by Lisa Cutts
Chapter 66
Downloading the CCTV and the information from the security system had taken all morning. By the time Pierre and I had got away from Sophie with all that we needed, taken the footage back to the nick and begun to watch it, I had little time to get to my meeting with Freya Forbes. I wasn’t too sure what she’d be able to say to put my mind at ease over the whole sorry saga, but it felt like an unresolved issue that needed putting to rest.
As I packed my stuff to leave the office, I put in a call to Wingsy. ‘You alright, Wingnut?’ I said, ‘How’s the interviewing with Birdsall going?’
He took a deep breath before saying, ‘Slow. I’m cream-crackered ’cos I didn’t get a lot of sleep. Poxy prisoner got his eight hours but I’m done in.’
‘Never mind about you. Working restrictions mean nothing to us, so shut up and listen. We’ve been to Sophie Alexander’s place. What a dozy tart she is.’
I heard Wingsy chuckle. ‘You hit it off, then?’
‘I let Pierre do the talking. He’s a lot more tactful than me. Anyway, the point is, not only does she alibi him out, she’s got some all-singing, all-dancing security system. He’s on the CCTV coming and going at the times he said. We still need to check he didn’t leave at some point in between. Sorry, mate, but it’s not looking as though he murdered Daphne Headingly. More to do, though.’
The line went silent.
‘Wingsy?’
‘Nin, there’s something else.’
‘Go on, mate.’ I detected a shift in his tone.
‘I’m just stepping out of the office to speak to you in private.’ The sounds of hurried footsteps and a creaking door implied he was on the move. ‘After the last interview with Birdsall, I couldn’t find a jailer to put him back in his cell so I took him down the corridor myself.’ His breathing had got faster. I was having to put my free hand up to my other ear to block out any other sounds. ‘Thing is, doll, as I went to leave him in the cell, he turned to me and said, “Nina Foster ever wonder why Jake Lloyd left it so long before he sent her those photographs?”’
Was there anyone in England who didn’t know something personal about me?
‘What did you say to him?’ I asked.
‘When I asked him what he knew about it, he said it was in the local Echo,’ said Wingsy. ‘Nina, are you still there?’
‘Yeah, yeah, sorry – just trying to make a connection between him and Lloyd. Other than the three dead bodies, I mean.’
‘Listen, Nina, I’ve got one more interview to do with him and then our PACE time with him is gonna run out. He’ll be off to the Magistrates’ Court for an extension on his custody time. Before that happens, in case it’s not granted, I’ll ask him about the photos and if he had anything to do with them being sent to you. His brief may object, but I’ve put a note on his custody record about what he said to me off tape, so I’ll give him a chance to comment on it. You know, the usual bollocks to show he was given a fair opportunity to deny it. I’ll let you know what he says.’
‘Thanks, you’re a mate.’
I hung up and threw my mobile up and down a few times, catching Pierre’s eye. ‘You OK?’ he asked me from the alcove housing the viewing equipment. He had paused the CCTV footage to observe me wandering between the deserted desks of the Incident Room.
‘Was thinking I should get down to the court to see Freya Forbes. I have a couple of questions for her about something.’
‘You want me to come along? I could do with a break.’
I shook my head and reaching for my bag, said, ‘No, cheers. Won’t be long.’ I glanced at my wristwatch. ‘Should still have time to go to Charles Bruce’s house on the way back.’
‘Ring me and I’ll meet you there,’ he said tilting his head to one side. I clocked him glance down at my hands. I’d come to a stop behind an office chair, grabbing its back so tightly my knuckles were white.
Releasing my grip, I made towards the noticeboard where the car keys were kept. The empty hooks adjacent to the list of car registration numbers indicated a lack of vehicles.
‘No job cars so I’ll take my own,’ I said as much to myself as to Pierre.
‘Then come back here before you go to Bruce’s. Don’t use your personal car to go to his house,’ warned Pierre.
‘I appreciate your concern, Pierre, but it’s not as if I haven’t been followed for most of my life and have God knows who coming to my house – ’ I broke off, realising what I’d said.
‘Who came to your house?’ He put the remote control for the monitor down and stepped around the desk separating us.
‘No one. When I got back from Birmingham the other day, I thought that someone was watching me and a car drove off. It could have been anyone at all. With everything that’s happened, I guess I’m overreacting.’ I paused, taking in his expression. ‘You don’t look as though you believe me, Pierre.’
‘I think that you ought to report it.’
‘Report what? A car drove past my house. It’s a fairly busy road. It doesn’t make rush hour a crime spree. I’ll call you when I’m done at the court. But thanks.’
I walked out and left him standing in the office in front of a frozen image of Sophie Alexander in her own hallway, long lacy nightie billowing behind her. Stupid cow.
I made my way towards the town centre to meet with the forensic scientist. I would happily admit to myself that I’d pinned all my hopes on her telling me I had nothing to worry about. Deep down, I knew that my fears were not going to be laid to rest.
Chapter 67
I drove through the busy lunchtime back streets to the front of the Crown Court, an antiquated building of historical importance but in practical terms able to deal with very little the modern world had to throw at it, such as how to get more than two people through security at a time. Not an easy task for the security team first thing in the morning, or after lunch when the jury, witnesses and legal teams returned en masse.
Walking towards the building, I felt a sense of dread, threatening to knock me further out of kilter than I’d thought possible. I’d tried to block Jake Lloyd and his twisted behaviour from my mind. Easier said than done when I knew that some of the blood on his clothing had been identified as mine, and that he’d somehow got hold of exact replicas of the items my sister and I were wearing at the time of our kidnap. I had been trying to push the thoughts down as they’d risen up in my mind but sometimes they managed to clamber over the edge of the pit, heading for daylight.
As I made my way up to the main doors, a huddle of six people came towards me. It was made up of two women in their early twenties, one woman in her late forties and three men of approximately fifty years of age. The two young women were clasping each other’s arms and crying, two of the men were speaking in hushed tones to each other, and the older female was shaking her head in disbelief. They had all the hallmarks of half a jury.
Sauntering down the steps behind them was the unmistakable form of Harry Powell, my former detective sergeant and the family liaison officer for Amanda Bell’s loved ones. At six foot six, with a shock of red hair on top of his rugby player’s build, he would never have made a surveillance officer. As he ambled down the concrete steps, hands in his pockets, he saw me looking at him. He broke into a grin – a grin minus a top front tooth.
‘Harry, good to see you. Long time no see,’ I said. ‘I didn’t get the chance to catch up with you on Op Guard.’
He stopped in front of me as I began to mount the steps. Then he seemed to realise that standing three steps or so below me would benefit both our necks, and moved down a few steps until we were at eye level.
‘Nina, how are you? Looked out for you but our paths didn’t cross,’ he said.
‘That jury from a job of yours?’ I asked tilting my head in the direction of the disappearing six.
‘Yeah. They found the defendant guilty of murdering his wife. Took them three days. Then they found out he tried to strangle a former girlfriend too and heard all his prev
ious convictions for violence, having sex with his own daughter, that kind of thing. Judge took a majority verdict of ten to twelve in the end, before they knew all this, of course. Can’t have the truth getting in the way of the English justice system.’
‘Who do you reckon the two were that doubted his guilt?’ I asked, having a good idea myself anyway.
‘I’m going with the two sobbing women, but I could be wrong.’
‘You weren’t near Court Seven, were you? I’m due to meet a forensic expert in there.’ I ruled out Harry as having been in Court Seven, since his jury had been out for three days.
‘I was in Court Eight but I’ve got no idea if they’ve finished for the morning. Are you meeting Freya Forbes, by any chance? Only ask because I saw her earlier.’
‘As it happens, I am.’
‘She’s great. She gave evidence on a job of mine a couple of months ago. She wiped the floor with the defence. Heard you’re seeing Bill Harrison, by the way. Good one.’
‘How on earth can you possibly know that? And, changing the subject, how did you lose your front tooth?’
‘Rugby.’
‘Playing or watching?’
‘Playing, you cheeky cow.’ He laughed, running his tongue into the gap. ‘Got to go, Nina. Promised the kids I’d take them to the cinema tonight. It’s my eldest’s birthday and this is my twelfth consecutive day on duty. Trial over-ran and I had to work the weekend. Take care.’
‘You too, Harry.’ On another occasion I would have taken the chance to ask why the defendant in Harry’s trial hadn’t had his previous convictions brought up in the court as part of the bad character evidence. This was the part where the jury got to hear about what a loathsome shit the defendant actually was and how we’d all danced this merry dance with him before. I made a mental note to email Harry and ask. I was a nosy sort. It went with the job. I also wondered why he hadn’t been wearing a mouthguard, but that was Harry’s problem.
The momentary distraction had taken my mind off my meeting with Freya. As I made my way to the main court entrance, my mobile rang. I paused at the door to answer it, waving at the security guard as I did so. He waved back. We’d gone out for a drink once. I couldn’t remember his name. I always called him ‘Handsome’ whenever I had to go to court. Laura always found it hilarious.
‘Nina,’ said a voice I recognised as Freya’s, ‘I’m by the entrance.’
I squinted through the ten-foot-high, thick glass door. Handsome caught my eye and winked at me.
‘I’m out here, Freya,’ I almost shouted, partly in panic because I really didn’t want her being intercepted by the security guard, and partly because I didn’t want to go in there either. I didn’t need it today.
‘I can see you,’ she said, and a petite blonde woman came into view. I saw her wave at me with her free hand, struggling to keep her briefcase shoulder strap in place. I heard her say goodbye to Handsome as she emerged through the tinted glass doors.
‘Nina. Great to meet you,’ she said extending her hand to shake mine.
‘And you too, Freya. Have you time for a coffee or a drink?’
‘Tea would be great.’
A few minutes later, we were seated at an oblong wooden table, on cheap plastic chairs, gripping mugs of weak tea.
‘It’s horrible in here,’ I said, glancing in the direction of the gurning fat man behind the counter. I was grateful that the till blocked my view of whatever part of his lower region he was fondling.
‘Yeah, it’s dreadful, but thanks for the tea.’ Freya smiled at me. ‘Right, where to start? I’ve examined the clothing. The authenticity of it is being researched by your own department, as you’re probably aware.’
I wasn’t aware of this, but I let it go. Clearly we weren’t taking Stan’s word for the destruction of the clothes after all.
She continued. ‘The traces of blood on a man’s shirt were your blood.’
I must have made an involuntary sound, as I was aware that someone in the deserted café took a sharp intake of breath and it hadn’t come from Freya or from the same direction as the behind-the-counter scratching. She studied me for a couple of seconds before picking up her tea, then changed her mind and put it back down again. She leaned closer across the table and said, ‘In theory it’s possible to age blood but, in practice, it’s not so easy. Ageing blood is like the Holy Grail of forensics. Blood appearing dark or ingrained at a crime scene is thought of as “old blood”, if you see what I mean?’ She nodded encouragingly at me before adding, ‘But blood on clothing is even more difficult. Research has been done into the ageing of blood, and for relatively fresh blood there have been some results. However, when we go into decades, then these ideas aren’t any use, as they’re untested.’
I watched Freya glance down at her cup and then in the direction of the bloke behind the counter, who was now picking his nose. I was glad we’d decided not to eat here.
I gathered from her change in eye contact that something else was to come. Something I probably wasn’t going to like. I was correct.
‘Nina, the blood came from you, within the last ten years or so.’
I sat still; only my brain was moving, and even that very slowly. ‘Where would he have got my blood from?’ I said, and began thinking about ridiculous scenarios such as my doctor taking a blood test and Lloyd getting a job as a surgery courier to take it to the hospital; or Lloyd breaking into my house, drugging me and taking a blood sample in the night. Crazy theories which made no sense.
‘It is just traces – not a significant amount. Ever cut yourself badly in public?’ Freya asked. ‘Or had a nosebleed?’
I started to shake my head but then a memory came into my mind of falling on my face at the ice rink some years ago. I’d kept falling over and finally called it a day when, after one particularly violent fall, I’d thought I’d broken my nose. At the time I had been seeing stars, so I couldn’t recall who was there but several people came to help as there was so much blood. I had heard Jake Lloyd say himself, in his police interview, that he knew I’d gone ice-skating and had seen me injure myself.
‘About eight years ago I fell on my face while ice-skating and my nose exploded,’ I muttered, more to hear the words out loud than to inform Freya. I remembered it was eight years ago because I’d been dumped by a Bacardi Breezer rep. Not only did he walk out on me, but the break-up ended my relationship with discount alcopops. I took solace in ice-skating for about five weeks until I met a plumber.
The sound of chairs being scraped across the lino flooring and the faint whiff of body odour indicated that the owner was moving around in preparation for closing up his eatery.
‘Nina, court’s adjourned for the day. I have to get the train home soon but I’m here again tomorrow; the defence may want to ask me some questions before the trial continues. Feel free to call if you want to meet up again or ask anything else,’ Freya said.
‘Thanks very much. I’ll walk with you to the train station,’ I replied, pushing my untouched drink to one side and putting my jacket back on. I followed her outside, listening to her chatting about train times and the rising cost of tickets. I thanked her for seeing me and waved her off in the direction of her platform, shivering in my unsuitable summer jacket on the way back to the car.
October had brought with it a drop in temperature.
Chapter 68
I had a sudden urge to visit Stan. I nipped back to the office to tell Catherine I was exhausted and ask if I could do the Charles Bruce visit in the morning instead.
‘Sure, Nina, it doesn’t sound that urgent,’ she agreed, ‘and anyway, you’ve been here since before eight. Call it a day.’
‘Thanks,’ I said, and went to explain to Pierre that there was a change of plan. I found him still in front of the screen, running through the film in its entirety to prove Birdsall hadn’t gone out and back in again. His bored expression made me think that there was an absence of anyone crossing the threshold overnight.
‘Pierre,’ I said. He turned and looked over his shoulder at me. ‘I’ve had enough. I’m gonna leave on time today and see Bruce tomorrow. That OK?’
‘Good idea. I’ll carry on and finish this, then. See you tomorrow, Nina.’ Pierre turned back to his viewing duties.
Making my way to Stan’s house, having phoned to say I was coming, my mind raced through the evidence so far, preparing to talk it over with him.
When I pulled up outside his house on the driveway, I had the now familiar feeling of sadness. The roses around the door were dying, the petals littering the driveway. The branches hung heavy with the weight of the wilting flowers. It made me want to cry.
The front door opened, scaring my tears into hiding. I couldn’t let him see me upset. That wouldn’t help. I turned the ignition off and pushed open the car door, waving at the emerging figure with more enthusiasm than I felt. My gesture was returned, visible despite the dusk.
‘Everything OK, Nina?’ he asked from the step. ‘I was starting to get worried.’
‘Sorry I was longer than I said, Stan. I nipped home first to get changed, sat down on the bed and fell asleep for an hour. Dead to the world. How are you feeling?’ I asked as I hugged him.
‘I’m very well. You still look tired. Hope you can stay for dinner. It’s lamb.’
‘Great, I’m starving.’ We pulled apart and I followed him into the kitchen where the table was already laid for dinner, complete with a fine bottle of uncorked Chianti.
He made his way towards the oven, calling out to me, ‘Pour the wine and you can tell me what’s on your mind.’
I took my jacket off and hung it on the back of the chair before reaching for the bottle. The scent of the roasting lamb reached me from the cooker, growing stronger as I heard Stan open the door and set the pan on the side to settle before carving.
‘What makes you think something’s on my mind? I could just be on the scrounge for a meal and glass of red,’ I said as I took our drinks over to him.
He glanced up from the contents of the saucepan he was about to transfer into a serving dish.