by Jack Gatland
Declan drove Monroe and Doctor Marcos there in his Audi, even though it was effectively less than a mile to walk across the fields. Although Declan now had wellington boots that fit him, a purchase that came in the last week after various mud-filled wood visits to both Epping and Savernake Forests over the last three cases, visits that had destroyed his favourite brogues, neither Monroe nor Doctor Marcos had a pair, and it was simply easier to drive.
They didn’t enter the main building; the manager of the club was already waiting for them outside when they arrived. A tall, slim, balding man in a red, V-neck jumper over a blue polo neck, he looked like he’d just finished a round of golf, which, in all actuality, he probably had.
‘Thought I’d save you the hassle of trying to find me,’ he said, shaking their hands. ‘Alfie Bates. I’m the manager here. I got a call, saying you wanted to see the green?’
‘If possible,’ Monroe said, before looking sheepishly to Declan. ‘If that’s what you were thinking?’
Declan nodded, annoyed at Monroe. Not because he’d spoken, but because he kept looking to Declan for orders. They’d have to chat about that later.
‘You’ll be unimpressed,’ Alfie explained, already walking to the right of the building, expecting them to follow. ‘It rained last night, and we’ve had sprinklers on. There’s nothing left to see.’
‘It’s more a case of getting a feel for the place,’ Declan explained. He’d already seen the crime scene photos of Nathanial, laid out on the green, arms outstretched either side, one wrist bleeding into the hole while the other puddled around the flag, held in Wing’s left hand. Declan hadn’t missed the fact that he was laid out in a representation of the Red Reaper.
‘Do you have any CCTV of the night?’ Monroe asked. Alfie nodded.
‘We do, but it’s not great. We only have a couple of camera light things and they’re not HD. It’s mainly for insurance reasons. Not many people want to rob a golf club, and it’s not like we’re gated or anything.’
‘I saw that,’ Doctor Marcos looked back to the main road. There was no fence, no wall, nothing. ‘Why is that?’
‘We can’t withhold access to the public,’ Alfie explained as he led them across the car park towards a gap in the hedge. ‘There’s a public footpath that goes across the course, between the twelfth and thirteenth greens. Bloody annoying, to be honest. Comes out on a dirt track that goes under the A404, and continues out of the entrance, across the road and then around the fields towards Prospect Hill. Ramblers are a sodding nuisance, always walking across just as someone’s about to tee off.’ He paused. ‘You’re not ramblers, are you?’
‘Love it,’ Declan deadpanned. ‘Do it all the time.’
‘Ah, well, there’s a time and a place in my opinion,’ Alfie’s face reddened. ‘Anyway, this is the seventeenth hole, a tough one that doglegs left, and usually sees people trumped by that beech tree. Once past it, we’ll see the sixteenth. It’s a par three for the men, but a pretty standard par four for the ladies. It has a two tiered green, so expect a couple of puts to sink though.’
Declan glanced to the right, where the top of a building could be seen through the trees.
‘What’s that?’ he asked.
‘Apple Hill Nursing Home,’ Alfie replied, continuing on. ‘They back onto the first leg of the seventeenth. And they’re walled and gated, for about fifty yards. Then it turns into standard country fencing.’
Monroe looked to Declan at that. ‘He means three bar wooden fences, about chest high,’ Declan explained.
‘Easy to get over then,’ Monroe nodded. ‘We should check the home to see if they have CCTV.’
‘There’s a hotel across from them with a car park, too,’ Declan mused. ‘Might as well check everyone.’
‘About CCTV,’ Doctor Marcos interrupted. ‘You were originally telling us about yours?’
‘Oh, yeah,’ Alfie stopped, looking sheepish. ‘We saw the boy, Wing? Yeah, he walked into the main entrance about eight, nine pm, clear as day on the video.’
‘Anyone with him?’
‘Nope,’ Alfie turned a corner on the fairway, and the sixteenth green came into view. ‘To be honest, he looked like any normal person. He walked to the right, like we did, stops, picks up something from the floor and then he was gone, out of frame.’
‘Anyone follow?’
‘Nope, clear footage for a good twenty minutes. And then it’s only Frank Peters turning up to drop a sheet off.’
By now they were standing on the green, and Declan could see that the water had mostly washed away the blood, although the white edge on the inside of the hole was still rimmed with a scarlet tint. Doctor Marcos, who had examined the images thoroughly, was now kneeling at the hole, looking up as she did so.
‘He was laid here,’ she said, opening a small compass app on her phone and looking at it. ‘North to south, arms outstretched, east to west.’
‘What do you mean, laid?’ Alfie frowned. ‘Lad killed himself, right?’
‘You’ve been a great help,’ Monroe walked over and shook Alfie’s hand warmly. ‘We can take it from here.’
‘Well, alright then,’ Alfie replied, backing away slightly as if realising he was intruding on police business. ‘Any questions, just let me know. And, if you want a round on me, just holler. We’re not starting players until Saturday, so there’ll be no balls landing around here.’
And, with a last look at the flag, now pulled out and placed onto the green as Doctor Marcos shone her torch deep into the green’s hole, Alfie turned and almost fled from the scene.
‘Thoughts?’ Monroe asked. ‘First one is that you shouldn’t keep deferring to me,’ Declan chided. ‘You’re DCI. You have experience in these. I’m only running this because I asked first.’
Monroe nodded, smiling. ‘Understood, laddie,’ he said, looking across the green and towards the road, the other side of the trees. ’So, the green can be accessed from the road over there. We’re shielded by the trees from the road, the care home, the clubhouse and the A404. If you’re looking for somewhere quiet while out in the open, it’s not that bad a place.’
‘There’s a lay-by down the road, too,’ Declan mused. ‘You could park there and no CCTV would catch you.’
‘So how do we catch this guy then?’ Monroe was staring down at the flag now. ‘We have nothing that proves that Wing was murdered, or even coerced to take his own life.’
‘Wing sliced both of his wrists open,’ Doctor Marcos was still peering down the hole. ‘There’s no blade of any kind. But there is something down here…’ She reached into the hole with a pair of tweezers, pulling out a folded and damp piece of paper.
‘The police who arrived on scene didn’t know this was a murder. They took it as a suicide, and the CCTV of Wing alone confirmed it. Only when the body was examined at Maidenhead, did they find the card in Wing’s pocket.’
She placed the paper on the green as she reached into her jacket, removing a pair of blue latex gloves and pulling them on.
‘I know that they positioned the body, but the blood from the right wrist cut went straight into the hole, so the hand was over it. The killer, or at least the enabler, would have positioned the body, but likely kept the hand there and missed this.’
The paper was covered in dried blood, dampened by the rain that had entered the hole over the last couple of days. It was folded and only an inch in size.
‘Wing could have held this in his hand,’ Doctor Monroe carefully opened the letter up as she spoke. ‘It took us a good couple of minutes to walk here from the car park. If our mystery man was waiting here, having sent Wing through the front entrance while climbing over the fence, Wing could have written a note, folded it up and held it.’
‘Why not run for help instead?’ Declan crouched beside Doctor Marcos now as she finished opening the paper. It was a sheet of paper, around A5 in size; on one side was scrawled writing, while the other side was a half filled Temple Golf Club score sheet. The paper i
tself was stained and blooded, the blue ink slightly smudged, but the message on it was still visible, written in capitals.
IF I DON’T DO THIS THE GERMAN WILL KILL MY PARENTS.
‘Not much to go on,’ Declan said.
‘Probably didn’t have time to say anything more,’ Doctor Marcos pulled out a clear plastic evidence bag and carefully placed the sheet into it. ‘He must have found it on the ground in the car park, realised it was his chance. We’ll need to check it for prints.’
‘Poor wee bugger,’ Monroe looked across the fairway as he spoke. ‘No wonder he did this. If I thought that my family would suffer instead, I might do the same thing too.’
Doctor Marcos rose. ‘We’re done here,’ she said, her voice clipped with anger. Declan understood the emotion; he felt the same way too.
‘Back to Maidenhead?’ He asked. Doctor Marcos however shook her head.
‘Not yet,’ she replied. ‘We have a crash scene to look at first.’
Declan felt a cold wind slide down his spine. He hadn’t visited the site where his dad had died since it’d happened.
There was a first time for everything, he supposed.
The Randalls had lived near Erith, in South East London when their son Craig had died, but two years after the event they’d split, the father disappearing abroad with work, and the mother and Ellie moving nearer relatives in Basingstoke. And, six years later, it was at this Basingstoke house that PC De’Geer and DS Anjli Kapoor arrived on a police motorcycle.
‘Not gonna lie, that’s pretty awesome,’ Anjli said as she pulled off the helmet, placing it on the seat. ‘Used to have a Suzuki Marauder when I was a teenager. Only 125cc, but it looked like a Harley.’
‘And sounded like a hairdryer,’ De’Geer grinned as he turned off the bike’s engine, the smile fading as he looked towards the house.
‘I haven’t seen her since Craig died,’ he admitted.
‘Not even to check in on her? Like, later in life?’
‘She knew where I lived, while I only ever knew her caravan,’ De’Geer admitted. ‘She could have looked for me, but never did. Life moves on.’
The door was already opening as they walked towards it; the site of the police motorcycle pulling up outside was enough to spark curiosity from the young woman who now stared at them as they approached her along the path.
‘Ellie Randall?’ Anjli asked. ‘Are you—’
‘That’s Ellie,’ De’Geer said, his voice softening. Ellie Randall stared at Anjli, and then De’Geer… And then her eyes widened.
‘Morten?’ she asked. De’Geer smiled, but it seemed forced to Anjli.
‘Hello, Ellie,’ he said warmly. ‘Can we come in? We need to talk about Craig.’
Ellie sat in an armchair sipping at her tea and staring across at De’Geer as Anjli pulled out her iPhone, turning the voice memo app on and placing it on the table.
‘Do you mind?’ she indicated the recorder. ‘It’s easier than writing notes.’
Ellie shook her head. ‘I don’t know what I can give you though,’ she replied. ‘I told the police everything.’
‘Did Craig have any enemies?’ Anjli started. Ellie nodded.
‘Loads by the end,’ she said. ‘He pissed off pretty much everyone.’
‘What happened here?’ De’Geer asked. ‘Your parents—‘
‘Dad left us about two years after it happened,’ Ellie explained, while sipping at the mug. ‘Mum and me came here. Aunty Bev lives nearby. Mum’s at work right now.’
‘Do you work?’ Anjli asked. Ellie shook her head.
‘Laid off a month back,’ she said. ‘Cutbacks.’
‘Can you tell me in your own words what happened that day?’ Anjli continued. Ellie however shook her head.
‘We try not to think about it.’
‘Please, Ellie,’ De’Geer leaned closer. ‘There’s been another one.’
Ellie’s eyes widened. ‘So he was killed?’ she whispered. Anjli nodded.
‘We believe so,’ she replied. ‘A monster of a man who forced his victims to kill themselves. So anything you can give us would be incredibly helpful.’
Ellie was silent for a moment, and Anjli could see that she was weighing up her options here. Then, nervously, she nodded.
‘We had a fight,’ she started. ‘The camping site had been getting complaints about Craig again. We were one strike from being banned. We’d been going there for years, and dad was right royally pissed about this. I was told later that they fought again, and Craig stormed out with Scamper. He was our dog,’ she explained to Anjli, who nodded.
‘You said you were told later?’
‘I wasn’t there,’ Ellie replied. ‘I was on Hurley Lock Footbridge when they fought.’ She glanced at De’Geer as she spoke. Anjli looked to him also, curious why Ellie had deferred to him.
‘It’s a place for teenagers to meet,’ he explained. ‘It’s a romantic place. Many have their first kisses there. We had our first kiss there.’ He smiled at Ellie, who smiled back. Anjli nodded at this; she’d been told that De’Geer and Ellie Randall had a history.
‘I came back to the campsite via the Thames entrance,’ Ellie continued. ‘Thought nothing was wrong. About an hour later someone found the phone, and then… then they found Craig.’
‘Was there anyone around that seemed off?’ De’Geer asked. ‘Anyone who didn’t look like they should be there?’
‘Why, you suddenly care now?’ Ellie snapped.
There was a moment of silence before she continued.
‘Sorry, it’s just I told the coppers back then, and they did nothing.’
Anjli frowned at this. ‘What do you mean?’
‘I mean I saw something that day and I told the coppers but they ignored me,’ Ellie continued. ‘When I came back, walking along the Thames, I looked to the woods by the makeshift bridge that was by field three. I could see Craig and some man.’
‘What were they doing?’
‘Sitting,’ Ellie shut her eyes as she brought the image back in her head. ‘I didn’t say anything, as we weren’t talking. Brother and sister stuff, you know. But when they found the body, I told the police, and they ignored it.’
‘What did you tell them?’
‘That I saw Craig and the man together, talking, and then the man flipped a coin or something,’ Ellie opened her eyes. ‘Then I saw Tracey, my best friend by the main gate and I forgot all about it.’
‘Well, this time we’ll use it,’ Anjli pulled out a card, passing it to Ellie. ‘If you remember anything, let me know, okay? Can you remember what the man looked like?’
‘White, with brown hair?’ Ellie was reaching now. ‘Honestly, it was years ago, and it was at a distance. Sorry I can’t help any more.’
‘That’s more than enough to go on with,’ Anjli said as she rose. De’Geer, seeing this, followed suit. Walking to the front door, Ellie glanced shyly at De’Geer.
‘You’ve definitely grown,’ she smiled. De’Geer nodded.
‘Not the scrawny kid I was,’ he agreed.
‘If you’re ever around, we should catch up,’ Ellie opened the door as De’Geer and Anjli walked through. ‘You know, a drink or something.’
’Now I know where you are, I’ll remember it,’ De’Geer smiled and, with Anjli following, he walked to his motorcycle, pulling on the helmet.
‘That was a little cold, wasn’t it?’ Anjli asked. ‘I mean, you were childhood sweethearts, torn apart by trauma, and now you’re ignoring a blatant come on?’
‘We were childhood sweethearts,’ De’Geer sadly replied. ‘And we shared our first kiss on the Hurley Lock Bridge.’ He climbed onto the bike, starting it up.
‘But I wasn’t with her that day, and I sure as hell wasn’t at Hurley Lock Bridge with her.’
‘Oh,’ Anjli replied before realising. ‘Oh.’
Climbing onto the pillion, Anjli took one last look at the house. Ellie Randall was watching from the window as De’Geer revved the motorcy
cle and sped off towards Hurley once more, his mind now focussed on teenage love and betrayal.
11
Moving Pictures
When her dad had told her she was going ‘undercover’, Jess hadn’t exactly known what he meant, but had nodded and agreed to do whatever she could to help the investigation.
Unfortunately, that meant doing what her dad had asked for; go undercover at the Henley College where Nathanial Wing had studied, find his classmates and gather whatever she could from them. Apparently Wing’s parents had been very vocal about the police and were refusing to speak to any of them. This was the only way to get any advantage.
The problem with this was the same issue that allowed Jess to be in Hurley in the first place; it was half term. The college wouldn’t be open. Still, undeterred, she caught the 239 bus from outside the Malthouse and travelled the five miles to Henley-Upon-Thames, deciding that as the college was closed, she’d look into the web company that Wing had apparently been interning at, Bardic Design. In Adam Court, off Bell Street, it was a small boutique firm with only about three full-time staff. Someone there should be able to help.
When she arrived, however, she found it was smaller than she had even imagined, with one woman sitting at a reception desk, and a lone man, no older than thirty working at a computer in a glass walled back room.
‘Can I help you?’ the woman asked, smiling as she looked up at Jess.
‘Actually, yeah,’ Jess walked up to the reception desk, trying to match the woman’s smile. ‘I was hoping someone here could speak to me about Nathan Wing.’
The smile faltered at this.
‘Ah, Nathan,’ the receptionist said. ‘So sad. Expected, but sad.’
‘Expected?’ Jess frowned. ‘You knew he was going to do this?’
‘He was troubled, let’s leave it at that,’ the receptionist replied, now all business. ‘What’s your business with Nathan, anyway?’
‘I knew him,’ Jess lied. ‘That is, I met him a couple of times.’