by Jane Isaac
There were no greetings, no polite insignificant comments. “Thank you for coming,” was all he said quietly. He held up his hand once they had joined him in the hallway to halt them in their tracks. “She’s taken this very badly,” he said gesturing his head towards the door to the kitchen which was slightly ajar.
Helen nodded and deliberately lowered her voice. “What time was the parcel delivered?” she asked.
He looked blank and shook his head. “I’m not sure exactly. My wife found it when she returned from the shops.” Helen shot Pemberton a quick glance. So Kathleen hadn’t shared her visit to the police station that afternoon with her husband. Edward scratched his head above the left ear. “Must have been about three o’clock. It certainly wasn’t there when I went out for the newspaper this morning.”
“Was it hand delivered?” Pemberton asked, as he pulled out his notebook and started scribbling.
“Definitely, I would say. There doesn’t appear to be any postmark on it.”
“May we see it?” Helen asked. Edward was standing in the middle of the hallway awkwardly, blocking their way.
“Err. Certainly.” He cringed, causing the wrinkles in his face to deepen around the eyes.
“Where is it, Mr. Cottrell?”
“It’s in the kitchen – with Anna. She hasn’t let go of it since she opened it.”
They followed Edward into the kitchen. Anna was seated at the small breakfast table in the centre of the room. Helen thought how chillingly cold she looked, despite her parent’s warm central heating; almost ghostlike. She didn’t acknowledge their presence as they walked in, but sat in the chair rocking backwards and forwards in slow motion, her eyes frozen on the package in front of her.
Helen picked up the chair next to Anna and tilted it sideways before sitting down to face her. “Anna,” she spoke quietly, leaning in towards her. If Anna was aware of her presence she certainly didn’t acknowledge it.
“Anna?” Still nothing. Helen looked up at the others as Kathleen appeared at the doorway.
“Anna, its Detective Chief Inspector Lavery and Sergeant Pemberton love,” Kathleen said.
For several seconds nothing happened, then slowly the rocking ceased and Anna lifted her eyes. They looked completely empty. “I know who they are,” she said.
Helen spoke gently, “Anna, you’ve had quite a shock. Can we get you some water or something?”
“No, thank you.” She blinked.
“I’m going to need to ask you some questions. Is that OK?”
“More questions. All everyone does is ask questions.” She started to shake her head. “Asking questions won’t bring Ross back.”
Helen’s eyes flicked sideways at the package, then back to Anna. “May I take a look?”
A glint of life appeared to return to Anna’s face. “Why?”
“Anna, I can’t help you if you won’t let me.”
She looked away and seemed to be churning over this comment. Finally she looked back, blinked again and nodded silently.
“Thank you,” Helen said, as she pulled the green, powdered, latex gloves out of her pocket and stretched them over her hands, then lifted the packaging, turning it over slowly. The lack of postage and postmark confirmed Edward’s theory that it had been hand delivered. Then she picked up the piece of shriveled material which was secured in a plastic bag, the bag sticking to its contents. It felt surprising stiff and slightly wrinkled in places. However, despite the wrinkles Helen could clearly see an outline, about three inches in diameter, which looked like a figure of eight, staring back at her.
“Anna?” she asked, placing the contents back on the outer packaging. “Have you seen this before?” She pointed it at the tattoo.
“It’s Ross’,” muttered Anna, almost underneath her breath.
“Are you absolutely sure?”
Anna looked up at her, and all her years of interviewing suspects, victims, witnesses, left Helen in no doubt that she was sure of her answer.
“Definitely. It’s from the top of his right arm. The sign of infinity. He had it done in college, on a whim. He’s regretted it ever since. He keeps it covered up these days. She swallowed and pointed. “Look, you can still see the scar from his bike crash last year.”
Helen reached back for the bag and looked more closely at the piece of skin. Sure enough a faint, pink line could be seen across the centre of the tattoo. “Anna,” she said as calmly as she could, “We are going to need to take this away to be examined. Is that OK?”
Anna didn’t reply for some time. Silence filled the kitchen. All eyes were on an oblivious Anna who was staring into space. When she finally spoke up her voice croaked, “He’s dead, isn’t he?” she asked, lifting her gaze to meet Helen’s.
“We don’t know that,” Helen said. “All we know is that we need to find him urgently. Are you sure you can’t think of anywhere he might be, any other friends, acquaintances even, that he may have visited?”
“Nothing.” Anna shook her head. Her body started to rock again, almost of its own volition. “Nothing,” she repeated. “I’ve been racking my brains.” She continued to stare at the detective when she suddenly froze, a light appearing in her eyes. But it wasn’t a bright shining light, more opaque, as if frosted in fear. “They’re taking them down one by one, aren’t they?”
Helen frowned. “What do you mean?”
“Whoever is doing this to me? They’re taking them out - people close to me - one by one.”
“Anna, we don’t know that,” replied Helen in a desperate attempt to reassure her.
“Yes they are,” said Anna staring at her wide eyed. “I’m the only link to each of these incidents. And sooner or later they’re going to come looking for me . . .”
* * *
Helen tossed and turned that night. Thoughts of the investigation kept seeping into her mind. It was known that serial killers sometimes liked to remove something from their victim, like a keepsake, a trophy. But a piece of tattooed skin? And why send it to Anna? It didn’t make sense.
She had also read that serial killers often adopted a pattern to their killings, knots being tied in the same way, or victims being arranged in a certain manner. However, research suggested that some violent criminals had a higher than average IQ, enabling them to adapt their behavior to lessen the chance of being caught. Maybe the skinning wasn’t for a trophy. Maybe it was for another purpose? Maybe it was to scare the hell out of his ultimate victim?
Helen shifted again. She could feel the blood pulsing through her veins. The previous evening had been manic: the fire, Ross’ disappearance, the removal of his tattoo, all represented a turning point. Her investigation had stepped up a gear. She now knew that these crimes were not only linked but calculated incidents. And Anna was right, she was the direct link between the two. She needed to protect Anna and find Ross fast.
Personal protection was no mean feat and certainly not something which was easy to instigate. Since the introduction of the Human Rights Act, police officers had to demonstrate they had reasonable grounds to believe a person’s safety was in danger and obtain their full agreement, otherwise it was an invasion of their rights. Usually used as part of a witness protection program it was also very expensive, meant lots of paperwork and authorization at the highest levels.
After her conversation with Anna, Helen had left Pemberton to take a full statement and gone out into the Cottrell’s cold back garden. She needed time to think. She was starting to understand why her father had called the role of Senior Investigating Officer on a murder enquiry the most responsible and important job in the police force. This was a judgment call and she knew that the decisions she made at this moment could make the difference between life and death.
Her immediate priority was to protect the Cottrells. If she was right and the killer was someone known to the family, then sooner or later they would have to surface. Once resolved on this, she finally reached for her phone and called Superintendent Jenkins. She couldn’t
authorize protection at this level, bureaucracy demanded his stripes behind her.
He had sounded irritated at first, the noise in the background betraying that he was out in public. She guessed maybe in a restaurant with friends. But once updated, he had proved surprisingly helpful. He agreed to allocate a Family Liaison Officer to spend as much time as possible with the Cottrells in their home over the next few days, a specially trained police officer who would provide a dual role by supporting the family, updating them on developments in the case and support the investigation by asking questions and observing behavior, feeding back any information which may drive the investigation forward. Although she didn’t think of the Cottrells as direct suspects, it was always possible that one of them may be involved in some small way. With a police officer close by at all times they may pick up on something, one little comment that may lead them to the killer. Helen’s thoughts lay mainly on Kathleen who appeared to be the most unstable of the three.
Jenkins had agreed that an alarm should be provided to the Cottrell family, with a direct link to the control room so that they could contact them should anyone or anything suspicious occur. He also approved her request to have the Armed Response Vehicle to be stationed outside the Cottrell’s property for the next 24 hours (when its presence would be reviewed and continued if necessary), unless they were deployed elsewhere, when a marked police car would take over.
As they neared the end of the phone call, just when Helen thought she had made a breakthrough with Jenkins, he delivered the sting in his tale. DCI Sawford would be arriving on Friday to assist with the investigation. He was giving evidence on a case in Court first thing, and would join them after lunch. I hope they keep him all day, Helen had thought to herself. But realistically she knew that wouldn’t happen. The Courts never finished late on a Friday.
Later, she had delivered the news to the Cottrells. What had followed was a diplomatic discussion with Anna and her parents where Helen had painstakingly explained that, in view of recent events, their safety needed to be a priority. They were to stay at the property, if at all possible. They had readily agreed to the alarm, but Kathleen was wary of the police presence. It had taken some deliberating, but she had finally agreed.
Arrangements, completion of all the relevant paperwork, making other agencies aware, had taken hours. It had been almost two o’clock in the morning by the time she got home, peeled her clothes off and jumped straight into bed but, in spite of this, she still couldn’t sleep.
Helen shifted again and closed her eyes firmly. The pressure was increasing. There was not only the expense to consider. A large, visible police presence would almost certainly increase public interest again. Jenkins was expecting an arrest – and fast.
Chapter Eighteen
Aaron Gravell cocked his head as he watched the detectives unwrap the new tapes and place them in the recorders. Having waved his right to legal representation, he sat alone, wide eyes watching their every movement as they prepared him for interview. When it came to the point where he had to identify himself for the tape, Helen leant closer into the computer screen, from where she was watching the interview remotely. Was that a glint of excitement in his eye?
She was also surprised to see how little resemblance he bore to his sister. The fastidiously smart Kathleen would have been disgusted at how her brother’s blue and white striped shirt sat loosely over a rotund stomach, his grey trousers stretched across his large thighs. Aaron was stocky with wide shoulders and a round face, littered with broken veins. His hair still showed signs of blond, although what was left was razored to a number one making him appear almost bald, but he did not look severe like Kathleen – quite the opposite. His blue eyes shone and he had one of those faces that almost always looked cheerful, in spite of his mood. His appearance disappointed Helen. Although Aaron shared the fair hair and pale eyes, the witness descriptions had indicated a slimmer, taller suspect.
He had no previous police record, but had been easy enough to find. A quick trace at the General Records Office confirmed his birth in the Ripley area, along with the names of his parents. DWP had then assisted with the rest, tracing through child benefit, then national insurance records they tracked him down to an address in the Birmingham area.
Pemberton and Dark had both been surprised when they had picked him up that morning. He hadn’t seemed phased at all, just inquisitive. Pemberton said that he had never witnessed an interviewee who had come along to the station so amiably - particularly when he had been told that he was to be interviewed in connection with a murder enquiry.
In Helen’s experience, novices usually fell into two groups – those nervous at what was going to happen and those angry about the intrusion into their time. But he displayed neither of these emotions. Either it was her imagination or he was actually amused and interested by the whole event, as if he couldn’t wait to get home and relay the experience as anecdotes to friends over dinner. Plus his wife, Jenny, of 26 years, had come along for the ride and was sitting in reception waiting for him. Did they think this was a family outing?
Once introductions were over, DC Dark started the questioning. “Could you tell us where you were on the afternoon and evening of Friday 20th November?”
“Last Friday?” Aaron looked across at the bare wall, deep in thought. He scratched the back of his neck, “I was down the road at number 33. I’m building a conservatory for my neighbor. Was there most of the day.”
“Number 33?”
“Yes, 33 Winchester Road.”
“Can anyone verify that?”
“Sheila York is the owner. She was there most of the day, only popped out for a bit in the afternoon to walk the dog.”
“What time would this be?”
“Around 3 o’clock. But she wasn’t gone for long. Bubbles, her Great Dane, caught her dew claw in a wire fence. They came back about quarter of an hour later and she took her to the vets.” Aaron screwed up his face. “Poor girl – covered in blood she was.”
“And did you stay at the property?”
“I packed up around half three, just after she left, and went home. Like to leave early on a Friday.”
“And where did you go then?”
“Home. Jenny and I are re-decorating, so I helped her peel off the wallpaper in the back bedroom.”
“Did you go out again that evening?”
He stared at the desk as he thought for a moment. “No. We stayed in and watched Goodfellas on DVD with a few beers. It’s one of my favorite films.”
Helen nodded across to DC Spencer at this point, who went into the incident room to detail officers to get the alibi checked urgently.
“Thank you,” continued Dark. “Do you know a man called Jim or James McCafferty?”
“Never heard of him.” Aaron shrugged. “Is that who was murdered?” He looked from one detective to another. Neither responded, just looked at him, watching his reaction. “It is, isn’t it?”
Helen watched as they sat in silence for a moment, a tactic often used in interview to induce the interviewee to talk. Most people hated silence. “Well I’m sorry I can’t help you,” he said eventually. “I never knew the man.”
“Thank you. Would you like to tell us about your family, Aaron?” He looked surprised at the change of tact. “Yes, I have a wife named Jenny, whom you’ve met, and a daughter named Ellie. Is this something to do with them? Because I’m sure they don’t know him either.”
Dark ignored the question. “How old is your daughter?”
“21 years old.” He sat tall, every inch the proud father. “She is at Northampton University reading criminology.” Is that it? thought Helen. Is he using this as research on police procedures for his daughter’s course? Ready to report back on a real life police interview.
“Anyone else?”
“Not on my side,” Aaron replied succinctly. “My parents are dead and I have no siblings or aunts and uncles still alive.”
“When did your parents pass on?”
<
br /> He cocked his head again, then straightened it before he rubbed his chin. “Lets see. Dad died . . . It must be three years ago now. Mum died last year.”
“Were you close?”
He arched his forehead, blinked and nodded slowly. “Suppose so. I was an only one and they lived in the same village. Jenny and I nursed Mum through her cancer, until she was too ill and went into Cranfield Hospice.”
“You had no siblings?”
Again, that head cocked but this time it was joined by narrowing of the eyes – as if he’d figured out where the questioning was going. “Not that I see, no.”
“How do you mean?”
“Well, I have a sister named Kathleen but we are . . . What’s the word? Estranged. Don’t tell me this is something to do with her?”
“How did you find out that you had a sister?”
He exhaled loudly through an open mouth. “It’s rather odd actually. I grew up believing I was an only child and it wasn’t until last year that I heard.”
“Can you explain to us how you found out?”
“Mum told me. She called me to the hospice one day, about a week before she died, said she had something important to tell me.” He paused, stared into space, as if he were recalling those moments.
“Go on.”
“She said that she had been ‘expecting’ when she had met Dad, with someone else’s baby. They got married quickly and he took the child on as his own by all accounts. Mum said she was beautiful - people used to remark on her blue eyes and blond, curly hair. But he couldn’t warm to her, every time he looked at her, every time people remarked how lovely she was, all he could see was my mother with another man. They almost broke up over it.”
“What happened?”
“I came along and she was sent to live with Aunt Kate, mother’s sister. We never saw her, never even visited. Mum said it broke her heart, but it would have made it all the more difficult to see her, watch her grow up from afar. So she cut ties with her and Aunt Kate for good.”