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

  Something tightened inside Cindy’s heart. The man’s eyes glowed brighter, then suddenly he was reaching for Cindy. He stood up, swaying. He took a step forward, and Cindy stepped back in terror. His hand reached for her again. Cindy saw the yellow nicotine stains on the nails, the bristling black moustache on his lip, and smelled his fetid breath. She screamed but no sound came from her throat. The man opened his mouth, his teeth were jagged and broken, and saliva dribbled down his throat. His eyes bulged out, and the saliva turned red, flowing down his neck to soak his shirt. He lunged for her, and Cindy jumped back, her back slamming against the door.

  The baby turned on the carpet and began to wail. Breathless, Cindy looked at the man on the sofa. He hadn’t moved. His rheumatic eyes were still focused on the TV. Cindy walked over to the baby and lifted him up. She cuddled him and he stopped crying. She pressed the baby softly against her, feeling his tiny ribs and chest beneath her palm. One of his hands was nestled against her neck, and she felt his little fingers move.

  She looked at the man on the sofa, and saw his hooded eyes staring at nothing. Rage flared against her chest like a flapping sail in the wind. She had the liquid inside her handbag, with the hypodermic syringes, pre-fitted with needles. She wanted to take them out and… but there were two of them. Cindy was confident she could do it, but she had to be careful. Two more dead drug addicts might arouse suspicion.

  Cindy walked out of the apartment with the baby, closing the door shut.

  CHAPTER 38

  Arla couldn’t breathe. She groped and stumbled her way out of the tent, pushing Harry and the sergeant outside, out of the way. She put a hand against the tree, panting. Her eyes were closed, air clawing inside her lungs to be let out. She sank to her knees, then turned around and leaned against the tree stump.

  She felt someone sit down in front of her. Harry’s voice said, “What is it, Arla?”

  Arla gripped her forehead, feeling the hard, craggy surface of the tree against her back. She desperately wished this was a nightmare she would wake up from. Reality was turning itself inside out, a shadow within a shadow. The world was tilting, becoming unhinged.

  “Arla? Talk to me.”

  “That necklace. I need to see it again,” she whispered. Harry got up and came back with Tom, who looked at her strangely.

  “You can’t touch this, but look all you want,” Tom said. Arla stared at it, heart in mouth. There was no mistaking it. That chain belonged to her mother, Katherine Mendonca. Her throat constricted as she remembered how she had first seen the necklace. On the throat of a dead woman. Since then, it had become a cherished heirloom. Kept inside a box, locked safely inside her wardrobe at home.

  Not that safe, obviously. How the hell had she not checked after she found the earring in the garden?

  Arla felt bile rise inside her throat. She sprang to her feet, and walked away as fast as she could, wishing she could run. She heard footsteps and turned. It was Harry.

  His face was flushed from running. The heat was beating down on them from a blue sky, not a cloud in sight. Grass blades were parched to yellow, every corner of the park was basking in the sweltering heat.

  There was nowhere to hide.

  “What is it?” Harry asked.

  Arla told him.

  “You sure it’s the same one?” Harry asked.

  “Portuguese church necklaces are easy to spot. They all have that design. I know what is.”

  Harry was silent. Arla looked around her at anywhere but the white tent.

  “Who could be doing this?” she whispered. A sudden restlessness filled her. She needed to find out more, get things moving. Sitting and thinking about this would make it worse.

  She strode back to the tent, determined. Harry grabbed her arm before she went in. “You sure you want to do this?”

  Arla stared at him for a while, then snatched her arm free.

  Banerjee and Tom were leaning over the body, surgical masks over their faces. The smell from the body was slightly stronger, and Arla knew they would have to remove it soon.

  “Anything else?” Arla asked.

  Banerjee glanced up at her, using the back of his wrist to push his spectacles up his nose. “Rectal temp is 28 degrees Celsius. Outside temp is now about 25. I think she’s been dead for five or six hours.”

  Arla made a mental note. “Any trauma?”

  “No signs of recent sexual activity. But I would have to examine her properly. Her muscles are very flaccid, after taking death into consideration. She has been incontinent rectally as well, and relaxation of that sphincter is unusual. No injury anywhere that I can see. Which leaves one manner of death as the prime suspect.”

  “Which is?”

  “Poisoning.”

  “And you won’t know the answer to that till you send the samples off.”

  “Exactly.”

  Banerjee had stood up. He came closer to Arla. “Are you alright?”

  “Not really. Got a lot of pressure from the boss on this. He’s getting it from the Home Office. Not to mention that this photo was sent to me.”

  Banerjee listened to everything with a frown. “Oh dear.”

  “Putting it mildly, yes. I need you to make this super-urgent, Doc. Like, tomorrow morning.”

  He nodded. “The morgue is not too busy, this being summer. I’ll get it done, then call you. But remember toxicology won’t come back till three or four days at best.”

  Lisa and Rob had gone back earlier in the squad car. Harry drove them back through the customary light traffic of summer. Arla leaned back in her seat as the breeze rippled through her hair.

  Maddy’s death changed everything. But whoever was doing this had a score to settle with her. Arla knew it. He or she was sending her a message. Arla could feel the secrets chafing at her throat, suffocating her.

  What did they want?

  An impotent rage surfaced inside her, born out of frustration. She swore and slammed her fist on the door.

  “Take it easy,” Harry said.

  “Easy for you to say,” she shot back.

  “I know. This is a headfuck for you, I get that. But can’t you see that’s what this person wants to do? They want to make your life a misery. Put you under pressure.”

  “So what do I do?” She spoke more to herself than to Harry.

  “Focus on the case. Who killed Maddy? Why? That’s the way we get to the bottom of who’s harassing you.”

  She knew Harry was right. She had to make an effort and stop thinking about whoever was behind this. What they were trying to tell her… and why.

  The traffic built up the closer they got to Clapham High Street. Harry put the windows up and turned the AC on full blast.

  Back in the office, she sat down with the team. James was sitting directly opposite her, and she picked on him first.

  “Any news from the CCTV?”

  “It’s painstakingly hard work,” he complained. “But we’re getting through it. All three cars are heading down to Surrey, in the same direction so far.”

  It was frustrating, but there was nothing that could be done. “OK, keep at it.”

  “What about the phone number?” Arla asked. “It’s vital now that we get a current location of the number. Has it rung again?”

  Lisa said, “Not as yet, no. We are scanning that mast for any calls made. But to be honest, guv, the phone could be in a different location, using a different mast.”

  “We need to get lucky here, folks,” Arla said. “We have to believe that phone will call from the same location again.”

  Lisa said, “And Maddy’s phone could be anywhere on the M23, probably chucked in a rubbish bin in a service station. After it’s been stamped on.”

  Rob asked with interest, “How did the killer get your personal number?”

  Arla said, “My house was burgled, remember?”

  Rob said, “I know. But did you have your number written down somewhere? Maybe on your laptop? If they could get into your laptop, tha
t is.”

  “Hang on,” Arla said, thinking. “Rob’s right. My personal number’s not anywhere at home. Really only my close contacts have it.” She looked at all of them, then at Harry.

  He nodded. “Yeah, I do. For when you call me up to go on wild goose chases in Brixton.”

  “Lisa, you do as well, right?”

  “Yes.” Lisa was frowning. “And no, I haven’t given it to anyone, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

  “I know you wouldn’t,” Arla said soothingly. “Not without asking me, anyway. But could anyone have handled your phone?”

  Lisa thought hard. “My partner answered it once, and it was a call from work. Nothing to do with you.”

  Lisa was in a same-sex relationship with Sandra, a woman Arla had met a few times. Neither of them, she knew, could be a suspect. Sandra was a full-time mum, looking after their two-year-old son, Nicholas.

  James said, “I don’t have your number.”

  “I know,” Arla said. “And neither do you, Rob?”

  “Nope,” the portly detective sergeant said.

  “And switchboard wouldn’t give out your personal number, guv. That’s against the rules. All calls are monitored,” Harry said.

  “Then it’s a mystery,” Arla said, her brow knotted.

  “And the caller was in the area. The signal was picked up by our mast, for Heaven’s sake. Cheeky bastard,” Rob said.

  Arla had a deep frown on her face. “When they sent me that photo, they might have made their first mistake so far. Do we have triangulation data?”

  Lisa spoke up. “It gets interesting here. Of the three sectors in our mast, only one sector got this signal. Hence we don’t really have triangulation, as only one sector’s zone was activated. That zone is two miles from here, in the south-west.”

  Arla said, “How could only one sector have got the signal? I thought all phone signals activated all three sectors in every mast. That’s how phone signals move around, right?”

  Harry said softly, “Unless someone knew what they were doing.”

  No one said anything for a while. Arla broke the silence. “I want all of you to know, I don’t hold anyone in this room responsible for what’s happening. Harry, Lisa, you had my number, but all these years you have kept it private. If you wanted to give it away, I guess you would’ve done it by now.”

  There was a gentle murmur of approval.

  Arla said, “I need to speak to the Burroughses again.” She sighed. “This time, the job will be much harder.”

  “They need to come and identify the body. Best if they come tomorrow, at the morgue,” Harry said.

  “Yes. But we have to break the news to them. Is Johnson here?”

  “I saw him just now, getting a drink.”

  As if on cue, the door to Arla’s office flew open.

  CHAPTER 39

  “My office, now,” Johnson barked. He pointed at Arla. “Only you.”

  Arla shrugged into her coat. “Prepare the incident room,” she told Lisa. “We need to update the others about Maddy. Is that OK, sir?” She looked at Johnson, who pursed his lips then nodded.

  Arla followed the tall, lumbering form of Johnson as he clopped his way up the stairs, ignoring the lift.

  He thrust the door to his office open and pointed at the chair opposite his own high-backed leather seat. “Sit down.”

  Arla did as she was told. Johnson picked up a copy of the Evening Telegraph and slapped it down in front of Arla.

  “Look at the bottom of the front page.”

  Arla complied without replying. An ominous feeling of dread was spreading inside her. She closed her eyes after she read the headline occupying the bottom third:

  US Diplomat’s daughter missing in gang-related incident.

  She couldn’t bear to read the rest. She heard a knock on the door, and two more people came in. DAC Nick Deakin, and another man Arla had never seen. He wore a suit and clutched an iPad.

  Johnson introduced them. “This is Martin Jones, of the MPA Press Bureau.” Arla knew MPA stood for Metropolitan Police Authority, the body that governed the administration of the London Met.

  Arla shook hands with Martin, who was short, going bald, and red in the face. He looked like a stocky, barrel-chested rugby player whose gut was heading south as he climbed the fourth decade of his life.

  After they sat down, Nick Deakin asked Arla without preamble, “Who leaked information to the press?”

  “None of my team, sir. I can vouch for all of them.”

  “But you can’t vouch for the members of that… mob that day, can you?” Deakin was referring to the crowd that had come to protest at Paul Ofori’s arrest.

  “I guess no one can, sir.”

  Deakin’s features hardened, a glint appearing in his slate-grey eyes. “You are the SIO in this case, DCI Baker. While I cannot hold you responsible for the actions of the protesters, you are in charge of how this case is conducted. Under whose authority did you arrest Paul Ofori and Mark Dooley?”

  Arla’s mouth went dry. She didn’t have a search warrant when she had gone to Dooley’s house that night. She was acting on a hunch, and it had proved to be the right one. Since when were police officers not allowed to act on their instincts?

  Aloud she said, “I called Trident and got information about Dooley, sir. I knew that Paul was involved with him, so I put two and two together.”

  Deakin asked, “Did you get authority from Johnson?”

  Arla noted that Johnson and Deakin didn’t exchange a glance, and she knew instantly they had discussed this already. She looked at Johnson, who avoided her gaze.

  Deakin continued. “Your arrest of Paul Ofori, on what appears to be a vigilante night-time raid on a civilian’s house, has inflamed the local community. Is that not correct?”

  Anger flared inside Arla, but she managed to keep her cool. “I was told to get results on this case, sir. Sooner, the better. Is that not true?” She looked at Johnson pointedly.

  Johnson cleared his throat. “Yes, but I told you to be discreet.”

  “Discreet doesn’t mean I can’t do my job, sir! The entire case hinged on finding Paul Ofori who, as you know, evaded arrest the first time.”

  “The young man who you have since let go,” Deakin noted.

  “Because he wasn’t guilty. I did discuss this with the DCS.” Arla looked at Johnson, who nodded in agreement this time.

  Deakin said, “And are you sure that protest movement didn’t colour your decision in any way?”

  Arla stared at Deakin, aghast. She realised her mouth was open, and shut it quickly. Deakin was angry: she could tell by his stiff, upright posture. He was trying to needle her on purpose. What the exact purpose was, Arla thought, she would find out soon.

  “I am a ten-year veteran of the SCU, sir. Not a duty sergeant,” she replied, struggling to maintain her cool.

  “That doesn’t mean we don’t take the wrong decisions under pressure,” Deakin said.

  “It wasn’t the wrong decision. If you had taken the time to look at the evidence…”

  “Arla!” Johnson raised his voice. “Watch your tone.”

  “Sorry, sir.” Arla bit her tongue. Why couldn’t she stop talking sometimes?

  Deakin was seething, she could tell. He leaned forward and pressed the words out from between his teeth.

  “You acted like an emotional wreck in front of the Burroughses. You acted on a hunch and raided the Dooley residence in Brixton. Then you let the main suspect go after one day. DCI Baker, you are coming across as impulsive and out of control. What the hell is wrong with you?!”

  Heat spread like a fan across Arla’s face, and with it, a rising sense of indignation. “Impulsive, sir? Because of me, we have eliminated one suspect, and that is a big step in this investigation. Without arresting Paul Ofori and Mark Dooley, we would have made no progress at all in this case. Apart from me, did anyone else have any leads in this case?”

  Silence met her question. Arla c
ontinued. “And before you say it, the two suspects couldn’t have killed Maddy. They were in custody when the murder was committed, and also when the message was sent to my personal phone number.”

  Deakin appeared to be slightly mollified. “I am aware of the circumstances. Why does the killer seem to have a vendetta against you?”

  Arla rubbed her forehead. “I don’t know, sir.”

  Johnson said, “It could be anyone who has a grudge against you, Arla. God knows you have a few enemies.”

  Arla shook her head. “This isn’t some random enemy, sir. They know intimate details about my family. Closely guarded secrets. How they got this information, I don’t know.”

  Johnson asked, “Did SOC find anything at your house?”

  “No. That would be too easy. This person is well organised, and has some technical expertise. They are using cellphone masts in very clever ways, and that’s not possible by some random criminal.”

  Johnson tutted. “Are you saying it could be someone in law enforcement?”

  Arla’s silence was enough to cause consternation to spread across the faces of the two senior officers.

  “I am not saying it’s within our team, or even the police. It could be someone who works for the telephone companies, or the National Crime Squad, or even the Armed Forces.”

  Johnson said, “But we have no proof of this, of course.”

  “Not yet,” Arla said.

  Martin Jones cleared his throat. Deakin glanced at him, then at Arla. Martin said, “The news is out, and we are now in damage limitation mode. I need to issue a press release today, and to prevent further distress to the family, I suggest we include details of the death as well.”

  Johnson asked, “So we have no idea about who leaked the news?”

  “Take your pick,” Arla said. “From the crowd that came the other day. We will never know, and it’s not going to change anything, so I suggest we move on.”

  Martin nodded. “DCI Baker is right. The newspaper won’t divulge their sources, but they will now send their reporters sniffing around. Chances are these new hounds will speak to members of the team involved in the case. You know what they’re like.”