A Little Death

by A. J. Cross

  Hanson’s own confidence in the process was slipping. ‘Without her, I doubt we’ll get anything useful.’

  Myers looked from Corrigan to Watts, then at Ellen who nodded encouragement.

  ‘I wasn’t watching the police,’ he said. ‘I take long walks at night. It calms my head. It helps me sleep. My personal physician has informed me that I’m suffering from acute, chronic insomnia. It’s terminal but I’m dealing with it.’

  Nuttall turned to Hanson. ‘Is this what you meant when you described him as a fantasist?’

  She nodded. ‘It’s very likely that his self-concept is unstable and his self-esteem poor, possibly as a result of neglect in his early years, although there’s no information on his early history. What we’re hearing is his way of shoring up his view of himself. I think he’s operated like that for so many years, it’s probably ingrained behaviour.’

  Nuttall’s eyes were on Myers. ‘I’m guessing he’s not too bright.’

  Hanson gazed through the glass. ‘Staff at the centre regard him as having learning difficulties.’ She turned Nuttall’s words over in her mind. ‘But without formal testing it’s relatively easy to jump to a conclusion about an individual’s capabilities. You’ve heard him speak: his vocabulary is good. He can be quite eloquent.’

  She heard Nuttall’s tut, sensed his headshake. ‘He’s totally unreliable from what I’ve heard so far.’

  ‘In some ways he is but that’s no reason to doubt everything he says.’

  ‘I didn’t say it was but if this case goes to court and he’s one of our witnesses we’ll be throwing him to the sharks.’

  She understood what he was saying about the criminal justice system. ‘We have to work with Myers so he can tell us what he knows, as well as he’s able.’

  Nuttall’s head turned quickly to her. ‘Watch that. The sharks are always on the lookout for weak witnesses and overzealous professionals.’

  ‘Whatever he knows, we have to hear it.’

  Nuttall’s eyes were back on the glass. ‘I admire your determination but it doesn’t always win the day.’

  She looked through the glass at Watts, picked up his almost imperceptible nod to Corrigan who resumed the questioning.

  ‘Detective Sergeant Watts spoke to you at the field off Genners Lane a few nights ago. Do you recall that?’

  ‘My memory’s A1.’

  The duty solicitor placed his pen down and leant away from the table, the expression on his narrow face indicating that he had his doubts.

  ‘That’s good,’ said Corrigan encouragingly.

  ‘I don’t remember much about it.’

  The duty solicitor looked at Watts, his face resigned. ‘I think this interview is too demanding for this witness.’

  Hearing this, Myers sent him an offended look.

  Hanson leant to the microphone and spoke directly into the small device in Corrigan’s ear. ‘Set the scene for him on the night Watts and I were at the field. It might give him some focus.’

  He did so. Myers gave him a gracious nod.

  ‘Thank you for clarifying. I was some distance away but I’d noticed the police there. I didn’t want to get personally involved. I legged it. I was stopped by two young constables who manhandled me across the field—’ Myers raised a finger and pointed it at Watts – ‘to him.’

  Myers rolled on. ‘I expected him to ask about my Secret Service background but he didn’t. He asked if I was at the field a year before. I said yes. Like I said, A1 memory. At that time I’d had a particularly nasty operation …’ Ellen touched his arm. Myers looked at her then back to Corrigan.

  ‘No. That was another time. The time you’re asking about, I was moving residences. That’s why I remembered it. I told him.’ He pointed to Watts again. ‘And a woman who reminded me of a Rossetti painting, Proserpine.’ Hanson’s lips twitched. ‘That I heard a voice, male, calling for his mother to come and find him. Want me to do it?’

  Watts gave an abrupt nod as Myers leant his head back and swayed, his voice a croon, arms spread. ‘“Oh, come to me. Look at me. Look into my eyes”.’ He straightened. ‘That’s it. Can I go?’

  He got a long look from the duty solicitor who turned to Watts. ‘I’ve given you my opinion of the witness.’

  Watts’ eyes were fixed on Myers. ‘What did you think when you were in that field and heard those words, Mr Myers?’

  Hanson closed her eyes. Don’t ask him for ideas, impressions. Stick to facts.

  Myers lifted his head and squinted upwards and to the right. ‘He was after something.’

  ‘Can you say anything else about that?’ asked Watts.

  ‘Yes. I’ve thought about it.’

  Hanson waited, scarcely breathing. Come on, Michael.

  ‘He wanted her to do something for him. Give him something.’

  In the silence Myers looked at each face then shrugged. ‘He was asking the wrong person.’

  Watts’ eyes were all over Myers’ face. ‘What do you mean?’

  Myers shrugged again. ‘It’s obvious. His mother wasn’t there. He was talking to that young girl the papers are full of, the one the police have dug up and she never said anything.’

  Hanson listened as Watts asked Myers about the vehicle he’d told them he heard.

  Myers nodded, looking scholarly. ‘In my opinion it was extremely powerful. A Lamborghini I once owned sounded very similar.’

  Nuttall turned to her and shook his head. ‘He’s all over the place. We need a better witness than him.’

  Hanson quelled a snappy offer to knit him one, her eyes on the duty solicitor who was speaking.

  ‘You know why the police were at that field that night. You know that the body of a young woman was found there. If you know anything about that you need to tell these officers.’

  Myers’ next words rooted all of them where they were sitting.

  ‘I knew her.’

  No one moved inside the interview room. Ellen looked horrified. Hanson stared, stunned. Nuttall looked from her to Myers and back.

  ‘Who?’ demanded Watts.

  ‘That girl. The one in the field.’

  ‘What do you mean, you knew her?’

  ‘I know she was a really nice girl.’ Seconds ticked by. Hanson guessed that Watts was pondering the next question and how best to deliver it. When he did, his tone was quiet and deliberate.

  ‘How do you know that, Mr Myers?’

  ‘It’s obvious,’ said Myers. ‘It said so in the newspapers.’

  Adrift, Watt searched for words. ‘You’re saying you read about her in the newspapers?’

  ‘I was more interested in her photos,’ said Myers, getting Hanson’s full attention.

  ‘I’ve got her photos at my house,’ he continued chattily. ‘From when she was little and then bigger.’

  Watts stared. ‘What do you mean, you’ve got her photos?’

  ‘I rang them up.’

  Watts reddened. ‘Rang who up?’ he asked.

  ‘The newspapers.’

  Hanson knew the questions in her colleagues’ minds right now because they were also in hers. If Myers’ knowledge of Elizabeth Williams had come from newspapers, what was his motivation for trying to obtain photographs of her? She went over all that they knew about him: he spent time in the area where Elizabeth had been found, seemingly moving around it at will during the day and often in darkness. Was it possible that Myers had seen Elizabeth whilst she was still alive? That he’d had some level of contact with her which had developed into an obsession?

  ‘Where are we going with this?’ whispered Hanson, aware of Nuttall’s eyes on her.

  Watts’s hands were raised, palms up. ‘OK, OK. Let’s slow this down. Get it straight. You phoned the newspapers and got copies of photographs of Elizabeth Williams, the girl who was murdered, yes?’

  ‘No, I didn’t.’

  Hanson saw Watts’s shoulder muscles tighten. He pointed to the PACE machine, emphasizing his next words.

&nbs
p; ‘That’s what you just told us, Mr Myers. We’ve got it on record.’ Myers regarded the machine with interest. Hanson glanced at Ellen. She was looking worried.

  Watts’s eyes were fastened on Myers. He took a deep breath. ‘Did you have photographs of the murdered girl?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Where did you get them?’ asked Watts.

  ‘From the newspapers.’

  His eyes were fixed on Myers’ face. ‘Did you buy those newspapers?’

  Myers grinned. ‘Didn’t have to. The Sanctuary has them delivered.’

  Hanson closed her eyes and released a long, slow breath. Myers had not obtained photographs of Elizabeth Williams from any newspaper offices. They would have given him short shrift as a non-relative, particularly if he had failed to provide a lucid account of himself. What he’d done was remove photographs from the newspapers available at The Sanctuary. It made a kind of sense. She frowned. That still left the possibility that Myers had seen Elizabeth in life and had taken more than a passing interest in her.

  Watts wasn’t finished. ‘Why did you want photos of Elizabeth Williams?’

  ‘Somebody told me that she looked after her mother. That means she was a nice girl, like I said. I lost my mother, you know.’

  Preoccupied, Hanson left the observation room as Watts brought the interview to a close. Michael Myers’ loss of his mother, his general presentation suggested that there had been no one else to care for him after she was gone. Or if there had been, they were unable or unwilling to meet his needs. Not every family is a refuge. What they had learned so far was that Michael Myers had obtained some fragmentary, reinforcing memory of his own mother from Elizabeth’s photographs.

  Hanson came into UCU and stood before the board, looking at the two large photographs there.

  What had your killer wanted from you, Elizabeth?

  Myers had left headquarters. Corrigan had gone to armed response duties. Back inside UCU, Watts looked worn.

  ‘Face it, doc. Myers is one on his own. With him, words mean what he wants them to mean and it changes every five minutes. Yes, he has got photos, then no, he hasn’t.’

  ‘His thinking does tend to be chaotic,’ she acknowledged.

  ‘You can say that again.’

  ‘If we’d had the kind of early life experiences Myers probably had, it’s very likely we’d be chaotic.’

  He gave his face a brisk rub. ‘Is it possible he’s cleverer than he’s letting on? Trying to confuse us?’

  Hanson thought about it. ‘I haven’t observed anything about him which suggests he has a capacity for manipulation.’

  Watts gave her a sharp look. ‘If you ask me, he’s got staff at that Sanctuary place looking out for him.’ He caught her facial expression. ‘Yeah, yeah, I know. He’s vulnerable. But look at how he turned up today. Now he’s told us he took an interest in Elizabeth Williams. He never mentioned that before. You’ve said it often enough, doc: we need to keep an open mind. We can’t rule Myers out.’

  Hanson leant against the table, running her fingers through her hair. She and Watts were sometimes at odds, despite working for the same goal. Their professional ways of operating were very different. She’d heard him summarise it once in typical fashion: ‘I call a spade a spade when I see one, whereas the doc wants to ask it what it’s thinking, how it’s feeling and why.’

  She gave him a tired look. ‘Solicitors smarten up their clients when they think it’ll aid their case. Michael Myers needs somebody on his side, which makes him lucky that he’s got The Sanctuary looking out for him. He doesn’t have anybody else.’

  ‘I hear you, doc and I can see he’s a sympathetic figure but you just heard him throw a big cat among our pigeons. We have to ask what the chances are that he clapped eyes on Elizabeth Williams prior to her being murdered.’ Hanson had no argument as she watched him go to the board. He added a single line beneath a name then turned to her.

  ‘Michael Myers, a witness, is also a person of interest, along with Chris Turner the boyfriend and Vickers the tutor.’

  Hanson pulled her diary from her bag. ‘When are you seeing Vickers again?’

  ‘He’s agreed five thirty this afternoon.’ He watched Hanson churn her bag for her phone. ‘He reckons he’s too busy before that. I want to leave Turner alone for a couple of days, then approach him on little cat feet. Corrigan thinks the same as me: if Turner gets so much as a hint we’re interested in him, he’ll start shouting “harassment” and we’ll have a fight on our hands to get anything from him.’

  Hanson dropped her phone into her bag. ‘I’ve texted Maisie to get the bus with Chelsey and stay at her house until I get home.’

  She thought of the many times Chelsey’s mother helped her out. Candice didn’t appear to keep a tally but Hanson did, the kindnesses often causing small jabs of maternal guilt because she couldn’t return them so easily.

  She turned towards the door. ‘See you at the college.’

  ‘Hang on.’ He pushed a cellophane wrapped packet across the table towards her. ‘Take this with you. I can survive on my fat. Make sure you have a break and eat it, yeah?’ She took it.

  ‘Thank you.’

  ELEVEN

  Hanson arrived at the college to find Watts among a throng of waiting students outside a door bearing the nameplate: Dr Lawrence Vickers. Senior Lecturer.

  He glanced at his watch, voice low. ‘A student went in there about fifteen minutes ago. I’m hoping she’ll be out soon.’

  As if on cue the door swung open and a young woman appeared, followed by a man who looked to Hanson to be in his mid-thirties with collar-length hair and low-fit jeans. He was smiling.

  ‘Now, just remember what I said: head down, other parts of the anatomy up and stick at it till it’s finished.’ He watched her walk away then turned. Catching sight of Watts, his face sobered.

  ‘Is it that time already? Come on in.’

  They followed Vickers inside his office which was littered with folders, papers and textbooks. He moved some off the seats of a couple of chairs and dropped them onto the carpet.

  Watts introduced Hanson and she saw Vickers’ double take as he heard her job title and where she worked. ‘There’s no need to tell you about students’ universal resistance to work, particularly at this end of the year.’

  ‘I wouldn’t put it that strongly but I know what you mean.’

  He dropped onto the chair behind the desk. ‘What can I do for the West Midlands Police?’

  ‘Tell us all you know about Elizabeth Williams,’ said Watts.

  Hanson watched Vickers lean back on his chair, eyes raised to the ceiling. ‘Terrible business. A really nice girl. Hardworking. Keen to learn. Here against all the odds.’ He looked across at them. ‘You’re aware of her background?’

  Watts nodded. ‘When did you last see her?’

  Vickers stared at him. ‘You asked me that last time. I told you she attended my Friday afternoon lecture. That was the last time I saw her.’

  Watts kept his tone even. ‘We’ve got reason to believe she had a tutorial with you on the Saturday morning, around ten thirty.’ They waited. Vickers shook his head.

  ‘Your information is wrong.’

  Making a show of note-taking, Watts let the silence in the room lengthen, then looked up. ‘You never saw Elizabeth Williams on that Saturday?’

  Vickers’ eyes moved from him to Hanson and back. ‘No. I didn’t.’

  Watts adjusted his tie, not looking at him. ‘Two people have informed us that she had a tutorial that Saturday morning. With you.’

  Vickers shrugged, looking calm. ‘Whoever said that is mistaken.’

  Watts slow-nodded. ‘Where were you that morning, Dr Vickers?’

  ‘Here in my office.’

  ‘On a Saturday?’

  ‘I often come into college to catch up on paperwork.’ He looked at Hanson. ‘I’m sure your colleague’s experience is the same as mine. There isn’t enough time in the five-day week to le
cture and do administrative tasks.’

  Hanson kept her face neutral.

  ‘How was Elizabeth when she was in your lecture on the Friday?’ Watts asked.

  Watching him, Hanson got the impression that he relaxed at the reference to another day. ‘She seemed fine. Upbeat.’

  Watts gave a slow nod. ‘Sounds like you spoke to her.’

  A few seconds went by. ‘I’m not sure that I did. It was just an impression I gained. Elizabeth was very … expressive. One knew her mood from her face, her demeanour.’ He fell silent, his face bland. He gave a quick nod. ‘Actually, now that I think about it, she did speak to me. Very briefly. She said something about going shopping the next morning, which was the Saturday. She had plans for that morning so clearly there was no tutorial.’

  ‘How was it that she came to mention this shopping trip to you?’ asked Watts.

  ‘She passed me on her way out after the lecture.’

  ‘Why would she tell you she was going shopping?’

  ‘I can’t tell you why. She just did.’

  Watts was on his feet.

  Vickers looked up at him. ‘Have we finished?’

  ‘For now.’

  Watts headed for the door, his face set. Hanson followed with a head full of questions.

  ‘Why did he look relieved when the questions turned from the Saturday to the Friday? Why would a student mention a shopping trip on her way out of a lecture? I can’t recall that happening to me. And, why did you tell him we had information that he had a tutorial with Elizabeth Williams that Saturday morning? You’ve criticised me in the past for “cutting corners”.’

  In the relative early evening quiet of headquarters, Watts leant against the big work table in UCU, arms folded. ‘Simmer down, doc. He wasn’t about to tell us anything so I cut it short. Something I’ve learned: leave them hanging and worried.’

  Hanson turned her attention to the note she’d made. They included Vickers’ comment to the young female student as she left his office: ‘Head down, other parts of the anatomy up.’ She recalled Vickers’ hairstyle, the low jeans, wondering how agreeable he found his job, surrounded by young females. Maybe very agreeable?

  She stood. ‘In your eagerness to leave, we didn’t ask him what he knows about Elizabeth having an internship.’