An Unfamiliar Murder

by Jane Isaac

  Later, Helen pulled her jacket around her to prevent the chilly air from biting into her chest as she crossed

  Flax Street and walked around the corner. The wind had died down now, but not before it cleared the sky of clouds, leaving way for a heavily frosty night. When she reached her car she pulled her mobile phone out of her pocket, flicked through the contacts until she located home and pressed the dial button. The call was answered on the second ring. “Hello?” a voice whispered.

  “Hi, it’s me. How’s Matthew?” she asked, as she climbed into her car.

  “He’s okay. Don’t worry. He’s sleeping now. How about you?”

  “Will you make sure he’s laid on his side?”

  “He’s fine, really. I’ll go check on him again in a moment. Are you OK?”

  “Yeah, fine thanks. Looks like I’m going to be late though, and probably in for most of the weekend.”

  “I kind of guessed that. Look, don’t worry, I can handle things here. You just do whatever you need to and I’ll see you later.”

  “Thanks, I really appreciate it. See you later.” She pressed her lips together, clicked the button to end the call and turned the key to start the engine. It was going to be a long night . . .

  * * *

  People show an amazing array of different reactions to a dead body. Some are frightened, afraid that the dead corpse will return to life and try to get revenge on their attacker, like in a film; some are horrified at the scene, the circumstances in which a person lost their life; some are sad, they grieve for the victim, think of their friends, their family, the lost years of life and opportunity; others are matter of fact, like the emergency services who are more accustomed to such sights and whose senses have numbed over the years as a result. Anna hadn’t felt any of these emotions. In fact she hadn’t thought about the body at all. Until now.

  As she finished talking to her solicitor and watched the cell door bang closed, she realized that, so far, her mind had focused on her incarceration, consuming her with anger tainted by the fear of being imprisoned. It had blocked out all earlier events which felt like a blur, a whirlwind. An extraordinary out of body experience.

  She recalled the blood splattered all over her lounge. It was like a scene from a horror film. Who would have thought that one person’s body could contain so much blood? She thought for a moment - a person. This blood had belonged to somebody. An overwhelming feeling of shame engulfed her. She had been consumed with the incomprehensible inconvenience to her life. He had lost his . . . Her stomach churned, but this time her bladder did not call out to her – it seemed to have frozen.

  Anna forced her mind to push further into its depths. A lacerated body had sat facing her on the floor. The eyes . . . She shuddered, physically shaking as she recalled the eyes open wide, staring at her. Eyes that had belonged to someone. Panic pulsed through her veins as realization set in. The victim of this atrocity belonged to someone. The brutal truth of this fact made the pain in her head seer until her brain felt as if it were splitting in two. This was somebody’s father, brother, husband, son . . .

  Somewhere, some family would be disturbed this evening. Possibly watching a film, or putting the kids to bed, or maybe sitting down to dinner – a normal routine family evening, ruined by a knock at the door.

  As they answered the door and saw the police officers wearing their hats, speaking in a solemn tone, - “May we come in?” - their minds would race, overwhelmed with questions. Who was it? What has happened? They would brace themselves for bad news. Maybe they would think that their car had been stolen? But the police officers’ tone would be too serious, their manner too empathetic and, once invited into the sitting room, they would ask them to sit down. Then, they knew it was serious – an accident, maybe even a death. Anna shuddered . . .

  She imagined then that the questions would start. “Was your husband wearing a certain color jacket when he left home today? Did he leave the house wearing casual, grey trousers?” And this may instill an element of hope in the victim’s family. Anyone could match that description, it was nothing significant. But then the mention of something personal like a white gold, engraved wedding ring would crush all ambiguity - and they would know, there would be no doubt.

  The breathing would stop, they would clutch their head and in one moment their world would be shattered to pieces – all because of that knock at the door. And they would gaze up at the clock, reading the time when their life had changed irrevocably.

  Tears streamed down Anna’s face, her eyes fixed in space. Would they think that it was her? That she could even be capable of causing such pain, such devastation? The thoughts made her head go hot and dizzy. Sweat coursed down the back of her neck as she jumped off the bed and rushed to the cold toilet in the corner, pushing strands of hair out of her face as she retched.

  Chapter Three

  Helen closed the door to her office and looked around the room, surveying her team. Most of them were enthusiastic detectives with a wealth of experience between them. However, this didn’t prevent the dark shadows which appeared under many a pair of eyes and the odd stifled yawn. They had been called in from not only the end of their shift, but the end of their working week. Most of them wore weary expressions, already knowing that they were facing a very late night, aware that the weekend would not offer much respite.

  “Good Evening everyone,” Helen spoke loudly, scanning around the room at her company, some of which were seated, others perched on the edge of desks, a couple standing at the back. “First, thank you very much for giving up your weekend. I really appreciate your help.” Twelve pairs of eyes focused on her.

  She moved across to the whiteboard and methodically summarized the evening’s events, jotting down key points. Once complete she turned to face them, “Any questions?” The room was silent. She could almost feel them digesting the facts so far. “I want you all to know that I value each and everybody’s opinion, so if anybody has any theories or information that might help, then please speak up.”

  “Ma’am,” the soft voice came from a short, middle aged Detective Constable at the back of the room whom she recognized as DC Steve Spencer, “Is there any evidence that this was a burglary that went wrong? Maybe she came home and found him?”

  “It’s possible,” she said. “The front door is damaged, looks like it had been forced using something like a crowbar. There was only an old fashioned Yale lock, so it wouldn’t have been that difficult. Forensics should be able to clarify that. No sign of the tool though.”

  “Was there any bag left there?” A female detective, Rosa Dark, piped up.

  “No, I’m afraid not.”

  “It does seem unlikely that somebody would break in without some sort of bag - something to carry any stolen goods. Perhaps it was a druggie, looking for cash or jewelry to sell?” Rosa continued. Helen looked across at her and smiled inwardly. She was barely out of probation a year and the youngest detective on the team, having only recently passed her exams. But any shortage of experience was compensated in abundance by her overwhelming enthusiasm.

  At this moment DS Pemberton walked into the room. Helen nodded to him, “Good Evening, Sergeant. I’ve just been briefing our team on the evening’s events so far. Anything to add?” Pemberton glanced at the whiteboard and was silent momentarily as he considered the bullet points.

  “Yes, ma’am,” he said and turned to address the room. “I arrived just as the suspect was being led down to the car and something struck me.” He frowned.

  “Yes, Sergeant?” Helen prompted.

  “Well, she didn’t have much blood on her clothing. A few smudges, that’s all.” He looked over at Helen. “You saw the crime scene. It was like a blood bath. You would expect her be covered from head to toe.”

  “Could she have changed?” asked DC Spencer.

  “If she did, then we didn’t find any blood stained clothing at the address. She must have got rid of it pretty quickly.”

  “Interesting poi
nt, Sergeant. Get uniform to do a thorough search of the area. We’ll find them if they are still there. And make sure they check the drains too, with any luck they might even locate the murder weapon.” She nodded. “Thank you. Anything else?”

  “Yes, we have an ID on the body, ma’am. I tried to call your mobile, but you must have already started your briefing. His name was Jim McCafferty.”

  “Excellent. Is he known to us?”

  “I’ve only had a chance to check very quickly, and yes he is known but only for petty stuff – shoplifting, theft, drunk and disorderly - that sort of thing.”

  “Good work, Sergeant. Right then, guys,” Helen addressed the whole room now, “we need to find out all the background we can on Jim McCafferty – where he lived, who his friends were, where he worked and what he does in his spare time – let’s build up a picture of him. We also need to find out what we can about Anna Cottrell. She has no previous and we know very little about her.” Helen paused momentarily and glared at the clock, “It’s almost nine thirty so tread delicately there please. I don’t want any complaints from ageing grannies about being called by Hampton police late at night,” she added, a smile tickling her lips.

  “DS Carter will coordinate events in here and get us set up on the Holmes system so that we can collate our findings.” The Home Office Large Major Enquiry System is a computer system which derived from complex cases such as that of the Yorkshire Ripper in the 1970s, when mounds of paperwork had made the investigation difficult to manage. Information is collated by Holmes software which cross references all data input. Helen was keen to get started on Holmes at the earliest opportunity.

  “DS Pemberton and DC Spencer will interview the suspect and Inspector Townsend and I will be watching from the room next door. Right, that’s all for now.” Helen glanced around the room as her team busied itself with their tasks, suddenly puzzled. Where was Townsend? She was sure she had seen him at the beginning of the briefing – yes he had been standing at the back. She looked over at Pemberton. “Sean, can I have a minute please?”

  “Sure.” Sean Pemberton followed her into her office, closing the door behind him.

  “Sergeant, have you seen Inspector Townsend?” she asked, sitting on the edge of her desk to face him.

  “Yes. He was outside having a cigarette when I came back,” he replied, casting his eyes downwards.

  “During briefing?”

  He looked up at her. “Well, unless you had just started, then . . .”

  Helen cut in, she had just spotted Townsend waltzing back into the main office casually, “Thank you, Sergeant. That will be all. It appears he is back now.” Pemberton turned around and looked through the open blinds, following her gaze. “Would you tell him I would like a word?”

  “Of course,” he replied. She didn’t miss the rolling of his eyes as he turned to leave the office, even if he did drop his head discreetly to do so. It seemed she wasn’t the only one on the team disappointed in the Inspector’s behavior.

  Moments later Townsend walked through the open door. “You wanted to see me?” Helen was looking out of the window behind the desk, at the lit car park below. A man and women were laughing together, walking towards a red Toyota. He had his arm around her shoulders. Helen felt a pang of envy. They looked totally relaxed as if they had a whole weekend of fun to look forward to. She slowly turned to face him, placing one hand on the back of her chair, the other loosely on her hip. Was she imagining the sneer on his lip?

  “Yes, close the door please, Inspector, and take a seat,” she said curtly. He followed her words and sat opposite. In spite of the desk between them obstructing her vision slightly, she couldn’t fail to notice how he slung himself over the chair opposite her.

  “Inspector, do you have a problem with this investigation?” she asked, staring him straight in the eyes.

  This time a definite sneer appeared on his lip. It curled up before he spoke. “No.”

  “Is there somewhere else you would rather be?”

  “Well the Coach and Horses is my usual haunt at the end of a busy week.”

  She stared at him for a moment, her eyes hard, boring into him.

  He put up his hand. “Look, I’m only joking,” he replied, a conciliatory note in his voice.

  She pulled out her chair and sat down before continuing, “Would you like to tell me your take on the investigation? What are your theories?”

  “Well it all seems pretty obvious to me. She arrived home and apprehended a burglar, they had a tussle and she stabbed him to death. Pretty straight forward. We just need to charge her so that we can all go and start the weekend.”

  “What about the murder weapon?”

  “Simple, found at the scene, next to her body,” he replied, sighing and sinking back further down into his chair, a conceited look of triumph on his face.

  “Would you like to tell me why the carving knife found at the scene is not concurrent with the victim’s wounds?”

  “What?” Now he sat forward, looking puzzled. He looked her up and down, as if they were meeting for the first time. “What are you talking about?”

  “If you had been present at the briefing you would be aware of all the facts and information we have so far,” she said, holding eye contact.

  “When was this discovered?”

  “The pathologist revealed it at the scene, in his initial findings. It appears the actual murder weapon was more akin to a hunting knife.” He continued to stare at her.

  “I only went for a smoke while you updated the troops,” he said, defensively.

  “Inspector, you are my Deputy here. I need your support at every stage of the investigation.”

  He glanced away and mumbled something quietly under his breath.

  Helen could feel her blood staring to boil. She stood up, resting her hands on the edge of the desk, fingers splayed. This was probably the only time that she would ever be able to tower over him. “What did you say?”

  Townsend met her eyes. “Nothing.”

  There was something in his gaze, behind his eyes, that she couldn’t make out. “Listen, if you don’t wish to work with me on this investigation then I will call Superintendent Jenkins and get him to send a replacement immediately.”

  “There’s no need for that.” Townsend continued to stare at her, but sat up in his seat. The mere mention of the Superintendent wiped the smile right off his face.

  Her eyes were still glued onto him. She took a deep breath and let it out slowly in an effort to control her racing heart beat. When she finally spoke her tone was more measured and relaxed. “Then pull yourself together. Make sure you are fully up to date with where we are and get yourself ready for the interview.”

  He looked up surprised, “You want me to conduct the interview?”

  Helen raised her eyes to the ceiling, wondering if he was being deliberately obtuse. “No, Inspector,” she replied, enunciating every syllable. “You and I will be listening next door.” Did she have to explain everything? He nodded his understanding. “But, be clear on this,” she added fighting to keep her composure, “I want all or nothing on this investigation. You need to show me that you can contribute and give full commitment, or you are off!” Townsend looked away and nodded. “That will be all.”

  As he stood and walked out of the room, closing the door behind him, Helen gripped the edge of the desk hard in anger and clenched her teeth. She made a mental note to speak to Superintendent Jenkins at the earliest opportunity. She sighed out loud as her blood pressure started to drop and looked down absentmindedly at her notes. That would be Monday - Superintendents rarely worked weekends . . .

  * * *

  Despite her practical nature, Anna had always felt uncomfortable in the presence of police officers. Even watching them work from afar, they had always managed to make her feel guilty. It was as if she could be breaking the law without even realizing it. On the odd occasion that she had borrowed her father’s car she had slowed down deliberately when
approaching a police vehicle, even if she wasn’t exceeding the speed limit. Perhaps it was the thought of being restrained, locked away behind all those closed doors which made her so nervous?

  “Let’s go over this again.” Anna stared at the detective opposite her aghast as he looked down at his notes. She guessed they must have been in the interview room for around an hour now, and they had spent the entire time asking her useless questions. How long she had lived in the flat in Little Hampstead? How long her lease was due to run? What her neighbors were like? Where she worked? Her morning routine? One question kept screaming in her head: ‘Why don’t they ask me about the murder?’

  The thick set detective sat directly opposite was as bald as a light bulb, towering above her, even though they were both seated. His colleague next to him had a thick head of short, wavy hair, dark brown streaked with grey, dandruff peppering his shoulders. He was a short, slender man with dark, pointy features. In different circumstances the contrast between them would have been comical.

  Anna fidgeted with the zip buckle of her jogging suit jacket, already feeling at a disadvantage opposite the two black suits. She glanced up at the camera in the corner of the room. A rush of emotion pulsed through her. Were they watching her now? Were they scrutinizing her body language, looking for clues that may betray guilt? The thought made her sit bolt upright in her chair.

  She glanced sideways at her solicitor who was staring at the DS thoughtfully and recalled how relieved she had been when he arrived earlier, how she thought he would resolve everything, put them right and she would be released. But as he had walked into the cell she caught the austere look on his face and her dream of a quick release immediately shattered. Although Will Southwold had been a family friend for many years, she fought the temptation to hug him as usual. It hadn’t seemed appropriate and his face certainly hadn’t invited it. He had just stared at her through bespectacled eyes and said, “I have spoken with an officer in the case and I cannot pretend to you, Anna. This is serious. Now, let’s start from the beginning, shall we?”