by Mari Hannah
‘Well, it should be.’
‘The coroner is almost there, so stop worrying. I’d rather she got it right. There will be an insurance claim from Ben. As a student, he’s dependent on his father for financial support. Now it’s gone . . . well, I don’t have to draw you a picture.’ Stone took off his jacket, loosened his tie, suggesting they take a walk. They had a big day ahead of them, a briefing with the Murder Investigation Team already scheduled. He wanted a clear head.
‘Has the lorry driver been charged?’ Frankie had to know.
‘Not yet.’
‘Drunk?’
‘Sober. But he’s claiming a momentary lapse in concentration. However – and this goes no further – one eyewitness claims he was driving erratically, asleep at the point of impact, and there were no skid marks on the road, which would seem to back that up.’
‘That’s more like it.’
Stone stopped walking. ‘Did you know that already?’
‘No.’
‘Andrea didn’t say?’
‘No. She didn’t have to – it was obvious.’
‘Not to me . . .’
Stone missed her indignation.
‘For the record,’ she said. ‘Andrea has more integrity than that.’
Her boss had his hands up.
She waved away his apology. ‘Did you complain about the adjournment?’
‘No point. It’s not the coroner’s fault. As I said, there’s an outstanding issue with Luke’s medical records. She must satisfy herself that he didn’t have any pre-existing medical condition that might have added to his plight. His GP has submitted a report to that effect, but the paramedic who treated him at the scene has since gone on leave. She wants a full dossier and, to be honest, I do too. They’re chasing him today.’
They took a short ride to Jesmond Dene, a dense wooded valley packed with indigenous trees and shrubs. A continuous path led from one end to another – a distance a little over three kilometres – that crossed beautiful bridges and fast-flowing waterfalls, gifted to the city by philanthropist Lord Armstrong in 1883. It was one of Frankie’s favourite escapes. Only a stone’s throw from the city centre, it offered peace and tranquillity, a quiet haven for anyone who cared to visit.
They parked the car.
Stone made no move to get out.
He pointed at the papers on her knee, the pages of which were well-thumbed. He knew what it was. He’d asked her to skim through them while he was with the coroner. She hadn’t wanted to bother him with it on the way into town and planned not to mention that she’d been up half the night going through them. She wanted to make him look good when he fed back to the Murder Investigation Team later.
‘Are you any further forward?’ he asked.
‘I’ve not been idle, boss.’
‘Did I say you had? I could hear the cogs turning on the drive here. And now you’re smiling like a village idiot, so I’m guessing it must be good news. Your expression is verging on smug.’
She tapped the pages. ‘The more I dig, the more convinced I am that Justine’s lifestyle led to her death. It’s not the first time that it’s got her into trouble either. Shall we grab a coffee and walk? I have a story to tell that’ll blow your mind.’
While she went to fetch the drinks, Stone sat down on a bench at Pet’s Corner, eyeing animals in pens, birds in the aviary. A lump formed in his throat as two little boys ran toward the cages and peered in, his nan’s voice arriving in his head: Keep your mitts out, they might bite!
David took out his phone, checking his inbox for important information. He found none. No intelligence had come in that would progress their investigation. Forensic results would be a few days yet, so he hoped Frankie’s input would give the MIT something to smile about. He looked up, watching her chatting to a couple she’d met on the way out of Millfield House Café, the dene’s tearoom. Wherever she went, she seemed to bump into someone. In the office too, a crowd always gathered around her.
Would that he was as popular.
En route to Jesmond, Frankie had confided that morale was low among the outside team – those engaged in carrying out external enquiries on behalf of the MIT – the perception being that the case might turn out to be protracted, a depressing thought, given that budgets were stretched. Overtime was non-existent. In this period of austerity, Windy had an iron grip on the purse strings. He’d made it clear that he expected thrift from his new DI, regardless of his poncey new job.
Frankie arrived by his side, handing him a coffee in a paper cup. ‘What’s wrong? You were OK a moment ago. Now you’ve got a face like a slapped arse.’
He didn’t react.
She was dying to share her news.
‘Shoot!’ he said.
‘Before we get to Justine’s journal, I had a very interesting conversation with Lady Veronica Knight while you were busy—’
‘Justine’s former employer is titled?’
‘Yes – don’t interrupt.’ Her eyes sparkled with excitement. ‘All that stuff Justine spouted about not wanting to go to Saudi is bullshit. She had an affair with Sir Geoffrey Knight and then tried putting the bite on him by threatening to tell his wife. He didn’t give in to her demands. Instead, he confessed to his missus, sacked the au pair on the spot and resigned from the Foreign & Commonwealth Office, fearing a kiss-and-tell. The family hightailed it to Western Asia to lie low.’
‘That’s not what they told me or the agency.’
She glanced at him. ‘Would you want to wash your dirty linen in public if you were that important?’
‘I am that important!’
‘Only to me.’
Stone flushed up.
Frankie stifled a grin. ‘No wonder Justine wanted to keep her job. She had a nice little sideline going.’
‘How did you get Lady Knight to cough?’ Stone stepped aside to allow a group of joggers to pass by. ‘Presumably she didn’t volunteer information likely to be aired in future proceedings.’
‘A minor irritation. She was prepared to talk, but off the record, David. I said I’d treat her as an informant.’
‘On whose authority?’
‘I called Windy.’
‘And he agreed?’ Stone was amazed.
‘You know how he likes the landed gentry. You weren’t around to ask and I needed to act. As soon as Lady Knight knew the information was safe and wouldn’t be disclosed in open court, I couldn’t shut her up.’
‘So, what’s with the worried face?’
‘She threatened to have my warrant card if it ever gets out. We need to protect our source, David.’
‘We? I wasn’t there.’ He was teasing her. ‘Relax, Frankie. The worst that could happen is we both go down for contempt.’ His playful expression turned into a perturbed one. ‘What were Sir Geoffrey and Lady Knight doing at three o’clock on Wednesday afternoon?’
‘Boarding a Saudi Airlines flight out of Jeddah, which landed at London Heathrow at 17.40 BST, by which time Justine was already dead. I verified this with LHR passport control.’
‘Why? Lying low, you said.’
‘Wimbledon starts today. They have Centre Court tickets.’
‘Nice. I assume you told them it’s safe to stay?’
Frankie nodded. ‘It wouldn’t surprise me if they haven’t already moved in. She detests it over there, apparently.’
Stone stopped walking. The Ouseburn was fast-flowing at this point and he stared into the bubbling water for a moment, then turned to face her. ‘So what did you find out about Justine?’
‘Um, first I think you owe me an apology.’
‘For what?’
‘You practically accused me of stereotyping when I suggested she was having an affair with her employer.’
‘I did, didn’t I—’
‘Will I book the table, or will
you?’
‘Don’t be too hasty. You need corroborating evidence.’
She took the papers from her shoulder bag. ‘Knight isn’t the only one in Justine’s address book. Which brings us full circle . . .’ What she meant was, her money was still on Parker, although his business partner, James Curtis, was also on that list. Suddenly, her case was hotter than Stone and she hadn’t even got to the good bit yet.
37
DCI Gordon Sharpe, the Senior Investigating Officer in the Murder Investigation Team, had called a full briefing at Northern Command HQ, summoning all officers to attend. The incident room was packed, detectives and civilians paying full attention, everyone keen to find Justine’s killer, remove a danger from the streets and eliminate the possibility of anyone else getting hurt.
At six foot five, Sharpe towered over those seated before him. He was an officer with many years’ experience in his field of expertise, a detection rate any officer would be proud of. Calling for order, he assumed his position at the front of the room, taking a moment to introduce his guests who were standing by to update the squad. ‘Many of you will know DS Frances Oliver,’ he began. ‘I used to babysit her as a kid. She was a pain in the arse then and I hear she hasn’t changed much . . .’
A chuckle went around the room.
‘These days she answers to Frank or Frankie but never Fran. So, those of you who want to keep your teeth, be warned.’ The SIO smiled at Frankie before moving on. ‘On her right is Inspector Andrea McGovern, Senior Accident Investigator, and, on her right, is DI David Stone who is handling the outside enquiry team. If any of you are wondering why, he’s been investigating an alleged abduction involving Daniel Scott, the child Justine Segal was employed to look after. DI Stone recently transferred in from a Met murder squad, so we’re lucky to have him assisting us.’ Sharpe looked along the line. ‘Welcome, all of you.’
‘When was the abduction attempt?’ a female DC asked, eyes on Stone.
‘Daniel went missing on Friday, June seventeenth. His disappearance may or may not be related to Justine’s death.’ Stone went on to explain. ‘There was no attempt to grab the boy as such, more a misunderstanding – or so we’re led to believe. The child was returned home safe and well the following day, the case written up as “No Further Action”, but . . .’ He stressed the word but. ‘Given Justine’s death, we’re now keeping our options open. At this stage, we’re undecided as to whether it’s the boy’s parents, Tim and Alex Parker, who are the targets, or the victim herself. Frankie will have more on that in a moment.’
Satisfied with his account, the SIO moved on. ‘We have a lot to get through. Andrea, would you like to kick us off?’
‘Yes, guv.’ McGovern got to her feet and scanned the room. ‘My input into your briefing sheet gives details of the incident we’re dealing with. I don’t propose to go over it. I can confirm that we are happy with the accounts given by both drivers at the scene and that their vehicles were in good condition. The drivers themselves, Trevor Taylor and Joanna Brent, were routinely breathalysed. We found nothing that would give us cause for concern, no drink or drugs, and they gave very similar accounts when questioned. My guys are at your disposal. We’ve done some house-to-house on your behalf, such as it is. There are only three small cottages nearby: East, West and Middle Cottage.’
‘I wanna work in the sticks,’ someone muttered.
‘Don’t we all,’ a colleague added.
‘East and Middle cottages were empty at the time of the incident,’ McGovern continued. ‘Both tenants were at work. That has been verified by their respective employers. However, the third tenant in West Cottage, Mrs Marjorie Smith, a lady of retirement age, is of interest to us. She claims to have seen a jogger pass her house shortly before patrol cars and paramedics arrived at the scene. She was unable to estimate how long before. It could have been ten, fifteen or even twenty minutes.’
‘Are we sure this is our jogger?’ Sharpe asked.
‘Well, she was female, wearing a baseball cap and the same colour Lycra. Mrs Smith is definitely worth another knock in case she’s remembered anything else we need to know.’ McGovern nodded to the uniformed officer waiting for her signal. Using a remote, he activated a PowerPoint presentation on the wall behind the main speakers. An aerial image of the crime scene appeared on screen, allowing her to resume her delivery. ‘Mrs Smith’s cottage is south of the humpback bridge where the incident took place. The farm track to the north, on the opposite side of the road, leads into dense woods, as you can see.’ McGovern turned back to her audience. ‘The witness was at pains to point out that the clearing in the centre of the woods is frequently used as a lovers’ rendezvous point. She walks her dogs there. Years ago, we would’ve expected local intelligence on this location. Nowadays there are so few patrols in rural Northumberland, the local copper who covers this section had no idea of this meeting place and therefore has no information to give. Not his fault. Ours is a vast county. He’s too stretched to recce it all.’
Stone interrupted, his focus on Sharpe. ‘Sir, it might be worth putting a couple of would-be lovers in the car park for a couple of days to keep observations – for reasons that will become clear when Frankie gives her feedback.’
The hands of several volunteers shot up.
The SIO told the assembled squad to behave.
Stone’s smile was a cover for deep restlessness. Having once worked in a Major Incident Team, he missed the camaraderie of such a close-knit unit. It wasn’t the same in general CID. It had its moments – and Frankie made it bearable – but he longed for a position where he could utilise the skills he’d developed in the Metropolitan Police. He’d been well-regarded down south, respected as an asset. His last case as a murder squad DCI was one he’d never forget. The sight of Alex Parker had brought it all flooding back.
‘Can I just point out that I was not one of the first responders,’ McGovern continued. ‘My involvement began when cause of death was determined as suspicious. The Home Office pathologist, Paul Mason, believes that an injury to the back of the IP’s head is inconsistent with having been run over. The alarm was raised and I attended the scene, together with Mr Mason. Neither he nor I found anything that might have inflicted the injury to Justine’s head and the PolSA team have yet to recover a weapon. The witness on the south side of the bridge, Joanna Brent, was very clear that Justine was lying in such a way that was unnatural had she fallen, as if she’d been placed there deliberately to ensure that she was run over. When my officers attended, they found the victim fatally injured. She had a set of wired earphones on her person, with no phone attached.’
‘We need to find that mobile,’ Sharpe said.
‘Guv?’ Frankie raised a hand. He gave her the nod to say her piece. ‘If Justine’s body was placed across the road to cover up a murder, why would the offender take her phone?’
‘She has a point,’ Stone said.
‘Maybe it just hasn’t been found yet,’ the SIO suggested.
‘I very much doubt that,’ McGovern said. ‘The search team were thorough. It’s highly likely that Justine was dragged across the road for some distance. Her clothes were badly ripped and, although it was raining cats and dogs at the time she was attacked, we have since found a small amount of skin on the opposite side of the road that hadn’t been washed away. We’ve yet to confirm that it’s hers. I expect it’s only a matter of time.’
‘There is another explanation,’ Frankie said. ‘Her mobile may contain information the killer is trying to protect.’
Stone nodded in agreement.
‘Sounds reasonable,’ Sharpe said. ‘Anything else, Andrea?’
‘That’s it for now, sir.’ McGovern sat down.
‘OK,’ Sharpe said. ‘I’d like to move on, if I may. Frankie, the main thrust of the enquiry will now focus on information you’ve brought to the table, so the floor is yours.’
&nb
sp; It was her cue to stand, her big moment.
‘Has anyone not seen the briefing sheet . . .?’ One hand went up and she passed a copy to the officer concerned before addressing the whole team. ‘Your guv’nor tells me you can all read so, like Andrea, I intend to cover only what’s not on it. The SIO is now in receipt of the victim’s diary and an address book CSIs found in her bedroom. I’ve had a chance to study it. Taken together, the documents are illuminating. Justine had an interesting private life that included multiple and simultaneous sexual relations with men. Whether she used the woods Andrea referred to for her clandestine liaisons, we don’t yet know, but it’s a convenient location, very close to home.’
‘We’ll put someone in there,’ Stone reassured everyone. ‘We need a clearer picture of Justine’s movements to add to her profile. Let’s get one thing straight from the get-go: this information goes nowhere; it does not get discussed away from the incident room, in the staff canteen or anywhere else. I’d like you all to put away any personal opinions you will undoubtedly have on victim lifestyle. If the press get hold of it, they may take the view that if you lie down with dogs, you get up with fleas. Such prejudice has no place in a murder enquiry. Justine Segal deserves justice, no matter how many men she was shagging. Your only priority is to find her killer. Is that clear?’
There were no dissenters and he asked Frankie to carry on.
She waited for conversations to die down. ‘Following our enquiries, we have reason to believe that Justine was prepared to use blackmail for monetary gain. We have it on good authority that she’s tried this before.’
‘The motive was to shut her up?’ one detective asked.
‘Possibly. She was sacked by her former employer for making demands with menaces—’
‘I thought she had no form,’ the SIO said.
‘That’s also correct. The offence never came to light as it was never reported to police. Her target dealt with the matter privately. He came clean to his missus and sacked Justine from his employ.’
‘Justine didn’t kiss and tell?’