She was just about to go and talk to Helen about Jarvis when Sergeant Kirk appeared by her desk, a thick, padded envelope in his left hand as he tapped it on the palm of his free hand.
“Got a delivery for you,” Kirk said, his eyes never straying from the level of her chest.
Noticing the slight whistle that accompanied his speech, she focused on him a little harder. It reminded her of something, a whistling kettle maybe. A sneer soon appeared on his face; the result of her staring, she thought.
“Thanks,” she said, trying to keep her voice light as she reached out to take it from him. Realising that he was reluctant to let go so easily, she tugged a little harder, yanking it from his fingers. A grin developed on his face, but it didn’t seem genuine, not like Helen’s. Kirk’s eyes were hard as they looked at her.
“No problem,” he said before walking back out of the office.
Shrugging off the encounter, she read the words printed in black marker pen on the front of the envelope:
FAO DS Wolf
The E was missing, an easy mistake to make over the phone. The CCTV footage, she hoped as she opened the envelope, allowing a bunch of DVDs to fall across her desk. As she sifted through them, she could see they were labelled front and back and numbered. With only two disks per camera, either there wasn’t much footage, or the resolution was going to be poor.
Finding some blank disks in a cupboard, she set up her computer to copy the first one before heading to Helen’s office. She found her making notes from her computer.
“Guv, CCTV’s arrived. I’m just making copies for you.”
“Good. The arson report has arrived, too.” Helen shuffled the paperwork, putting it in order before handing it over.
“Anything?” she asked, figuring Helen had already been through it with a fine-tooth comb. Scanning the report, she could see a layout of the ground floor showing the position of Sandy’s body in relation to the point of origin.
“Burn patterns show that the point of origin was the stairwell at the front of the house. Petrol confirmed as the accelerant.”
“So,” she pondered, remembering the scene as she’d seen it several days ago, “the body was almost hidden behind those boxes.” She checked the report. “There was no accelerant found near it. So, it was either hidden by the murderer or protected by the fire-starter.” She looked at Helen for conformation.
“Two separate crimes, like we said earlier.”
Nodding, she pursed her lips, appreciating Helen’s recognition of her minor input, but it was a depressing thought that at least two people had known that Sandy was dead and hadn’t inform the police. Looking back down at the report, she read aloud, “Cigarette butts found at the scene.” She looked up and said, “We should get a DNA match…when we get a suspect that is,” and then closed the file.
“We need the coroner to give us some kind of timeframe in which Sandy was killed.”
Nodding again, she kept hold of the report to read it in more detail later. “I’ll drop the CCTV disks off when they’re done.”
Chapter 6
She leaned against the doorway of Helen’s office. The morning din of the officers behind her had obviously disguised her approach. Helen looked deep in thought as she read through some paperwork. How many hours of the CCTV footage had Helen watched last night?
She continued her scrutiny as Helen gripped the back of her neck. She seemed to be massaging, kneading the muscles as she read. She speculated at the number of inappropriate behaviour policies it would breach to offer her a neck rub.
It surprised her how attracted she was to Helen; she wasn’t her usual type, if she even had one. She hadn’t dated a lot lately, with only a couple of short-term relationships to speak of. They were mostly with women she had met during her misspent youth, before she found the straight and narrow, so to speak. Helen was intellectual, funny, and she had a presence, a way with people she could only wish to attain someday in the very distant future. She was out of her league, but it didn’t stop her wanting to touch Helen, feel the softness of her skin against her own.
Helen shifted in her seat as she sifted through the reports on her desk. She must have finally felt eyes on her as she rummaged, a small, probably unconscious smile was on her lips as their gazes met.
“Virginia!”
“Morning, Guv. Couple of things to report: Richard Jarvis, a fifty-three-year-old architect, has been reported missing by his mother.”
“Was that the woman in here the other day?” Helen asked, putting her paperwork down. “I’ve seen your missing persons’ report. Is there a reason why you haven’t requested Uniform take a look a look around his home address already?”
Nodding, she hesitated for a moment. Not only did this woman have eyes and ears on the street, but there were squealers in the station too. “His mother left me a set of keys to his house, so I figured someone should go take a look, see if there’s anything suspicious. I’ve put out a request on Automatic Number Plate Recognition for his car and contacted the Met Police, circulating his picture to see if he’s turned up anywhere in London.”
“London? Why would he be there? When was he last seen?”
“The mother saw him almost three weeks ago before she went on holiday. When he didn’t call or turn up after she got back, she went around to his house and called his work. They said he was at a conference in London, but when I called the hotel, they said he’d never checked in, so he could have been missing for up to three weeks.”
“Shit! We’re already on the back foot; three weeks is a long time. Someone must have seen him in that time, or at least missed him, apart from his bloody mother.”
She nervously shuffled her feet. She didn’t want to be on the end of Helen’s anger.
“Any previous?”
Her jaw clenched. She didn’t like being called out for her lack of attention when there were far more important jobs to be done. “Nope, nothing.”
Helen nodded in reply.
“I’m waiting to get access to his phone and bank records to see when they were last used.”
“Still? Bit slow off the mark, aren’t you?”
“Sorry Guv. I got a bit distracted by the CCTV,” she quickly deflected.
“Okay. Anything else?”
“Our firebug has been out again. Another fire reported—an abandoned car. No injuries or bodies this time.”
Helen blew out a long breath as she sat back in her chair.
“I hate to say it, Virginia, but this place was pretty quiet till you arrived. Now we’ve got a dead body, an arsonist on the loose, and a missing architect.”
Before Kate had a chance to reply, PC Davies came running up behind her, almost bowling her over as he stuck his head into Helen’s office.
Helen glared at the intruder.
“Guv, we’ve got a formal ID on Sandy from his fingerprints.”
Helen saw the look of glee on the officer’s face; she knew it was going to be juicy whatever it was. “Let’s have it before you piss your pants.”
“Full name Michael Thomas Sandwell, a.k.a. Tommy Sandwell, a.k.a. Sandy.” Davies flashed the printout of the DVLA photograph before walking across the main office to the white board Kate had used earlier to note the main points that Dr Nicholls had given them yesterday, as well as to pin up stills from her unauthorised video.
Helen quickly moved to the main office, watching as the officer used a marker pen to write the various names below the new photograph he’d attached of Sandy. The DVLA image looked to be at least twenty years old. Sandy had been an attractive man in his day, before the streets had ravaged his body. He had the look of a young Harrison Ford in the seventies, pre-Star Wars stardom.
Davies turned for a second to make eye contact with the occupants of the room before he wrote more information on the board.
“Date of birth, 4 March
1961; date of death, 20 August 1996. Aged thirty-five.”
“What?” Helen asked, looking away from the photograph. She was beginning to sound like Kate.
“Tommy Sandwell was declared dead by his parents after being missing for over seven years. The officer assigned to the case presumed he had committed suicide after he was questioned over accounting fraud, although it was never proven. Over three hundred grand went missing from the firm. He disappeared after being released on bail pending further enquiries.”
“That’s when his fingerprints were taken,” Kate confirmed. “He doesn’t have any previous?” She took the seat at her desk.
The officer shook his head. “Nothing, just the suspicion of fraud.”
“Fraud? Where?” Helen asked as she rubbed at sore eyes.
“At the family business, County Biscuits. Sandwell’s father owned the company, and Tommy had worked in accounting in preparation for taking over, apparently.”
“County Biscuits? As in Treacle Dodgers and Lemon Creams?” Kate asked. “So you’re saying that tramp was going to run a multimillion-pound company?”
“Yep,” Davies confirmed with a slightly smug grin, clearly—and understandably—proud of his efforts.
“He wasn’t homeless then!” Helen voiced her annoyance to both of them as she sat on the edge of the nearest desk, struggling to take in the information. She knew a police officer of her experience shouldn’t be shocked by this kind of revelation; she’d seen it all, over the years—mindless violence, cruelty beyond imagination. But this time, it was someone she knew. It was hard to accept that the Sandy she knew was not only heir to the Sandwell fortune but had been declared dead almost twenty years ago.
“Are his parents still alive?” she asked, hoping to get hold of some solid ground.
“Mother, Diane Sandwell, died two years ago. The father, Johnathan, still lives in the family home.” Davies handed Helen a sheet of paper containing the address.
She scanned the information on the page. The address was just outside Manchester. She looked over at Kate and said, “We need to pay him a visit,” then got up from the table, directing her attention to the uniformed officer. “Good work. Now I want you to find everything you can on Sandy’s disappearance, and the case against him.”
Helen’s upright position gave her an advantage. As she stood over Kate’s desk, she could see the woman’s shirt had flapped open a little, exposing the curve of her right breast encased in a light-blue, lacy bra. She reluctantly looked away, blinking as she feigned interest in the paperwork scattered around Kate’s desk. Once her focus returned, she placed the address on Kate’s desk and spoke in a low voice. “I need to make a couple of calls before we go. Don’t want to upset the locals.”
“O-Okay, I’ll dig up what I can on the biscuit business. Give me a, erm, a shout when you’re ready.”
She frowned. Why was Kate fumbling over her words? Was her explanation unclear?
Helen returned to her office to gather her thoughts, not the least of which was the thought that this probably wasn’t the best time to be ogling Kate’s breasts. Had she caught her? Was that why she seemed freaked out? Their relationship seemed to have turned a positive corner since the blowout from the other day, but was Kate the right person to be getting involved with? Scratch that, was it right to even consider getting involved with her? She wasn’t blind to the hints being sent her way, but Kate was only here on secondment; she’d be gone again before Helen knew it. That road was just asking for trouble.
Taking a seat at her desk, Helen realised she had another meeting at The Oaks this evening to discuss Julia’s medication and treatment again. They’d never make it back in time. She couldn’t miss the meeting, which meant delegating the trip to see Mr Sandwell, but she didn’t want to do that either. A road trip with Kate could prove risky considering the way Kate looked at her sometimes, but what was life without a few risks? She wanted to know about Sandy and his life before the streets first-hand, not read it in a report when it landed on her desk.
Helen picked up the phone and called the Mossley Police. She let them know they would be paying Mr Sandwell a visit tomorrow to inform him that his son had been found dead. Next, she called her friendly fire investigations officer. She scolded herself to make sure she didn’t mention his estranged wife; she needed to keep him sweet right now.
“Hello, Graham.”
He released a long breath into the phone. He obviously didn’t want to talk to her.
She pressed on. “The fire you were called to last night, does it look like the same arsonist as the house?”
“Preliminary findings show petrol was used as an accelerant, so looks like it.”
She ignored his irritated tone as she made a note to ask Davies to access any CCTV in the area around the garage and to canvas the locals for any theft of petrol from sheds or cars. The petrol station at the supermarket was the obvious choice, but they’d already checked their CCTV after the first few fires, and asked them to contact the police if they noticed anything suspicious.
Helen tried a little bit of charm. “Could you maybe send me a copy of the report as soon as you’re done?” She felt a little queasy at having to sweet-talk him, but she knew there’d be pressure to close this case soon.
“You’ll get it when I finish it.”
Helen swallowed back the desire to call him the arrogant prick that he was. “Thanks.”
The phone went back down in its cradle. Helen looked out into the main office, her gaze finding the board they’d all just been looking at. She’d moved to Warner for several reasons, one of them being a lower crime rate. Kate walked in front of the board, breaking her staring contest. She visually travelled the length of Kate’s body, dressed in snug-fitting dark jeans and a white shirt. Her hair was held in a loose ponytail; she looked sexy. Helen covered her mouth, only just preventing any drool from escaping on to her desk. She thought back to yesterday. After seeing Dr Nicholls, Richards probably wouldn’t have eaten for the rest of the day. And although she’d gotten used to it over the years, it was never easy. It was actually refreshing having a different sergeant, someone a little less conventional, even if she was prickly. Attractive, but prickly.
She mentally berated herself for continuing with the nickname, but ribbing Kate was fast becoming her favourite pastime.
Chapter 7
“Ready?” Helen had returned to Kate’s desk. This time, she managed to keep her gaze on the computer screen. Kate had done a map search for the Sandwell address.
“Sure. According to Google, it’ll take us a couple of hours to get here.” There was a little too much glee in her voice.
“I figured it would. I said we’d go tomorrow. I have to be back for a meeting later.”
“Okay.” Kate frowned. “So, where are we going?”
“The Jarvis house. Remember our missing architect?” Helen flashed her another grin.
“Right, right,” Kate answered somewhat less enthusiastically and pulled a set of keys out of her desk drawer.
The satnav said this was their destination. Helen gave the house a once-over. Richard Jarvis was obviously not short of a penny or two, judging by the size of his large, double-fronted house with attached garage. It had its own double-gated driveway, allowing cars to pull round to the front door like all the upmarket hotels.
“Someone’s done well for themselves,” Kate said as she released her seatbelt.
Helen caught the frustrated tone in her words. She also noticed her avoiding her eyes, choosing to focus on the keys she’d just pulled from her pocket instead as they approached the front door with the overhead porch.
Helen held up a hand, gently gripping Kate’s elbow.
“Wait. Let’s check for a break-in first.”
“Right, Guv. Sorry.”
Helen looked at Kate for a long moment. She didn’t know her very well
yet, but she could see from the heavy frown forming on her forehead there was something on her mind.
“What’s up? Do you think we’re wasting our time here?” Her tone was a little sharper than she intended.
“No.” Kate held her position near the front door. She took a breath, then relented. “It’s just… I spoke to his mother, and she seemed like the overbearing type, like maybe he just needs a break from her and doesn’t want to tell her where he is for a while.”
“Okay,” Helen yielded. So maybe they were wasting their time, but they still had a duty to do their job. “So, we’ll just take a quick look and be on our way.”
“I’ll check the back,” Kate offered, handing Helen the keys before making her way along the front of the house.
Helen watched as Kate passed a stray green wheelie bin in front of the garage. The other two bins were more ordered to the right of the garage. Kate disappeared down an alley between the garage and a high timber fence. Returning her focus to the façade of the house, Helen scanned the windows and door, making sure they were all still intact. Nothing stood out to her.
Once she’d moved back to the door, she selected a Yale-type key. Pushing it into the modern lever lock, the door opened effortlessly. Inside, the house was cool, the hallway spacious, with closed doors on either side; a pile of mail and menus from various takeaways had been pushed through the letterbox. She detected a slightly musty smell as she made her way down the hallway towards the light coming from the back of the house. She came face to face with a large kitchen window exposing the expanse of garden beyond. The warm spring sunshine bathed the terraced borders and shrubbery. The garden was one of those that seemed to disappear into infinity as the trees and shrubs mingled, obliterating any sense of neighbours beyond. The first flush of spring was visible with the flashes of colour in the flowerbeds. Jarvis was obviously green fingered—or maybe his gardener was—as Helen realised it wasn’t the sort of garden that could be left for a couple of weeks at a time. Someone had definitely been here.
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