, so no chance of any investigation. And anyway, would I want you convicted? For goodness’ sake, I can understand why you would have wanted him to suffer. That evil man killed your father, and murdered all those other people. And even though I wasn’t there when you dug up those girls’ bodies, I could see the effect it had on everyone. Duff deserved it all. But it altered the way I felt about you. I felt claustrophobic, as if I couldn’t breathe. So when the chance came, I jumped. Can you blame me?’
Sophie sighed. ‘No, of course not. I don’t hold grudges, Lydia. Or at least I try not to. God knows, I was in such a mess anyway that I couldn’t have coped with any more, so I just forced myself to accept it. At least I’m a bit more balanced now, or I hope I am. I just wanted to let you know that you can always depend on me if you need my help or advice, or if you need a reference. I’ll always do the best I can for you.’
‘I’m grateful. I guessed that would be the case. And I know you always had faith in me.’ Lydia pulled a tissue from her bag and dabbed at her eyes.
‘Can I give you a hug?’ Sophie asked.
Lydia nodded and stood up. Sophie put her arms around the young detective and pulled her close. Lydia didn’t see the tiny tears shining in the corners of her eyes.
* * *
Sophie rang the doorbell of a smart, terraced house on the north side of the city centre, and stood back. There were flower boxes painted red on the front windowsills with geraniums still in bloom. A smartly dressed woman in her late fifties answered the door. She looked guardedly at her caller.
‘Brenda Plant?’
The woman nodded. Sophie held out her warrant card. ‘I’m Detective Chief Inspector Sophie Allen from Dorset police. I believe you might have some information that could be of use to me in a current investigation.’
Brenda looked at Sophie carefully.
‘You’d better come inside,’ she said in a slightly raspy voice. ‘You’re lucky to catch me in. I usually work on Tuesdays, but I swapped days this week to allow a colleague a day off.’ Sophie followed the woman through a rather dim hallway into a large kitchen, well-lit from a south-facing window.
‘I hope you don’t mind coming into the kitchen. I’m in the middle of some baking.’
‘Not at all. I’m impressed. Maybe I’ll pick up a few tips. I’m probably one of the world’s worst bakers. My teenage daughter is really into it though. Even my husband has given it a go on occasions, with surprising success. Well, maybe not so surprising since he’s always been a better cook than me. He takes his time, whereas I get impatient and try to cut corners whatever I’m cooking. It’s a question of temperament, I guess.’
Brenda spooned a fruit cake mixture into a large cake tin, smoothed its surface and slid it into the oven. She wiped her hands and sat on a tall stool facing Sophie across the table.
‘What can I help you with?’
‘It’s a tricky one, Mrs Plant. I don’t want to cause you any distress, but I’d like to get some details about the assault you suffered during the jazz festival two years ago.’
‘Surely the local police can tell you everything you need to know?’
‘They can give me factual details, yes. But there’s nothing like a face-to-face talk to help get a feel for the events. Can I tell you why I need this information?’
‘I saw on the news there was a possible murder at a blues festival in Swanage at the weekend. Is that it?’
Sophie nodded. ‘The circumstances sound very similar to your own experience. If there is a link, it will help me, but it might also help your local police make headway with their investigation into your own assault. They told me it has stalled because of a lack of evidence. I have some photofit images with me if you’d like to see them. I saw the ones you helped to create two years ago, and they might be the same men.’
Brenda sighed. ‘I guessed when you first spoke at the door. Okay, I’ll do it, but it won’t be easy. I’ve been trying to forget about it for the past year.’
‘I know that the worst part is often the long-term psychological damage, Brenda. I’ve been through trauma therapy myself recently, and I know how hard it can be. But unless we do this they might escape again, if it is the same men. And this time it’s murder.’ Sophie slid the two photofit prints of Derek and Brian across the table but held back on the one for John Renton. Brenda looked at them and nodded her head. ‘Yes,’ she said quietly. ‘I think it’s them.’
Are you sure?’
‘Yes.’ She shuddered. ‘Take them away, please.’
‘You don’t recognise this one?’ Sophie showed her Renton’s image.
‘No. He might have been there for all I know, but he wasn’t one of the men who had sex with me.’
‘How many were there, Brenda?’
‘Two men and a woman, I think.’ Tears welled up in her eyes. ‘I shouldn’t have drunk so much. I couldn’t deal with it. And it wasn’t rape like you read in the papers. They weren’t violent and I didn’t have any physical injuries. But I didn’t want it, and I couldn’t stop it once it started.’
‘It wasn’t your fault. You must believe that. Just because you were drunk doesn’t give them the right to force themselves on you. They’re the criminals, not you.’ She paused. ‘Can you tell me how it started?’
Brenda walked to the sink and poured herself a glass of water.
‘There was the jazz festival proper, with tickets or armbands and things. But at the same time some pubs had jazz groups playing for free. I was in a pub, al
ong with a couple of friends. They were married, whereas I was recently divorced, so when they decided to go home I stayed on.’ She pointed at Shapiro’s image. ‘This man was with a small group at the bar, but he left them and came over to sit beside me. He started chatting and we got on really well, or so I thought. Maybe it was just the drink made me think that. Much later on, when the gig finished and the pub was emptying, I saw that his friends had gone, and we were alone. He suggested going back to his hotel room and I agreed. I’d never had a one-night stand before. I thought I’d been missing out somehow. And he was a pleasant enough bloke. Or so I thought. I didn’t realise how much drink I’d had until we got outside. I could walk, but I was really unsteady I guess. It’s all a bit hazy. His hotel was nearby. I can remember standing in the porch for a bit while he went in. I guess he was checking that the coast was clear, and we wouldn’t be spotted by any staff. When we got to his room he poured out some brandies. I can half-remember being on the bed with him and getting my clothes off. There were just the two of us at first, but then the other man and a woman appeared from somewhere, and I think I struggled to get off the bed, but they held me back. The woman made me drink some more brandy, and everything went really hazy. I have dim memories of being with her, and then two men together. I think I passed out. They’d gone when I came to the next morning. You know that the local police have never been able to trace them?’
Sophie nodded. ‘Yes. They’re pretty sure they left in the middle of the night, from what you told them. The only one who was officially staying in the hotel was the one you returned with, but all his details were false. It’s very similar to my current case.’
‘But she was killed, the one at the weekend. Do you know why?’
‘No. It’s a puzzle. Maybe it was never intended, and things got out of hand somehow.’
Sophie showed her a photo of Sarah Sheldon.
‘It could be her but I can’t be sure. She was heavily made-up and her hair was a bit shorter.’ Brenda started to cry. ‘I felt sick with myself when I came to the next morning, terribly ashamed. How did I let myself get lured into it like that?’
SECRET CRIMES a gripping crime thriller full of suspense Page 10