The Waiting Game

by Sheila Bugler

  ‘Later,’ she said. ‘I’ve got things to do first. Please, Harry?’

  Eventually she coaxed him out the door.

  ‘Is he her son or her boyfriend?’ Abby asked, as Monica said goodbye to Harry at the front door.

  ‘God knows,’ Ellen said. ‘But please don’t ask her that when she comes back. We’re not here to antagonise her, remember?’

  She stopped speaking as Monica reappeared, all smiles, like she’d completely forgotten about Sunday morning’s phone call.

  ‘Sorry about that,’ she cooed. ‘Harry’s a sweetheart, just a bit too keen, if you know what I mean.’

  Ellen glanced at Abby, who raised her eyebrows. Question answered.

  ‘What can I do for you?’ Monica asked.

  Ellen had put Raj in charge of pulling in suspects. They’d be brought into Lewisham and held for questioning. Put in a custody room until the police were ready for them. Which could take some time, but that was all part of how it worked. Bring them in, let them sweat for a bit, then question them. If you did it too soon, they didn’t have enough time to consider the consequences of being questioned as part of a murder investigation.

  Meanwhile, Chloe’s body had been taken to the morgue, a call had been put through to the station in Valencia, Spain, where her mother lived, and the crime scene was still cordoned off while SOCO continued their investigations. Ger Cox had organised a team briefing for an hour’s time. Before that, Ellen had wanted to come across and see Monica. Chloe’s murder had caught them off-guard. They weren’t about to let the same thing happen again. As FLO, and therefore someone better equipped at dealing with hysterical members of the public, Ellen had brought Abby with her.

  ‘Something’s happened,’ Ellen said. ‘Can we sit down?’

  Ellen kept it brief, left out most of the detail; simply said that Chloe had been found dead in her house earlier that morning.

  ‘We still don’t know how she died,’ Ellen said. ‘But I really didn’t want you to hear this from anyone else. It’ll be all over the news by this evening.’

  Monica said nothing at first. Her face was blank and it was impossible to guess what she might be thinking.

  ‘I can’t believe it,’ she said eventually. ‘That poor girl. What happened? You must have some idea. I mean, you’d know if it was a heart attack or a suicide or if someone killed her, right?’

  ‘We really won’t know for sure until we get the post-mortem results.’ In her mind, Ellen saw the body again. Chloe’s bloated head and the red line around her neck. ‘But it wasn’t a heart attack or a suicide.’

  Monica was silent while she seemed to take this in.

  ‘Okay,’ she said. ‘So should I be scared? I mean, what should I do? What are you going to do? How can you be certain this won’t happen to me? Oh Jesus. I thought it was my father, remember? But he doesn’t know Chloe. So if it’s not him, then…’

  ‘Listen to me,’ Ellen said. ‘There could be all sorts of explanations and there’s every chance this has nothing to do with what she said had been happening to her.’

  ‘What she said?’ Monica shouted. ‘You’re saying you still don’t believe her? Even after this? Jesus, Ellen. Do you think I’m making it up as well?’

  Abby sat beside Monica and started speaking to her in that soothing voice that mostly worked on members of the public but never failed to set Ellen’s teeth on edge.

  ‘Monica,’ Abby said. ‘You’ve got to try and stay calm. You’re a strong woman, I can see that, and you need to stay strong now, okay? No one thinks you’ve made anything up. We’re simply saying we don’t know how Chloe died. Not yet. Of course, it’s only natural to jump to conclusions and assume there’s a connection with the complaints she made, but we can’t do that. Our job is to investigate all angles. And that’s what we’re going to do. Okay?’

  Monica pulled her hand away and stood up, pacing the small space between the chairs as she spoke.

  ‘It’s not okay,’ she said. ‘Don’t either of you get it? I thought this was my father. But it can’t be. He doesn’t know Chloe. I’d bet my life on it. I should have worked that out before now. But I was scared and I wasn’t thinking straight. Well I’m thinking straight now. And you want to know what exactly is going through my head right now?’

  ‘What?’ Ellen said, not sure she really wanted to know.

  ‘This is some sort of serial stalker,’ Monica said. ‘He’s targeting local women and he’s scaring the shit out of us. And once he’s done scaring us half to death, he kills us.’

  It was one theory. If she was in Monica’s place, Ellen guessed she might think something similar. She was pretty sure the press would jump to the same conclusion. It was a shit storm waiting to happen. With poor Raj Patel right in the middle of it.

  Ellen stood up. ‘I’ve got to get back to the station,’ she said. ‘Abby will stay for a bit. She can answer any other questions you have and hopefully reassure you we’re doing everything we can.’

  Monica shook her head. ‘That won’t be necessary. I’m a strong woman, remember?’

  Abby’s face went red. Anger or embarrassment or some mixture of the two. Ellen couldn’t be sure and didn’t care, either.

  ‘Abby will stay,’ Ellen said, ignoring the scowl on Abby’s face. ‘Make sure you’re okay. And Monica, whatever you do, don’t speak to any journalists. It won’t help. We’ll brief the press and we’ll decide the best way to manage that relationship. The last thing we want is any hysterical press coverage. It will only make things worse.’

  On the way out, Ellen paused at a small photo on a low table in the corner by the window. It was a copy of one of the photos she’d seen on Adam Telford’s mantelpiece. Annie Telford, holding a baby Monica in her arms and looking utterly miserable. If it was her mother, Ellen thought she’d probably have chosen a better photo to remember her by.

  ‘Did you ever try to find her?’ she asked.

  ‘How did you know it’s her?’ Monica asked.

  ‘I went to see your father yesterday,’ Ellen said.

  ‘You saw him?’ Monica said. ‘That must have been fun.’

  ‘He has a girlfriend,’ Ellen said. ‘Did you know that?’

  Monica snorted. ‘Poor cow. Hope she gets sense and leaves before he sucks the life from her too.’

  As she walked to her car, Ellen couldn’t shake off the feeling someone was watching her. She stopped and turned around, half-expecting to see someone following her. There was no one there.

  A chilly wind started up, gusting down the street and wrapping itself around Ellen’s body. She ran to the car and climbed inside, shutting the door, blocking out the wind and the strange sense that she was being watched.

  Thirty-Eight

  The start of a murder investigation. Depressing and exhilarating. Not many coppers would admit to the second bit. Not sober, at least.

  The incident room had been set up around a central focus. A whiteboard with Chloe Dunbar’s photo in the middle. Suspects’ names written on the board, with arrows connecting each name to the photo. Ger Cox, magnificent in her tailored suit and heels, stood beside the whiteboard issuing orders. Malcolm, already in Office Manager mode, was taking notes, making lists and building an online directory for the investigation.

  Tension was building. Sizzling and crackling and adding to the general sense that this was a big one. Jamala Nnamani, the station’s Communications Manager, was seated alongside the detectives, preparing the media line. The first press statement had already been issued in preparation for the evening’s TV and tomorrow morning’s newspapers. Superintendent Nichols was on standby for the press conference at ten o’clock tomorrow morning.

  ‘Alastair.’ Ger pointed at Alastair Dillon, head and shoulders taller than the rest of the team, even sitting down. ‘I want you going through every bit of the forensics as it comes through to us. Blood splatters, footprints, DNA, fingerprints, the lot. That’s your number one job until I tell you otherwise.’

 
; ‘Yes, Ma’am.’

  Ellen wondered if he ever got bored with it. Being the details man. He was good at it, better than anyone else she’d ever worked with. Even still. There must be times he wished he was given a different role. Something that got him out of the office from time to time. Something with a bit more edge to it.

  ‘Ellen, can you pull together a report on stalking, please? I want information on the sort of person who typically stalks someone, the frequency of stalking victims who are hurt and killed by their stalkers. When a stalker kills, is he more likely to go on and kill again? Do we potentially have a serial killer on our hands?’

  ‘Sure,’ Ellen said.

  ‘Chloe’s mother has been informed,’ Ger continued. ‘She’s flying back from Spain later today. Ellen, I want you to meet her at the airport. Malcolm, will get you the flight details. Poor woman. Losing a child is the worst thing, isn’t it?’

  ‘I left Monica with her boyfriend,’ Abby said. ‘He’s very protective and she said he’ll stay with her every night, make sure she’s okay.’

  ‘Did she seem okay?’ Ger said.

  ‘She was upset,’ Abby said. ‘Obviously. But all things considered, I’d say she was a good sight finer than I’d have expected.’

  ‘Bring the boyfriend in,’ Ger said. ‘Give him a grilling and make sure he’s not hiding anything.’

  ‘I’ve already spoken to him,’ Abby said.

  ‘I want him in here,’ Ger said. ‘A bit of a scare won’t do him any harm. If he’s not hiding anything, he’ll be out again quickly. We still haven’t found anything connecting the two women?’

  ‘Chloe didn’t know Monica,’ Raj said. ‘I asked her the other day. I’m keen to start the interviews, Ma’am. Nathan Collier and Ricky Lezard are both downstairs, waiting to be interviewed. Carl Jenkins is top of my list, though. It’s taken me a bit longer to track him down. He’s showing someone around a flat in Blackheath. Thought I’d head over there, speak to him, then come back and deal with the other two. Collier first, then Lezard. Let him sweat it out for as long as possible.’

  Ger scanned the laptop, open on the desk in front of her, frowning.

  ‘According to this,’ she said, ‘Lezard was at a conference in Woking yesterday and last night. We had to send someone down there this morning to bring him here?’

  ‘Staying in a hotel,’ Raj said. ‘Alone. Could have slipped out unnoticed, driven to London and back without anyone knowing about it.’

  Ger shook her head. ‘Start with Lezard. Find out if he has an alibi for last night. Malcolm can check that out. No point keeping him in if it turns out he couldn’t have done it.’

  ‘What if he got someone else to do it?’ Raj asked.

  ‘If you think that’s a possibility after you’ve questioned him,’ Ger said, ‘then we’ll deal with it at that point. Ellen, how about you take Lezard while Raj goes across and breaks the news to Jenkins. And remember, he was her boyfriend. Be gentle with him. At first. Abby, you go with Raj. I’d like your take on how Jenkins reacts when Raj tells him what’s happened. And while you’re all doing that, I’ll go downstairs and start with Nathan Collier. Out of the three, he’s the one who most interests me.’

  ‘Collier?’ Raj said. ‘With all respect, Ma’am, the bloke was in bits when I spoke to him earlier.’

  ‘Maybe he was putting it on,’ Ger said. ‘Or maybe he really is heartbroken she’s dead. Either way, doesn’t mean he’s not guilty.’

  ‘But he was her boss,’ Raj said. ‘Fifty-one percent of all female murder victims are killed by their partner or ex-partner. We all know the most likely explanation is that either Jenkins or Lezard is behind this.’

  ‘We know no such thing,’ Ger said. ‘I know you want this case solved, Patel. We all do. But don’t let that cloud your judgement. And remember who’s in charge. Now go. And take Abby with you.’

  Ellen willed Raj to keep his mouth shut. Obviously deciding he’d pushed it as far as he could, he shoved his chair back and stood up.

  ‘I’ll get to it then. Ma’am.’

  Ger nodded, turned her attention to the others.

  ‘The same applies to the rest of you. Keep your heads clear. We go where the evidence takes us. That’s the only thing that works. Now get going. We’ve got a lot to do.’

  * * *

  Over the past few days, Ellen had done her own reading on Ricky Lezard. Hadn’t found much she liked. A self-made businessman with a reputation for turning nasty when things didn’t go his way. In business and in his personal life.

  Four separate domestic abuse complaints against him: Chloe and other women he’d dated before her. None of the complaints had ever got as far as Court; each victim retracted her statement at the last moment. He was a nasty bastard and Ellen would have loved an excuse to lock him up. There was only one problem. It was obvious within the first ten minutes that he couldn’t have done it.

  The conference in Woking had ended with a gala dinner that went on until after midnight. Eighty-nine witnesses could testify that Lezard had attended the dinner and also given an engaging post-dinner speech on the business benefits of Britain’s withdrawal from the EU and forging stronger links with the emerging economies of South America and South-East Asia.

  Ellen let him go, frustrated by the time she’d wasted. Raj could easily have found out about the speech. A quick phone call to the hotel would have done it. Ger was right. Raj’s desperation to catch the killer could cause problems for all of them if they weren’t careful.

  Upstairs at her desk, Ellen’s mother called on the landline. She’d called earlier; Ellen had let the call go to voicemail and forgotten all about it.

  ‘Mum?’

  ‘Oh Ellen, I’m sorry to bother you at work, love. Is there any chance you could come over?’

  ‘What is it?’ Ellen said.

  ‘It’s difficult to explain over the phone,’ her mother said. ‘Can you just come? Please, Ellen.’

  She didn’t have to ask again. Promising she’d be right there, Ellen hung up and ran.

  Thirty-Nine

  Carl Jenkins was showing a prospective tenant around an apartment in Blackheath. The apartment was in a tall, Georgian building midway between The Clarendon Hotel and The Princess of Wales pub.

  When Raj pulled up outside the house, Carl was standing outside the building, smiling and shaking hands with a man wearing a pinstripe suit who didn’t look young enough to be living alone. The smile slid from Carl’s face when he saw Raj and Abby walking towards him.

  ‘Sorry,’ he said to the boy in the suit. ‘I’ve got to deal with this.’ Then, to Raj: ‘Something’s happened. I knew it. She hasn’t answered my calls. I thought she was still angry but it’s not that, is it?’

  ‘Haven’t you been at the office this morning?’ Raj asked.

  Carl shook his head. ‘Monday mornings are always busy. Why? Is that where she is?’

  Raj remembered what Ger said about being gentle but his head was too full of Chloe’s ruined face.

  ‘Chloe’s dead.’

  He heard Abby’s sharp intake of breath, knew she’d have something to say later about doing it this way. That was Abby, though. She would take the boss’s line, no matter what that line was. Abby’s number one priority was herself. If the boss said jump, Abby would be the first to ask where and how high.

  ‘Can we go inside?’ Abby was holding Jenkins by the arm. With her free hand, she’d taken the bunch of keys he’d been holding.

  ‘This one?’

  Jenkins nodded and Abby put the key in the lock, turned it and opened the door. Gently, she led Jenkins into the house, treating him like he was the bloody victim. Raj understood. Or thought he did. Abby hadn’t seen the body. And she didn’t know Chloe.

  He remembered the first time Chloe came in. She’d been upset, but held it together well. There was a sort of fragile strength about her he’d admired. He asked about her ex, Ricky Lezard, wanting to understand their relationship, thinking it would help h
im work out whether she was telling the truth or not.

  ‘We met in a Soho bar,’ Chloe said. ‘I was a waitress.’ She laughed. He could hear it now. A soft, breathy Marilyn Monroe laugh. ‘Just like that Human League song. You know the one?’ She started to sing. ‘I was working as a waitress in a cocktail bar, when he found me-e-e-e-e. He picked me up, he shook me up, he turned me around. He turned me into someone ne-e-e-ew.’

  He’d held his hand up, unable to take anymore. He shouldn’t have done that. Should have let her sing for as long as she wanted and applauded her when she’d finished.

  The apartment was on the top floor with huge windows, high ceilings and sweeping views across the heath to Lewisham. Raj thought again about the young man in the pinstripe suit and wondered what sort of job you’d need to be able to afford rent on a place like this.

  ‘How did it happen?’ Carl was crying. Tears rolling down his cheeks. ‘Sorry.’ He wiped his face with the sleeve of his jacket and took a deep, shaky breath. ‘Can I sit down?’

  ‘You said something about Chloe being angry,’ Abby said.

  Carl shook his head, frowning. ‘Yeah, but… please, can you tell me what happened? She was scared.’ He looked at Raj. ‘You know how scared she was. We argued, see. I wanted her to stay with me for a few days. Cleared it with my mum and everything. I thought she’d be happy. But when I said it to her, she went off on one. Started accusing me of trying to control her and that’s not what I was doing. I told her that, but she wouldn’t listen. Said I was just like her ex and that’s when I lost it.’

  ‘Lost it how, exactly?’ Raj said.

  ‘Nah,’ Carl said. ‘Not like that. I mean, I told her it was over. Said if that’s what she thought of me, I didn’t want nothing to do with her.’

  ‘So you had a row,’ Raj said. He saw Abby’s face and shifted slightly, so she was out of his line of vision. ‘Can’t say I blame you for losing it. I’m not sure how I’d react if someone compared me to an animal like that. And all you were doing was trying to do what was right. What anyone would do under the circumstances.’