by Edward Figg
A uniformed PC pushed open the swing doors at the end of the room, walked over and gave Carter an envelope. It was PC Cotton. ‘This was just delivered sir.’ He turned and left.
‘Thanks Cotton,’ said Carter, as he tore open the envelope and took out the contents. These were the scene of crime photos and a written report which Carter took a minute to read. He handed the photos to Turner who pinned them up on the incident board.
‘They didn’t waste any time in getting those done,’ said Carter. He looked at them one by one as Turner pinned them up. He moved away, letting the others in for a closer look. Reading from the report, he said, ‘There were plenty of prints, mostly hers and another set they can’t identify. I’d say they belonged to the boyfriend.’ Addressing Lynch, he said, ‘Make sure you get a set of his prints and those of Robinson's when they make their statements. You'll have to get Mark Wilson to formally identify her body’.
Looking at his watch, he said, ‘That's about all we can do for today. Let's see what tomorrow brings. Back here at eight sharp.’
On the way through the foyer, Carter said, ‘Anyone fancy joining me for a quick pint in the Black Bear?’ Baxter declined, ‘Sorry. Count me out boss. I need to get home to my wife. I must babysit the two kids. It’s Amanda's cards night and if I'm late I'll be dead meat.’
Reid said he was up for it. But it was Lynch, who, like a homing pigeon, led the way over to the Market Square. He was first through the door and first to the bar.
‘I forgot to tell you, sunshine,’ said Bill Turner, smiling. ‘First in buys the round. I’ll have a pint.’
After two beers, Carter called it a night and drove the six miles to his home. It was just on dark when Carter arrived back at his cottage near Ospringe. He lived alone. He’d done so ever since his wife; June, had died of cancer six years earlier. I was times like this, coming home to a cold, empty house, that he really missed her. When she was alive, no matter how late it was, she would always be there waiting.
He rummaged around in the freezer, took out a frozen lasagne and put it in the microwave to thaw. When the meal was ready he put it on a tray then carried it into the living with a bottle of brown ale. He picked up the remote and switched on the television, then settled down on the settee to eat his meal.
At some point in the evening he dozed off. He was woken abruptly by the sounds of gunfire. He opened his eyes to see John Wayne holster his gun and walk way, leaving another baddie to bite the dust. Grabbing the remote, he switched off the television and went out to the kitchen, He put the remains of the meal in the pedal bin, switched off the lights and went up to bed.
Chapter 4
Thursday 2nd September
Reid was an early bird. On most occasions, he was always first to arrive. He was fiercely proud of his background. His great-grandfather was Inspector Edmund Reid, who had been involved in the hunt for Jack the Ripper. Reid stood making himself a coffee, looked in the mirror above the bench and straightened his tie. He was always a neat dresser. If the truth be known, this was really all down to his girlfriend, Emma. She always told him that if you want to get on in this world and wanted those around to sit up and take notice you needed to make a good impression by presenting your authority and to do this you needed to dress smartly. This morning was no exception. Today he wore a pair of grey slacks, a clean white shirt with a light blue tie and a dark blue blazer. Hearing voices in the corridor, he took his coffee over to his desk, switched on his computer and sat down.
Lynch walked in with Baxter. Lynch was waving a newspaper around and called over to Reid, ‘Sarge, have you seen this morning's paper?’
Reid shook his head. ‘Nope.’
‘They’ve already dubbed him the ‘The Kingsport Killer.’ Reading what Mr. Marsh has said, you’d think he was the only one on the case. It's all about, ‘I'm doing this!’ and ‘I'm doing that!’’ Lynch tossed the paper on Reid’s desk and walked over to the small kitchen where he made himself a cup of instant coffee. He heaped in two spoonsful of sugar then continued, ‘I saw him on last night's ten o’clock news, dressed to the nines, appealing for any witnesses to come forward. It was all the usual stuff asking if anyone had seen anything suspicious in the vicinity of Devon Court. The TV crew interviewed some of the neighbours as well.’ Lynch looked at his watch, then, looking towards his office, said, ‘Where's the boss? He's late.’
Carter parked his car, got out and walked across the car park, came up the steps and walked in through the sliding doors. He was in a good mood as he entered the reception area. Tom Crane, the Desk sergeant, called to him as he entered.
‘Morning sir! This came for you late last night.’ He handed him an envelope. ‘You’d already gone when it arrived,’ he said.
‘Morning, thanks Tom.’ He looked at the official stamp on the envelope. It was from Broadbent. It had to be the autopsy report. He moved to one side allowing a woman, who had just come in, to get to the desk. As he opened it and started to read, Tom Crane said, ‘Yes Miss. How can I help you?’
‘Good morning Sergeant. I’m Detective Sergeant Marcia Kirby. I’m transferring here to CID. Is Chief Inspector Carter about?’
It was Carter who spoke first. He quickly put the report in his pocket and held out his hand. ‘I’m DCI Carter,’ he said, ‘Bob Carter.’ They shook hands. ‘Yes. Marcia, of course, sorry! I forgot you was joining us today. Sergeant, welcome to Kent Street’.
Carter took her in at a glance. She was about thirty-five with short, brown hair. She was dressed in a smart navy-blue pants suit with a white blouse. She wore sensible flat-heeled shoes. Carter thought her freckles gave her a motherly appearance. She had a nice face. And of course, she carried a shoulder bag. ‘Where would the average woman be without a shoulder bag, he thought. ‘It's all part of the female uniform.’
‘OK, let's go up and I'll introduce you to the rest of the CID.’
‘Welcome Sergeant, glad you're joining us,’ said Tom Crane. ‘They're a bit of a weird bunch up there, law unto themselves, but you'll soon get used to them. If you ever need sanctuary you know where we are, the kettle’s always on.’ He laughed and walked off.
‘Where there's tea there's hope. But in your case, Tom Crane, it's too much of one and none of the other,’ replied Carter.
Carter led the way along the passage past the three interview rooms, up the stairs and along the passage to the CID room.
When they entered the room, heads turned and everyone looked at the stranger.
‘This is Detective Sergeant Marcia Kirby,’ said Carter. He then took her around, introducing her to the others one by one, then whisked her off to his office.
‘Nice, but not my type,’ said Lynch, as she disappeared into Carter's office and closed the door.
Turner turned and looked at him. ‘You surprise me,’ he said. What are you? Twenty-six years old? I thought any type was your type,’ he laughed.
‘Ha, bleeding ha. Come off it. She's old. She must be at least forty odd. Anyway, I do have my principles.’
‘You do?’ said Turner, surprised. ‘Then who was that woman I saw you with last Saturday night when I walked past that Indian restaurant. Now… she was old.’
‘That, for your information, my old son, was my dear old mum. I took her out for her birthday,’ said Lynch, looking hurt.
‘Yeah, right! Pull the other one,’ said Turner, turning his back and walking over to his desk.
Ten minutes later Carter and Marcia Kirby came out of his office. He called them all together.
‘I've brought Marcia, Sergeant Kirby, up to date with the present investigation. Ted, will you sort a desk out for her please?’ He turned to her. ‘Later I'll take you to meet Superintendent Marsh. He's over at HQ at the moment.’
‘Lucky for you. What a treat,’ said Lynch softly, staring up at the ceiling.
‘In the meantime, we need to draw up the battle plans for the day.’
He looked at Mike Reid. ‘Mike, I'd like you to get down to the c
afé and talk to the other employees. See what they have to say. Bill, you go with him.’
‘Dave, you stay here, get a statement from the boyfriend. Marcia, I suggest you sit in on that as well. He's not in the frame but we need to know if she had any friends. What she did in her spare time. I've got some paperwork to do, so I will be here for most of the day.’
Just then, the phone on Baxter's desk started ringing. He went over, picked it up, spoke for a few moments, then hung up.
‘Your first customer has arrived, SPO Robinson has come in to make his statement. I've had him put in interview room two’.
Dave Lynch picked up his notebook, looked at Marcia Kirby and said, ‘This shouldn't take too long Sarge. Robinson was the one who found the body.’
She picked up the case file that Carter had given her earlier and the pair headed for the door
Reid and Turner followed them out.
‘So, if it's not a personal question,’ said Lynch, as they made their way down to the interview room, ‘what possessed you to leave the bright lights of London and all the excitement of the Big Smoke for this drab and dreary place?’
‘It's no secret,’ she said, pushing a strand of loose hair behind her ear. ‘I just wanted to be nearer my mother. She lives not far from here, over near Wye. She has cancer and lives on her own. It’s only a thirty-minute drive from here. London is just too far away for me to keep an eye on her.’ She thought it best not add the fact that her father was an ex-Chief Constable. She guessed they all would have picked it up on the grapevine. What they didn’t know though, was that he’d run off with another woman half his age. Running out on her and her mother was something she would never forgive him for.
‘Sorry about yer mum,’ he said.
‘No problem. It's fine. She is responding well to treatment.’
‘I would have liked to transfer up to the smoke but Maggie, that's my fiancée, she's not too keen on London; wants to live here. She's got a good job. She loves her work. She's an oncology consultant at Maidstone Hospital. In fact, there's a good chance that your mum might be one of her patients. We hope to get married next year.’ He opened the door of the interview room and nodded a greeting to PC Andy Miller, who was talking to Robinson. Miller shortly walked out, shutting the door behind him.
‘Special Constable Robinson? I'm DC Dave Lynch and this is DS Marcia Kirby.’ They shook hands. He opened his folder, took out his pen then switched on the tape recorder. ‘Let's get started…’
In the other interview room, Mark Wilson sat waiting patiently staring at the wall opposite. His elbows were resting on the table. His head held in his hands. The death of his girlfriend had hit him hard. His face showed it all. It was drawn and haggard; his eyes were red.
Wilson had arrived a few minutes after Lynch started the interview with Robinson. Rather than leave him waiting, Carter decided to talk to Wilson himself.
Wilson looked up as Carter entered the room. They shook hands and Carter sat down.
‘I’m Detective Chief Inspector Carter. I’d like to say, firstly, how very sorry I am for your loss.’ He opened the file. ‘Is there anything I can get you before we start, tea or coffee?’
‘No, thank you Inspector, I’m OK. Have you any news, what happened? Who, in God's name could do something like this? She had no enemies.’ He started crying softly.
Carter handed him a box of tissues and waited while he wiped away the tears.
He looked into Wilson’s haggard face and said, ‘We're still in the very early stages of the investigation. All I can tell you at the moment is that Maureen let this person into the house which indicates she knew her attacker. We will need you to give us a list of all her friends, male and female. Also, and I know it's going to be stressful for you, but we'll need you to do a formal identification. We'll also need a set of your fingerprints, purely for elimination purposes, you understand?’ Mark nodded mutely.
‘Where did you stay last night, Mr Wilson?’ asked Carter.
‘It's Mark. You can call me Mark’.
‘OK, Mark. Will you answer my question about last night?’
‘My flight got in just after nine. I stayed with my parents at Hounslow last night but I'd like to go and stay back in the house if that's possible. My mother said she would come and stay with me for a while.’
‘I don't see any reason why you can't go back in there now. The forensic people have all finished,’ Carter said.
Thirty minutes later, Carter had everything he needed. ‘If you wouldn't mind waiting out in reception, I'll get someone to take your prints and then, I'll get one of my officers run you over to the hospital. Would you like him to take you back to the house after?’
‘Yes, thank you. I'm not looking forward to this. It’ll be hard going there, but I have to face up to it some time.’ he sniffed.
We can arrange counselling for you, if you like? I will get a Family Liaison Officer to keep in contact with you. The FLO will be able keep you fully informed on the progress of our investigation and will answer any questions you might have.’ He walked back up to CID and organized Ted Baxter to deal with Mark Wilson's prints and drive him over to the mortuary.
*******
Carter and Kirby walked along the brightly lit corridor, tapped on the door of Superintendent Marsh's office and walked in.
‘Sir. This is Detective Sergeant Kirby.’
‘Welcome to Kingsport, Sergeant.’ He rose and shook her hand.
Carter hastily excused himself, saying he had something urgent he had to attend to, and left. He had no intentions of listening to the man waffle on.
Lynch had already returned from the Robinson interview and was busy typing up his statement when Carter walked back to his office.
Marcia Kirby arrived back some ten minutes later. He called her into his office.
‘OK. That didn’t take long,’ he said.
‘No. Said he had to get home early.’
He decided against making any comments about her first impressions of Marsh or the Superintendent's introductory, ‘welcome to Kent Street’ speech. He'd given the same, well-rehearsed speech to Hollingsworth. From what Carter had heard, Hollingsworth had also not been impressed. He looked at her. By the expression on her face, Marcia didn’t looked very impressed either. In fact, ‘traumatised’ would be a better way of describing her look, he thought.
He pulled his mind back to the job in hand and told her to sit.
‘Now that you’ve read the file and got yourself up to speed, is there anything more you think needs to be done? If you have any suggestions just say so.’
‘Looks like you have covered everything sir.’
There was a knock on the door. Carter looked up to see Reid and Bill Turner standing outside. He beckoned them in.
‘Well, how did it go? Did you get any further?’
Reid looked from Carter to Kirby. ‘No sir, we drew a complete blank. Those who worked with her all said the same thing. They never socialized a lot, outside working hours. She kept her private life private. They all knew her boyfriend because he used to come into the café on occasion. None of them had a bad word to say against her. She was friendly, happy sort of a girl. Hardly ever missed a day's work.’
‘I got the same sort of thing from Wilson,’ said Carter, looking at his notes. ‘She spent a lot of her spare time reading. Hardly ever left the house and had few friends.’ He sighed. ‘We're getting nowhere bloody fast with this one.’
‘Oh, yes, nearly forgot sir. One other thing,’ said Reid, grinning. ‘Christine Wilcox said to say hello and said you must drop in for a bacon sandwich next time you’re passing. Seems, like you made a bit of an impression on the lady, sir.’
Carter felt the back of his neck growing hot. He just sat there at his desk, looking up at Reid. He pointed to the door, and said. ‘Shut it on your way out, there's a good lad.’
Reid walked out, grinning.
Chapter 5
Thursday 9th September
&nb
sp; Carter had been in a deep sleep when the mobile on his bedside table started ringing. He hadn’t been sleeping too well since the death of Maureen Newman. The lack of progress was playing on his mind so he'd taken a sleeping pill and gone to bed just after nine the night before.
He turned over in bed and looked at the clock on the bedside table. The digital read-out said one-thirty. He calculated he’d been asleep for just over four hours. It felt like less. His eyeballs felt gritty, his tongue and mouth, dry. He’d been sleeping on his stomach, his face buried in the pillow. He lifted his head, reached out and fumbled for his phone. In the dark, he knocked the plastic water bottle off the bedside table onto the floor. It disappeared under the bed.
‘Carter,’ he croaked.
‘Sir, it's Kirby.’
It took a few seconds for Carter focus his thoughts. Why was she ringing at this time in the morning for God's sake? He then remembered that Kirby had been rostered on as duty callout officer.
‘I'm at the Nurses’ Hostel, the block of flats behind Tower Street. We've got a dead nurse sir. I’ve called the FME and SOCO are on their way. It's murder, sir!’
He got up and swung his legs over the edge of the bed, switched on the bedside lamp then bent down and groped for the water bottle. He took a mouthful and then said, ‘OK Marcia. Give me time to grab a quick shower and I'll be straight over. Thirty minutes?’
He closed the phone and dropped it back onto the table. ‘Shit, another one,’ he sighed. ‘That's the last thing we need right now.’ As he walked into the shower and turned on the hot water he had nagging doubts in the back of his mind. He had a bad feeling about this one. Even with the hot water running over his body, he felt a cold shiver run down his spine.
*******
He arrived just after two. A light mist had settled over the street. The orange sodium lights gave everything an eerie glow. As he pulled up, a young PC came over to him, pointed, and told him to go down a laneway between the two buildings. Driving down the laneway brought him out into a wide, enclosed, courtyard, in front of the flats. The white van belonging to the forensic team was parked in the bay in front of the ground floor flat. Another PC stood guard by the door. Carter stood by his car and counted the flats. There were ten on the ground floor and the same above. A walkway stretched along the fronts of the second storey flats. It was a very quiet location. He started to walk around. The only way in and out, by car, was via the laneway. On the far side of the courtyard, next to the waiting black van from the mortuary, was a covered walkway, leading, he assumed, to the hospital. There was very little light in the courtyard. The only illumination came from the security lights over the door of each flat.