Death and Deception

by B. A. Steadman

  Dan looked at the clock and wondered when he would find out what Ian had learned at the school. He had a feeling the old bugger would be typing his notes up at his desk next door rather than committing them to computer memory so everyone could read them. He shook his head, the guy just made more work for people. Sally should be back for 5.00 p.m., so they could have a quick de-brief before going home. He looked at the slim results of two hours thinking and sighed. Who on earth would want this girl dead, and more important, why?

  The rest of the team arrived within minutes, carrying coffee and notebooks. They sat round the big rectangular table in the middle of the room, chatting and laughing amongst themselves. Once again, Dan was all too aware that he was the new boy who needed to make an impression on his first case. He cleared his throat, leant against the edge of the table and waited for the chat to die down. Before he managed a word, the door opened and Superintendent Oliver walked in. She also had coffee, but Dan had a feeling that hers had been freshly brewed by the efficient Stella rather than dispensed by ancient machine. Her arrival stopped the conversation faster than his throat clearing had.

  ‘Carry on, Detective Inspector,’ she said. ‘I just want to listen in so I can tell the press where we’re up to. They’re hovering in the main meeting room like flies round a carcass.’

  Dan’s face fell. He’d wanted to do the press interviews. Oliver hadn’t finished,

  ‘As this is your first case, I thought it would be better to have the voice of experience in front of the TV cameras. I will expect you to be by my side, of course,’ she added, sending a brief smile in his direction. ‘I’ll lend you some powder for your forehead. Awfully bright under all those lights.’

  A snigger sneaked out from the direction of Ian Gould who had wandered in and sat beside the Flowerpot Men. The three of them were giggling into their mugs.

  Oliver glared at them, ‘It’s like school in here sometimes.’

  Dan cleared his throat again. He would have to have a word with the naughty side of the table later. He didn’t want Ian taking a disruptive role just because he was de-mob happy.

  Dan indicated the Mind Map, a visual representation of the case which looked like a spider with too many legs, with Carly’s name at the middle. ‘I have added a string, or spider leg, for all the people we know saw Carly over the weekend. I’ve added the places we know she visited in the last couple of days before she died, but I need you people to fill in the gaps.’ He nodded to Bill Larcombe, who rose and stood by the board, pen poised. He turned to Gould,

  ‘DCI Gould?’

  Gould looked at his notebook.

  ‘I interviewed Claire Quick, the girl’s form tutor, who seems to have known her well. She also said that Carly could be difficult but that she couldn’t think of anyone who would want to harm her. I mentioned Jamie May, the boyfriend, but she seemed convinced that he wouldn’t harm her, as he was, and I quote, “madly in love with Carly”.

  'The boys who found the body had little to report other than their shock at finding her. They are regulars up in the wood but didn’t notice anything unusual. I have their written statements here.

  'I then interviewed the school receptionist, Marcia Penrose, who was keen to tell me that Carly Braithwaite was quite a rude and difficult girl. Mr Braithwaite had threatened Mrs Penrose in the past when she refused to let Carly go home when she felt ill. In Mrs Penrose’s opinion, the girl just wanted the afternoon off school. Apparently, Alan Braithwaite made threats to punch her in the face and the Head teacher had had to intervene to get him off the premises. He has been banned ever since. He could be a person of interest.

  ‘Lastly, I saw the Music teacher, Miles Westlake. He was a mess, breaking down all the time and blubbering.’ He made air quote gestures, ‘He’s the “sensitive” type. He saw Carly and Jamie on Saturday afternoon for a couple of hours to rehearse the songs for the next day’s recording session, but let them go by 3.30pm. He says he was waiting in the school on Monday morning to hear how it had gone. Don’t think he’s the murdering type.’

  Ian closed his book and sat back, shaking his head at the whiteboard. Bill was adding his notes to the messy diagram on the board.

  ‘I don’t get this spider diagram stuff. Prefer columns myself.’

  As Dan continued to look at him, he added, ‘What?’

  ‘Weren’t you supposed to interview Jamie May, the boyfriend?’

  ‘Yeah, but he didn’t stay behind with the others like he was supposed to. I called round to his house on the way here - rough old street - but there was no-one home. Thought I could get Sam to see him tomorrow morning.’

  Oliver raised her eyebrows and rolled her hands, indicating for him to continue.

  ‘Look, he’s just another kid. Kids don’t kill other kids unless they’re in some sort of gang, and there’s no sign of anything like that here. Tomorrow will be fine to interview him. Chill a bit. Christ!’ He muttered into his mug of tea and drew a spiky spider on his notebook.

  Dan rolled his eyes. It really was like school in here. He practised his best glare on the Flowerpot men who were nudging Gould and pulling faces at him.

  ‘Concentrate, you two,’ said Oliver, bringing instant silence.

  Sally went next. ‘Well, after spending the day with the Braithwaites, I feel I know them a little better now. I don’t think that Alan Braithwaite killed his daughter unless, of course, the motive was jealousy, in which case, who knows what he may be capable of? He had an obsessive interest in her singing career and has kept copies of everything she’s done since she was a small child.’

  Sally passed pictures of Carly singing and receiving her Youth Matters award to ‘Ben’ Bennett to go on the board.

  Bill Larcombe interrupted, ‘He has a record for Drunk and disorderly ten years ago and Actual Bodily Harm six years ago, for which he served a six month sentence. There has been no trouble with the Police since then apart from the incident at school which was logged last November.’

  ‘When did his wife leave him?’ asked Dan.

  Sally continued, ‘Just before he came out of prison for the assault case, about five years ago. She apparently ran off with the guy he assaulted, leaving the two kids behind with his mother until he came out. She hasn’t been back since. Not that he’s bitter or anything.

  ‘Carly’s room was pretty tidy for a teenager. I didn’t find her phone or shoe, but her bag was there on the bed. She obviously didn’t take it with her when she left on Sunday. Kids are never parted from their phones, so we should make finding that a priority. Forensics will be in there tomorrow for a search.’

  Bill wrote ‘PHONE?’ in large letters on the board.

  ‘Jenna is my last person of interest. I think there is more to that girl than people see. She’s only thirteen but she’s the cook and the cleaner, and there are very few pictures of her around the place. She’s like Cinderella. She seems to be in a permanent state of anxiety about her Dad’s moods but she doesn’t complain. Even when I used all my Northern charm to draw her out, she wouldn’t have a word said against her sister or her Dad. I don’t know how she’s holding up.’

  Bill scribbled furiously. Dan realised he hadn’t quite got the point.

  ‘Bill, just the main facts or opinions go on the map, like headlines, we’ve got the proper reports for the details, and I need a bit of space to add the forensic and Post-Mortem stuff when we get it.’

  Bill stopped and glared at Bennett and Gould who were pulling “who’s got told off by the boss?” faces at him.

  ‘OK. Pictures are beginning to emerge, I think,’ said Dan. ‘I spoke to the character who runs the studios in town, Jed Abrams. He said he didn’t see Carly at all on Sunday night, that he waited an hour and then went for a drink on his own. He couldn’t remember where he’d had the drink at first, and then he remembered he had gone for a drink in his own home and that nobody had seen him at all.’ He stopped for effect. As far as he was concerned it was the
first proper lead any of them had got that day. ‘He was not in a good way, lots of nervous tics and sweaty palms, so we’ll bring him in tomorrow and interview him under caution, and give him this evening to stew a little. I have no idea what his motive for killing this girl could be, but we’ll know more tomorrow.

  ‘I also spoke to his assistant, Chas Lloyd, age 19 and a student on gap year. She left at 6.00pm and said that Abrams usually did evening sessions on his own at weekends, to avoid paying overtime. In her opinion he is a bit of a letch, but she didn’t think he had it in him to kill someone. But we all know how wrong members of the public can be. Bill, any chance we could fingerprint and photo both of them tomorrow?’

  Larcombe sat up. ‘Easy to do Abrams, he’ll be here. Might take a day or two to get to the girl though. I’ll see what we can do.’ He made a note in his pad.

  Dan looked over at Sam Knowles, but he shook his head, ‘Sorry, sir, nothing to go on the board except gossip and vitriol.’ Sam paused, then added, with a wistful sigh, ‘I have a dream that one day I’ll have a junior officer on my team who I can force to spend the whole day being giggled at and toyed with by sixteen year-old girls who think they are hilarious and irresistible.’

  Dan tolerated the wolf whistles and hoots round the table. With his great height and extreme skinniness, Sam was nobody’s idea of a sex symbol, including his own.

  ‘They did know about Carly’s relationship with Jamie May, and most of the girls were jealous of her, in a catty sort of way. She was clearly Mr Westlake’s favourite, too, and that made them even more jealous. Jamie’s considered very cool at school, although a couple of boys said he has a nasty side when he’s crossed. I’ve got the contact details of a couple of lads from his band if we need to ask for more.’

  ‘So,’ Dan said, ‘what have we got so far? Why would someone want this girl dead? We need to find a motive, folks. What did she see, or hear, or find out, or threaten to do that would cost her her life? Who was the last person to see her alive?’ He paused. ‘I think we look closely at Jed Abrams- he’s hiding something.

  Sally, keep close to the family, I’m not convinced that Dad hasn’t got something to do with it.

  ‘And Ian, the boy is important, find him. It may be significant that he disappeared from school today.’ He squeezed the tendons at the back of his neck – solid. Definite headache lurking there under the three ibuprofens he’d swallowed. ‘Did Carly get as far as the studio on Sunday night?

  Sam, go round the local shops on Sidwell Street and check their CCTV recordings for Sunday. There was a camera outside the studio door, start with that one.’

  The young officer nodded.

  ‘Also, what about this Music teacher? It’s not normal for teachers to have kids at their houses, is it?’

  He looked across at Gould who consulted his notes.

  ‘The teacher said it was a one off because of the recording session. His wife said it was OK, so I assume she was there.’

  ‘So, in fact, they could have been there many times, couldn’t they? And did his wife really agree to this rehearsal? Was she even there? Should Miles Westlake be in the frame, not Jed Abrams?’ He let the thought slide around the room. ‘Too much we don’t know, and every hour takes us away from finding the killer.’ Dan shut himself up. He knew he had a tendency to go on a bit and state the bleedin’ obvious. They were the professionals and there was no need to over-egg the seriousness of the situation. He was just angry at Gould’s assumptions. It was poor detective work.

  ‘Right, post-mortem tomorrow morning at 10.00 a.m. Ian, will you and Sam pick up Jed Abrams and bring him in round about 10.30 a.m.? He can sit and sweat for a bit while I watch the PM. Can you both then go and talk to the boy, Jamie May, please? He is the girl’s close friend and possibly the last person to see her. I wanted to interview all the main suspects today.’

  He stopped himself having another go at Ian for not catching up with boy. It would be fine to do that tomorrow.

  Julie Oliver nodded to the team and suggested Dan joined her in her office straight after the meeting to plan a brief statement for the late news. The noise level in the room rose as she left. People shuffled papers and pushed back chairs.

  ‘Night all,’ shouted Dan. ‘Take your own mugs back to the dishwasher and I’ll see you at 8.30 am, bright and breezy. Thanks for your efforts today.’

  He saw Gould raise his eyebrows again at the Flowerpot Men, and mimic Dan’s thanks in a little girl’s voice. A wave of anger washed up his throat. Gripping the edge of the table, he put his burning face down and made busy with his paperwork. It was a small victory. Two years ago, he’d have been across the office floor shouting in their faces and providing entertainment for the whole team, as well as loss of face for him. They were just having a bit of fun at his expense. He’d done it himself, and this lot were much more gentle with him than the general banter in the Sergeants’ room at the Met had ever been. He gathered his stuff and headed for the Superintendent’s office.

  Oliver’s office was spacious and furnished in beech. Probably laminate from Ikea, but still, it looked comfortable and modern, unlike the main office downstairs. Oliver pointed to a chair and shouted for coffee from the reliable Stella. Dan wondered if Stella ever went home, imagining her living in a cupboard under the stairs so she could be on hand to satisfy Oliver’s every whim.

  He looked past the Chief Super’s shoulder to the Victorian rooftops of the University buildings opposite. Pigeons jostled and hooted on the ironwork as they settled in for the night. He ran his tongue over his teeth, folded his arms and settled back on the wooden chair to wait for her to finish reading the briefing notes from the meeting. He wondered who got invited to sit round the fancy table at the other end of the office.

  Oliver bit down hard on the lid of the biro, her eyes following the secretary as she brought coffee and dropped a fat file onto the desk. She waited until they were alone.

  ‘It was a bloody nightmare getting into the station this morning,’ she said, cracking the silence. ‘How do those vultures find out about people being killed at the exact same time as we do? It’s not right. It stops us doing our job properly. We haven’t even released the name yet but there were three of them hanging about. And I nearly trampled that silly cow from the Echo who wouldn’t get out of my face. Someone must have leaked it. Must have…’

  Dan moved to answer but she ploughed over him.

  ‘I know we don’t get many murders in Exeter, and before you say anything, I know that the body being found on a school’s grounds is even more entertaining for the press than usual but...’ She placed her elbows on the desk and rested her chin in both hands, looking up over her glasses. ‘Oh God,’ she sighed, rubbing her temples. ‘It’s bound to attract the nationals, and the telly. Just what I don’t need.’

  Dan thought about the way she had spoken about Gould earlier in the day. He’d heard rumours about an affair between her and Gould once upon a time. He found that hard to credit. Oliver was lean and fit and attractive in a viperish sort of way. She was always neat with her brown bob and white shirts. Gould was bloated and balding and grunted when he got out of the chair. Unconsciously, Dan smoothed his hair down and pulled his stomach in.

  ‘You’ll be leading a somewhat smaller team because of people being off, but we’ve brought in people from the other teams. So don’t worry, they’re a good bunch.’

  She gave him a brief smile and said,

  ‘Dan, you’re keen, but you’re very new to this level of responsibility. You’re bound to make mistakes, to miss things, things that may be vital to the case. Don’t get so carried away trying to catch the bad guys that you forget that your eyes and ears and your instinct are your best tools.

  ‘We’re not the Met. We don’t see many guns or terrorist threats. Here, low-lives will give themselves away if you let them. Not as sophisticated as your average London crim. But develop some decent people skills and persuade them to talk to
you, otherwise you’ll get nowhere. Ian can do all these things – learn from him while you’ve got him.’

  She paused and gulped down the last of her coffee, wrinkling her nose at the lukewarm bitterness.

  ‘I know what you were going to say about Gould this morning. He’s unreliable and a bit of a maverick, we all know that. But he was a good copper once, and I want him to leave on a high next month, not creep out with his tail between his legs. So you will work together. Got it?’

  ‘Got it, Ma’am.’

  ‘Right, let’s prepare the statement for the Press and then we can all go home.’

  He finished presenting the TV broadcast for the late evening news with Oliver and was on his way home by 7.30 pm. He hoped that would keep the press off his back for a day or two.

  It was a mild and clear evening, so he parked the Audi in his reserved space and wandered round to the quayside. He bought a bottle of lager from the Italian restaurant, which ran the length of the bottom floor of his apartment building and took it outside.

  Dan sat on a bench watching the rowing practice on the river. He wondered if that would be a good way to make friends as they seemed to be young and having fun. He wanted to get in touch with some of his old school and University friends, but it felt like too much time had gone by. People change so much. And, if he was being honest, he felt like a failure because his relationship with Sarah had fallen apart and he wasn’t ready to talk about it to anybody yet. He wasn’t ready to talk about Sarah or his sister. They were two scabs he would pick at that were probably best left alone to mend.

  He felt so alone. Funny, how quickly you become used to waking up with a familiar warm body next to you. How quickly you fall into routines over breakfast or last thing at night. How you develop shared jokes and sayings picked up from people encountered and places visited. A relationship was a whole private language and landscape, the result of thousands of hours of commitment and compromise and love that he had thrown away when he had walked. And, at the moment, he still wasn’t sure it had been worth it.