Delayed & Denied

by J. J. Salkeld

  Billy Wilson’s face had been crimson enough when Hall had arrived, which Hall had put down to blood pressure and sun, but now it was blood red.

  ‘Has he now? And I thought you were only supposed to speak to folk who’d been involved in the original investigation? Isn’t that what was agreed?’

  Hall nodded, and almost commented on the fact that Wilson was every bit as well-informed as he’d claimed to be.

  ‘The name just came up, that’s all.’

  ‘Tell that to the judge, mate. He won’t believe you, any more than I do. So you’ve swallowed Burke’s story then. He’s an innocent man, and I put him away for the best years of his life, did I? Is that what we’re getting round to?’

  ‘It wasn’t just you, Billy.’

  That didn’t seem to be the answer that Wilson was hoping for. When he spoke again his voice was over half way to a shout. Two birds flew up from the lawn in alarm.

  ‘So who did it then? Jack Lee? This doctor? Because I tell you one thing, Andy. Sharon Burke did not strangle herself, and chuck herself in the bloody lake. So who did it then, smart-arse?’

  ‘I can’t tell you that. Not because I know and don’t want to, but because I just don’t know. Maybe I’ll never know. But we’ve already made real progress, I do know that.’

  ‘Progress, my arse. You’re all the same, you university coppers. We should all feel sorry for the bloody cons. If only their mums had given them more hugs as a child, all that.’

  ‘I don’t…’

  ‘Well, you listen to me, matey boy. The only way that you’ll ever take this one anywhere is if you can produce hard evidence proving that someone else killed Sharon Burke. And after all this time, you know how much chance of that you’ve got?’

  ‘Not much, I realise that.’

  ‘Not much? Absolutely fuck all I’d say. And you can waste your own time if you want to, but don’t you come round here again, and waste any more of mine. You understand what I’m saying?’

  Hall got up, said that he understood perfectly, and reached down to pick up Grace’s car seat. To his surprise he saw that she was awake, and had that dreamy, far away look on her face that told him exactly what she was doing at that moment. And he couldn’t have agreed with her more.

  He was planning to tell Jane about what a waste of time seeing Billy Wilson had been when he saw her that evening, but he never got the chance. Because he was just turning off the motorway at the north Kendal junction when his phone rang. It was Jane.

  ‘I was just thinking about you, love’, he said.

  ‘Same here.’

  ‘That’s nice to know.’

  ‘Well it shouldn’t be, Andy. I’ve just come off the phone with the ACC, who bollocked me once, and then did it again, just for good measure. He says you’re out of control. He told me to close you down. Christ, what on earth did you say to old Billy Wilson? It sounds like you set his bloody house on fire or something.’

  ‘Nothing much. Just that I don’t think Jack Lee’s alibi is anything like watertight, and that Adam Burke may indeed have been drugged by his wife. We’ve got some information suggesting that it’s perfectly possible. Oh, yes, and I told him that we now know for certain the identity of the man that Sharon had been having an affair with. Dr. Fleming admitted it to Ray earlier.’

  ‘Well, you’re really set the cat among the pigeons this time, Andy. The ACC must be really shitting himself about this, judging by the way he just spoke to me.’

  ‘I expect he is, and I’m sorry if he took it out on you, love. But we can talk about it when you get home, can’t we?’

  ‘No, love, that’s why I’m calling. We’re pulling the file from you. No further co-operation, I’m afraid. I told the ACC that you’d go public if he did that, and he said it’s what he expected you to do. I know it’s a shame, love, but you had no real chance of getting anywhere with this one, did you? Not after all these years.’

  ‘That’s what people keep telling me. But they’re wrong, Jane. Because I know that Adam Burke didn’t kill his wife, and in a few more days I’ll be able to prove it. So just a bit longer, please, love.’

  ‘No, Andy. Look, be reasonable here. Adam Burke has done his time, hasn’t he? Everyone’s forgotten about the whole thing.’

  ‘Not quite everyone.’

  ‘Everyone that matters, I mean. And I have to think about our future, Andy. I’ll be up for promotion in six months, the ACC mentioned that fact twice, and I want it, I really do. We could do with the extra cash right now, apart from anything else. So I’m sorry, love, but it’s over. Case closed. Let the dead rest in peace, Andy, and then the rest of us can get on with living, can’t we?’

  The line went dead before Hall could reply, and he slammed the palm of his hand down on the top of the steering wheel. It hurt, and he was surprised at himself. He couldn’t remember the last time that he’d shown any outward sign of anger. Certainly not when his wife had told him she was leaving, and not even when the previous ACC had told him that his application for a 12 month contract extension had been turned down.

  But by the time he was backing the car onto the drive Hall was as outwardly calm as ever, and he smiled as he lifted Grace out of the back of the car. He just couldn’t help himself. Jane would be home in an hour or so, which meant that he’d need to crack on with supper, and he had a marinade to knock up first. And while he was changing Grace he started to think about what wine would go best with their tuna steaks. Or at least he was until he started to think again about what Jane had said to him on the phone.

  ‘Bugger it’, he said out loud to Grace, ‘if your mum’s going to be so spineless then there’ll be no wine tonight, you young sausage. Not one single bloody drop.’

  Wednesday, 15th August

  Detective Inspector’s office, Kendal police station

  DI Jane Francis was trying to show DS Mann where he’d gone wrong with the crime consolidation report, and trying womanfully to resist the urge to do it herself. She was almost certain that Ian hadn’t cocked it all up deliberately, but she’d known for years that he was the wrong man to underestimate. So she was just about to try to explain it another way when the phone rang, and she picked it up eagerly. Even another shopping centre flasher would be more fun than this.

  Mann looked at her, sensing that something significant had happened, and Jane reached down and pressed the speaker button. ‘ACC Crime’ she mouthed at Mann, who bowed slightly, then listened.

  ‘Why us, sir?’ she was saying. ‘It’s the other side of the county.’

  ‘I know, but north division are short handed and your opposite number out west is on jury duty, of all things.’

  ‘I’m not complaining, sir. We’ll head over there right now. Who’s 1IC on the ground?’

  ‘Sergeant Scott. I’ve told him to keep the perimeter secure, and wait for you and Sandy Smith and the doc to turn up. But, like I say, it certainly looks like foul play. Scott says that there are red marks on the victim’s neck, anyway, and that it’s not obviously a suicide.’

  ‘Say no more, sir.’

  ‘There is just one thing, DI Francis. Am I on speaker phone?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘Well, turn it off.’ Jane did as she was told. ‘I told you, didn’t I? Close down that load of old nonsense about the Burke business, and good things would come your way. Well, now they have.’

  ‘Yes, sir. I do remember what you said.’

  ‘Good. So think of this as your reward. A nice, simple little domestic murder by the sounds of it. With a bit of luck you’ll have it sorted by tea time, and it’ll just add a little bit of gloss to your CV come the promotion board, now won’t it?’

  ‘Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.’

  As Mann drove from Kendal to Whitehaven the calls came thick and fast, and Jane took them on the speakerphone so that she wouldn’t have to update Mann after each one. The victim was a woman, fully clothed and carrying ID for Jenny Smith, with a local address, only a few hund
red yards from the graveyard in which she’d been found. The area was secure, and uniform was already canvassing in the streets between the victim’s address and the locus. The pathologist was en route, and Sandy Smith and her team arrived at the scene just before Mann had reached Keswick. The woman’s next of kin, her husband, had been contacted at work, and had been brought home. A uniformed PC was with him.

  ‘He does know to keep Mr. Smith in sight at all times?’ she asked Sgt. Scott.

  ‘He does. He’s not to turn on the washing machine, put the rubbish out, anything like that. I assume that you’ll have Sandy Smith’s merry band round there, sharpish?’

  ‘As soon as they’ve finished at the murder scene, yes. His vehicle is secure?’

  ‘Aye. Parked up outside the house. I know him, Phil Smith. Nice lad. Can’t see him doing anything like this, like.’

  Jane didn’t even bother to respond to that. Scott should know better. Evidence was the only thing that mattered, and although many of her colleagues didn’t believe her when she told them, there was plenty of research evidence suggesting that cops weren’t any better at spotting liars than anyone else. But, like driving or making love, everyone reckoned that they were way better than average - especially the male officers.

  ‘How did he take the news, the husband?’ she asked.

  ‘I told him myself, about twenty minutes ago. He just seems stunned, really. You know the way that some of them get? Just go into themselves, like. Well, he’s one of those.’

  ‘Has he asked you anything?’

  ‘Just if he can see her.’

  ‘Nothing else? How she died, where she was found, anything like that?’

  ‘No. I told him it was in the graveyard, like. He just asked if we were sure it was her. That’s all. I can check with the lad who’s with him now if you want, to see if he’s said owt else since, like.’

  ‘No, don’t do that. We’ll talk to him in an hour or two. Just makes sure that he stays put, and get food brought in for him. I don’t want him tidying up, changing his clothes, anything like that. Oh, and while I think of it, get his bins secured and removed, and maybe those of his immediate neighbours too. Get his mobile off him as well. And let us have his number and his email address as soon as you can.’

  ‘Will do.’

  Jane’s mobile didn’t ring for a couple of minutes.

  ‘Do you think I’m being too heavy-handed with the husband, Ian? Keeping tabs on him like that.’

  ‘No way. We both know that he’s our man, most likely. What age was the victim, nearly 40 wasn’t it? Mid-life crisis, I expect. She starts playing away, he finds out, kills her in that graveyard.’

  ‘Bloody hell, Ian. I’m 40 next month.’

  ‘I’ll warn Andy about what’ll likely go off then, shall I?’

  ‘I don’t think he’s got anything to worry about, love. And funny enough I’ve actually been to that very church, in Whitehaven. One of the finest Georgian interiors in England, apparently. Andy made me drag all the way up there, back when we started seeing each other. And like a fool I went.’

  ‘I bet you wouldn’t do that now, would you?’

  Jane laughed. ‘Too bloody right, mate. After a day’s work, and being up half the night with Grace, it’s all I can do to stay awake in front of the telly until after the news most nights. The thought of looking at columns, and marvelling at the proportions of a pew or something, they’re long gone. If I remember to take my make up off before I go to bed that’s a bonus, these days.’

  When they reached the scene the pathologist was kneeling next to the body, and Sandy Smith was shouting at some poor bobby who’s only offence seemed to be looking in the general direction of her crime scene. So Mann’s first task was to get a probationer, who was sensible enough to be standing well back, to nip down into Whitehaven and pick up a round of coffee and some buns. He handed over a twenty pound note, then looked into his wallet and added his emergency twenty. It would be worth it for a quieter day.

  Jane didn’t go near the scene herself, and let Doctor Beech, his assistant and the videographer do their work. She wasn’t going to spot something that they wouldn’t, and she had no intention of distracting anyone. There was plenty for her to be getting on with meanwhile, anyway. For now all that she needed to know was that there was a body, that death had not been accidental or from natural causes, and that the victim’s identity was already known with certainty.

  A uniformed Superintendent rocked up minutes after Jane had, and it took her five valuable minutes to persuade him to sod off back to where he came from. Officers of that rank just made the troops nervous, and Sergeant Scott was doing his job perfectly well without senior management oversight. So, with the Super safely back in his car and away, Mann and Jane walked from the graveyard to the street where the victim’s husband lived. It took two minutes. But even so Scott didn’t have enough people to canvas the surrounding houses quickly enough, so Jane phoned the ACC. She had a feeling that he’d be keen to help, and sure enough he signed off on half a dozen extra officers for three days, with a resource review thereafter. When she rang off and told Ian Mann the news he looked at her oddly, as if he suspected her of witchcraft.

  Scott took a call on his radio as the three of them stood close to the victim’s house, then turned back to Mann and Jane.

  ‘Manual strangulation, that’s a definite. Unlikely that the body was moved post mortem, and we’re looking at death last night, or very early this morning.’

  ‘All right’, said Jane. ‘So let’s have officers on the streets all round here from eight o’clock until the small hours tonight. I want everyone spoken to, even the nutters, and I want all of their details captured and checked.’

  ‘Will do.’

  ‘Right, let’s get back to the locus, and save Mr. Smith for later. With a bit of luck a strong coffee and a bit of sugar and fat will have got our Sandy back under some kind of control.’

  For the next three hours the crime scene ran as efficiently as Jane had ever seen. The resourcing cuts had already been deep, and there were more to come, but even after more than a decade in the job she was still impressed by how carefully and skilfully everyone worked. Whether it was simple pride in the job, or the urge to do right by the victim and catch the killer she was never quite sure, and she didn’t much care. Because she knew why she did it. She would do whatever it took, no matter how little she saw of Grace and Andy in the coming days, because there was a killer to be caught.

  When the body had finally been removed, and Sandy and her team were hard at work in the area where it had lain, as dead as the ground beneath it, Jane and Mann walked back to the victim’s house. As they walked, at Jane’s usual brisk pace, Mann read out an email that had come in from one of the local CID DCs, who had already started on the background checks.

  ‘He’s a plumber, Phil Smith. Used to work down at Sellafield, but he lost his job. Don’t know why yet, but it was about a year back. He’s been doing odd jobs since, cash in hand stuff mostly, and signing on sometimes. No previous, not flagged on any of the databases.’ Mann paused. ‘So at least we can be pretty sure we’re not dealing with extremists here, Jane.’

  She laughed, briefly. She was well used to his deadpan dryness.

  ‘Yes, Ian, it’s always good to eliminate a possibility, no matter how remote. But a word to the wise, mate. At present he’s just a bereaved husband and a person of interest, that’s all. You hear what I’m saying?’

  ‘I’ve got you, love. I’ll be on my best behaviour, you watch.’

  ‘All right. You lead then. You might have a better chance of establishing a rapport.’

  ‘What, because he’s a plumber and I was a squaddie?’

  ‘Don’t bother with all that chippy crap, Ian, because it won’t cut it with me. You would have chucked yourself on an IED rather than become an officer, we both know that. So have at him, but play nice, OK?’

  When Phil Smith opened the door Jane couldn’t help bu
t look at his hands. They looked strong enough to strangle, or maybe they were merely strong enough to plumb. She dismissed the thought anyway, and tried to gauge his demeanour as they walked through to the sitting room and sat down. The uniformed officer who was in there nodded, and left the room. Ten seconds later Jane heard the kettle being filled. Good man, she thought.

  Before the teas arrived Ian started to explain to Phil Smith what was going on. Where his wife’s body had been taken, when he’d be required to identify it, and that it wouldn’t be possible to start making any arrangements for the funeral just yet. He made it sound like an administrative process, but more importantly he made it sound as if Phil wasn’t a suspect.

  When the PC brought in the drinks Mann put his down untouched.

  ‘You do understand, Phil, that we have to ask you a few questions? At this stage we’re trying to find out all we can. Now, are you up to it?’

  ‘I’m not sure.’

  ‘It would be a big help. Come on, help us out here.’ The smile quickly faded from Mann’s voice, and Jane hoped that he wasn’t about to undo all his good work.

  ‘All right. I want to help all I can, like. What do you want to know?’

  ‘When did you last see your wife? What time was it?’

  ‘What time? I don’t know.’

  ‘Roughly, then.’

  ‘It’s been a week, at least. I’m not even sure what day it was, to tell the truth. But it would have been early evening, about tea time. Six, say.’

  ‘So your wife wasn’t living here? Is that what you’re saying?’

  ‘Aye. She moved out a week or so since. Only temporary, it was.’