by Michael Wood
‘You don’t think …?’
‘Right now, I don’t know what to think.’ She put the phone to her ear and waited for her call to be answered.
Matilda went back into the house and nodded at PC Harrison standing next to the front door, who noted on his clipboard that she’d left the scene. She looked around at the sea of onlookers and neighbours who were standing behind the police tape straining to see any action. Ghouls.
‘Ma’am, I’m sorry to interrupt you, but I thought you’d like to know we’ve found a body, another hanging,’ she lowered her voice. ‘I think we may have a vigilante operating in Sheffield.’
Chapter Fourteen
‘Out of everyone in this room, who is the most sympathetic among you?’ Matilda asked as the briefing into Joe Lacey’s murder began. All eyes turned to look at Sian.
‘Why do I get the feeling I’m being set up here?’
‘I need someone considerate and sensitive to interview the Lacey children.’
‘That leaves out Rory,’ Scott said, to much laughter from around the room.
‘Thank you, DC Andrews, for volunteering to accompany Sian,’ Matilda said.
‘You should learn to keep your trap shut,’ Rory laughed.
‘Rory, you’re coming with me to the post-mortem.’
‘But I’m still recuperating from my attack,’ he said, putting on a sickly voice and, for some reason, a cough.
‘Never mind. Adele and Lucy are both highly trained should you have a funny turn. You couldn’t be in better hands. Now, Kes, how did you get on with the door to door last night?’
‘We’re going back this morning to finish off,’ she said, tucking her shoulder-length black hair behind her ears. ‘A couple of the neighbours said they saw Karen going out with the kids, then Joe left on his own about half an hour or so later. He came back after a couple of hours, but that’s it. Nobody seems to have seen anything else.’
‘OK. Finish the rest of the street off then start over. After a night’s sleep, they may have remembered something else. Do we know the point of entry?’ Matilda asked.
‘There are scratches on the lock on the back door,’ Aaron said. ‘It was closed but unlocked when Forensics were going through the house. Maybe a lock-pick of some kind.’
‘This is someone who knows what he’s doing, then. Rory, get the rope from the Brian Appleby murder. I want to see if it’s a match for the one used on Joe Lacey. Also, try and find where it came from.’
‘Really? You can buy rope anywhere.’
‘It’ll keep you nice and busy then, won’t it? Faith, any joy with the forums?’
Faith looked tired. Her hair wasn’t as neat as usual, and Matilda was sure she was wearing those same clothes yesterday. ‘I’ve only just started, ma’am.’
‘What were you doing yesterday evening? It was still only early when we found Joe Lacey.’
‘I know, but I didn’t think it was worth coming all the way back to the station.’
‘I’m sorry?’ Matilda looked shocked. ‘This is a murder investigation. There’s no such thing as regular office hours when a body is discovered. Every minute counts. You should have made a start on the task I’d set you.’
‘I’m sorry, ma’am. I’ll get right on it.’ She lowered her head to her desk. The eyes of everyone else in the room were fixed on her. She blushed with embarrassment.
Matilda’s gaze was locked on Faith while she continued talking. ‘Aaron, track down Rebecca Branson’s family. I want to know where they were yesterday and if they knew where Joe Lacey was living. Now, does anyone have anything to add, any questions?’
‘Are we linking the Brian Appleby murder with Joe Lacey?’ Christian Brady asked.
‘Not officially, but you have to admit, there are similarities. For now, let’s concentrate on finding out who killed Joe Lacey. Once we have a suspect we can try and find a link with Brian Appleby. Right, as you are all aware, the details of Brian’s murder were leaked to the press. If this happens again there will be serious trouble. We only talk about the case in this room. No gossip in the canteen, nothing on social media and don’t say a word to family and friends. Is that clear?’
There were mutterings of agreement from around the room.
Matilda pointed to the photo of Danny Hanson which had been graffitied with a pencil moustache and glasses. ‘Remember this face. If you see him, keep your mouth shut.’
Matilda should be able to trust the people on her team – to do their work diligently and professionally – and to an extent, she could. But how far did their loyalty go? She stood up to go into her office, signalling for Christian Brady to follow her.
‘Close the door, Christian. How’s the family?’
‘Fine thanks. Well, I had the in-laws over last weekend and they’re still bloody here. Apart from that everything is fine.’
Matilda smiled. ‘Christian, is there anything going on with the team?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘I’ve got a sense that not everyone is giving the job their full commitment. Faith seems very distracted. I can understand Rory not being back to his usual self, but Scott’s quiet and even Sian’s a tad withdrawn.’
‘Maybe they don’t like working on a Sunday.’ He smiled.
‘Nobody likes working on a Sunday, Christian.’ She knew exactly what she would be doing if Joe Lacey hadn’t been killed last night. She’d be sitting in her library with a cup of tea, a packet of biscuits and a good book. Sometimes, an entire day would go by and Matilda had done nothing but read. It was relaxing, comforting.
‘The winter blues, then,’ Christian added. ‘Spring seems to be taking a while to show itself.’ He shrugged.
‘Could you keep an eye on them, maybe have a succinct chat?’
‘Sure. If you think it’ll help.’
When Christian opened the door to leave, Matilda caught the tail-end of what Kesinka was saying outside ‘…if you kill someone, you deserve all you get.’
As Matilda made her way to the ACC’s office, she almost bumped into Faith Easter coming out of the toilets.
‘Sorry, ma’am.’ Faith’s eyes were red and her hair was slightly wet as if she had tried to flatten the stuck-up parts.
‘Faith, is everything all right?’
‘Yes, ma’am.’
‘You seem a little distracted lately.’
‘I’m fine, honestly. I’m sorry I didn’t come back to the station last night when you asked. It won’t happen again.’ She tried to walk away but Matilda stopped her.
‘Faith, I know we haven’t worked together for long, but you’re a very capable detective. I see a bright future for you. However, you need to continue to focus. We can’t allow any distractions, especially in a case like this. I know you’re young and you probably like going out and drinking like everyone else of your age, but you need to give one hundred per cent every day.’
‘I will do. Sorry, ma’am. It won’t happen again.’
‘Good.’ Matilda smiled. ‘I’d like to see you make sergeant, at least before Rory.’
‘I’d like that too.’
‘Excellent.’
Matilda watched as Faith headed back to the incident room. She seemed to have a spring in her step and her hair swished from side to side with each bounce.
That’s what you need to do more of, Matilda, encourage your team. Let them in.
‘If I see the words vigilante or serial killer appear in the press, I shall not be responsible for my actions. Are you listening to me, DCI Darke?’
Matilda’s mind was elsewhere. She was sitting opposite Valerie Masterson’s desk nursing a black coffee which was rapidly going cold, but she couldn’t help thinking she had missed something at the briefing earlier.
‘Sorry?’
‘Is everything all right?’
‘Yes. Fine. Well, apart from having a potential serial killing vigilante on my patch,’ Matilda replied with a sarcastic smile.
Valerie rolled her eyes. ‘
You don’t have proof there is a connection yet. Until you do, they are two separate cases. What’s happening with the Brian Appleby investigation, anyway?’
‘It’s run cold, I’m afraid. Alibis check out with his daughter and ex-wife. His family haven’t had anything to do with him since he was locked up. Sian is going to have another word with the son today, just to check on his alibi for last night.’
‘You don’t think he’s responsible for the Joe Lacey murder too, do you?’
‘I have no idea. I hope not. He seems like a nice lad, but …’ she let the sentence float away. She had been tricked before.
‘What about forensics on the Appleby case?’
‘Nothing. Whoever killed him did an excellent job not to leave a trace.’
‘Who knows enough about trace evidence?’
‘Anyone who watches CSI or Silent Witness,’ Matilda said. ‘Or with access to the Internet. Let’s face it, if you’re planning a murder you can find anything you like online. You don’t necessarily have to have a degree in forensic science.’
‘Someone with a grudge, maybe?’
‘Against who?’
‘The law. Brian Appleby sexually assaulted three girls. That’s something you’re going to live with for the rest of your life, yet he’s released after eight years.’
‘I thought you didn’t want to talk about it being a vigilante?’
‘So you were listening, then? I said I didn’t want it appearing in the press. If this is someone waging a one-man war against the police, then he needs to be found and stopped as soon as possible before he strikes again, because he will,’ Valerie warned. ‘Would you like me to get a criminal psychologist in, so he can tell you the type of person you’re looking for?’
‘I don’t think it will come to that,’ Matilda scoffed. ‘I’ve got Faith checking Internet forums. People like this can’t help themselves from announcing to the world from behind the safety of their keyboard how the law needs changing to protect the victim. There was already something on local radio this morning about people wanting to bring back hanging.’
‘Yes, but those kinds of people don’t usually act on their beliefs.’
‘Leave it with me. If I need the services of a psychologist, I’ll let you know.’
‘Make sure you do. I don’t want any more unsolved murders on our books.’
Matilda placed her untouched coffee cup on the desk and rose.
‘By the way,’ Valerie said as Matilda reached the door. ‘I had an email on Friday, we will be getting a Major Crimes Unit at some point this year. Maybe you should think about applying to head it. It could mean promotion too.’
Matilda nodded. ‘Maybe.’
‘It would look good for you if you went into any promotions interview having solved a very tricky double murder.’
Blackmail? Really? You are desperate.
Chapter Fifteen
‘I’m Detective Sergeant Aaron Connolly, this is Detective Constable Faith Easter, South Yorkshire Police. Could we have a word?’
It wasn’t difficult to track down Clive and Amanda Branson. They were still living at the same address in Norfolk Park as they were twenty years ago when their only child, Rebecca, was killed in a hit-and-run incident.
Amanda had answered the door. She was overweight with an uncontrollable mound of light grey hair. Her floor-length dress was bright and flowery. Its cheeriness hadn’t reached her face, which looked maudlin and sad. Aaron wondered if this was her permanent expression.
‘What’s it about?’ she asked through the gap in the door.
‘It would be better if we talked inside, Mrs Branson.’
‘I’m not sure. My husband isn’t here.’ She looked nervous.
‘It won’t take long.’
She thought about it before closing the door to take off the chain. She let them in and showed the way to the living room.
‘I can’t offer you a drink, we’re out of milk. That’s where my husband is now, you know, buying a few bits.’
‘That’s fine. Do you mind if we sit down?’
‘I suppose not.’
Aaron and Faith sat on the chintz sofa. The decoration was busy and old-fashioned. The threadbare carpet a dull mix of mismatched colours. The wallpaper, cream with large pink flowers running up the walls. The furniture, orange veneer and pre-1980s, was scratched and needed to go to the skip. In fact, the whole living room needed gutting.
‘Mrs Branson, do you know of a Joe Lacey?’ Faith asked.
She flinched at the name. ‘Of course. He’s the man who murdered my little girl.’ Amanda looked uncomfortable, perched on the edge of an armchair. Her fingers were entwined, nervously playing with each other. She glanced to a framed photograph of a young bespectacled girl on the fireplace.
‘Do you know where he lives?’
‘No.’ She frowned. ‘Why should I?’
‘Mrs Branson, Joe Lacey was found dead at his home yesterday evening. We believe he was murdered.’
Amanda Branson remained stoic. She didn’t even blink. ‘Oh. Well, I can’t say I’m sad about that. What goes around, comes around.’
‘Mrs Branson, where were you and your husband yesterday?’
Her eyes widened. ‘What do you want to know that for?’
‘Purely for elimination purposes,’ Aaron said.
‘Elimination? You suspect us of killing him?’
‘At the moment—’ Aaron began.
‘Out,’ she exploded. ‘Get out of my house. It’s bad enough you come in here and bring that man’s name back into my life, but to actually accuse me of killing him. No. I won’t have it. Get out of my house.’ She struggled to pull herself up from the battered armchair.
‘Mrs Branson—’ Faith tried.
‘No. I won’t hear any more of it,’ she thundered to the door. ‘I don’t know how you’ve got the nerve. Don’t you think we’ve been through enough?’
‘Fine. We’ll leave,’ Aaron said. ‘I’m sorry to have upset you.’
‘Upset me? You don’t know the half of it. If you must know we were both here all day and all night. We watched television until eleven o’clock, then went to bed. Now go on, out.’
The door slammed behind them. On the doorstep Aaron buttoned up his coat while Faith dug her gloves out of her pocket. The temperature seemed to have dropped.
‘Well, that was a display,’ Aaron said.
Faith was about to reply when they saw a dishevelled-looking man struggling up the hill under the weight of a heavy shopping bag in each hand. She nudged Aaron. ‘Do you think that’s Clive Branson?’
‘Mr Branson?’ Aaron called to him.
‘Who wants to know?’ he asked, wheezing. He stopped walking. Judging by his laboured breathing, he could talk or walk, but couldn’t do both at the same time.
‘DS Connolly, DC Easter, South Yorkshire Police. I was wondering if you could tell me where you were yesterday,’ Aaron continued, as they walked over to him.
‘Why?’
‘Joe Lacey has been found dead. We believe he’s been murdered. We know of your history with him and we’d like to eliminate you from our enquiries.’
‘Joe Lacey’s been murdered?’ he asked, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. ‘How?’
‘We’re not sure, yet,’ Aaron replied before Faith could answer. ‘If you could just tell us where you were.’
‘I was out all day yesterday with my brother.’
‘Really?’
‘Yes. Really.’
‘Your brother can confirm that, can he?’
‘Of course.’
‘What time did you get back?’
‘Dunno. It was late.’
‘What about your wife?’
‘What about her?’
‘Was she with you?’
‘No. She was at home all day. I went out with my brother. Look, I don’t want you hassling my wife, she’s not a well woman. Now, if you’ll excuse me.’
Clive Branson barged p
ast the detectives and waddled to his house.
‘I can smell smoke,’ Faith said.
‘That’ll be because of all the pants on fire around here,’ Aaron said, giving her a knowing look.
‘There’s nothing like a post-mortem to kick-start your working week,’ Matilda said as she cleared a few files off a chair and made herself comfortable.
The autopsy on Joe Lacey had taken just over four hours. The pathologist and the DCI, once they had washed and changed, sat in Adele’s office with a strong coffee each. The smell of caffeine mixed with soap.
‘Have you got anything to eat, I’m starving?’ Matilda asked.
Adele opened her bottom drawer and pulled out a couple of packets of crisps.
Since Adele’s date with Brian Appleby and his true identity had been revealed, Adele had changed. She said it didn’t bother her, and she tried to return to her usual bubbly self, but there was an underlying sadness that had come to the surface. The smile she painted on didn’t reach her eyes. The black eye from the burglar had almost faded; there was just the hint of a bruise.
‘Is everything all right?’ Matilda asked.
‘Yes, fine. Now, Joe Lacey,’ she said. ‘There was no evidence of a hangman’s fracture, but there were signs of a lack of oxygen to the brain.’
‘Which means the hanging didn’t kill him?’ Matilda asked.
‘Well it did, or I wouldn’t have spent four hours with my hands inside him. It means it wasn’t a quick death. He was starved of oxygen and died from asphyxiation.’
‘The same as Brian Appleby.’
‘Exactly.’
‘Interestingly, Joe Lacey seemed to have put up a bit more of a struggle than … the first victim,’ Adele couldn’t bring herself to say Brian’s name. ‘There is evidence of bruising on his back, carpet burns, which suggest he was dragged, and three of his ribs are cracked.’
‘He fought back.’
‘Don’t get your hopes up. Joe was a nail biter. There’s nothing there to collect skin samples from.’
‘Shame. Same killers?’ Matilda asked.
‘I’m no detective. All I can do is read you the results. However, the knots are identical, to the left of the neck, in both cases, and they both died by asphyxiation. The difference in this case is there was a gap of about eight inches between Joe Lacey’s feet and the floor. Whereas with … Brian Appleby, his feet were touching the ground.’