A Little Death

by A. J. Cross

  Hanson was in silent agreement. The fact that information was written down didn’t convey a seal of truth. Asking a person to repeat what they’d said previously often produced anomalies. It was why they were here.

  ‘Did you and Elizabeth have anything special planned for later that Saturday or maybe the Sunday?’ she asked, wanting a reason why Elizabeth might have chosen to wear her suit some time that weekend.

  ‘No, nothing. Why?’

  ‘Were you and Elizabeth in an exclusive relationship?’

  ‘Meaning?’

  ‘Were you and she dating only each other?’ she asked.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘So, you have no knowledge of Elizabeth planning some kind of outing?’

  Turner’s eyes narrowed. ‘If she was she didn’t tell me,’ he said coldly.

  As Hanson wrote, Corrigan asked, ‘All the students here take up an internship, yes?’

  Turner checked his watch. ‘Yes, but not Elizabeth. She didn’t want what was on offer so she was told to find her own. Will this take much longer?’

  Hanson recalled her telephone conversation with Jessica Simmonds. There had been a noticeable absence of interest in the reinvestigation from Simmonds who had been Elizabeth’s closest friend, according to what her aunt had said. Now, here was her lover conveying a similar stance.

  ‘Had she anything in mind?’ she asked.

  Turner shrugged. ‘She took all that saving-the-planet stuff seriously so she was looking for something in that line.’

  ‘Did she find it?’ asked Corrigan.

  He gave another shrug. ‘Not as far as I know.’

  ‘Anything you’d like to add?’ asked Corrigan, his eyes on Turner’s face.

  Turner gave the question minimal consideration. ‘No. Is that it? I’ve got a squash game booked and I’ve seen the other player arrive.’

  They left the college building and Hanson gazed across the road towards the narrow lane and the field many metres away where Elizabeth Williams had lain for months, ruined and cold. Lawrence Vickers her tutor had told Watts that he’d last seen Elizabeth at his lecture on the Friday. According to Turner, she’d had a tutorial on the Saturday morning. Who was that tutorial with? She turned to Corrigan.

  ‘Have you got Lawrence Vickers’ number?’

  ‘Yep.’

  He took out his phone. She guessed he knew what she was thinking. He listened then ended the call.

  ‘Voicemail says he’s not available until tomorrow. What did you make of Turner?’

  ‘Very cool. Self-possessed. From his responses it’s hard to picture him having the close relationship he says he had with Elizabeth Williams.’

  Corrigan nodded. ‘Add arrogant and we’ve got him covered. Where you going now, Red?’

  ‘Back to the university.’

  ‘How about I make dinner for us at my place later? I’ll give you the guided tour,’ he said lightly.

  She thought of the dilapidated terraced house he’d bought and showed her many months before. A ‘fixer-upper’ he’d called it. She hadn’t seen much of him since their last case ended but she’d passed by the house and seen builders hard at work. He’d moved into it back in April. The last time she’d driven past a couple of weeks ago, both house and the wisteria around its front door looked stunning.

  ‘Thanks, Corrigan but Maisie’s friend Chelsey is eating with us. You’ve settled in?’ she asked.

  ‘Sure. I like the neighbourhood. It’s cute. I get why seniors call it “the Village”.’

  She grinned at his version of a British accent and his oblique reference to her eighty-year-old next-door neighbour then glanced back at the college.

  ‘I know it’s a year since Elizabeth Williams disappeared but Turner’s responses weren’t what I expected.’

  ‘Impersonal to the point of belittling, I thought. Maybe his life’s moved on,’ he said.

  ‘I suppose. When I spoke with Jess Simmonds yesterday I got a similar impression from her. There was no emotional content in her responses, no upset or expression of regret. Not even curiosity about our investigation and the hopefulness we usually get that the police will find an answer as to what happened. I found her actual responses odd.’

  Corrigan was looking in the direction of the field. ‘That doesn’t sound like moving on. It sounds like callousness.’ He looked at her. ‘But she and Turner are young. Both in their early twenties. They haven’t had a lot of practice in how to respond to bad situations.’

  ‘Probably true, but I still want to know more about both of them.’

  Back at the university Hanson took the few papers which had once belonged to Elizabeth Williams from their plastic bag and placed them on her desk: lecture notes, the cash receipt for basic foods and the internship placement form. Not much to gain a sense of a busy young life. She picked up the receipt from a Northfield supermarket, checked the items again for any hint they might hold of Elizabeth’s last weekend: wholemeal bread, chicken, low-fat milk, rice, sweet potatoes. She replaced it on the desk. It merely reflected what they knew of Elizabeth Williams’ interest in health and fitness.

  Hanson pulled the internship form towards her, all of its dotted response lines blank. If information from Chris Turner and Jess Simmonds could be relied on, Elizabeth had refused the sports-related placements offered by the college which would explain why she’d never completed the form. She recalled Turner’s dismissive tone when he mentioned her interest in saving the planet. Hanson’s impression was that he was equally dismissive of Elizabeth herself. She recalled her phone conversation with Jess Simmonds. Whilst not dismissive, her responses to Hanson’s questions had been curiously spare and disinterested.

  She swung her chair to the window and gazed out. Was there something between Turner and Simmonds, either now or at the time Elizabeth disappeared? She heard the Joseph Chamberlain Tower’s bells strike the mid-afternoon hour.

  Hanson straightened, refolded the internship form, had it halfway into the plastic bag when she stopped, her eyes fixed on its reverse side. There were indistinct marks on it. Taking it to the window, she gazed at it in the strong light. She couldn’t make anything of them. Returning to her desk, she took a lens from the drawer and placed it over them. Still too faint.

  Collecting her coat and bag she leant into the adjoining office on her way to the door.

  ‘Crystal, I’m going to headquarters.’

  Hanson was inside the lab on headquarters’ first floor, having given the internship form to Adam, the departmental head of Forensic Science. She waited as he scrutinized the small marks on its reverse side.

  ‘It’s not much but I wanted you to have a look.’

  He mused over the markings. ‘Obviously someone wrote on a sheet lying on top of this one and the writing imprinted itself. You’re right, it isn’t much. Come on. Let’s get it on to the ESDA.’

  She followed him as he headed across the lab. They stopped at the boxy Electrostatic Detection Apparatus. She watched as he placed the sheet on to its platform, then drew a single layer of cling film across it, his hands deft as he pulled it taut then tucked in the edges. She wondered if his painstaking attention to detail extended to other areas of his life. She looked at his ultra-neat hair. Probably. The machine started to hum.

  Picking up a long, slender object he said, ‘I’ll pass this wand over your sample to charge it.’ She watched as he did so then put down the wand and raised one end of the platform.

  ‘Now for the key step.’

  Hanson pressed nearer as he picked up a small metal container and held it above the film-covered sheet, watching as fine black powder poured from it and flowed over the film. It gathered in the small area of the indentations.

  Removing the film from the platform, he attached it to a plain sheet of paper and held it out to Hanson.

  She took it, eyes on the indentations now amplified by the powder.

  ‘It’s not much,’ said Adam. ‘But I hope it’s useful. Here’s your original.’r />
  She took it from him. ‘Thanks a lot. So do I.’

  He watched her head for the door, calling after her, ‘I’ll be bringing UCU the results of the trace evidence found with the body pretty soon.’

  Hanson came into UCU. ‘I’m glad you’re both here.’ She placed the internship form face down on the work table in front of Watts and Corrigan.

  ‘Take a look at this.’ They peered at it.

  ‘See these marks? Someone wrote on something that was over it. See the small indentations?’

  Watts frowned at it. ‘I’ll take your word for it.’

  ‘I see them,’ said Corrigan.

  Hanson placed Adam’s handiwork beside it. ‘Now take a look at what Forensics got from it.’

  Watts put on his glasses and gave it close scrutiny. Corrigan looked up at her. ‘Two words.’ He pointed at them. ‘“Bill” and “Ren”.’

  ‘Means nothing to me,’ said Watts. ‘They look like names. What do you think, doc?’

  Hanson considered them. ‘Nothing, beyond what you’ve just said.’

  She sat back, looking at Corrigan. ‘I’ve thought about Chris Turner and his responses to our questions earlier.’

  ‘His offhand manner. Thought you might,’ he said.

  ‘Remember what I said about Jess Simmonds’ responses on the phone? I’m going to see her face-to-face. It’s occurred to me that there might have been something between those two last year. Or since.’

  Corrigan nodded. ‘In which case, I’ll arrange another visit to the college to see Turner. We’ll synchronise the times. If there is something with these two we don’t want to give them the opportunity to warn each other or collude.’

  Hanson looked at her watch. ‘Let’s say four this afternoon if they’re available?’

  ‘I’ll ring Turner,’ said Corrigan.

  Watts said, ‘I’m going to see Vickers again and sort out this tutorial business.’

  Hanson and Corrigan each picked up a phone.

  The manager of the fitness centre had offered Hanson the use of his office. She had gotten as far as asking Jessica Simmonds how close she and Elizabeth were prior to Elizabeth’s disappearance and was now waiting for a response from the tanned blonde in black leggings and white zipped top sitting across the desk from her. It looked as though she was in for a long wait.

  Hanson changed her approach. ‘Miss Simmonds, Jess, when we first spoke on the phone the other day I thought there were aspects of our conversation which were … unusual.’

  Simmonds’ eyes stayed fixed on the desk. She made no response.

  Hanson continued, ‘We’d been told that you were Elizabeth Williams’ closest friend. I didn’t get that impression when we spoke. That’s why I’m here. So we can talk about it.’

  She left it there and waited some more, following the young woman’s glance out of the window to Broad Street snaking its way to the Five Ways island. She turned at Simmonds’ voice.

  ‘I don’t know what you want me to say. I’ve told you all I know. We went shopping that Saturday and I never saw her again.’ Hanson saw her gaze return to the window.

  ‘I know that’s what you said.’ Getting no response, Hanson leant forward, keeping her tone even. ‘Let me explain what’s confusing me, Jess. Yes, you told me about that Saturday, but there was no emotion in it. There still isn’t.’

  Simmonds kept her eyes averted as Hanson continued. ‘Elizabeth disappeared sometime that weekend, after you last saw her. Now you know what happened to her but I still can’t see any impact on you.’ Simmonds still did not speak, did not look at her.

  Hanson pressed on. ‘That doesn’t make any sense to me. I’m guessing that by now you’ll have seen reports in the newspapers, on television, maybe online, of her body being found.’ She was getting nothing.

  ‘Have you been in contact with the other students at the college who knew you and Elizabeth?’

  Simmonds turned from the window to look at Hanson. ‘No. I haven’t been back to that place in over a year.’

  Hanson gave her a close look. ‘Do you know that area off Genners Lane where she was found?’

  She shook her head.

  Glancing at the clock on the wall, convinced now that there was something Simmonds didn’t want to get into, Hanson raised the emotional tempo. ‘I was there when her body was recovered.’ She watched Simmonds’ hands clench each other, saw the quick flinch.

  ‘I don’t need to tell you that it wasn’t pleasant. I never knew Elizabeth but I’ll admit that what I saw affected me, as it did my police colleague, an officer with more than twenty-five years’ experience.’

  Hanson looked up at the soft knock at the door. A close-cropped head appeared round it. It was the gym’s manager she’d met earlier.

  ‘Excuse me. Sorry to interrupt but I need something from my desk—’

  Explosive sobs from Simmonds hit the walls of the small office, startling him into silence and causing Hanson to rise from her chair, eyes wide. Simmonds’ upper body was bent low, her head almost on her knees, her hands clasped to her mouth, shoulders heaving.

  ‘Never mind. I’ll leave you to it,’ he said, quickly withdrawing and closing the door.

  Hanson heard more fierce sobs. ‘What’s wrong, Jess? Are you unwell? Can I get you something?’

  The racking sobs continuing unabated, Hanson took several tissues from a nearby box, went around the desk, pressed them into Jess’s hand and waited.

  The sobs gradually lessened. Hanson lowered her head to look into the young woman’s face. ‘Tell me if you need something and I’ll get it.’

  Jess blotted tears with a shaky hand. ‘I don’t want to talk any more about this.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Because I feel bad. Guilty.’ The sobs started up again.

  Hanson recognised the first spontaneous words she’d heard so far. ‘Jess, if you know something about what happened to Elizabeth you must tell me right now.’

  Simmonds straightened, the tissues a sodden mass on her lap, her face flushed and shiny. She looked wiped out.

  ‘It was my fault,’ she whispered, staring straight ahead, her eyes red and empty.

  Hanson reached forward and took her gently by the shoulders. ‘Whatever happened you must tell me about it.’ She frowned. ‘Was there a problem between you and Elizabeth prior to her disappearance?’

  ‘Yes.’ More tears fell.

  ‘Was it anything to do with Chris Turner?’

  Simmonds nodded. ‘He dumped me. For her.’

  Feeling her way forward, Hanson asked, ‘Were you angry with Elizabeth because of that?’

  The blonde head shot up. ‘No way. She was my friend. This is about Chris Turner. I feel guilty because I knew what he was like as a boyfriend. He was a complete nightmare but I didn’t tell her. I didn’t warn her.’

  ‘Tell me,’ said Hanson.

  One hand to her mouth, her breath catching, Simmonds stared out of the window. ‘I got with him towards the end of my first year at the college.’ She shook her head. ‘I didn’t have many friends there and I was feeling lonely and suddenly here was this good-looking, second year student taking notice of me. I thought he was great. He was great, for the first few weeks. Some of the students on my course said we looked right together. One or two described us as a golden couple. I was having the time of my life with him. I couldn’t believe he wanted me. Then it all changed. He changed.’

  Hanson had spoken to many women about their traumatic relationships. From what Simmonds had told her so far, she had a few ideas about what was coming.

  Simmonds pressed tissues to her eyes. ‘It was nothing obvious. I didn’t even notice to begin with. But then it really started. The jealousy, the constant questioning: “Where are you going? Where were you last night? Why are you wearing that? Why have you changed your hair?”’ She slumped against her chair, her hands lying on her lap. ‘He was constantly picking at me, asking the same questions. He never let up.’

  ‘
How long did that carry on?’

  ‘A few weeks. When I started my two-month internship here it got worse.’ She looked up at Hanson, words rushing from her mouth.

  ‘I’m not stupid. I started to work out what his behaviour was about. I’ve known girls with possessive boyfriends and thought they were idiots to stick with them but that’s exactly what I did. He hated me being here because he didn’t know the place. Clyde, that’s the manager who came in earlier, he offered me a job. I took it. I think I was trying to get away from Chris but I couldn’t seem to make the actual break. If anything it got worse then. He couldn’t see what I was doing here, who I was meeting, who I was talking to. He told me I had to leave the job. He went on and on.’ She stopped, out of breath.

  Hanson put a hand on her shoulder. ‘Slowly.’

  After a few seconds Simmonds continued, ‘I arranged to meet him. He’d worn me out. I couldn’t keep up with what I had to do here and all I could think was, “OK, you win. I’ll do what you want. I’ll leave”.’

  ‘You told him that?’ said Hanson.

  ‘Yes. I told him I’d given in my notice here. He went, “Oh, that’s great, babe”.’ She looked up at Hanson. ‘Guess what he did then, that same week.’

  ‘He began seeing Elizabeth.’

  Simmonds stared at her. ‘Who told you?’ She shook her head. ‘I couldn’t believe it. The next time I saw him, it was like I didn’t exist. Like he didn’t know who I was.’

  Hanson pictured Turner harassing the young woman until he had her doing exactly what he wanted, then promptly losing interest. As far as he was concerned he’d got her. He’d won.

  ‘What happened?’

  ‘All I could think about was getting my job back. Clyde’s a good man. He said not to worry about it. He gave me my job back and I tried to forget what had happened.’

  ‘You said you felt guilty about Elizabeth because you didn’t tell her about Chris Turner.’

  ‘I should have warned her! I didn’t.’

  ‘Did you and Elizabeth ever become friends again?’

  Simmonds stared out of the window. ‘Yes, but it wasn’t the same. How could it be? I was holding something back from her.’ She looked at Hanson and Hanson saw the still ongoing struggle to understand.