Sam pursed her lips, fatigue written across her face.
‘I know. And we both know that one of the reasons for staging a crime scene is to lead us away from the most logical suspect. So the key is identifying that suspect.’
She paused, and then said: ‘How did you get on with Banks?’
‘I’ll ring him soon,’ Ed said. ‘He was mad as hell at first but he’s going to try to remember as many people as possible. That’ll give us a start and we can hopefully identify everyone who was in the pub at the time. I gave him the hard word, told him he was in danger of blowing the whole investigation.’
‘Good,’ Sam said, picturing the meeting, knowing how Ed would have handled the man.
‘Banks didn’t tell his mates whether the mask was left behind,’ Ed went on. ‘He couldn’t describe the knife, either. Anyone trying to have us over would have to improvise.’
Sam nodded again.
‘And hopefully that’ll be their downfall.’
‘Absolutely,’ Ed said, taking a seat. He knew these moments, bouncing ideas around, were a vital part of any investigation, but he was also aware they could take time.
And time was something they couldn’t afford.
‘I was coming at it from a different angle,’ Sam said. ‘I was concentrating on the overkill aspect, all that rage.’
‘Okay,’ Ed said, letting Sam run.
‘Anyone of those stab wounds to the heart would have been fatal. She would have bled to death, no question. Yet the killer kept on stabbing her, as if he couldn’t stop.’
Sam stood up and began pacing the room.
‘Overkill,’ she went on. ‘Overkill always, always, means it’s personal, an emotional attachment between killer and victim. Could be just an argument and then suddenly something becomes the trigger.
‘But I doubt that happened here. Neither of us thinks Louise ever got out of bed. If there’d been an argument before the attack, you would have expected Louise to at least be out of the bed. No, it’s something else, something a lot deeper than a row. Like I say, this was personal… emotional.’
‘So what you thinking? Family? Friends?’
‘We don’t have a suspect, or even a cluster of suspects. But I think she knew her killer, and she knew the killer well enough for them to have that emotional attachment.’
Sam sat down, kicked off her shoes, and wriggled her toes. Bliss.
‘Whatever the trigger was, it had gone off before she woke up. Has to be. Whether that was before or after he got into the house, it was before she woke.’ And with overkill, Sam and Ed both knew, a knife was invariably the weapon of choice.
‘We need to find out more about Louise’s life,’ Sam said. ‘That’s where he’s hiding.’
Sam paused and slid her feet reluctantly back into her shoes – the price you paid for style, she thought for the millionth time.
‘How much do we really know about Louise?’ she said. ‘Has she any skeletons in her cupboard? Really, who hasn’t?’
Ed thought about Louise and realised Sam was right.
‘I don’t know the answer to that,’ he said. ‘I would have thought the cupboard was clear but I’ve seen so much over the years nothing surprises me any more. If she has, God bless her, we’ll find them.’
‘Let’s go next door and get a coffee.’
In the HOLMES room and with hands on hips, Sam stared at the surveillance photographs on the board. There were so many, most of them, perhaps all of them, worthless to the investigation, just honest people going about their lives. Sam’s scanning eyes fixed on the photograph in the top right corner.
‘Bev!’ she shouted, looking over her shoulder. ‘Come here! Look at that.’
She pointed to the photograph.
‘Bloody hell!’ Bev said, eyes wide.
‘Is this a private conversation or can anyone join in?’ Ed appeared beside them.
Sam pointed to the man sat in the coffee shop.
‘That’s Michael Spence. The postman who delivers on the Gull.’
‘The one who saw the lads running away from the broken window?’ Ed asked.
‘The very same,’ Sam said, her heart rate rising for the second time that day, the reflex reaction when there was a potential breakthrough.
‘He might have been in the wrong place at the wrong time. Postmen drink coffee like the rest of us,’ she said, trying to keep calm and curtail the enthusiasm of everyone, herself included. It was all too easy to make things fit.
Jason joined them at the board and looked at the image. ‘Oh shit.’
‘What?’ Sam demanded.
‘Christ, I’ve just twigged,’ Jason said, his voice high with excitement. ‘Ed, when you called me out last Sunday, I was buying a tracksuit in a shop at the retail centre. This guy, I don’t know how I didn’t see it earlier, was opposite me looking at the same tracksuits.’
Jason had reached towards the board and was repeatedly tapping the photograph of Michael Spence.
‘What! And you’ve just realised now?’ Sam said, not trying to hide her anger.
‘There’s that many photographs,’ Jason said, his tone laced with embarrassment. ‘I just didn’t see him.’
‘Are you sure it’s him?’ Ed pushed, his speech deliberately slow and deadpan. Like Sam, he had watched too many false dawns.
‘Positive. I recognised him at the time, but I couldn’t place him. He’s my postman.’
‘What tracksuits were you both looking at?’ Ed asked, his voice still calm but adrenaline running riot inside.
‘Adidas.’
Ed let out is breath slowly but his mind had been ignited by the information. Michael Spence had been looking at Adidas tracksuits the day after the attack on Danielle.
‘Jason,’ Ed said, ‘find Dave Johnson. Tell him to get someone to go to the sports shop. They’ll still have the CCTV. Hopefully we can see him paying at the till.’
Back in her office, Sam rocked in her chair and looked up at the ceiling. Spence was in the coffee shop and he was looking at an Adidas tracksuit the day after Danielle was attacked! But take a breath, she told herself. Be calm. First things first. They needed to establish what time he went into the coffee shop. That wouldn’t be difficult, not with the digital cameras on a timer. Had he been there before or after Amber?
‘So,’ Sam said, looking at Ed, ‘he says he sees two boys running away after the window’s broken. Did he see two boys, or is the broken window down to him? Neither of those lads, if they exist, are the rapist. Our guy’s a loner, a loner who wouldn’t involve anyone else in his planning and preparation. If Spence’s lying about them, then mentioning the cricket bat was a mistake. He knows the window’s broken by a cricket ball. How does he know that? Simple – he broke it.’
Ed bit on a thumbnail.
‘Maybe he panicked when the neighbour spoke to him, said the first thing that came to into his head? In this case, the truth. He describes them as wearing Adidas tops. Not Nike, or Puma, or any other brand. Adidas. Is he being too clever for his own good?’
Sam put her elbows on the desk.
‘The ball’s designed to make the victim think the broken window was just a schoolboy accident? The ball’s no coincidence. If it was, then why put it in my flowers?’
Sam pushed her chair backwards and jumped to her feet.
‘Bastard,’ she said. ‘He’s the one.’
‘Okay,’ Ed said, following Sam’s train of thought, ‘let’s think about it. We know he lives alone, but we don’t know if he’s a loner. He said he knew the victims. How does he know who they are? Seen the police activity? Or he knows them because it’s down to him.’
Sam had kept her face carefully neutral. She reminded herself again how easy it was to convince yourself the evidence was a neat fit if you jumped to the wrong conclusion.
‘Let’s lock him up on suspicion,’ she said. ‘We’ve enough for that. Get his house searched. Same arrest and search strategies we used for Crowther. Use the same
search team. They know what they’re looking for. We know he’s taken souvenirs. We need to find them.’
Ed scribbled down her instructions.
‘Sort out the intelligence picture on him,’ Sam said. ‘Get Jason to work up an interview strategy. Let’s get him in today, but make sure that we get him away from the house. I don’t want him getting rid of anything incriminating.’
Ed nodded.
Sam ran her fingers through her hair.
‘Use Bev Summers on the arrest team. She knows him. We need to find something, and we need to do it quick. If he panicked when the neighbour confronted him, let’s see how much we can get him to panic now.’
Ed stopped writing, pen hovering over the page.
‘We might run out of time today,’ he said. ‘Might be better getting him early doors tomorrow. That said, it’s a big risk. If he attacks someone tonight…’
Sam thought about it, weighing up the options and feeling the pressure that was all on her shoulders.
‘He’s never done two in a week, but that’s not to say he won’t,’ she said. ‘We can’t afford to lose those souvenirs, though. We can’t give him time to burn them or flush them down the loo. If he’s got the driving licences in his house, they’re not going to take much destroying.’
Ed played through the arrest in his mind, watching it unfold like a movie reel.
‘If we go in, it’ll need to be a rapid entry,’ he said. ‘Flushing them down the toilet shouldn’t be an issue. Two cops run up the path. One with a sledge hammer, the other with a plastic dustbin. Smash the drainpipe, put the bin underneath it. That’ll catch everything flushed down the loo. Burning them is different. That all depends on speed.’
Sam nodded, impressed and thankful she had someone like Ed on her side.
She said: ‘It would help if we knew if he smoked. If he does, he’s sure to have a lighter or matches and they’ll likely be close.’
‘Does he smoke?’
‘I didn’t see him smoking, but I wasn’t there long,’ Sam said, trying to remember if there was ashtray in that rancid room.
‘Chances are if he’s a smoker, he’d have had one when you were there, especially if it’s him,’ Ed said. ‘I don’t care how in control he thinks he is, his arse would have been nipping.’
‘Yeah, I suppose so,’ Sam replied, staring at the surveillance photo she’d taken from the wall, her hands raising and lowering it, bringing it closer then further from her face. ‘I didn’t say anything in the other office… Spence… I’ve spoken to him in the past. It just clicked when Jason identified him. I got a parcel off him a couple of months ago. He delivered my books.’
Sam allowed the photograph to fall out of her hand and drop on to the desk.
‘Are you sure?’ Ed asked.
‘Absolutely. How in hell didn’t I realise earlier?’
‘It might just be a coincidence, you know,’ Ed said, taking the photograph and staring at the grainy image.
‘Coincidence, yeah, that’ll be right.’ Sam reached again for the still and took it from Ed’s hand. ‘We don’t believe in them, remember. He’s the one Ed. It’s him.’
Chapter Forty-Two
June Harker sat in the wing-backed armchair, oblivious to everything in the world except her overwhelming sense of grief. How had other parents coped with such a loss? Did they live or just function? What was it like at Christmas and birthdays, those special times? Her heart had been ripped out and it couldn’t be any more painful had it been torn from her body in a medieval execution.
Slumped in the chair, she began drifting. Her boot slippers were placed neatly next to her feet. She was wearing the navy blue suit and white blouse she wore to Louise’s wedding. In her hands she held the photograph in the silver frame, Louise with a beaming smile underneath her police hat. On the table next to her was a bottle of Cherry Brandy, a leftover from the last Christmas she had shared with her daughter, and seven blister packs of paracetamol. The bottle and packs were both empty.
She felt sorry for the Family Liaison Officer who would find her; he seemed a nice young man, but he would be used to dead bodies, and besides, she wasn’t anything to him. Hopefully he wouldn’t come back too quickly. She hadn’t left a note. Who did she have to read her words? She didn’t care who got the money from her savings account, or from the sale of the house. It had all been for Louise.
Perhaps it was true what they said about people drowning. Pictures flashed through her mind of her childhood, of her parents, of her soulmate Jack, and of her precious Louise. She would see them soon. For the first time that day she smiled.
No one would have heard her faint tired voice even if they had been in the next room but to June, the noise reverberated like an exploding volcano.
‘Jack, Louise, I’m coming.’
Her eyes closed, her head lolled to one side, and June Harker fell asleep for the last time.
Dave Johnson popped his head around the door.
‘You two okay for an update?’
‘Of course,’ said Sam.
‘I’ve just had the lead CSI on the phone. The key on the bed opens Louise’s door.’
‘So, do we think that’s how the killer got in?’ Sam wondered aloud, staring at her computer screen.
Ed thought about it, not 100% convinced.
‘It’s a good bet but then again, her mum’s adamant Louise only had one key.’
‘She must be mistaken,’ Dave said, taking a seat next to Ed, ‘otherwise how did it get on the bed, and how was he able to use it to open the door?’
‘Fair point,’ Sam conceded, the creases of concentration visible across her forehead. ‘Louise could have given anyone a copy key.’
Lifting her eyes from the screen, she looked at Dave.
‘Presumably the CSI did all the DNA swabs and fingerprinting before trying the key in the lock?’
‘They did,’ Dave said.
‘Okay. Good.’ She sighed. She just needed that one metaphorical key to unlock the door and solve this. ‘What else?’
‘Nothing from Louise’s neighbours. No one heard any arguments. No one suspicious seen in the area in the last few days. No CCTV covering the area around Louise’s house sadly and nothing from the media appeal yet.’
‘Any chance of some good news?’ Ed said, shaking his head, his eyes locked on the carpet.
Dave gave him a weak, apologetic smile.
‘The forensic examination of Louise’s house will take another few days,’ he said. ‘The FLO’s on his way back to see June. Alan Smith hasn’t been able to give us any potential lines of inquiry. We’re still looking for the knife, although a knife matching the ones left in the block has been found in Louise’s wheelie bin. It’s with forensics.’
‘That’s a good find, but is it the one we’re after?’ Sam asked.
‘It’s got a broken tip and the tip’s also in the bin. There doesn’t look to be any blood on it. It’s possible it got broken and Louise has thrown it away at some point between the last bin collection and going to bed on the night she was killed.’
‘Possibly,’ Ed agreed, still looking at the floor.
‘It’s still a good find, even if it just rules it out,’ Sam said. ‘If the knife wasn’t taken from Louise’s block, the killer’s brought their own. Make sure forensics check for blood trapped between the blade and the handle.’
Dave said he would, although the forensic team knew their job. Sam was just covering every angle.
‘They’ll continue searching tomorrow within your parameters – drains, bins, flat roofs,’ Dave said.
Sam nodded.
‘Make sure you thank the search teams, Dave,’ she said. ‘Always a shitty job.’
‘Will do. We’re also pulling together a picture of Louise’s financial affairs and the techies are having a look at her computer with regards to emails, Internet activity, and social media sites. Same with her mobile.’
Dave stopped talking and blinked a couple of times.
/> ‘You look tired. You sure you’re alright?’ Sam asked.
‘I’m fine.’
‘Thanks then. Plenty to keep us all busy.’
Dave nodded and stood up.
‘Hang on, Dave,’ Sam said as he began to walk away. ‘There’s something else. Me and Ed aren’t convinced the rapist and the killer are the same person. There’re elements of overkill in the murder and we believe there has been some staging of the crime scene.’
‘Not sure about there being no connection,’ Dave said, turning to face them. ‘There’s the mask. The fact a knife’s been used. The open window.’
Ed spoke almost before Dave finished.
‘But was the window opened to gain entry, or opened afterwards to give us the impression that it was the entry point? It wasn’t damaged, so there was no breaking it in advance like the others.’
Dave gave it some thought, head tilted back and eyes briefly closed.
‘If he knew she was a cop, he might have thought she would get a broken window fixed straight away. He may have got away with forcing it. How else would he have got in?’
‘The key, Dave. We need to sort the key,’ Sam said.
Dave stood up, excusing himself as his mobile rang. Seconds later he was back.
‘Today just keeps getting worse,’ he said. He rubbed his brow.
Sam and Ed looked at him, waiting for him to continue.
‘June Harker’s dead,’ he said quietly, sliding into the seat he had just vacated.
Sam rocked back in her chair and looked upwards.
Ed muttered ‘Oh fuck’, his hands running over his bald head.
‘What’s happened?’ Sam’s voice was soft.
‘Looks like suicide. Tablets and brandy. She’s wearing different clothes to when Paul left her. She was also holding a photograph of Louise in her police uniform.’
‘Shit!’ Sam shouted, far louder than she intended. The administrative assistant visibly jumped as she walked past the door.
‘Sorry,’ Sam called, before continuing. ‘Whoever killed Louise killed June, just as sure as if they’d stabbed her through the heart. Bless her. Finding her own daughter like that. Who can blame her?’
Dark Tides Thrillers Box Set Page 26