On Laughton Moor

by On Laughton Moor (epub)

  ‘Hello? Jonathan?’

  ‘Morning, Catherine. We’ve got another body with our friend’s calling card. Where are you? Can I pick you up?’

  Catherine gave Louise’s address, her head spinning. This changed everything.

  ‘Okay, we won’t lose much time if I call in for you. I think I can be there in about twenty minutes.’

  He hung up. Catherine slowly stood up. Louise’s face appeared over the side of the bed, bleary eyed.

  ‘Let me guess,’ she said. ‘You’ve got to go?’

  ‘Another body. I’ll need some clean clothes. Louise, I’m sorry.’

  Louise clambered out of bed, pulled on pyjama shorts and a vest. ‘Have a quick shower. I’ll sort you something out,’ she said.

  Catherine kissed her softly on the way out of the bedroom door, trying to ignore the churning of her stomach.

  * * *

  The atmosphere in Knight’s car was noticeably tense. Although they’d both attended more crime scenes than they wanted to remember, this somehow felt different, more personal. They hadn’t been given much detail, only that the body of an adult male had been discovered by the roadside, next to a vehicle and, of course, that the same message found with Craig Pollard’s body had also been recognised at the scene. Catherine was quiet, her mind running through the possibilities of what this meant. Until they arrived at the scene, they couldn’t begin to answer any of her questions, but that didn’t stop her mind racing. She was wearing some of Louise’s clothes: a black pinstripe trouser suit and a light grey shirt. It was strangely comforting to carry Louise’s smell with her, a tiny piece of the old familiarity in a world that suddenly felt very strange. Louise had provided a new toothbrush, been very understanding and even waved her off at the door. Perhaps she really was determined to turn over a new leaf. Catherine closed her eyes, opened them again, knowing she needed to concentrate, to focus on making sense of whatever was waiting for them. She glanced at the satnav Knight was religiously following. It reckoned they would arrive at their destination in around four minutes. She gazed out of the window; not that there was anything to see but darkness. She could imagine the flat countryside, bare fields, the grass a washed-out paler version of its summer self. Three minutes. She couldn’t mention the running figure last night now. It would have to be later.

  Knight coughed, cleared his throat. She wanted him to say something, anything, but he just kept driving, fingers gripping the steering wheel tightly, his lips pressed together. Two minutes. The satnav’s computerised voice suddenly boomed out, making them both jump, instructing Knight to turn left at the next junction. Knight braked, slowed right down. It was a tiny break in the hedge, barely noticeable, especially in this light. Out of the darkness loomed a figure in a high-visibility coat. A uniformed constable, blowing on his hands, stood by a line of cones and a ‘POLICE ROAD CLOSED’ sign. Knight stopped the car next to him and wound down the window, fumbling for his warrant card. The constable leaned in.

  ‘Sorry, sir, this road’s closed, as you can see. I’m going to have to ask you to turn around.’

  ‘DI Knight and DS Bishop – here you go.’ The constable took the warrant card from him and scrutinised it.

  ‘Okay, thank you, sir. I’ll move a few cones for you. Just up the road – they’re sorting some lighting out.’

  Knight nodded his thanks, wound the window back up.

  ‘Freezing out there,’ he muttered.

  Catherine leant back in the seat, staring through the windscreen. Knight pulled onto the grass verge behind a battered burgundy Volvo estate.

  ‘Dr Webber’s here then,’ Catherine said tonelessly, pressing the seatbelt release button. Knight followed suit and they climbed out into the cold, damp morning.

  ‘Dr Webber?’ Knight asked.

  ‘You’ll see.’

  They made their way further down the lane, past scene of crime vans and hurrying people. Sure enough, the area was suddenly bathed in a yellow glow as several large spotlights were quickly erected. Mick Caffery bustled up to them.

  ‘Morning. You’ll need to get suited up before you go any further. The body’s over there, where the blue van is.’

  He pointed. There was an obvious concentration of activity in that area, white-suited figures scurrying around, all sorts of equipment being ferried that way.

  ‘Any early thoughts?’ asked Knight.

  Caffery sighed. ‘Take the Pollard scene, add a van and a more scenic location and there you go.’

  ‘Similarities then.’

  ‘Practically the same, except this poor sod’s lying on his front next to a van. It’s registered to a local courier company. Back of his head’s smashed in all right, though. Doctor’s having a look at him now. Photographs and filming just about finished, I think.’

  ‘And the same message as last time?’

  ‘Oh yes, exactly the same. Under his foot, the top trapped so it didn’t blow away.’

  Catherine swallowed, nausea rising from her stomach. Deep breaths, she told herself firmly. A sudden urge to run came over her, the impulse to get as far away from this place, from this case, as possible. She fought it, clenching her hands into fists. Come on, Catherine, get a grip. Knight turned, and Catherine wondered for a second if she had spoken out loud.

  ‘There are some suits in the car boot,’ Knight told her.

  Catherine followed him back down the lane, still struggling with unfamiliar and unwelcome feelings. They pulled on the scene of crime suits silently, each lost in their own thoughts, then made their way back to where they’d left Caffery. He was talking to another white-suited figure who turned as Knight and Catherine approached. It was all Knight could do not to gasp. Catherine had to hide a grin in spite of it all.

  ‘Good morning, Dr Webber.’

  Jo Webber smiled back, her perfectly even features made even more attractive by the shadows cast on them.

  ‘Hello, Catherine,’ she said. ‘I asked you last time we met to call me Jo.’

  ‘Jo, then. This is DI Knight – Jonathan.’

  Webber turned to Knight and beamed at him. ‘Pleased to meet you, Inspector. You’ll want to know about our victim?’

  ‘Please,’ squeaked Knight. Catherine bit her lip. Jo Webber didn’t seem to notice.

  ‘Well, the cause of death looks like the trauma to the back of his head,’ she said. ‘Time of death – I’m not going to speculate now, but sometime last night. He’s not been out here long – obvious really, as he would have been found before now if he had. You don’t need me to tell you that. I’ll do the post-mortem later this morning, I’ll say eleven thirty.’

  ‘Eleven thirty,’ echoed Knight.

  ‘That’s right, Inspector. I assume you’ll be attending?’

  ‘I… yes, I’ll be there.’

  Webber smiled again and moved away. Knight rounded on Catherine. ‘You could have told me she looks like a bloody supermodel!’

  Grinning openly now, Catherine said, ‘I thought I’d let you have the pleasure of discovering that yourself. Rather her than Doc Beckett, then?’

  Knight didn’t bother to reply, and they hurried after Caffery, who was already striding his way towards the blue van. Knight didn’t like laughing and joking at a crime scene. He knew why people did it, protecting themselves against the horrors they saw every working day, but he could never approve of it. Dr Webber’s appearance had stunned him, it was true, but she was forgotten now as he stared at the body in front of them. Face down, as Caffery had said. The wreckage of the man’s head was stomach-turning and he felt Catherine tense beside him. The blue van’s driver door was open; the victim lay on the road. From his position, it seemed he had either just climbed out of the driver’s seat, or was doing so when he was attacked. They couldn’t be sure, of course, not yet, but it looked that way to Knight. They were lucky a passing vehicle hadn’t run him over as he lay there. He said as much to Caffery, who agreed and explained that the man who had discovered the body had been travelli
ng in the opposite direction.

  ‘It’s a quiet road and chances are it happened in the early hours,’ Caffery pointed out.

  ‘Okay,’ Knight pondered. ‘So, the victim’s driving along, minding his own business, then suddenly decides to stop, presuming of course he was driving.’

  Caffery beckoned to them and they followed him to the back of the vehicle. SOCOs had been working on the road; there were several numbered markers. Caffery explained they had identified skid marks made by the van.

  ‘Don’t quote me on this yet,’ he said, ‘but it looks to me as if he was travelling at speed and slammed his brakes on. We’ll keep looking.’

  Frowning, all frivolity forgotten, Catherine said, ‘Maybe there was an obstruction in the road, or a vehicle coming towards him?’

  ‘Could be either of those, or both. Something that forced him to stop, at any rate. If it was a vehicle, and it didn’t brake sharply, we probably won’t have tracks. We’ve not found any yet anyway, though it’s obviously early days.’

  They moved back around to the side of the vehicle where the body lay. Caffery left them and went to speak to a member of his team. Catherine glanced at the A4 paper under the victim’s shoe then quickly averted her gaze to his face, or what little was visible. Knight stared down at him too.

  ‘Seems strange that he was out here in the middle of nowhere. Even if he’s a courier or delivery driver, you’d think he’d stick to the main roads, wouldn’t you? Quicker journeys?’

  ‘It does seem odd, now you mention it. Although if he was using a satnav, they can take you to some strange places if you’re not careful.’ Catherine glanced at Knight. ‘Another body, sir, the same message.’ She felt nausea rise into her throat again, wished she had some water to hand. Swallowing, she rubbed her hand across her mouth.

  ‘Yes. We need to find out who he is as soon as we can.’

  ‘Hopefully they’ll be able to move him soon.’

  They both span around as a loud metallic banging suddenly started, apparently coming from inside the blue van.

  ‘What the…’ exclaimed Knight, as Catherine gasped, ‘Shit!’

  They ran around to the back of the van, almost colliding with Caffery and two of his SOCOs. Caffery stared, hands on hips. A padlock was threaded through a latch that had been drilled into the van doors.

  ‘Someone’s locked in there…’

  ‘Shall we open it?’ asked one of the constables.

  Everyone looked at each other. The noise grew louder; faint shouting could be heard too.

  ‘Sounds like they’re terrified,’ Catherine said.

  Knight stepped back. ‘We’ll have to open it,’ he said. ‘They could have been in there for hours.’

  Caffery nodded. ‘It’s been dusted for prints. I think we’ve got everything we can from it out here. Pass me a suit; we’ll need the clothes from whoever’s in there. They could be the one who killed him for all we know.’

  A uniformed constable stepped forward with a hammer and gave the padlock a few hefty blows. Protective suit in hand, Caffery stepped forward, reached for the handles, gave them a sharp twist. The doors flew open so suddenly that the young woman who was pounding on them from the inside almost fell on top of Caffery. He spoke softly to her, indicating she needed to change into the suit he handed to her. She looked bemused, but obediently disappeared back inside. Caffery held the door closed until she emerged again, wearing the same outfit as the rest of them. Caffery reached into the van and brought out her clothes in evidence bags. She climbed unsteadily to the ground, gazed at the surrounding group, seeming to single out Catherine.

  ‘Please… water?’ she said, her English heavily accented. She swayed on her feet and Catherine moved forward quickly, taking her arm.

  ‘All right, you’re okay.’

  The uniformed constable was beckoned back over, and he led the woman to a nearby squad car. She sat in the back, gratefully sipping from a bottle of orange juice. Knight ran a hand over his hair.

  ‘That might explain why he was taking the scenic route,’ he said.

  ‘As good a reason as any,’ agreed Catherine. ‘As if things weren’t complicated enough.’

  They gave the woman in the squad car sideways glances.

  ‘We need to interview her,’ Knight said.

  ‘Yep. Sooner the better.’

  They walked over to the squad car, the uniformed constable closing the back door as they approached so the woman was effectively locked inside.

  ‘How is she?’ Catherine offered a smile in the woman’s direction.

  ‘She doesn’t speak much English, Sarge, so it’s hard to say. She’s not as pale as she was, though.’

  ‘You think we’re going to struggle to interview her?’ Knight asked.

  ‘I think you’d need an interpreter, sir.’

  Knight took out his mobile. ‘I’ll get someone set up at the station to help us.’

  Chapter 16

  In the video interview suite, Catherine and Varcoe sat opposite the woman, who they now knew was called Milica Zukic, and the interpreter, a man from the local university who seemed to speak every European language you could mention. Zukic was thin, her light-brown hair stringy, in need of a wash and a cut. She now wore a navy sweatshirt and jogging bottoms that the desk sergeant had produced from somewhere. Dr Whelan was plump, bespectacled, in his mid-forties and very keen to help.

  Knight sat in the next room, in front of a monitor. He wanted Catherine and Anna to conduct the interview, but he also wanted to see what Milica Zukic had to say first-hand. He had a briefing scheduled after the interview with the DCI and also the Super, who wanted to attend. Knight hadn’t seen much of Superintendent Jane Stringer so far, but he had known that she would be involved sooner or later, especially after this latest development. He focused on the monitor in front of him.

  Catherine smiled reassuringly at the young woman on the other side of the table. ‘Please could you ask Milica to tell us where she’s from, a little about her background and how she came to be in the UK?’ she said to Whelan. He nodded eagerly.

  * * *

  Catherine closed the door of the interview room softly behind her, leaving Varcoe behind with Dr Whelan and Milica Zukic. Knight met her in the corridor.

  ‘I feel like I need a shower,’ she said, shaking her head.

  Knight nodded. ‘I know what you mean. How about we put her in one of the cells for now? She could have killed him, of course, but I didn’t see any blood on her or in the van, and even if she changed her clothes afterwards, we’ll find them. She could have been in the passenger seat, lunged across and attacked him as he drove, forced him to stop, nipped out and smashed his head in when he got out, but I really don’t see it. For a start, he looked quite a big bloke, and she must be what? Eight stone?’

  ‘About that, I should think. Anyway, she couldn’t have padlocked herself into the back of the van. Plus, we need to consider the link to the Craig Pollard murder and how she could have met him, not to mention killed him.’

  ‘True. Since she was on the move, there must be a grubby shithole somewhere expecting her, and as soon as the news breaks about the latest murder, which no doubt it will soon, they’ll realise she must have been found. At least in a cell she’ll be safe and can get some sleep. Can you get onto Intelligence, see if any of the names she’s mentioned ring any bells? We’d better find out about her papers too, if she is actually allowed to be in the country. When we’ve got a name and address confirmed for our victim, we’ll get a photo over to Pollard’s parents and brother again, see if they recognise him.’

  Catherine hesitated then said, ‘Sir – Jonathan – do you think I’ll be taken off the case?’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Two victims, both with messages that refer to me. I thought I might be. Just thinking about how it might look to the public, to a jury.’

  ‘Do you want to be taken off it?’

  ‘No, not at all. If anything, this second murder makes m
e all the more determined to find out what the hell’s going on.’

  Knight grinned. ‘Just what I expected you to say. I can promise you, Sergeant, I’ll do what I can to make sure you stay where you are.’

  Catherine let out a breath, grateful for Knight’s understanding, but also for the fact that he hadn’t seemed to notice her discomfort at the crime scene earlier.

  ‘Thank you.’

  ‘I need to get up to the Super’s office now, but let’s catch up later.’

  Knight strode away, and Catherine headed over to the custody sergeant to arrange to check their guest in.

  Chapter 17

  Knight paused outside the Superintendent’s door, hearing Kendrick’s rumbling tones inside the office. He knocked, and Kendrick himself yanked the door open from inside. The room was light and airy, the walls painted an uninspiring magnolia, the carpet tiles a slightly newer-looking version of the stained and tired-looking ones that covered the floor of the CID office. A few plants dotted the room and there were the usual chipped bookcases and battered filing cabinets. A low coffee table and a couple of armchairs stood in one corner. Stringer had attempted some personal touches, such as a brightly coloured rug on the floor and a few cheerful, modern prints on the walls. The Superintendent herself was a tall, slender woman, with immaculately styled straight blonde hair and perfect, understated make-up. She could easily play the role of the headteacher of an exclusive public school, or a lady of the manor.

  Jane Stringer stood as Knight entered the room, offering a pinched smile. She wore a tailored black skirt with a matching jacket, and a pristine white blouse. Her appearance and whole demeanour conveyed a clear message to Knight – ‘I am in charge here. Get me results’.