by Rob Ashman
‘Sorry I’m late … work got in the way.’
‘I knew it would. I decided not to start cooking until you arrived.’
‘Wise move.’ Kray stepped into the hallway, handed over the bottle and removed her coat. Millican took it from her shoulders and hung it up.
‘You going to be sending me more bodies?’
‘I’m afraid so, multiple stab wounds.’
‘The last one had his hands cut off by some kind of powered jigsaw.’ Kray looked at him and cocked her head to one side as if to say, ‘Really? You want to discuss that now?’ Millican took the hint. ‘Welcome to my humble abode,’ he said holding his arms outstretched.
‘Not so humble, it’s a beautiful place.’ She had only seen the outside but judging by the neighbourhood this house cost three times what she paid for hers. She followed him into the spacious living room that was decorated in grey and silver, with a matching leather suite and a massive curved screen TV in the corner. ‘You have taste, Dr Millican.’
‘Yeah, something like that.’ He went through into large open-plan kitchen, with a central island workspace and a dining table and six chairs at the far end. It was all chrome and glass. He picked up a wineglass. ‘Do I need to ask?’
‘Thank you.’
Kray looked around and thought how dull and dowdy her place must look in comparison.
‘How long have you been here?’
‘About two years.’
‘It’s stunning. Well, it’s stunning compared to mine.’
‘I like it, it’s home.’ He passed her a drink and they chinked glasses. ‘Cheers, thanks for coming. I hope you’re hungry, and I hope you like Thai food.’
‘You cook Thai food?’
‘No, I keep a Thai lady under the stairs for just such an occasion … yes I can cook Thai food.’
‘The closest I get to eating Thai is a ready meal and the microwave, and I tend to screw that up. Are you a good cook?’
‘A bit of a frustrated chef, if I didn’t spend my time cutting up dead bodies I reckon that’s what I would do.’
‘It doesn’t sound so good when you put it like that.’ She took a slug of wine and began to relax. This was nice, he was nice.
The wine flowed as did the conversation. Millican paraded around the kitchen like a Masterchef contestant cooking up a feast. He had not exaggerated his abilities, even to a picky eater like Kray. Memories of Joe burst into her mind, the rolling chopping action, the theatrical flourish when he added the spices and the way he flipped a tea towel over one shoulder. She tried hard to keep the memories locked away, determined to enjoy the present.
‘I’m stuffed?’ Kray said after the meal, as she collapsed onto the sofa.
‘So, you don’t want any more of this?’ Millican waved the wine bottle in the air. She stuck out her glass.
‘How long have you been single?’ she asked.
‘About eighteen months.’
‘That’s a long time.’
‘Yeah it is,’ he paused. ‘I was in a long-term relationship and …’
‘What happened, did you break up?’
‘No, she died.’
Those three words stopped Kray in her tracks. She wanted the sofa to swallow her up. She was a detective for Christ’s sake, why had she not done a little ‘detecting’ before opening her big mouth?
‘I’m sorry.’ Was all she could think to say.
‘We hadn’t long moved into this place when she was diagnosed with brain cancer. It was four months to the day from diagnosis to funeral, it all happened really fast. One minute she was here doing all this …’ He waved his hand around the lounge. ‘And the next she was gone.’
‘I didn’t know.’
‘Why would you? I don’t introduce myself by saying, ‘Hi my name’s Chris, my girlfriend died of cancer’.’
‘I don’t know what to say.’
‘Say you’ll have some more wine.’ He filled her glass. ‘Let’s talk about something else.’
‘Yeah, and while you’re thinking what that could be I need to visit the little girl’s room.’
‘Upstairs, second door on your left.’
She left him staring at the table and headed up the stairs. Like every other room in the house the bathroom was huge, plus it had an oversized roll top bath and separate shower. She sat on the toilet and cursed herself for not having done her homework. While she was giving herself a good telling off she noticed a cluster of framed photographs on the wall opposite, each one depicting a group of men dressed in camouflage uniforms. She finished off, washed her hands and took a closer look.
The face of Dr Christopher Millican stared out of every one. He was either buried amongst a group of men corralled next to a Chinook helicopter or he was caught in a candid pose, checking his gear. The photographs had handwritten inscriptions in the corner, which read ‘Afghan’ followed by a date, or ‘Iraq’ followed by a date.
Kray went back down stairs.
‘Not sure what you want to talk about but I want to know about those pictures in the bathroom.’
‘Ah yes. I wanted to put them up in a prominent place but Alice wasn’t keen. To compromise she said I could hang them in the bathroom, at least then I could look at them when I was on the toilet.’
‘How long were you in the forces?’
‘I graduated out of med school and worked in a hospital for a while, but it was dull, so I joined up to get a bit of excitement. I did four years in the Royal Army Medical Corps, then went back to the NHS and onto the Home Office.’
‘Are you glad you did it?’
‘It was the best thing ever. When I left I signed up as a reservist and saw a number of active tours … that’s where the Afghan photographs come from.’
The conversation was back on track, with all the awkwardness regarding his late girlfriend forgotten. The evening drifted into a comfortable mix of conversation and wine.
Millican staggered into the lounge with a third bottle in his hand. ‘More?’ he said swaying slightly.
Kray looked at her watch, it was nearly midnight. ‘Better not, it’s late.’
He flopped onto the sofa with his legs outstretched. ‘Yeah, you’re probably right. We both got work in the morning. I’ve had a brilliant time.’
‘Me too.’
‘I’ll call you a cab.’
‘No don’t bother.’ Kray got up and went to find her coat, Millican could hear the rattle of keys.
‘Whoa there, DI Rosalind Kray, you are going nowhere near your car.’ He jumped up from the sofa.
‘I am.’
‘No you’re not,’ he said grabbing her by the hand.
Kray folded herself into his arms and kissed him on the mouth. She held it there long enough for him to run his hand across her back. She pulled away.
‘I am, because in the car is my overnight bag.’
29
Kray plugged her laptop into the widescreen TV mounted on the wall. Despite her night time activities she was feeling fresh and ready to go. She buzzed around the incident room arranging pens and pencils into regimented order and stacking papers into neat piles, all the while hoping no one would notice. The room was filling up with coppers carrying coffee and notepads for the 9.30am briefing. Bagley appeared next to her.
‘You all set?’
‘Yup.’
‘How about if I give a bit of an introduction and then hand over to you?’
‘How about if you don’t?’ Kray replied, struggling to locate the cable into the TV socket. ‘This is the same group we spoke to yesterday, they already know what’s going on. We need to give them new information and let them get to work.’
Bagley shuffled on the spot. ‘Okay. Quade has asked me to join her this morning to brief the Chief, the trouble is I had already booked an appointment with the letting agent for that time.’
‘That does sound like a problem.’ She pushed the fitting home and the TV screen came to life.
‘I wondered if you could f
ill in for me. I’ve already spoken to him once and he’s compiling a list of people who have viewed the flat in the last three months. I’m sure you will be in and out pretty quickly.’
‘I’ll take a look at my diary and if I can fit it in, fine. If I can’t you’ll need to re-schedule.’
‘Okay thanks.’ Bagley beetled off to chat with the team.
Kray knew precisely what was in her diary for today but she wasn’t going to tell him that. She checked her watch; five minutes to go.
‘Roz, everyone is here,’ Bagley piped up. ‘We could start early.’
‘Good idea.’ Kray collated her papers and clicked the mouse, a picture of a woman’s face filled the screen. ‘Good morning, everyone. You will recall when we spoke yesterday I told you we were following a line of inquiry that the murders of Cadwell and Hicks were linked. The nature of how they died relates to the crimes they committed and they were both given suspended sentences. I put a list of names up on the board of other such convicted criminals who have received similar sentences. DCI Bagley was at pains to point out that this was only a theory and, until we had more evidence, we should plough on with the investigations in the normal way.
‘This is Catherine Stubbs.’ Kray pointed to the mugshot. ‘I’m sure some of you will be all too aware of her. She is nasty piece of work. She has a history of assault and two counts of battery. She calmed down when she met this woman, Leah Bramhall.’ The face of a young woman with short blond hair and glasses came up on the screen. ‘Stubbs moved into Bramhall’s home eighteen months ago where they cohabited as a couple. After a heavy drinking session, Stubbs assaulted her girlfriend twice and was convicted of ABH for which she was given a restraining order. She was later found guilty of harassment after she consistently broke the order. Bramhall took her back and in the weeks that followed Stubbs frequently kicked, punched and burned her with cigarettes. Things came to a head when Stubbs stabbed her twice with a kitchen knife.’
The door opened and ACC Quade marched in. ‘I was told this was starting at half past.’
‘Sorry, ma’am I was not aware you had been invited.’ Kray gave Bagley the evil eye. ‘If you take a seat I am more than happy to start again.’
‘No carry on, I am being briefed later anyway.’
Kray continued. ‘Stubbs was arrested and went to court where her barrister put forward the case that the defendant was only violent when she was in a relationship with Bramhall and under the influence of drink and drugs. She argued that as Stubbs was now on a drink and drugs rehabilitation plan, and had split up with Bramhall, the triggers for her violent outbreaks had been removed and Stubbs was no longer a threat. The judge agreed and concluded that she no longer posed a risk, she was given a ten months custodial sentence, suspended for eighteen months, plus a further restraining order.
‘This is what I found when I broke into Stubbs’ flat yesterday.’ The image on the TV changed to show a woman strapped to a chair with the handles of six knives protruding from her upper body, her arms and legs covered in scorch marks. ‘These are kitchen knives. The blades were plunged into her body in the same sequence as they occurred in the knife block. Initial forensic results indicate that the black circles are the result of the killer setting fire to an aerosol spray and using it to burn the victim - twenty-seven times. The heat from the flame melted her clothes into her skin. There was no sign of forced entry into the property so she could have known her killer.
‘We have established a definite link between the murders and must work the three crime scenes together. We need to get to the other offenders on the list who have received suspended sentences, they could be next. That’s all.’
The session broke up. Quade waddled over to Kray.
‘Sorry about that, ma’am, I wasn’t aware you would be attending.’
‘Don’t worry about that.’ Quade walked to a quiet corner of the room and ushered for Kray to follow. ‘I must say, Roz, how disappointed I am with your decision to apply for the CJU role.’
She had been expecting this. ‘I need a challenge, ma’am and the role will give me that.’
‘You could be challenged here in CID.’
‘I need to feel I am progressing and if that cannot happen within CID I need to choose a different route. Dan will do a great job.’
Kray went back to her team to ensure they had their marching orders, she had no intention of prolonging the discussion with Quade. She left the station shortly afterwards in search of the letting agency.
Kray sat across the desk from a man the colour of corn flour.
‘Are you okay, Mr Simmonds?’
‘I don’t think I should be in work,’ he said wiping his face with his hands. Derek Simmonds was in his late-thirties with unruly hair and a stubbled chin. He was the letting agent who had shown the couple around their dream flat only to find a dead man in the bath with his hands cut off.
‘We can do this at your home if you would prefer.’
‘No this is fine, I’ll go home when we’re finished. I suspect it’s delayed shock from yesterday.’
‘That sometimes happens, I won’t keep you long.’
Lockkeepers Letting Agency was on the high street. The company occupied the second floor of the building, the place smelled of fresh paint and new carpets.
‘You spoke with my colleague DCI Bagley and he asked to see the letting diary. Do you have that?’
‘Yes I do.’ Simmonds handed over several sheets of paper containing names, dates and contact details. Kray scanned the information.
‘A popular property, Mr Simmonds.’
‘Yes we get plenty of interest, it’s in a great location but I’m afraid we are struggling to find tenants.’
‘We are working on the assumption that the person who murdered the victim had gained entry into the flat and was lying in wait for him. The killer might have visited the place posing as a prospective customer.’
‘Oh, I didn’t know that. When your colleague called he didn’t divulge that information, he simply asked for the list of viewings.’
‘Called?’
‘Yes, he rang the office yesterday.’
‘You’ve not been interviewed?’
‘No.
I swear I’m going to swing for Bagley. Kray bit her lip.
‘Okay, when you went into the property on that day you found the body did you notice anything out of the ordinary?’
‘No nothing. Well, apart from the Sky box laying on the living room floor and the man …’ Simmonds tailed off into nothing.
‘Sorry, what I mean is, did you notice if there was any evidence of forced entry, windows open, that type of thing.’
‘No, the flat was as I had left it. You will see from the list I had done the previous viewing.’
‘The killer and the victim must have got into the property somehow. Are you sure none of the doors or windows had been tampered with?’
‘Nothing like that, all I can say is the flat was locked up tight.’
Kray looked at the list of viewers. ‘You attended almost all of these appointments, Mr Simmonds.’
‘That’s right, we tend to operate on that basis where we can, it saves everyone in the office having to know the details about every property. We have hundreds on our books and it makes life easier.’
‘Did you notice anything unusual about any of these people when you showed them around?’
‘Like what?’
‘Maybe someone who appeared nervous, or edgy, or disinterested. Was there anything that stood out as not being the norm.’
‘Not really, but I remember I lost the key to the front door after doing a viewing. We looked everywhere for it and it never turned up.’
Kray almost fell off her chair.
30
Kray was sat opposite Derek Simmonds who was no longer the colour of corn flower, he was more ashen grey. He was hanging onto a cup of police station coffee as though his life depended on it.
‘I am not under arrest, right?�
�
‘No, Mr Simmonds, we want you to help us with our inquiries,’ Tavener said for the second time since they had taken their seats.
‘I want you to step through what you told me earlier, Derek. Starting with when you realised the key was missing.’ Kray took the lead.
‘We have a system whereby we keep three duplicate keys for every property. That way if different agents are showing people around at different times on the same day we don’t have the issue of handing over keys. On Saturday 13 January I remember showing a customer around the flat and noticing one of the keys was missing.’
‘How can you be so sure of the day?’ Tavener asked.
‘We have a full staff briefing every Monday morning and I remember bringing it up in the meeting. It is recorded in the notes.’ He handed over a copy of the minutes from the meeting. ‘The key had not been booked out to anyone and I wanted to know who had taken it.’
‘No one owned up?’
‘That’s right.’
‘But the key was there on this date.’ Kray jabbed her finger at a diary entry on 28 December printed on a sheet of paper. ‘Because you had two agents showing the flat to different customers on the same day.’
‘Yes, we did. The office was open between Christmas and New Year and I’m sure someone would have said if it was missing.’
‘So, between that date and the Saturday when you noticed the key had gone.’ Kray pointed again at the diary entry. ‘You had six viewings.’
‘We had four couples, a woman on her own looking for a place for her son and a man who was also on his own.’
‘Okay, talk to me about the man.’ Kray fingered the diary entry. ‘Here, he gave his name as George Owens. Do you remember him?’
‘Yes I do because I can remember thinking this guy isn’t interested.’
‘Why was that?’
‘Because he didn’t ask the usual questions.’
‘Like what?’
‘Normally, a serious customer will want to know about parking, how much council tax they can expect to pay, does the rental fee include bills, who would they contact if there was an urgent problem with the property … that type of thing. But this guy didn’t ask me anything, he simply walked about the flat.’