by Jane Isaac
“Is there anyone who may have had a grudge against you, anyone you have upset, in prison maybe?”
He narrowed his eyes, sat back in his chair, “You think this is to do with me?”
“We have to investigate every area.”
“No, I told you, I kept my head down and did my time.”
She looked him in the eye. “Did you grass anyone up at the trial?”
“Absolutely not.” He jerked his head back and gave her an antagonistic stare. “Go through everything. You won’t find anything on me.”
“What about the guys you did the job with?”
“We’re still on good terms. It was a job that went wrong.” He shrugged. “I was only given two years less than them because I wasn’t armed. Just the driver. The judge made that perfectly clear at the trial.”
“Thank you. That will be all for now. You’ve been most helpful. Can you please give your present address and contact details to the detective, along with a list of all associates and friends of your father, and yourself.”
“Why do you need my friends’ details?”
“We need to follow up all lines of enquiry. We can’t rule anything out at this stage.”
He nodded and sighed, chewing the inside of his lip.
Helen rose to leave the room. Just before she reached the door, she turned around. “Your dad, does he drink locally?”
“No, he usually walks up to The Black Bull during the week, The Wagon and Horses on a weekend.”
Helen raised her eyebrows. “That’s quite a walk.”
“You’re not wrong. Both must be between two and three miles away from home, but that was the way he liked it. He was bred a Weston boy – did his food shopping there, too – what bit he bought. Might be worth a try for you guys? He’s pretty well known around there.”
“Thank you. We’ll do that. Just one more thing?”
“Yes?”
“The tattoo on the top of your father’s arm. I couldn’t make out what it said inside the heart?” The mortuary had assured her that this area of the body would be well covered when he formerly identified it.
Rab didn’t flinch. “Just our names – Robert and Anna.” He shrugged. “I’m not surprised you couldn’t read it. It wasn’t a very professional job when it was done and that was well over twenty years ago.”
Chapter Eleven
“Right everyone, you’ve all no doubt heard the news that we have traced the victim’s son.” Helen’s eyes darted around the room as she spoke. “For those of you who weren’t here, he came down to the station to talk to us yesterday evening.” She went on to summarize the main points of the interview, listing them individually on the whiteboard. Some sat and scribbled notes, others leant against desks, or stood at the back, digesting the new information, all rapt in silence.
As she finished a voice spoke up from the back of the room, “At least we now know why house to house in the vicinity is like bleeding a stone,” DI Townsend said, dejectedly. Echoes of agreement followed, the mutterings growing louder.
Helen glared at Townsend. She couldn’t read him. His attitude seemed to change direction like the wind. She addressed the room again. “Listen, if Robert McCafferty’s statement is correct then we need to set our net wider. Weston is now our focus of attention. This could be our chance!” She waited until the cacophony of voices abated. All eyes were fixed on her once again. “I want people down to both pubs to talk to the landlords this morning. Let’s go back to the beginning. I want to know who Jim McCafferty’s friends are, what he does in his spare time, where he shops – anything you can find.”
“Let’s dig into Robert’s background too,” she went on. “Speak to the liaison officers at each of the prisons he attended. Who did he share a cell with? What was his discipline record like? Did he forge any particular friendships or make any enemies? Who visited him in prison? Look at the medical records – any history of drugs? Although Robert himself has an alibi we cannot rule out the possibility of his involvement, however small, at this stage. Did somebody kill his father to get back at him for something he’d done to upset them?”
Silence fell in the room. She glanced around. Twelve pairs of ardent eyes looked back at her. “Right, that’s it. Any questions?” Heads shook. She pulled back her sleeve and checked her watch. “Let’s get to it then. We’ll try to meet back here at four o’clock.”
A phone rang in the incident room and she was aware of footsteps behind her as she walked back into her office.
“Ma’am?”
“Yes, Pemberton?” She turned around to face him.
“Andrew Steiner from the Hampton Herald has just phoned for the second time this morning and Chris Watts from The Evening Chronicle wants an urgent interview.” He looked down at his list. “Oh, and Anna Cottrell is going back to her flat this morning to collect some clothes. Plus, the Super’s just called. Apparently, he’s already tried your mobile. He wants to speak to you urgently. Says if we don’t get you to ring within the next five minutes he’s coming down.”
She felt jaded. This was like being at the receiving end of a barrage of machine gun fire.
Helen thought for a moment. “Get me Jack Coulson in the press office on the phone, will you?”
Confusion filled his face. “What about the Super?”
“Belt and braces Pemberton. Belt and braces.” He stared at her as if she had just been admitted to a secure mental unit, and turned on his heels.
* * *
The chair that was usually occupied by Superintendent Jenkins’ secretary was empty outside his office, so Helen approached the door and rapped it vigorously with her fist.
“Come in!”
“Morning, sir.” He looked taken aback as she walked into his office, his expression clearly indicating that he was expecting someone else. “I understand you wanted a word.”
Jenkins’ office was on the top floor of the original building. A large room, there was a round oak table at one end, surrounded neatly with eight chairs, and a cabinet stacked with books at the other. His desk was placed in the middle at an angle, to allow a clear view of the top of the building opposite out of the large window. The whole room was immaculately tidy. The papers on his desk were stacked precisely, even the books on the shelf appeared to be arranged in height order. There were no photographs on his desk and none on the walls, apart from an abstract painting which looked like odd splodges of yellow and orange paint. She pointed at the empty chair opposite his desk, “May I?”
“This needs to be quick Helen,” he said urgently. “I’ve a meeting with the Chief Con. in five minutes.”
Helen held her head high, well aware that meeting face to face would prove somewhat disarming. “Sorry, sir.” She sat down decisively. “I won’t take up much of your time. Did you get me the email I sent you?”
“Yes I did, but I need to speak to you about the press, Helen,” he said, quickly. “I’ve had Andrew Steiner, Editor in Chief of the Hampton Herald, on this morning. Somehow, he’s got hold of my direct line. He seems to think we have apprehended a suspect and wants to know if we plan to charge them.” He scratched his head irritably.
Helen narrowed her eyes. The press loved to employ tactics to force their hand into releasing information. “Where’d he get that from?”
“It doesn’t matter where he got it from,” Jenkins retorted, the tone in his voice rising. “I take it from your reaction that you are not in a position to charge on Operation Marlon?”
Helen sighed inwardly at the choice of names allocated to police cases to distinguish investigations. More red tape. Marlon. This wasn’t car crime, an organized drugs group. It was a murder enquiry. “No we are not. But . . .”
“Helen, in a murder investigation the rule of thumb is to get the press on your side from the beginning. If you don’t, they’ll go for the sensationalized angle and whip the public up into a frenzy.”
“Yes, sir, I am well aware . . .”
He shook his head. “Being
aware is not enough!” he snapped. He sat back in his chair and sighed. The dark eyebrows swung back. When he spoke again his voice was calm. “Perhaps we’ve given you too much for your first murder case?”
Helen could see where this was leading and rushed in quickly, “Certainly not, sir. Now that we have traced Robert McCafferty, the victim’s son, we have plenty of fresh leads to follow up.”
“Have you spoken to DCI Sawford at all? Ran your ideas past him?”
“With respect, sir, as my superior, I’m running them by you. I have asked our press office to arrange a press conference later today and Robert will be present to appeal for witnesses. I’m confident that this new information will give us the break that we need. We won’t be releasing the removal of the tattoo at this stage. The last thing we want to do is to give the public the impression that it was a trophy and there are the makings of a serial killer on the loose. We need to convince them that this is an isolated incident. But I didn’t want to arrange a press conference until we had something substantial to give. Now that we have the son . . .” She went on to give him a laconic update of the investigation thus far. When she finished he was still glaring at her, but she could see that his reserve was wavering.
“Why wasn’t I informed about the press conference?”
“I was just about to let you know, sir. I’m sure you appreciate that the sensitive elements of this case require us to tread carefully.”
“Sensitive?” His face contorted.
“I wanted to discuss it with you first, to make sure you approved of our strategy. I don’t wish to reveal the adoption angle or Anna’s biological link with the victim. I’d like to keep that information to ourselves for the moment. I want to see where the new leads take us first. I feel sure that the killer is close to the family in some way and keeping that under wraps at present may draw him in.” He stared at her. “Plus Anna Cottrell is returning to her flat to collect some things today. I’ve got constables on scene and some undercover guys there watching . . .”
“That will only add fuel to their fire.”
“Not if we handle it correctly,” she responded succinctly. She stared at him in the silence that followed. “Would you like to join us at the press conference?” she said eventually. “It’s at one o’clock.”
He thought for a moment. “No, I have a meeting scheduled, but don’t forget that we are here to serve the public in general, and we are judged by what they print in the press – true or not. Are you sure you are up to this?”
“Absolutely, sir. I feel that we are really starting to make some progress.”
He sat in silence and surveyed her. “I can give you until Friday to come up with something. After that, I feel we need to bring in an experienced SIO to work alongside you.”
He didn’t miss the flash of anger in her eyes. “This bears no reflection on your abilities, Helen. Look upon it as a learning curve. Right.” He stood up, indicating that their meeting was at an end. “I want to be appraised of every aspect of the investigation as it progresses. Call me when anything significant crops up. I don’t want to be put in a vulnerable position again.”
“Certainly, sir.”
Helen breathed a sigh of relief as she closed the door to the Super’s office behind her. She wasn’t under any illusions why he wanted this case solved swiftly. An Assistant Chief Constable position had just arisen in a neighboring force and a quick result here would not only raise a positive public profile but, more importantly, look favorable on his application. Jack Coulson in the press office had been very informative on that point. Having a wife that worked in the human resources department meant he was very well versed on the political motivations of senior officers, as well as handling the media.
She made her way down the stairs feeling mildly relieved. During his short time in situ she had seen many officers leave his office licking their wounds after incurring his ambitious wrath. She couldn’t help feeling she’d got off lightly this time. But she also knew her victory would be short lived. If a result wasn’t forthcoming by Friday, then she would become another pawn in his game, pushed aside for her alleged ineptitude, his latest scapegoat. And she couldn’t afford to let that happen.
When she reached the car park, her phone buzzed. “DCI Lavery.”
“Hi, darling.”
“Hi, Mum,” she breathed. It was good to hear a friendly voice. “How are things?”
“Fine. And you?”
She tilted her head onto one side and leant against the wall. “We traced the victim’s son. He’s given us loads more information to follow up on. Could just be the breakthrough that we need.”
“Great. Err . . . You need to speak to Matthew.”
The sudden change in subject caused Helen to jerk forward slightly. Her heart sunk deep into her chest. “Why what’s happened?”
“He came down last night after you’d gone, looking for you, muttering something about a party on Saturday.”
“He’s grounded.”
“I told him that, too, but he said he needed to talk to you. When I said you weren’t here he started muttering under his breath and slamming doors.”
Helen furrowed her brow. It wasn’t like Matthew to be rude to his grandmother. “What did he say?”
“I couldn’t make out most of it. But he’s definitely not a happy bunny.”
Helen looked up the sky. It was grey, angry. “He wants to become a pilot,” she said.
“So I understand,” her mother replied.
Helen was taken aback. “You know?”
“He has mentioned it a few times.”
Helen leant back against the wall. “The RAF could be the making of him,” her mother continued, gently.
The RAF. So he had spoken about that too. “Why didn’t you say anything?”
“It’s something that you two need to sort out together. I know how you feel about the Military.”
Helen rubbed her forehead with her free hand. The line buzzed slightly.
“He told me this morning that he had spoken to you about it yesterday.”
“Oh?” This sounded like a conspiracy. How many other people knew? “Did he also tell you I said I would support him?”
“Yes, but . . .” Jane Lavery hesitated.
“What?”
“He thinks you will support him to become a pilot. He said you didn’t look very happy when he mentioned the Air Force.”
What does he expect? Helen didn’t want to have this conversation, not here, not now, not ever in fact. “I need to go. Thanks for letting me know about Matthew. I’ll deal with him later.”
“OK. See you later.”
As the line went dead a wave of nausea hit Helen. She had worked full time since Matthew had been five, studied for her sergeant, then inspector exams to improve her prospects, salary. She wanted to set her boys an example, as well as giving them every opportunity. Was she really doing the right thing? Would he be behaving any different if she’d stayed home all those years? She sighed to herself deeply and reached into her pocket. What she needed now more than anything else was a cigarette.
* * *
“That’s strange,” Jessica Keen said, moving to examine the fax she was holding from a distance. Jessica was one of three Detective Support Officers, civilian staff who provided administration support to the investigation.
“What?” Townsend said.
She jumped, unaware that he had been standing directly behind her. He gave her the creeps.
“Oh, sorry, sir. It’s just the routine checks on Kathleen Cottrell show that she was known by another name until the age of seven years.”
“Really. That’s interesting. May I?” He held out his hand and scanned his eyes across the sheet, before adding, “I’ll need to borrow this Jessica, to make some more enquiries.”
“Yes, sir. Shall I take a copy for DS Carter?”
“No need to bother him at the moment. He’s up to his eyes in it. I’ll brief him if it comes to anything. OK?”
>
Jessica swallowed. “OK,” she said. Despite policy requiring all enquiries to be cross referenced through the Holmes system managed by DS Carter, she passed the piece of paper over. Must be alright, she resolved to herself. After all, he was boss’ deputy, wasn’t he?
* * *
Anna watched Ross finish his cereal and gaggle back his coffee.
“Thanks for making me breakfast.” He looked up and smiled, revealing bits of cereal between his teeth.
“It’s only Weetabix.”
He shrugged. “Thanks anyway. What are you up to today?”
She gazed out the window at the bare tree branches dancing in the wind. “I don’t know. I’d love to go for a ride but my bike is still at the police station.”
“Borrow one of mine.”
She smiled and looked back at him. “What about the Brompton?” The Brompton was Ross’ newest addition to his little collection of cycles, his current favorite.
His eyes widened teasingly, a smile tickling his lips. Instinctively, she reached out to punch him. “Yeah, sure,” he said, as he dodged her fist. “Just make sure you fold it and take it wherever you go. It’s a thief’s market at the moment.”
“No problem. I also need to get some clothes from the flat.” She flinched inwardly. It felt strange to call it ‘the flat’ and not home. But the truth of the matter was that it wasn’t home at the moment. Recent events made sure of that.
“Are you going on your own?”
“It’s my flat, isn’t it?”
Ross blinked in surprise, his face tightening. “I just thought that you might want to go with someone at first, especially after what happened.”
“I’m sure that the killer hasn’t broken down police cordons and planted another body,” she replied, hoping that he wouldn’t see through her bravado.
“Ha ha,” he said sarcastically, but concern was still etched on his face. “If you wait until tonight I’ll take you over myself?”
“I can’t. I couldn’t possibly go another day without clean underwear.” She gave him a cheeky stare and he laughed.