by John Mead
The incident room quickly emptied out leaving Rosen and his administrative team to get to work. No one needed to tell Rosen and his team what they had to do. It was their job to ensure all the information from forensics, witness statements and what the various teams of officers were discovering ended up in the right parts of the system and were all cross-referenced. Rosen might not be the most senior member of the team, other than in years, but he was the spider at its centre creating a coherent net of evidence to catch and help convict the killer. And, although he understood the inquiry team’s animation and excitement at having someone in their crosshairs after the false leads and dead ends they had previously faced, he recognised that there remained too many holes in the net for them to be certain of their man. It was also his job to identify those holes and ensure they were cleared up, he knew he had more to do than anyone else.
The family liaison officer sat in Mrs Hensley’s kitchen drinking tea, she seemed to drink endless cups of tea in her role, so much so that she couldn’t face the beverage being served at home.
‘There must be something?’ Joanne Hensley insisted, in the course of a few days she had come to trust the FLO, the woman’s businesslike approach, advice and straight talking had quickly won the grieving mother over; the officer was the prop she had so desperately needed. ‘It’s all over the news about this other girl being killed in Wapping Wood. The phone hasn’t stopped ringing, although I haven’t answered it,’ she had followed the FLO’s advice to get a temporary pay-as-you-go mobile and only gave the number to her immediate family and the officer, everything else was ignored or tuned off.
‘I spoke with DI Merry before coming here,’ the FLO confirmed. ‘He has a number of new leads that the team are following up. Not least of these is that he has discovered that the young woman who has been killed worked in a nail bar near to where Lynsey worked and we believe she did Lynsey’s nails. They went to the same school up until last year, so there are links that might point to a suspect.’
‘Lynsey did have her nails done a couple of times,’ the mother remembered, ‘it wasn’t like her but I told her they suited her.’
‘It is very early days, so you shouldn’t get your hopes up but they have a strong lead and they intend to question a man who might be able to provide more information.’
‘A man, you mean the killer?’ Joanne was shocked, somehow she didn’t feel ready for this. She was still coming to terms with her daughter’s death and didn’t have any emotional room left to deal with the killer. Revenge and justice could wait.
‘It’s far too early to say, it may or may not lead to charges being brought. You shouldn’t get your hopes up.’
Joanne had no hopes, hope suggested a future and she could only think about the past. She focused on the memory of Lynsey showing off her sparkly nails, sharing a moment of ‘girls’ talk’ with her mother.
‘OK, it might have been later than I thought,’ Dave, Alan Turner’s brother, conceded as Merry upbraided him with logic, ‘it must have been just after four when he arrived.’
‘In your statement you said you both knocked off early,’ Merry was reiterating the events again, each time finding a small detail that didn’t tally, slowly breaking down Turner’s alibi, ‘and he went to the bank to get some cash. He didn’t use an ATM for some reason, but the bank can’t confirm seeing him, nor were there any deposits or withdrawals from his account that day.’ Dave shrugged his agreement. ‘You had drunk a pint and text him to find out where he was and then deleted the text,’ again Dave shrugged. ‘So if I get our techs to go through your phone,’ Merry waved the phone, taken under warrant, which he had melodramatically placed in an evidence bag before the scowling Dave, ‘and retrieve the time stamp of the text, what do you think it will show the time as…?’
‘After four thirty,’ Dave deflated, he wanted to help his brother out but if they retrieved the text then it would show he was lying, ‘he came in and we had a couple of pints. But I swear on my life, we didn’t leave the place before six.’
Merry nodded, he didn’t care when they left the pub, the fact was Turner couldn’t now account for his whereabouts at the time Lynsey Hensley was killed. What’s more Dave had already told the police that his brother wasn’t at work on the afternoon Jody Grahame had died. Turner claimed he had gone for a pint but couldn’t remember where and the CCTV at the bookies he thought he might have visited showed he wasn’t there.
‘You’ll need to come with me to the station,’ Merry informed the increasingly pissed-off Dave, ‘to give a revised statement. I’m not cautioning you, but you’d do well to keep in mind that if I discover you make any more false statements I will be charging you with obstruction.’
‘I’m going to let Turner stew in the cells over night,’ Swift explained as he, Merry, Lukula and Hayden compared notes on the day’s events at a local pub. Rosen had, unsurprisingly as a recovering alcoholic, stayed at his desk working on HOLMES2. ‘With the video and photographic evidence Turner could hardly contest having sex with Madeline, I expect that his solicitor advised one hundred per cent cooperation so he could mitigate on remorse when it goes to trial.’
‘Arresting him in front of his wife was a good move,’ Lukula applauded the govenor’s tactics, ‘Shook her to the core, so I don’t think she will lie for him.’
‘Gillian did a nice job on turning the knife as we took her in,’ Hayden stated with a grim smile. ‘She pointed out that child services would probably let her have her son back in her care providing she wasn’t charged, of course.’
‘Although she hasn’t withdrawn her statement that her husband was with her,’ Merry confirmed.
‘Not yet, she spent the first half of the interview denying any of it was a possible, then spat acid and bile when we went over the evidence with her,’ Hayden told them. ‘I suspect by morning all her husband’s gear will be in the tower block rubbish bins and she’ll be singing a different song when we re-interview her.’
‘Perhaps I can add some weight to that,’ Merry suggested, not wanting to tread on Hayden’s toes but thinking he could add to the pressure they were putting on Mrs Turner to reconsider her statement. ‘Now that Turner doesn’t have an alibi for when Jody and Lynsey were killed bringing your boss into the interview will show her how much you doubt her story.’
‘Turner still says he was home when Madeline was killed,’ Swift told them, finishing his pint and looking to Merry for another round. ‘Though he has said he forked out for the laptop to keep her quiet. He hadn’t known about the videos until she emailed one to his phone a month before her sixteenth. He also agreed she was pressing him for help to pay for driving lessons and a car. It was when I asked if he remembered seeing Lynsey and Jody around, when he was taking Madeline to and from work, that his lawyer twigged we were moving towards something more and he started to shut things down. I left them in no doubt where I was going on this, so he can have a night in the cells to stew on it.’
‘Not for me,’ Lukula said, at the offer of a second drink from Merry, ‘I’m driving.’
‘Nor me,’ Hayden said, ‘I need to get home, hopefully I will be in time to read the kids a bedtime story.’
‘Bugger it,’ Swift added, ‘that reminds me I have to phone the chief, she’s keen to keep a lid on any media hysteria and wants twice daily updates. At least she was pleased we were able to announce a significant lead on the murders and Turner’s arrest at the press conference. So I’d better make a move myself.’
‘Cheap round for me then,’ Merry smiled. ‘I’ll have one on my own.’
‘Oh. As we’re talking about the chief superintendent being pleased, Trotsky the loan shark was arrested and charged this morning, CPS didn’t want to wait any longer,’ Swift said, looking more than a tad smug, as he stood to leave with Hayden and Lukula. ‘It was also noted that the tip you passed onto Gangs about those two girls worked out, the third girl rolled over and
there will be further charges being made regardless of how the current case pans out.’
‘Something for me to celebrate on the team’s behalf,’ Merry waved the others off. He’d spoken with his wife earlier in the day to say he didn’t know when he’d be home and that he might simply kip-down in the incident room if things got really busy. She’d been understanding, more so than her parents would be at him missing another family meal but that was the life of a detective inspector.
So he was in no rush and when he struck up a conversation with Jackie, a tall, curvy blond, as he waited for his third pint and a burger, he felt even less inclined to leave the cosy comfort of the old fashioned pub.
10
It was an unseasonably cold, wet Sunday in May as Matthew hurried from the tube exit to Leman Street police station. The brutalist sixties’ architecture of the Leman Street nick was at odds with the renovated and newly built buildings surrounding it, from some angles it was possible to believe you stood on the set of a film based a century before, from others it seemed futuristic. He particularly liked the silvery statues of horses galloping along a stream that had been created to run down Canter Way, flowing round the glass fronted exclusive high-rise. The effect however was ruined by Leman Street being lined with cars, dirty street furniture and waste bins overflowing with plastic rubbish. And, although the smoky grime of London’s old pollution had been replaced with invisible fumes so that buildings might now gleam, lungs still suffered from noxious gases.
The team had quickly dispersed from the incident room, still enthusiastic in the belief they had the killer and it was simply a case of ploughing on until they turned up sufficient weight of evidence. Swift and Lukula had gone to another, nearby, police station where Turner was being held in the cells to interview him a second time, hoping to push him to reveal some incriminating detail. Whilst Hayden and Porter went to collect Maureen Turner, who was staying with family, to continue her interview. Rosen and his team continued their work and the others completed the searches, which now had spread to include David Turner’s, the brother’s, house.
Merry spent his time moping around, annoyed with himself. In a fit of remorse on the way home he had deleted Jackie’s phone number, despite their promising start, feeling guilty at their kissing and groping in an alleyway after leaving the pub. He felt no need for an affair. His wife, Katherine, was loving and more than passionate and enthusiastic in their love making but there was an excitement in the unknown that had drawn him in.
Jackie had been uncaring of his married status and only too happy to kiss and fondle him, working up to a hand job. At a critical point he had sobered up and realised he was remembering the photos and videos found on Madeline Turner’s laptop. Thinking of the sixteen year old and her step-father’s actions while being jerked off by a woman he’d just met in a pub was hardly in keeping with the person he thought he was. His self-recrimination made Jackie’s passionate efforts end less than satisfactorily and their abrupt parting that followed made him feel even more stupid and puerile.
Guilt, frustration and dissatisfaction with himself had kept him awake, long into the early hours of the morning. His mood had not improved over the family breakfast especially as his eldest, Becky, had sulked when he explained he would not be able to finish, as promised, the tree house that day.
Maureen Turner had berated and threatened all sorts of retribution on her husband but had not changed the alibi she gave him. ‘I won’t lie for him, the fucker,’ she had stated with a cold fury, ‘but I won’t lie about him. I’ll not stoop to that.’ She had then burst into tears, at the thought of her daughter’s end and the part her husband had played in pushing the innocent love of her life into doing such vile things. Eventually the mother had confessed all her own sins: loving such a perverted man, bringing him into their lives, not seeing the signs of what had happened.
Merry stopped the interview and sent the mother back to her family, saying it would be up to child services when her son would be returned to her care from the temporary placement that had been made for him. He then went to check on the progress being made on the various searches, leaving Hayden and Porter to complete the paperwork.
‘We need more leverage,’ Swift rather unnecessarily informed Lukula, they had taken a break from Turner’s interrogation though were debating whether it was worth continuing.
‘With the other charges we have on him, he isn’t going anywhere,’ Lukula philosophically stated. ‘We don’t have to rush things, something will turn up,’ though truth was Turner’s categoric denials and the details he offered in answer to their questions were giving her second thoughts.
Turner had started the session with angry and aggrieved denials, ‘I loved her like my own,’ he told them, then became confused by his own words as he remembered he had confessed to having underage sex with her on more than one occasion. Eventually, he had broken down, crying, repenting his actions, his ‘transgressions’ as he called them, his lawyer having used the word previously much to the two officers’ scornful looks, but wailing his innocence of harming her.
‘I’d never lay a hand on her,’ he bemoaned, snot and tears mingling round his full lips.
‘Except to pull her knickers down,’ Lukula could not stop herself, though at least Swift and the lawyer had the decency to make no comment or intervene, as Turner jerked back almost as if the sergeant had slapped him, ‘and put your hands all over her. Don’t you think that killed something inside her?’ Turner made no response, huddling down, sensing the animosity and revulsion the others felt towards him. ‘Well?’ she demanded, ‘How will your wife and your brother react when you tell them you did her no harm?’
‘I didn’t hit her, didn’t kill her,’ he finally rasped, understanding for the first time the consequences his actions were going to bring down on his head. He began to cry uncontrollably, in pity for his own plight rather than in remorse for the hurt and pain he had caused.
Swift had responded to the message Merry had left on his phone to call him back, hoping for good news, only to be told there wasn’t any. Mrs Turner wasn’t recanting the alibi she gave her husband. Although the searches had turned up a number of hammers, and two that were the right dimensions had been sent for detailed analysis, none of them looked as if they had any blood trace on them. They had also found a number of shoes and boots but none fitted the print made at the scene of Jody’s killing, all of Turner’s had been size seven and his wife’s size four.
After a quick coffee Swift and Lukula went back into the interview room to confront Turner and his lawyer.
‘I’ve had a message from Inspector Merry,’ Swift told the pair placing a file on the table as he did so, his tone officious and his smile indicating a degree of triumph, ‘we have recovered your shoes and hammers. Is there anything you want to say? Any changes in your statement about not harming Madeline?’ Turner looked completely dumbfounded at the implication they had found evidence against him in the killing of his step-daughter, even his lawyer looked shocked for a second. ‘Your last chance,’ Swift stated, tapping the file he had put down on the table.
‘My client has nothing more to say on the matter at the present time,’ the solicitor stated, tumbling the ruse, as his client sat with mouth open and a terrified look in his eyes.
‘In that case we are done for today,’ Swift stated emphatically, standing, nodding meaningfully at the file, ‘but there will be further questions. I’ll resume again tomorrow.’
‘Fuck,’ Swift swore, annoyed they’d hit a brick wall. ‘Worth a try but we will need more than bluster and suspicion to pin him down on this.’ Lukula said nothing, she knew the govenor well enough to know he was having his doubts and was pondering where this left the investigation.
At least the blanks they were drawing and the lack of a direction at this juncture gave them an opportunity to make an early finish, giving them all a Sunday afternoon free, hopefully to return Monday,
refreshed and full of new ideas. Julie, however, had had her own sleepless night, a text followed by a long phone call with her mother the previous evening had left her worried. Their conversations in front of anyone else were in English but private chats were in French, it was a habit both mother and daughter had maintained since Julie had first learned to talk, making her bilingual.
‘It’s nothing,’ her mother insisted, her accent that of her birth, while Julie’s response brought out her Mancunian accent far more than English did.
‘Nothing? But you said they need to do an exploratory operation?’ Julie was as much annoyed at her mother’s determination to minimise the issue for her daughter’s benefit as she was concerned for her mother’s wellbeing.
‘Yes, yes, a biopsy the doctor said. Keyhole surgery that won’t leave a scar,’ her mother gave a light, derisive laugh. ‘Not that I would worry about such a thing at my age. I have no intention of parading myself nude in front of anyone.’
‘When, did they say when it will happen?’ Julie wasn’t to be deflected from the point in hand by her mother’s levity, ‘I will get some time off and come down to stay.’
‘No, I will be fine. We come from sturdy stock,’ her mother was equally determined not to make a big thing of the issue. ‘Look at my mother, your grandma, she lived to ninety four, and look at the life she had led.’ However Julie persisted, for her own peace of mind, and they agreed that once an appointment was confirmed she would stay with her mother for a day or two.
So, as tired as she was Julie spent much of her Sunday afternoon first talking with her step-brother to insist he visit their mother, as he still lived in Manchester, and find out first hand what was going on. And, secondly, to scour Google, for all she could find on the limited information she had prised out of her mother. The results of this had terrified her far more than anything a doctor could have told her and left her troubled by what her mother was really going through. It took half a bottle of wine and a return call from her step-brother, shortly followed by one from her mother, before she felt reassured that they were still a long, long way off of fearing the worst.