by Lisa Cutts
The whole team was working as hard as it could, and now it had two PACE clocks racing against the prisoners’ time in custody. Most of what she had been told she wasn’t going to share with Travis or any other member of his family for the time being, yet it warmed her soul to realize that people were doing everything possible to work out who the killer really was. That included finding out about Gladys McCall and Linda’s past.
Someone else she wasn’t going to be sharing it with was Harry Powell.
Not giving away too much to members of the public, even if they were the family of the murdered, was easy enough: deny everything up until the point of looking unhelpful, and then apologize for not being able to tell them anything further. Police officers were an entirely different beast. They were nosy and it wasn’t so much that they knew the answers, as no one had that much foresight, it was that they knew the system. Few knew it better than Harry.
As she walked back to her car, Hazel watched his name appear on her phone’s screen.
Despite her reservations about giving too much away, she was desperate to speak to him again. He’d not been far from her thoughts since she’d sat in his kitchen watching him cry over his friend, followed by a clumsy hand-hold at the front door as they both grabbed for the handle. She’d loved talking to him and had even enjoyed their terrible dining experience. Her life could hardly be described as lacking or sad; still she thought and clung to the idea that Harry might become someone important to her in the months to come, despite the awkwardness of an office romance with the boss.
‘Hello, Harry,’ she said as she answered the phone with one hand, and opened the car door with the other.
‘How are you getting on?’ he asked.
‘Not so bad. I’m a bit tired. I don’t need to tell you that goes with the job.’
Once she was in the car, doors shut, Hazel said, ‘I know you’re not going to ask me how close we are to charging anyone for Linda’s murder and I appreciate that.’
She listened for the awkward pause. It didn’t come.
‘Oh no, fuck that. I know I can’t ask and you won’t tell me anyway. No, I was calling to ask if you’ve had any luck with getting a day off. I know I only asked you yesterday, but if I’m honest, I want something to look forward to. What do you reckon? A day out in London? Brighton? Walmer?’
‘Walmer?’
‘It’s got a castle. The Queen Mum used to stay there.’
‘I’ll think about it.’
‘The day out or Walmer?’
‘You know I want to spend the day with you but I’ll let you know about Walmer Castle. I’ll look into it. I like to do my research and make sure I’m not getting involved with anything I’m not happy with.’
‘That’s me fucked then.’
Hazel heard the start of a laugh and then Harry chasing to add, ‘I don’t mean me fucked. I mean – oh fuckety fuck.’
‘Harry, you’re either the biggest buffoon I’ve ever met, or you’re a real lady-killer.’
No sooner were the words out of her mouth, then Hazel realized what a mistake she had made.
‘S-sorry,’ she stammered. ‘It’s been a tough few days and I’m managing to think straight when I’m with Travis or working. Only as soon as I’m alone, I’m losing the plot a little. Tiredness, that’s all it is.’
Sitting in the driver’s seat of her unmarked car, she pulled the visor down and looked at her reflection. The dark circles under her eyes were the first thing she saw, followed by the paleness of her skin.
‘As long as you’re looking after yourself, darling,’ said Harry. ‘I’m always happy to help out if you’re in need of a decent meal, Dalmatian walking or someone to talk through all this bollocks with. And before you tell me off or report me, I know that you can’t discuss some of it with me. I’m not asking, you know.’
‘I know, I know. I have some sleep to catch up on and then I’m due a day off soon, so can I get back to you about the day out?’
‘Course you can.’
‘How about Friday night?’ said Hazel. ‘I’m not usually so forward but for you I’ll make an exception.’
‘Dinner at mine? I’m not the best chef in the world but it’ll be an improvement on the pub.’
She let out a slow breath and said, ‘I’ll text you when I finish work.’
They said goodbye and Hazel sat with the phone in her hand, thoughts of a day with Harry making her feel better than she had in a while. She really wasn’t sure what was causing her heart to beat just that little bit faster at the prospect of spending more time with him. She’d known the buzz of excitement at the thought of a new relationship and taking a leap forward towards the unknown, only this time Hazel thought she might have found herself someone to share her hopes and dreams with. Someone to come home to at the end of the day and unburden her heart and mind without the fear of leaving herself vulnerable. Harry was someone she could trust with her fragile feelings.
Perhaps, they just might have a chance.
Chapter 57
Friday 9 June
Enquiries were ongoing all over the county. Anyone with anything sensible to suggest was listened to and officers sent to every possible location in an attempt to capture anything and everything that would prove the guilt of those in custody, or to point towards someone else, including someone from Linda’s past.
Unfortunately for Aiden and his mother Jenny, it wasn’t looking favourable for either of them.
After being woken in the early hours by the sounds of a drunk being carted off to a cell, Aiden had found it difficult to get back to sleep. The officer watching him had allowed him to poke his head around the cell door and watch the abusive and violent individual being bedded down for the night. The murder suspect had observed with total fascination as the officers, one guarding the man’s head, had placed him face down on the floor of the cell, searched him and then, one by one, checked out of the tiny room to leave him to sleep it off.
The last police officer had slammed the metal door shut on the latest addition to the cell block when Aiden heard hammering on the door, and a voice shout out, ‘Come back here, you bastards! Come back here and I’ll shit in your hat and punch it!’
Wondering what kind of hell the rest of his life might consist of if he went to prison, Aiden made his way back to his mattress that had probably housed hundreds of thieves, rapists and wife-beaters, and waited for the morning.
It came around quicker than he had hoped, but at least it gave him something to do and someone to talk to.
The time Aiden had now spent in custody meant that he had adapted to the daily timetable: seeing his solicitor, then the interview with the detectives, then more time with the solicitor, followed by being put back into his cell. He waited patiently for the jailer to collect him from his cell and take him to see his solicitor, although everyone else called her his ‘brief’. It crossed his mind that he might have to learn another language if things went very badly for him. Prison was bound to have its own lingo.
This morning’s jailer turned out to be a young blonde woman he took to be Polish from her name badge and accent. As she led him to where his brief was waiting, he startled himself with the realization that he seemed to be accepting what was happening to him.
No sooner than he thought that things couldn’t go any lower, his solicitor gave him the news that the police had made another arrest.
‘That’s good news then?’ he said, saliva collecting in the sides of his mouth as the full impact of this information dawned on him. He locked on to her next words, holding his breath.
‘It depends how you look at it, Aiden,’ she said. ‘The police have told me who they’ve arrested. Brace yourself for what I’m about to say to you – it’s your mother.’
He sat staring at her, looking at her but not really seeing. He didn’t know whether to believe what she was telling him, yet she had no reason to lie to him. He felt he’d been locked up for so long, he’d change places with anyone, no matter who t
hey were. In fact he had felt over the last day or so that he literally would have sold his own mother if it would have saved his miserable skin.
Now he had the opportunity to find out how low he would stoop.
It took Aiden some time to fully grasp what his solicitor was telling him. Even though she couldn’t give him too many facts about his mother’s arrest, he was intelligent enough to understand that if he had been arrested because his saliva was on Linda’s cheek, the police had something tying his mother to the murder.
Back in the interview room with the same two detectives, Aiden wasn’t really sure what he was going to say. He had spent some time convincing his solicitor that he should continue to answer the questions, although she didn’t want him to. She tried everything she could to convince him that he had cooperated with the police and now they had his version, he could exercise his right to make no comment. He simply couldn’t bring himself to.
Things had seemed bad enough for him when Linda, a woman he idolized, had been murdered and he’d been arrested for it, but now his mum was in a police cell accused of the same killing.
Once the DVDs were recording and everyone had gone through their introductions, which Aiden was already conditioned to, DC Pierre Rainer asked the first important question of the day.
‘Your mother, Jenny Bloomfield, has been arrested on suspicion of Linda Bowman’s murder. Did your mum tell you she killed Linda?’
‘Of course she didn’t, or I would have told you. I wouldn’t have sat here denying it if I’d known who was responsible, would I?’
Pierre gave him a quizzical look and said, ‘Perhaps you would have for your own mother? After all, she let you sit in a cell for over two days.’
As the meaning of his words hit home, Aiden began to say, ‘She’s—’ before being cut off by his solicitor.
‘Are you saying, officer, that she’s confessed?’ said the brief. ‘I haven’t been given this information.’
‘When your mother was interviewed,’ continued Pierre, ‘she said that she went to the Bowmans’ house to talk to Linda and she struck her on the head with a hammer.’
The detective let the words sit there. Pierre’s adrenalin was off the starting block. This was the best part of interviewing and it was where hours of biding his time now came into its own. He had set a trap and he knew full well that Aiden was about to get caught in it.
‘There you go then,’ said Aiden, right on cue, voice wobbling. ‘My mum hit her on the head with a hammer. I didn’t hit her with anything, especially not with a hammer, for fuck’s sake.’
‘Then, Aiden,’ continued Pierre, calm and composed on the outside, heart racing, ‘how do you explain your DNA being on the handle of the hammer?’
A split second of silence was shattered by the solicitor who said, ‘This is information that wasn’t disclosed to me. I’m advising my client to answer no comment to all further questions at this time. We need a consultation.’
Without anything further being asked, Pierre ended the interview and the four of them sat in a tense silence for several minutes while the DVDs finalized and the machine whirred to a stop, ejecting the discs. Pierre and Sophia then set about completing the labels to seal up the recordings and everyone present signed the relevant paperwork.
The procedure had given Sophia and Pierre time to gauge Aiden’s reaction. He seemed on the brink of hyperventilating, eyes darting from left to right, not focusing on anything at all.
Once the officers had left him and his solicitor to speak in private, Pierre couldn’t resist whispering in Sophia’s ear, ‘He looked bad enough at that news, wait until we hit him with the really good stuff.’
Chapter 58
Even though DI Doug Philbert was deeply involved in the Bowman murder, he had been called to two other incidents over the last two days: one was a drugs overdose and the other was the body of an illegal immigrant found in a shipping container. Despite not leading the investigation into either of them, he was on call for the county and still had to attend, make decisions and set the wheels in motion for handing over to other members of staff. He was now trying to get the rest of the week covered, although under the circumstances, he wasn’t at all comfortable asking for a favour from his very last option.
According to the duty roster, there were only a couple of people free, and one of them was Harry Powell. He picked up the phone.
‘Dougie, my old son. How are things?’
‘They’re busy, Harry. It’s the usual. How are things with you?’
‘Not so bad. I’ve booked a couple of weeks’ leave and thought I’d go and visit the kids, not that they’re exactly kids any more, more like sulky teenagers. Thought I’d take them out a few times. I’ve got some other plans too.’
‘Would they happen to include Hazel by any chance?’
He heard Harry laugh before he said, ‘I’m trying my best. I like her.’
‘I’m not going to poke my nose into someone else’s business, especially not yours, but don’t you think it’s a bit soon after your wife leaving you?’
A lengthy pause filled the air.
‘She left six months ago.’
‘Oh, I didn’t think it was so long ago and it’s really none of my business. I’m sorry.’
‘Don’t be. I just didn’t advertise the fact that my life was such a fuck-up. I miss the kids, but her moaning got me down. Some days, without her here, I feel as though I’ve gone deaf. Anyway, what are you ringing me for?’
‘I was wondering if you could do me a favour and cover the rest of my on-call until your annual leave starts? I’m flat out here with Linda’s and Milton’s deaths and could do without any more interruptions.’
‘As it’s you, Dougie, of course I can. Is there any update on Milton? I feel I’m on sturdier ground asking you about him rather than about Linda. It was either an accident or suicide, I’m guessing.’
Even though Doug had telephoned Harry for a favour, he had foreseen that he wouldn’t pass up an opportunity to ask about the investigation.
‘Coroner’s Report is being done. There’s nothing back from serious collision investigation to suggest there was any defect with the car, there were no road hazards, driving conditions were all good, and there was no drink or drugs in Milton’s blood or urine.’
He heard Harry sigh and then comment, ‘I hate to think it was suicide, especially if you’ve now made a second arrest. It’d make everything that little bit worse, for some reason. All I got from the news was that you’d nicked a thirty-nine-year-old woman. I’m going to guess it was the mother of the young lad you’ve already got in custody.’
This time, Doug had no doubt that this hadn’t come from anyone within the incident room: Harry would have worked this one out by himself somehow.
‘There’s something else, Harry. Something about Linda.’
‘Go on.’
‘She wasn’t who we all thought she was.’
‘I’m not following.’ There was a sharp edge to Harry’s voice.
‘I can’t say too much at this stage. When I can, I’ll let you know.’
It had been a cruel trick to pull on an old friend simply to find out if Harry knew the truth. From his reaction, it was safe to assume that Harry knew nothing of the woman for whom he had held a candle for over twenty years.
The trouble seemed to be that it wasn’t panning out to be the most straightforward murder investigation. Doug had worked on hundreds over the years as a constable in uniform, as a detective doing the enquiries and interviewing, and later as a sergeant and now as an inspector. Still he failed to recall one single murder he had investigated where he had had two suspects in custody, both with their DNA on the murder weapon and at the scene with the body, where one was claiming sole responsibility, the other denying it, and the evidence suggesting a different set of circumstances.
It crossed his mind, not for the first time, that Jenny was taking the blame for something she thought her son had done, whilst all along he wa
s a completely innocent party.
Perhaps they didn’t even have the right people in custody.
Chapter 59
‘OK then, boys,’ said Sean, ‘last port of call before the weekend. This one should be easy. Just some skank and her fella. Are you ready?’
The driver waited with the car whilst the other three decamped and made their way to the entrance of the four-storey property. In its heyday, it had probably been an impressive building, except now it had fallen into ruin, not unlike the kind of people who lived there.
Not one for standing idle, Sean rang every one of the eight buzzers even though it was the property at the front on the ground floor he wanted to get to.
Someone within the building released the catch and the three men stepped inside.
Suit jackets buttoned, fists clenched, all three were soon standing shoulder to shoulder outside Trixie Maitland’s flat. A noise from the other side of the thin plywood door was unmistakably of someone pretending to be out.
‘Trixie,’ said Sean. ‘I think it would be much better if I didn’t have to boot the lock in, don’t you?’
‘Oh, er, just a minute,’ called a woman’s voice. She sounded out of it, but then she usually was. Trixie was one of hundreds Sean had seen over the years getting through life rather than living it. Within a couple of seconds, she opened the door on her pitiful existence.
He ran an eye over the kitchen area a couple of feet behind where she stood. She’d washed up since he was last there. Perhaps she was trying to give up the gear. He couldn’t have that. He needed her.
‘Jimmy not here?’ said Sean as he stepped over the threshold and looked around the place. Off the kitchen was an open-plan living and sleeping area, no cupboards, no wardrobes, or in fact space for them. The only part that could have housed another person was the shower and toilet area to the left of the kitchen and the door to that was wide open.