by M A Comley
“Is there a driving licence in there, by any chance?”
Simon thrust his hand back inside and pulled out a plastic holder. “She was organised anyway. Here you go.”
“Get this down, Jack,” Sally instructed her partner.
“Fifteen Jacoby Street,” Simon read out.
Sally trawled her mind. “That’s not far from here. We’ll chase that up. Thanks, Simon. Is there anything else for us to go on?”
Simon shook his head. “That’s as good as you’re going to get, apart from the cause of death.”
“Which is?” Sally asked.
“Almost certainly strangulation, judging by the amount of petechial haemorrhaging present.”
“So we’re looking for a possible rapist who goes on to strangle his victims. Should be a clear-cut case then, especially in a small village like this,” Sally said with more than a hint of sarcasm.
She and Jack left the marquee and made their way over to where the distraught vicar was standing, observing the scene. Sally showed him her warrant card. “Hello, I’m DI Sally Parker, and this is my partner, Jack Blackman.”
“Harold Wheeler, vicar of the parish. This is shocking, truly shocking.” The man acted as if Sally were blocking his view of the marquee. Folks often became transfixed at a murder scene. Some experts reckoned it was a sign that shock was about to set in.
“I agree. Is it possible for us to chat inside?”
“Yes, sorry. My mind is all over the place. Whatever are my parishioners going to say about this?”
“One thing at a time, Mr. Wheeler.” Sally gently turned the man towards the church and walked alongside him while Jack brought up the rear.
They entered the small church, and the vicar led them through the curtained area to the vestry. He sat behind his desk and instructed Sally and Jack to sit in the two chairs opposite him.
“What can I tell you, Inspector? Apart from that I found the body and covered her up first thing this morning.”
“What time exactly, Mr. Wheeler? Do you remember?”
“Around seven. I couldn’t believe my eyes when I parked up and came around the corner. I always unlock the main doors first thing. If I’d come in the back way, I would be none the wiser about her lying out there.” He buried his head in his hands and shook his head. “Can you imagine the trauma the kids would have gone through if they’d seen that? Lord, it doesn’t bear thinking about.”
“My thoughts exactly when we pulled up this morning.” She gently eased into her question. “Do you know the victim?”
He dropped his hands from his face. “No, I don’t recognise her.”
“Apparently, she lives not far from here, in Jacoby Street. Does that help?”
He shook his head. “No, not at all. I’ve been here nearly twenty years and can’t say I recognise her in the slightest. That poor child. Who would do such a thing? Who on earth would think to leave the body resting against a grave like that—and on sacred ground, too?”
“That’s what we intend to find out. I didn’t check the name on the gravestone. Do you think that’s significant?”
“I don’t understand, Inspector. Significant, in what way?”
“Sorry, my mind tends to run at a hundred miles an hour. Can you tell me who the gravestone belongs to? Maybe there’s some sort of connection with the victim there.”
“I see.” He squeezed his temple between his thumb and forefinger as he thought. “Old Man Johnson. If I recall correctly, he had no living relatives. The parish raised the funds between them to bury the poor man last year.”
“Seems unlikely to be a link there, then. Did you see any cars parked in the vicinity when you arrived this morning?”
He shook his head. “No. Nobody was around. There very rarely is at that time of the day. I’m not being much help, am I?”
“You’re doing fine, considering the shock you’ve experienced. It’s a long shot, I know, but I don’t suppose the church has any form of CCTV cameras installed, has it?”
“No. There have been discussions along those lines, though, given the spate of robberies and vandalism the church has suffered over the past few months.” He thumped his clenched fist on the desk. “It’s all down to raising enough funds to pay for the equipment. I should have been firmer with the council when they cited it as an unnecessary expense.”
“Hindsight is a wonderful thing, Mr. Wheeler. Please don’t beat yourself up about this. These things happen. If there is nothing else you can tell us, we’ll be on our way. We need to visit the victim’s address, see if she has any family living there.”
“I’m sorry I’ve been so useless. Will you keep me informed, Inspector?”
“Yes, of course. Will you keep an eye open for anything or anyone acting suspicious for us? Someone put that woman’s body there and went out of their way to deposit the body in your front yard, as it were.”
“I’ll definitely keep my ears and eyes open,” Mr. Wheeler agreed.
Sally offered him her card with her contact details. “Thank you. I hope the forensic team aren’t going to inconvenience you for too long. It’s important for them to check the scene thoroughly.”
“I know. I feel stupid for covering the body over now.” Mr. Wheeler rose from his chair.
“You did what you felt was right at the time. I wouldn’t worry about that side of things. The team have already discovered some vital evidence.”
“That’s great. Can I ask what?” Mr. Wheeler asked as they walked back through the church, where their voices echoed.
“I’d rather not say at this point, Mr. Wheeler. We’ll be in touch if we have any further questions.” Sally and Jack shook the vicar’s hand and headed for the car.
“You still think he’s the culprit, Jack?”
Her partner pulled a face at her over the roof of the car before they got in. “It was my initial findings. A guy can be wrong now and again.”
“Yeah, and that’s why you’re still a sergeant after seven years on the force.”
“Remind me not to stick up for you in the future, if this is the thanks I get for watching your back.”
“Oops, have I upset you again?” Sally teased.
“Not in the slightest. Want me to punch the address into the sat nav?” he replied, changing the subject.
“No. I know the way.”
Ten minutes later, Sally parked the car in a space opposite Brenda’s home. “Looks like the house has been made into two flats.”
“You could be right.”
Sally rang the doorbell to the upper flat and waited for a response. Jack stepped back and watched the window above for any sign of life.
“Yep, someone’s in. The curtain just twitched. Ring it again.”
Before she could ring again, loud footsteps descended the stairs on the other side of the door.
A young woman with mascara-streaked cheeks greeted them with her eyes screwed up against the sun’s glare. “Yes?”
Sally flashed her ID for the second time that morning. “DI Sally Parker and DS Jack Blackman. Is this the residence of Brenda Fisher?”
The woman frowned and nodded. “It is. Although she’s not here right now. Dirty mare must have got off with a punter last night and didn’t come home.”
“Punter? As in a client?”
“She ain’t no prossie, love. She’s a barmaid down at the Old Fox. I meant punter as in customer. It’s not unheard of for her to get picked up and end up sharing someone’s bed for the night. Good on her, I say. If it’s all right for men to get their leg over with a stranger, then why shouldn’t we?”
Sally inhaled deeply, saddened by the woman’s words. Is that really how women think these days? “I’m sorry to have to tell you, but Brenda was found murdered this morning.”
The woman’s hand covered her gaping mouth, and she collapsed against the door with a thud.
“Are you all right? Maybe we should continue this conversation inside.”
The woman turned and
walked slowly back up the stairs. Sally and Jack followed. Once they were inside the untidy, open-plan living room, the woman dropped onto the sofa, still in a daze.
Sally sat next to her. “Can I get you something to drink?”
“No. Why? Why Brenda?”
“We’ve yet to ascertain the reason behind the attack, Miss…?”
“It’s Darla, Darla Fisher.”
Sally cringed. “Are you Brenda’s sister?”
“Yes, at least I was.” Darla broke down in tears.
Sally and Jack glanced at each other and shook their heads. It was never easy telling a person that a loved one had passed over, let alone been murdered. Sally waited for a few minutes before she placed a hand over the woman’s and asked if she was okay.
“Not really. Would you be? What happened?”
“It’s difficult to tell right now. We were called out to Acle Church this morning, to the crime scene, and discovered your sister’s body.”
“In a church?” Darla frowned.
“Actually, she was found outside, in the graveyard.”
“Shit! How did she die?”
Sally swallowed hard. “I’m not going to lie to you. Her naked body was found propped up against a gravestone.”
Darla stared at her open-mouthed for a few seconds, then she found her voice again. “Was she raped?”
Sally nodded. “I’m sorry. There’s just no other way to say it. If it’s any consolation, the suspect left valuable DNA at the scene. We’re hopeful that will lead to his capture soon.”
“He did? Then why aren’t you out there, going after him? Sorry, dumb question.”
“Not at all. A logical one under the circumstances. We have to inform the next of kin first before we can begin our investigation.”
“I see. Do you have a suspect in mind? Any witnesses?”
Sally shook her head. “Not yet. Can I ask when you last saw your sister?”
“Just before her shift last night. I came home from the office at five thirty. We passed on the stairs, as she had to get to work before her shift started at six.”
“Does your sister have a boyfriend?”
“No. She’s not the type to settle down with one person. Umm… that sounded bad, didn’t it?”
“Not at all.” Given Sally’s own experiences with men, she totally understood why women wouldn’t want to start a permanent relationship with a man in today’s world.
“She was happy not being tied down. Her former boyfriend loved nothing more than beating seven bells of shit out of her. He broke her arm the last time they were together. I persuaded her to leave him. We bought this place together so we could look after each other. I’ve had my fair share of shitty relationships, too.”
Me, three! “This former boyfriend, has he pestered your sister since? Hounded her to get back with him, perhaps?”
“No. He left the country when I threatened to dob him in to your lot.”
“Where’s he living now?” Sally asked.
“The last I heard, in Spain.”
“We’ll need his name. We can check if he’s returned to the country without your knowledge. It wouldn’t be the first time something like that has happened.”
“It’s Laurence… not sure on his surname. I think it’s Kronan.”
“That doesn’t sound like an English name. What nationality is he?”
“I think he’s Croatian. Although, I can’t be totally sure on that. I hope it helps.” Darla shrugged apologetically.
“I’m sure we’ll be able to track him down. Can you tell me roughly when he left the UK?”
“Let me think… I suppose about three months ago. Yes, around Christmas time.”
“That should help us a lot. Has he been in touch since? By letter, text, or a phone call?”
Darla shook her head. “Not that I know of. Brenda would have told me. I still can’t believe I’ll never see her again.”
“Ah, about that… we’ll need someone to formally identify your sister’s body.”
“Oh, crap. Really?” Tears dripped down her cheeks again. “I’m not sure I can see her again, not if she’s dead.”
Sally squeezed Darla’s hand. “I understand. What about another family member? Your parents, perhaps?”
“No. They’re both dead. They died a few years back in a car accident. There was only Brenda and me left.”
“I’m so sorry. Then the task falls to you, I’m afraid. I can lend my support by attending the viewing with you, if that will help.”
Darla wiped her tears with her sleeve and smiled weakly. “Would you?”
“Of course. I’ll make the arrangements and get back to you later, if you like. Although there will have to be a post-mortem first.”
“Oh no. Why? Does she have to be cut open? You said there was DNA left at the scene. Won’t that be enough to convict the culprit, without having to cut her open?”
“It’s the law. I’m sorry. I know it’s hard, but look at it this way: the more evidence we can find to throw at the suspect, the more chance we have of putting him away for years. So many suspects get off through lack of evidence these days.”
Darla sighed. “Okay, I get it. When will the post-mortem be done?”
“Soon. I’ll check and get back to you this afternoon, I promise. One last question before we go. Apart from the ex-boyfriend, is there anyone who has been pestering your sister recently? Any of the staff members at the pub or a possible customer maybe?”
Darla thought the question over before replying, “Not that I can think of. No.”
Sally patted the woman’s hand and stood up. “Okay. We’ll check at the pub to make sure, and I’ll ring you later on this afternoon if you give me your mobile number.”
Jack jotted down the phone number when Darla shared it, then the detectives left the flat.
“That was tough,” Jack said when they set off in the car.
“They’re all tough, Jack. Our job is definitely not getting any easier. That’s for sure. Right, let’s get to the pub and see what we can glean from the manager.”
CHAPTER TWO
By the time Sally and Jack pulled into the Old Fox’s car park, the customers were already starting to enter the front door. “Let’s hope the manager has staff arranged to cover the bar early doors. Otherwise, I sense we could be in for a long wait,” Sally grumbled, switched off the engine, and climbed out of the car.
Jack licked his lips. “A long pint would go down a treat right about now.”
“When wouldn’t it with you? You know what’s always amazed me?”
Jack frowned and shook his head. “No, what?”
“How the devil you manage to stay so slim, considering the amount of booze you throw down your neck.”
“Christ, hark at you. From what I can remember, you’re not averse to the odd tipple yourself.”
“Hmm… that was before. Let’s not go down that route. Are you ready?” Sally pushed open the door to the lounge bar of the Old Fox.
“I’m right behind you,” Jack said.
Sally dipped her hand into her jacket pocket and produced her warrant card. When she approached the bar, the rotund barman smiled and walked their way.
“What can I get you nice folks?”
Sally held up her ID. “DI Sally Parker and my partner, DS Jack Blackman. Are you the manager?”
He peered at her identification then leaned against the shelf behind him and crossed his arms. “I am. Greg Jones. What’s this about?”
“We’d rather have a word in private, if it’s all the same to you. Can you call on a member of staff to relieve you for ten minutes or so?”
“Nope. The first bar staff member is due to start her shift in thirty minutes. Can you hang on until then?”
“We’re going to have to. You better give us two orange juices while we wait.”
He popped the tops off two small bottles and placed them on the counter, along with two glasses. “Wait over there, and I’ll join you when I
can.” He pointed at a small table in the corner near the window overlooking the children’s play area at the back of the pub.
Sally and Jack picked up their drinks and left the bar. “That’s funny,” Sally said.
“What is?” Jack took his seat, eyeing the manager behind the bar.
“The fact that he didn’t press us on why we’re here. Wouldn’t you if you were in his shoes?”
“I suppose so.” Jack continued watching the man.
The manager went back to his regular customers and carried on laughing with them as if Sally and Jack weren’t there. The more Sally observed his demeanour, the more her suspicions grew.
Finally, an older lady in the process of removing her jacket entered the bar. “Sorry I’m late, boss. The traffic was bad.”
“I’m used to it. You lot seem to treat this place as a joke when it suits you. What with that Brenda dipping out of her shift early last night! You lot should start showing me more respect and begin valuing your jobs, or I’ll sack the bloody lot of you.”
“Brenda was ill. There was no harm done. I covered for her—without pay, I hasten to add. Have you heard from her this morning?”
“Why should I? Hurry up and stop nattering. I’ve got a couple of folks waiting to see me over there.” Greg nodded in Sally and Jack’s direction.
“Oops, you’ve got it. I’ll be two ticks.”
Once the woman had returned and installed herself behind the bar, the manager poured himself half a pint of beer and joined them at the table. “Right, what’s this all about?”
Sally smiled tightly at the man. “Brenda Fisher. I heard you mention her name just a moment ago.”
“That’s right. She ducked out of her shift early last night; complained about a stomach ache or something along those lines. What about her?”
Sally inhaled then exhaled a large breath. “She’s dead, and we’re trying to ascertain why.”
“What?” Greg’s voice rose, making the other people in the pub turn their way.
“Can you tell us how Brenda usually travelled home after her shift? Did she bring a car to work?”
“How the heck should I know?” Greg queried, clearly traumatised by the news.