The Keeper of Secrets: A stunning crime thriller with a twist you won't see coming (Detective Arla Baker Series Book 2)

by M. L Rose

  Arla leaned over. This was getting interesting. “She was seeing someone else?”

  “Yes. She wouldn’t tell me, but I knew. She was always on the phone to someone. When I asked, she said it was her parents checking up on her. She was lying, man.”

  Arla’s mind was racing. She thought of the phone calls to the pay-as-you-go number that Maddy had made from her phone the night before 3rd June. A faint cone of light was appearing in her mind, lighting up the end of a tunnel.

  “Paul, I want you to think very carefully now. Why didn’t you see Maddy the night of 3rd June?”

  “She said she had to go home from the pub.”

  Harry moved and Arla looked at him. They both knew it. Maddy had told everyone that she was meeting Paul. Could she have lied, instead meeting up with her other lover?

  Arla asked, “Paul, everything you tell me here will be used in a court of law if this case proceeds to charges. Think carefully now. Are you sure Maddy told you that?”

  Paul shook his head, exasperated. “I told you already. She said she was going back home.”

  But she wasn’t, Arla thought to herself.

  CHAPTER 33

  Arla and Harry stepped back into the side room and watched Paul and Derek through the soundproof triple-glass barrier. A speaker above transmitted the whispered conversation they were having.

  “Do you believe him?” Harry asked.

  “Either he’s a great actor, or he was truly shitting himself.”

  Harry nodded. “I got that impression, too. And he’s a bit young to be that good an actor.”

  Arla had noted the pressure of speech when Paul had spoken. Like he had kept things bottled up inside him for too long, and needed to let go. There had been genuine regret in his eyes.

  Arla knew she had to keep an open mind, but her gut instincts were screaming at her that Paul was not her man. He was a kid, in fact. A terrified kid.

  But she also knew fear could make people do strange things. What if Paul had been hiding in the park, saw Maddy being abducted, and was now denying it to save himself more trouble?

  She felt Harry’s eyes on her. They looked at each other in silence, each feeling for what the other was thinking. Harry shook his head.

  “Really?” Arla asked.

  “Never say never. But I don’t think he’s part of any plan. He’s too green.”

  “He’s selling green in the school.” Arla grinned despite herself. Hell, she could do with some green!

  “If anything,” Harry said, “that shows his immaturity. A pro would never make a childish move like that. He would have bigger fish to fry.”

  Arla shrugged. “Let’s move on. Going to be a long day. Is Mark Dooley ready?”

  Harry nodded and reached for the intercom hanging on the wall.

  Fifteen minutes later, they were sitting in the interview room next door, opposite Mark and Derek Smith again.

  Mark had a confident smirk on his face that Arla didn’t like. His short, curly hair was buzz cut, and he wore a black jumper, dark jeans and trainers. He slouched in the chair in an arrogant manner. Harry did the introductions for the DVD player, and they began.

  Arla said, “Mark Dooley, where were you the night of 3rd June?”

  “With my bitch,” came the insolent reply.

  Arla pursed her lips. “Can your partner verify that?”

  “She ain’t no partner.” Mark’s smirk was wider. “She’s my bitch. You know what I mean?”

  “No, I don’t,” Arla said evenly. “Are you saying you don’t have an alibi?”

  That got Mark’s attention. He rolled his eyes. Arla noticed Derek try to tell him something, but Mark shrugged him off.

  “Yeah, baby, I got an alibi.”

  “My name is DCI Baker.”

  “Whatever. Baby.”

  Arla’s jaws clenched and she was about to grind out a reply when Harry intervened. “Do you want to head back in the cell, Mark?”

  He shrugged. “Whatever, mate. You get to let me go without any charges, right?”

  “How about obstructing arrest, assaulting a police officer, being in possession with intent to supply?”

  “You can’t prove the last one ’cos you didn’t find any on me.” Mark’s arrogance was grating. “As for the first two, go ahead, slap charges. My man here will get me out with parole.” He pointed to Derek, who sat still, looking uncomfortable.

  Arla wondered at the contrast between Paul and Mark. Paul had been nervous, worried. It seemed like he would do anything to get out of there. His record was clean, he had never seen the inside of a police station. Mark Dooley was different. His record boasted of several charges of affray, drunk and disorderly, and once caught with possession of cocaine, a Class A substance, which was more serious than dealing cannabis. He had got off the last one, as the solicitor had argued the supply of four grams was for his own personal use.

  “Just answer the question, Mark,” Arla said, controlling her anger.

  “Like I said…”

  Arla cut him off. “What’s her name and number? If you don’t give us that, we have the right to treat you as a suspect, and start searching your residence.”

  Mark sighed. “Name’s Samantha. Number’s on my phone. You’ve got the phone, so don’t ask me for the number again.”

  “Did you know Madeleine Burroughs?”

  “I saw her around, yeah. Bitch wanted some.”

  Arla stayed impassive, not rising to it. “What do you mean?”

  Mark shrugged, a relaxed cockiness all over his features. “These rich girls, they don’t get out much. Not like we do, anyhow. So she wanted to party.” A knowing smile came to his lips. “Bitch was with Paul, but she was sharing her love, know what I mean?”

  “Are you saying you had sexual relations with her?”

  Mark yawned, like he was bored. “I ain’t sayin nothin, you get me? I don’t know nothin, either.”

  “Then why did you try to run when we got to you?”

  The first look of animation crossed Mark’s face. “’Cos you be the pigs, man. Oink, oink! You see a brother crossing the road you want to put him in handcuffs. What you expect me to do? Make you a cup of tea?”

  This wasn’t the place for politics or refuting his argument. “We just wanted to talk to you.”

  Mark snorted. “Yeah, right. You barged in without a warrant.”

  “The door was open,” Harry said. “And I did call out, but you were too busy listening to loud music.”

  Arla asked, “What do you know about Madeleine?”

  He shrugged. “Rich bitch. Wants to be cool, so hangs around with us. Only saw her a few times.”

  “Was she with anyone else other than Paul?”

  His smile widened. Arla shut him up before he could get any further. “No, I mean outside your group. Did she meet or talk about anyone else?”

  “You need to ask Paul. She was his bitch.” His eyes narrowed, then gleamed at Arla. “Did Paul snitch on me? What’s he told you?”

  Arla felt happier. “That’s what you’ll have to find out in court, won’t you, Mark?”

  Derek intervened. “So, are you charging my client?”

  “Yes,” Arla said firmly. “For possession and resisting arrest.”

  Mark slapped the desk, making a loud sound. Harry raised his voice an octave. “Cut that out, now!”

  Mark looked at Harry, curling his lips. Harry leaned forward, meeting his gaze. “You need to behave, Mark. Do you understand?”

  “Fuck you.”

  CHAPTER 34

  Arla was seated in the fourth-floor office of DCS Johnson, facing the man himself. Next to him, wearing his uniform, was the Deputy Assistant Commissioner Nick Deakin. Harry sat next to Arla, and she could feel the tension in the room. Deakin was there for a reason. The top brass wanted answers they could feed to the Home Office and American Consulate. So far, they had precious little.

  Arla told them what she had gleaned from the suspects. She stared appreh
ensively at Nick Deakin, then looked away when he glanced at her. Deakin was known to be a hard taskmaster, but he had always been tough but fair with Arla.

  Deakin was shorter than Johnson, and he was wiry, athletic. His glasses were thin-rimmed, and the intensity in his eyes was apparent through them. The uniform fitted snugly on his muscular shoulders.

  He said, “If you don’t think Paul Ofori, the boyfriend, is a suspect, then do you consider Mark Doyle to be one? He is the more seasoned criminal.”

  Arla cleared her throat. “Yes, sir, he is. But I don’t get the impression he’s a psycho. I mean, what would he have to gain by kidnapping Maddy? It’s not like anyone’s asked for ransom.”

  “Therefore we have nothing,” Deakin said with a sigh.

  “That’s not true, sir,” Arla said. “We are pursuing several leads. The phone log to this pay-as-you-go number, for one. We are trying very hard to get the exact location. Then there are the three cars on CCTV. One of them has to be the one we want. And thirdly, I want to interview Maddy’s parents again.”

  Both senior officers shifted in their seats at the last comment. Deakin narrowed his eyes and exchanged a glance with Johnson. “What for?”

  “I want to know more specifics about Maddy. What she wore, if she had favourite shoes or a necklace, things like that.”

  Deakin pressed his hands together on the desk. “In fact, I wanted to talk to you about that.”

  “Oh?” Arla felt immediately uncomfortable.

  “The last time you were at their house, you acted strangely.”

  Heat rose to Arla’s face. She gave a furious look towards Harry, who shook his head, protesting innocence. Johnson seemed to have read the exchange between them.

  “It was Mrs Burroughs who told us, Arla,” Johnson said quickly. “Apparently, you were quite emotional, if that’s the right word.”

  Arla was silent. Deakin prodded. “Is that correct, DCI Baker?”

  Arla tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “I… Well, it was sad seeing the little boy and the family suffer, sir.”

  Johnson dropped his voice an octave. “And I know what you went through last year. I mean, finding Nicole and all that. Are you sure you can cope with this case, Arla?”

  She felt her cheeks warm up again. Harry moved next to her, leaning forward, getting into her eyeline. She was glad of his familiar presence, and knew that he was silently supporting her.

  “Of course, sir. Why wouldn’t I?” Even to her own ears, her voice sounded shaky.

  Johnson said, “There are similarities between this case and what happened to you last year. That was…”

  “I said I’m fine!” She hadn’t meant to raise her voice, but it slipped out, harsh and cold. Arla raised appalled eyes to both of her senior officers. “Sir,” she mumbled quickly, “I am the SIO of the case and I want to finish my job.”

  There was an urgent series of knocks on the door suddenly. Johnson frowned. “Come in.”

  James Bennett burst in through the door. He said to Arla, “Guv, you’ve got to come downstairs now. There’s a crowd outside.”

  “Hang on,” Johnson said. He rose up and went to the side window, raising the blind. “What the…”

  Arla, Harry and Deakin rose to join Johnson. When she looked down at the front of the courtyard facing the main entrance, Arla couldn’t believe her eyes. There was a group of people, taking up about half of the courtyard space, waving placards and shouting. She read one placard. “Free my son!”

  “Our boys are innocent!” read another. The crowd were chanting something they couldn’t hear from up here. “Students are not Criminals!” a new placard went up, bouncing up and down in the air.

  James said, “This is about Paul, sir. His mother’s downstairs at the main desk, wanting to speak to her son immediately.”

  Johnson groaned. “Oh Jesus, this is just what we need.” He turned to Arla. “Secure the perimeter. No one leaves the station, and no one gets in. Last thing we want is a nosy reporter filling columns about this.”

  Arla said, “No, sir. If you hem these people in, you make the situation worse. They’re angry, let them protest.”

  Johnson looked doubtful. “The numbers will grow.”

  “But if we lock them in there’s a chance of this getting violent, sir. And much worse.”

  Deakin said, “I agree with Arla. We need to defuse the situation quickly.”

  Arla said to Deakin and Johnson, “Leave this to me.” She turned on her heels and left the room.

  CHAPTER 35

  Arla ran down the stairs, followed by everyone apart from Nick Deakin. Harry and she went up to the main desk, which was in pandemonium. A mass of people were banging on the doors that had shut, making the glass panels shake. Another dozen were already inside, crowding the desk, standing on the chairs, waving their hands. They were mostly middle-aged and older citizens of the local communities.

  John Sandford, the desk sergeant, was shouting and gesturing at them, and the crowd were stabbing fingers back at him. Arla came around behind John.

  “What do they want!?” Arla shouted.

  “God knows!” John shouted back.

  A woman leaned over the desk, her hair hanging down in long braids. “You cannot lock up our kids! They are children who have done nothing wrong! Let them go!”

  “Who are you?” Arla shouted to make herself heard.

  The woman said something but it was lost in the chanting that started. “Let them go! Let them go!”

  Arla looked wildly around. Then she spotted Mrs Ofori, her expression haggard, holding onto the main desk corner by her fingertips. Arla lunged forward, touching her fingers. The woman looked at Arla and her eyes widened, then anger creased her face. She shouted something to the man next to her, pointing towards Arla.

  Arla didn’t care. She screamed as loudly as she could, “Do you want to see your son?” She had to say it twice before realisation dawned on Mrs Ofori’s face. She nodded quickly.

  Arla gestured with her hand to come forward, and Mrs Ofori pressed through the heaving bodies, pushing her way closer.

  Arla said, “I will take you to Paul. If you want my honest opinion, I think he’s innocent. I am not going to charge him with anything.”

  The relief on Mrs Ofori’s face was evident. Arla continued. “But you need to do something for me.” She pointed to the desk. “Stand up here, and tell them your son is free. Then tell them to go home. I give you my word he will be free. Do that, and I will take you to Paul.”

  Mrs Ofori hesitated. She thought for a while, then nodded. Arla spoke in John’s ear, and he nodded. He reached out an arm, and almost half-lifted Mrs Ofori onto the desk, with the help of Arla. Seeing one of their own on the desk, the crowd quietened. John raised his booming voice.

  “Listen to the lady! Listen!” He had to say it three times before the crowd’s chanting subsided to a hubbub.

  Mrs Ofori raised her hands. “My son is free,” she said in a low voice, and cleared her throat. She shouted out. “Paul is free! They just told me that!”

  A cheer went up from the crowd. “Now go home!” Mrs Ofori shouted. John pressed the button, and the gates swung open. The crowd outside surged in, but the previous anger had dissipated. They met a calmer bunch inside, and rapid explanations did the rounds.

  “My son is free!” Mrs Ofori shouted again at Arla’s insistence. “Thank you for your support. Now please go home.”

  Arla held her breath. This had the potential to become a serious disaster. A full-blown riot. The media would feed on this like vultures on a juicy lump of meat. She closed her eyes and prayed, something she hadn’t done in years. She heard the voices die down, and the shuffling of several feet. Mrs Ofori was still standing on the desk, and on hearing her words, the crowd seemed to have calmed. One by one, they began to leave the station.

  Arla breathed out with the rest of her colleagues. She exchanged looks with John, Harry, Lisa, Rob and James. Everyone was out here, braced f
or the worst. This had been an extraordinary event, one that Arla hadn’t expected. She thanked her lucky stars it had been defused without violence, arrests or, God forbid, bloodshed.

  John and Harry reached out hands to help Mrs Ofori down. The woman was still agitated. Arla felt a flare of anger at her. She could have called her, or Harry, and demanded answers. Did she really have to go and stir the community up? Her behaviour had been reckless, Arla thought, but she kept it to herself.

  Stressful situations were nothing new to Arla. In fact, she thrived on the adrenaline rush, the buzz of doing her job in the face of danger. But that also meant keeping her cool, something she didn’t always perform very well. As she faced Mrs Ofori now, with an effort, she controlled herself.

  “Where is my son?” the shorter, buxom African woman said. Her wavy hair shone in the light, and she was dressed in deep blue trousers and a matching blouse with cardigan.

  Harry whispered. “Best to take this inside, guv.” Arla nodded. She mouthed thanks to John Sandford and the rest of the uniform officers manning the desk, and followed the rest of her team inside the station. She entered one of the interview rooms off the main corridor with Harry and their guest.

  When the door was shut, Arla glared at Mrs Ofori. “Why did you have to do that?” she asked in an even voice.

  “Those people? They are my friends. I called the London Met Liaison number, and also your Community Liaison Officer. All I got was answerphone messages, promising to call me back. I never got one.”

  “I left you my card and number,” Arla said. “You could have used that.”

  “Look, Miss Baker. My son is in prison, and he’s a good boy. He’s never been in trouble before.” She waved her chubby fingers in the air. “Do you know what it’s like to have your son in prison?”

  “I understand this is a stressful time for you…”

  “No, you don’t.” They were standing, and the older woman stepped forward. Her voice quivered with emotion. “After we ran away from that terrible man, we made a new life. My children are academically gifted. They study hard. You have no idea how hard it is for me, living in that area, to send my kids to a good school.”