TWISTED CRIMES a gripping detective mystery full of suspense

by MICHAEL HAMBLING

  ‘Will we have to include them as part of the team, ma’am? Blackman and McCluskie, I mean?’

  Sophie gave a snort. ‘Over my dead body. I had a dispute with McCluskie when I first arrived here a few years ago and got him shifted off my interim team for being drunk on duty, among other things. He was a sergeant then. He had the ability, there was no doubt of that, but he was lazy and cut too many corners.’ She unlocked the car doors and removed her white nylon overall, dumping it in the boot. ‘He wouldn’t want to work for me again, anyway. He blamed me for getting him demoted.’

  Barry shut the boot after depositing his forensic suit inside. ‘Did you? Get him demoted, I mean?’

  ‘Dead right it was me. He’s got the morals of a guttersnipe. It wasn’t just the excessive boozing. He was hitting on any of the women witnesses who were half-attractive, and that could have put the prosecution case at risk. I decided to pay a second visit to one of the witnesses because something she’d said didn’t quite add up and it was my first case here in Dorset. This was before this unit was set up properly. I felt uneasy with something in the statement she’d given him so decided to double check. I found them both half-clothed, ready to jump into bed. He’d got her so drunk she didn’t know what she was doing. The powers that be at HQ have kept him out of my hair ever since.’ She climbed into the driving seat and waited until Marsh was seated. ‘In the only important sense, Barry, it wasn’t me that got him demoted. It was his own actions, but I couldn’t ignore them so I reported what he’d been doing. The decision was made at a much higher level.’ She started the car and drove out towards the road, then headed north. ‘I can’t tolerate that kind of attitude. It goes against everything I believe in.’

  * * *

  They found both Sharon Giroux and her husband Pierre at home. Pierre showed them through to the lounge, where Sharon was sitting in an armchair, hugging her knees. Her eyes were pink.

  ‘Dr Giroux, I’m so sorry for your loss.’

  ‘Is there no room for doubt?’ asked Pierre.

  Sophie shook her head. ‘We took dental x-rays at the scene with a mobile unit, and we’ve just had them confirmed with your in-laws’ dentist, Mr Giroux, so it’s now certain.’ She turned back to Sharon. ‘I’m DCI Sophie Allen, by the way, and this is my assistant, Detective Sergeant Barry Marsh. We’ll be taking over the investigation into the circumstances of your parents’ deaths in the initial stages. In the longer term, the nature of the investigation will depend upon my findings and subsequent recommendations.’

  Sharon looked up at her. ‘So does it seem to be suicide?’

  ‘It looks that way. But I’m well aware that appearances can be deceptive, so I won’t make any assumptions. The evidence gathering will be thorough and I’ll keep an open mind until I see it all. One thing does puzzle me, Dr Giroux, and that’s the place they were found. It’s in the north-east segment of the Morden Bog Nature Reserve. It’s very much off the beaten track. Can you suggest any reason why they would have been there?’

  Sharon sipped at a mug of tea that had been sitting by her side. ‘We used to have family picnics there when my brother and I were small. Dad was always keen on wildlife and it was a brilliant place for dragonflies and other marsh insects.’

  Sophie nodded. ‘So there is a sentimental connection?’

  ‘Yes. He used to take photos of the wildlife and sometimes of us, standing in our wellies.’ Sharon gave a gentle smile. ‘We took sandwiches and flasks of tea, and used to stomp around the place for a few hours. Mum, Dad, Rod and me. Well, Mum used to sit with her back against a tree and read while we were pond dipping, then get the food out. She wasn’t an enthusiast herself.’ She replaced her mug on the low table beside her chair. ‘It was what kicked off my interest in biology. Then from that to medicine, so I suppose what I am now is partly down to those summer afternoons on the edge of Morden Bog.’

  Sophie listened carefully, trying to weigh Sharon up. She was obviously intelligent and perceptive, only to be expected in such a well-regarded GP. And she’d worked her way there from an ordinary, working class background. Good for her. Sophie had a great deal of respect for people who’d made it the hard way, through sheer effort and a dogged determination. Wasn’t she the same? That’s why she felt for this woman so much. She recognised a kindred spirit.

  ‘What do you do, Mr Giroux? For a job, I mean?’ Sophie turned her attention to the husband.

  ‘I’m an academic editor for research journals in environmental science. I work from home for three days each week and in Oxford for two. The flexibility suits me. And it means I’m on hand for child-minding duties for much of the week. It works well.’

  ‘So do you know the place, Morden Bog? If you’re an environmental scientist? I realise that your work is academic rather than practical, but even so.’

  ‘Yes, I do. As a much younger man I came across from France in a group of students to study Dorset’s heathland habitat. It’s quite famous. We spent a day or two at each of a variety of locations. That was when I met Sharon. My group was staying in a hostel in Blandford and we met in one of the pubs there on an evening out.’

  ‘I do want to double check a few things with you both. I think you said that you were on holiday in Cornwall until the weekend. Is that right?’

  ‘Yes,’ Sharon replied. ‘We were in St Mawgan, near Newquay. With Easter being so late this year we gambled on the weather being good, so took the whole fortnight. We rented a cottage. Neither of us was there for the whole time though.’

  Sophie looked up. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I had a two-day medical conference in Exeter at the start of the second week. Pierre was in Oxford for a couple of days during the first week. It was partly a working holiday for him.’

  ‘So did either of you come back to Blandford during your break?’

  Both Sharon and Pierre shook their heads.

  ‘Okay. I need to ask you about your brother, Sharon. He has a bit of a chequered history, including some run-ins with the local police over the years. How well did he get on with your parents? I’m aware that you’ve already partly covered this ground earlier in the week, but I do need to know.’

  ‘He got on okay with Mum, less well with Dad. There was often friction between them. Dad had strict standards, something totally meaningless to Rod. He’s never seemed to fully understand the difference between right and wrong. His own convenience is much more important to him.’

  ‘He is known to us, Sharon.’

  The doctor nodded wryly. ‘Drug possession, petty vandalism and theft. The whole family knows about Rod and his inability to stay out of trouble. Dad was so frustrated he was sometimes reduced to tears. Mum was more phlegmatic about it. But he’s never done anything violent, Chief Inspector. That’s one thing I can say for him.’

  The detectives left a few minutes later. As they drove away, Marsh said, ‘So the family never knew about the possible GBH charge. It must have been dropped very early on.’

  Sophie steered the car out onto the main road heading south. ‘No independent witnesses and the victim, a very drunk young man, backed out of pressing any charges very quickly. He refused to say whether he was being intimidated, but the suspicion was there. There might be a nastier side to young Rod than his family have ever suspected.’

  CHAPTER 7: Scar

  Saturday Morning, Week 1

  It was a beautiful May morning. The blue sky was dotted with a few small puffs of cloud, and the air was as fresh and clean as a newly cut lemon. Sophie Allen stood leaning against the car, listening to the sound of bird calls while waiting for her husband to finish tying his boot laces. In another hour the first of the morning’s ramblers would probably be arriving, although they wouldn’t be able to gain access to the area around the crime scene, still cordoned off by police tape. She loosened the neck strap of her camera, then handed a set of binoculars to Martin as he stood up.

  ‘Which way first?’ he asked.

  ‘We’re about a mil
e and a half south of where the car was found. I want to head north-west and get a feel for the area. I’ve got the map, so we shouldn’t get lost. My guess is that we should get there in about half an hour or so, but it depends on what we find on the way.’

  ‘Sounds okay to me. It’s supposed to cloud over about lunchtime, so we’ve a good few hours.’

  The couple started walking, heading along a well-defined path for the first few minutes before veering off onto a small track. They moved quietly, scanning the area ahead of them as they rounded each corner or reached the top of an occasional hillock. Insects darted between the bushes, birds were noisily singing in the undergrowth and a few squirrels were out seeking food in the shady areas under the sparsely clumped pine trees. They were both alert, Martin for birds, often identified first by their calls, Sophie for . . . what exactly? She didn’t know. She just felt the need to explore the area, to absorb something of the atmosphere of the bleak heathland. It wasn’t very bleak this morning, though, and she walked alongside her husband, stopping every so often at a bird cry or a picturesque scene.

  The couple meandered slowly north-west, around small copses of pines, alongside clumps of heather and, further on, around boggy areas that seemed to attract clouds of insects. Sophie suddenly put her hand on Martin’s arm.

  ‘There’s someone ahead of us,’ she said. ‘About three hundred yards. By that small clump of trees. Can you look through the binoculars?’ She put the SLR camera to her eye and adjusted the lens to maximum zoom. The figure was still unclear but she took several photos. ‘Can you make out any detail, Martin?’ she asked.

  ‘Dark brown trousers, olive green jacket. He blends into the surroundings. Could be a birdwatcher. I think he has binoculars. Yes, look, he’s lifting them up to his eyes. Shall we get closer?’

  They walked further along the rough path but lost sight of the distant figure as the track curved around a low, heather-covered hillock. When they regained sight of the clump of trees there was no one there. They made their way across to the spot and looked around them but they seemed to be alone.

  ‘The woods start here,’ Martin said. ‘Once in the trees he’d be out of sight. It looks like they stretch quite a distance across to the west.’

  Sophie extracted the map and opened it up, tracing the route they’d followed with her finger. ‘I’d guess we’re here,’ she said, pointing to a spot on the map. ‘You’re right. Look. The woods extend across to the Sugar Hill Road, north of Coldharbour. The open heathland is mostly south and east of here. The terrain is much more mixed from this point north and west. Could you tell where he or she was looking?’

  ‘I can’t be sure but it looked as if it was over there.’ He pointed.

  ‘That’s east.’ She looked at the map again. ‘That’s where the car was found.’

  She put the camera to her eye, again at maximum zoom. ‘I think I can make out the taped-off area. Can I have the binoculars?’

  She focussed, and scanned the view in front of her. Trees, bushes, a female sika deer with her two young offspring, police tape, two distant uniformed figures walking from a parked squad car. The deer ran into the undergrowth. Sophie handed the binoculars back to Martin.

  ‘It may have been nothing,’ she said. ‘Whoever it was may just have been watching some deer. Shall we go on?’

  They left the small copse and strolled towards the police area, reaching it about ten minutes later. They ducked under the tape.

  ‘You can’t come in here, past that tape,’ one of the uniformed officers said when he spotted them walking towards the clearing.

  Sophie held out her warrant card. ‘I’m the SIO,’ she said. ‘Anything unusual to report?’

  The officer shrugged his shoulders. ‘Nothing, ma’am. It’s been very quiet.’

  ‘Have you seen anyone at all?’ she asked. ‘Particularly in the last half hour?’

  He shook his head. ‘No one.’ He glanced at his watch. ‘It’s not ten yet. I expect we’ll see a few ramblers before the morning’s out. Especially with the weather this good.’

  She nodded, then walked slowly around the immediate area, scanning the view in each direction. Other than some birds heading towards the distant trees, there were few signs of life. She took a bottle of water from the side pocket of her backpack and swallowed several mouthfuls, then returned to the centre of the clearing to speak to the officers guarding the site. ‘Okay. We’ll be off. These are for you, by the way. Leave some for the next unit, won’t you?’ She handed over a packet of biscuits, turned and rejoined Martin who had remained on the edge of the path.

  ‘Where to now?’ he asked.

  ‘I think we’ll head along the tree line, west,’ she said. ‘We’ve got the flask of coffee so we can maybe stop for a break in half an hour or so. Then loop round to the south and get back to the car late morning. Does that sound okay?’ She passed him the water bottle.

  ‘Fine,’ he answered. ‘I’m actually enjoying this. Some all too rare "us" time.’

  ‘I feel the same, but I want to move a little bit faster for a while. Okay?’

  They removed their jackets and set off west at a sharp pace, following a rough path that hugged the edge of the tree line, disturbing only the occasional squirrel. There were no signs of human activity. After about twenty minutes the path left the trees, turned south-west and crossed an area of open heath. Sophie could see a small car park ahead of them, with three vehicles on the gritty surface. Cars could be heard passing along the nearby Sugar Hill Road. A solitary figure was approaching the parked cars on a path south of theirs, about the same distance away. Sophie walked faster and Martin, despite being several inches taller, found himself being left behind.

  ‘Is there a rush?’ he asked, increasing his stride and coming up beside her.

  Sophie laughed. ‘Maybe. We’ll get to the car park then turn south-east for the return path. There are a couple of bench seats by the look of it, so it might be a suitable place for our coffee stop.’ She took a handkerchief out of her pocket and mopped her brow, but she didn’t slow down.

  They reached the picnic area just ahead of the person on the more southerly path, and Sophie stopped and looked around her.

  ‘Good morning,’ she said as the man approached. ‘It’s a lovely day, isn’t it?’

  The stranger nodded but didn’t reply. He was tall, of average build and with his dark hair brushed back tightly. His eyes were hidden behind dark glasses. He didn’t return Sophie’s cheery smile.

  Sophie waved vaguely towards the binoculars hanging around his neck. ‘See anything interesting? We spotted a family of sika back there, and a few birds, but the sun’s getting a bit too bright for them now.’

  ‘Not much,’ came the gruff reply.

  As he looked towards her, Sophie noticed a thin scar that ran down the left side of his face. Not the kind of scar that would have been caused by a work accident, not to her knowledge. It was almost certainly a knife scar, caused by an extremely sharp blade run expertly down the facial skin. He turned towards a nearby black Range Rover fitted with darkened windows, and climbed in. Within a minute the vehicle was out on the road, disappearing around a bend leaving dust in its wake.

  ‘What was that all about?’ Martin asked.

  ‘He was the man we saw earlier, watching the taped-off area. I spotted him as we made our way along the tree line. I just wanted the opportunity to see him close up.’

  He laughed. ‘You’re incorrigibly nosey. I can’t believe how suspicious you are.’

  ‘Dead right I’m nosey. Two dead bodies, and we find someone hanging about in the trees and looking at the site? He was no birdwatcher, I’ll bet you a bottle of wine on it. The real question is, what was he really looking out for?’ She glanced back at her husband. ‘Now I need that coffee. Shall we head over to that bench, the one in the sun? I’d suggest a pub lunch later, but are we still on for a meal out tonight?’

  ‘Absolutely,’ he replied. ‘The Italian restaurant in Swanag
e, the one that serves great fish. So I think we should steer clear of too much booze just now. Agreed?’

  ‘If you say so, O wise one. But there’s a nice pub down at Coldharbour and I quite fancy a pint and a sandwich. But only if you agree.’

  He waited until she’d finished pouring their coffees, slipped his hand inside her jacket and attempted to tickle her armpit. Sophie shrieked, scaring away the birds that had landed close to their table hoping for a few crumbs.

  CHAPTER 8: Fidelio

  Late Saturday Morning, Week 1

  Tony Sorrento drove fast, heading north on the narrow Sugar Hill Road, then turning east onto the main A35 arterial road towards Poole. Why should he be feeling irritated? Moreover his scar itched slightly, a sure sign that he was tense. Again, why? The abandoned car had remained undiscovered for more than two weeks, far longer than his boss, Wayne Woodruff, had ever anticipated. The bodies inside would be badly decomposed by now, reducing the chances of yielding clues that might point to something other than suicide as the cause of death. So why was he still feeling tense? He couldn’t identify the cause of his worry. Maybe some part of him had hoped that the car would remain undiscovered forever, however illogical such a hope would be. Woodruff had anticipated a lull of about a week, had hoped for ten days and had in fact gained over a fortnight. He should be feeling pleased, not knotted up like this. It had been a mistake to make the journey across this morning. What had he expected to gain from the visit, for Christ’s sake? Police tape around the clearing and a couple of dozy coppers standing around not doing very much, that’s all there’d been, and he could have predicted exactly that from previous encounters with the police.

  His mind ran back over the hour or so that he’d spent tracking across the nature reserve. He’d been careful to park on the more remote west side, avoiding the obvious eastern entries that were closer to the scene. He’d seen nobody during the time he’d spent following minor paths across the heath, choosing sparse tracks that kept inside the tree line as much as possible. His only encounter had been with that woman just as he’d got back to the car. Maybe it was her manner that had made him feel uneasy, so alert and watchful despite her cheerful manner. He’d seen her eyes flicker over him and glance at the car. She’d had that look about her, observant, missing nothing. She might even have noted the vehicle registration. Maybe he’d get rid of this one, ask Gordy to trade it in for something new. Could it be managed within a week? Gordy would know. The exchange would have to be kept low profile though. He was a professional, after all, and followed the code meticulously. Get rid of anything that might conceivably end up giving the cops a lever, however small. It doesn’t matter whether it’s animal, vegetable or mineral. Just chop it, quickly and efficiently, leaving no trace. That was the code.