Snarl

by Celina Grace

  The pause was there; infinitesimal, but there. His heart sank. Then Angie said coolly, “Kitten? I haven’t seen him in months. What do you want him for?”

  It was an innocent enough question, but there was something in her inflection that made Stuart’s heart spike again.

  “Nothing much,” he said, as casually as he could. “I knew him a long time ago, at HQ. Just wanted to catch up with him, if he’s around.”

  “HQ? What’s that?”

  His heart dipped again. He remembered Rosie’s photograph of her, with Kitten by her side.

  “Just a place. So, you haven’t seen him, or anything? I used to have his number, but I lost it.”

  Angie got up and started pulling on her clothes, the same white vest and black combat trousers that he’d seen her wear before. “He changes it all the time,” she said. There was a tiny mirror hanging by the door and she took a brief, assessing look into it, smoothing her flat cap of hair back into place.

  Stuart knew when to not push things. “Thanks for coming over,” he said. “Your art is fantastic.”

  She gave him a brief smile, which he saw in her reflection in the mirror. Then she snatched up her bag and was out the door, closing it behind her in a movement that wasn’t quite a slam.

  *

  Kate interviewed Sarah Brennan at the laboratories the next day. Expecting her, Sarah ushered her into a small office that stood off the corridor from the main laboratory and shut the door.

  “Parvinder’s ears are on stalks,” Sarah said, pulling a swivel chair forward for Kate to sit in. “I thought we could probably do with some privacy.”

  “Yes, indeed.” Kate settled herself and began. “Sarah, when we met before, you mentioned something about Jack Dorsey and money – specifically that he was worried about money. Can you tell me anything else about that?”

  Sarah hadn’t sat down, possibly because there wasn’t another chair. She rested against the edge of a desk, her arms folded across her chest. She was composed today, no sign of tears, her voice quiet but firm. “I already said, it was just a throwaway comment. I don’t really know what I can tell you. It was just one conversation we had, and not much of anything of significance was said.”

  “I’ll be the judge of that,” Kate said, as nicely as she could. She leant forward a little. “What exactly did Jack say?”

  Sarah frowned. “I can’t remember it word for word.”

  “Just tell me what you can remember.”

  Sarah’s gaze dropped. “We – we were in bed. Just talking, you know, lying next to one another. Jack went quiet and I – God forgive me, I thought he was thinking of Madeleine – but when I asked, he said something like ‘Sorry love, it’s just work. There’s something not quite right at work.’ And of course, I said, ‘What do you mean?’ thinking he’d run into difficulties with the new formula and I was feeling a bit miffed that he hadn’t said anything to me before, you know, professionally. And then he said something like ‘No, it’s money. Just money stuff.’”

  Kate paused in her scribbling. “That’s it?”

  Sarah shrugged. “That was pretty much it. Oh, and he said something about auditing, or auditors, or something like that.”

  “He never mentioned this again?”

  “No.”

  “When was this? Can you remember?”

  Sarah shifted her position and re-crossed her arms. “I can’t be sure, exactly. Since you asked me last, I’ve been thinking about it and it must have been a few months ago. It wasn’t that long ago, I know that.”

  Kate paused. Something wasn’t adding up here. “Sarah,” she said slowly. “You told me that your affair with Jack Dorsey finished last autumn. So what were you doing, making pillow talk a few months ago?”

  She held Sarah’s gaze until the other woman’s eyes wavered and dropped.

  “Sarah?”

  Sarah raised a hand to her face, dropping her head forward. “Things sort of started up again,” she said, in what was almost a mumble. “We just – we just couldn’t seem to stop ourselves.”

  “So, tell me exactly, were you and Jack still seeing each other when he died?”

  Sarah continued to hide her face and Kate repeated her name sharply. The other woman’s head snapped up sharply. Her eyes were brimming with unshed tears. After a moment, she nodded, causing the tears to spill over. She swiped at her own cheeks angrily, wiping them away.

  Kate sighed inwardly. “Did Madeline know?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “You don’t think so? What did Jack say?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean,” said Kate, unable to keep the sarcasm from her voice this time. “Was there going to be another heroic casting aside of his lover for the good of the family? Or did he learn from the last time and decide discretion was the better part of valour?”

  Sarah flushed and bit her lip. “He didn’t say,” she said after a moment.

  Kate could see her trying to get angry and decide that it possibly wasn’t the brightest thing to do. “What were you doing on the night of Thursday the ninth of May?”

  Sarah blinked. “What do you mean?”

  “Can you tell me what you were doing on the night of Thursday the ninth of May, specifically between the times of eleven pm and two thirty am?”

  Kate knew Sarah’s alibi had already been checked, for the times of both the crimes, but she wanted to see what she said. Sarah told her more or less exactly what she’d said before in her statement; she’d visited her elderly mother and stayed the night, the two of them having dinner at home and watching television, before bed at eleven pm. Kate nodded, satisfied. She knew from reading the CCTV reports that Sarah’s car had remained outside her mother’s address all night.

  “I need to talk to Alex Hargreaves,” Kate said, getting up. Sarah moved back a little. She was holding herself rigid, her face hard with the effort of appearing composed. “Do you happen to know if he’s here?”

  Sarah cleared her throat. “He’s not, as it happens. He’s taking a few days’ leave.”

  “Perhaps you should do the same,” said Kate. She said it gently, but the other woman flinched, still raw with revelations. Kate said goodbye quietly and left the office, shutting the door behind her and leaving Sarah Brennan inside, silent and staring off into space.

  Chapter Seventeen

  “Morning, team,” Anderton bellowed, crashing through the door in customary style. “I hope you’re all feeling bright-eyed and bushy-tailed this morning, as we have a lot to get through. Wake up, young Theo—” he caught the new DS in a huge yawn. “Late night, was it? Chuh, you young things. Anyway, settle yourselves and let’s get started.”

  Kate sat up keenly. Again, she felt that welcome sense of enthusiasm, of excitement, almost; that things were finally moving and she was part of it.

  Anderton indicated a large pile of cardboard folders on his desk. “Right, PM results are back, as well as various forensic reports from the crime scene – the Dorsey crime scene. Take a while to familiarise yourself with what’s in them, but I’ll summarise for you; Dorsey died of multiple stab wounds, inflicted by a right-handed person. He had defence wounds on both hands and forearms, indicating he was facing his attacker at the time. Darryl Timms, the security guard, died of a single incision to the neck, also from a right handed person. No defence wounds. He was attacked from the side.”

  “What about Madeline Dorsey?” asked Kate, for the benefit of the team. She and Anderton had already discussed it beforehand.

  “The doctors have indicated that there’s a possibility that her injuries could be self-inflicted. Could be.”

  There was a brief silence in the room. Anderton gestured to Kate. “Kate also has some information that might be pertinent. Take it away, Kate.”

  Kate cleared her throat. “Sarah Brennan’s affair with Jack Dorsey wasn’t over when he was killed. She confirmed to me yesterday that they were still seeing each other.”

  Theo wh
istled softly. “So, did his wife find out? Is that what you’re saying?”

  Anderton hoisted himself onto the edge of his desk. “I’m not saying anything, I’m just putting the facts out there. Madeline Dorsey found out her husband was having an affair in the late summer of last year.”

  “He told her,” Kate broke in.

  “Yes, he told her. Now, we have her sister’s statement that Madeline reacted very badly to this unwelcome news. And what’s more interesting, is that there didn’t seem to be any sort of long-term fallout from Dorsey’s revelation. By that, I mean there wasn’t any divorce, or talk of divorce, or Dorsey moving out, or anything like that, that we know of.”

  Jane raised a hand. “Could that be because Madeline Dorsey was afraid of losing her husband? Might she have just turned a blind eye or told herself that it didn’t matter because now it was over?”

  Anderton nodded. “Could be. God, I wish that woman would get better, we’d have all the answers we need, then… ” Kate raised a censorious eyebrow at his apparent callousness and he caught her eye and grinned. “Of course, we hope she recovers for her own sake, as well. Happy, Kate?”

  Kate half-smiled. “Sir, can I just clarify something?” she asked. Anderton nodded. “Am I right in thinking that you’re inferring that if Madeline Dorsey found out that her husband was having an affair again that… well, she could have – might have – reacted violently?”

  “It’s possible,” said Anderton. “In an infinite universe, everything is possible.”

  Olbeck was shaking his head. “I’m not buying it,” he said. “Attack her husband, okay, maybe. But to then kill the security guard at the same time? It doesn’t make sense. The timing’s all wrong. Darryl Timms died first, according to the reports. I just cannot see a nice, middle-class mother of two cold-bloodedly deciding to murder her husband and getting rid of the only possible witness first.” He strode up to the photograph of Timms’ body and pointed. “Look, look at that incision. That’s almost, well, professional.”

  “Exactly,” said Anderton. “We are still mired in confusion here. We’ve got motive for Madeline Dorsey, but there’s too many conflicting factors for us to comfortably be able to point to her as our prime suspect. And you’re forgetting something else.”

  Everyone looked at him expectantly. He jumped off the desk and joined Olbeck at the whiteboards, tapping another crime scene photograph. “What about that?”

  His finger rested on the photograph of the word written on the wall of the Dorsey’s drawing room in blood. Killer.

  “A bluff?” suggested Rav, tentatively.

  “Mmm… possibly.” Anderton didn’t look convinced. “If we accept Madeline Dorsey is the killer, then surely that means the bombing of Michael Frank’s car is actually unrelated to this crime. Does that sound likely to you all?”

  There was another silence.

  “Anyway,” said Anderton, as they all stayed close-mouthed. “I’ve got something else for you, on that. We have a name from our man in the field.”

  He held up a print out, an arrest report with the usual mug shot in the top left corner.

  “Guy Wade, AKA Gerry Ward, AKA ‘Kitten’. He’s an ex-soldier, served in Iraq and Afghanistan. Dishonourably discharged from the army in 2010. Has been arrested numerous times for violence at demonstrations. Strong links with the Animal Liberation Front. Most definitely someone we want pulled in for interview, under caution if necessary. Now, we just have to find the bugger.”

  There was a noticeable stir of excitement in the room. Anderton smiled, conscious of it. “All right, team. Top priority – find Guy Wade and bring him in. I want Sarah Brennan to make another statement. If anyone else has anything to add, let me know. Got it?”

  There was a flurry of nods.

  “Great,” said Anderton. “Off you go, then.”

  The room hummed with that concentrated, silent busyness of a group of people intent and focused on their roles. Kate took the print out on Guy Wade and began to scour the multiple entries documenting his arrests and cautions on the relevant databases. At last, she felt like she was actually doing something positive. She found a name and address that she knew would be useful and tapped keys to print out the details, muttering “Yes, yes, yes,” under her breath.

  She looked up as someone paused by her desk.

  “Got a last known address,” said Theo, waving a sheet of paper in front of Kate’s nose. She batted it away.

  “Fine, I’ll top that with the army contact who headed the regiment that Wade used to be belong to.”

  “We’ll do mine first, right?”

  Kate sighed inwardly. “If we must.”

  “Come on, let’s go, then.” Theo was almost bouncing on his feet. Despite herself, Kate was amused.

  “I’m driving,” Theo warned.

  Kate sighed. “Of course you are.”

  She waved at Olbeck as they left the office, squashing down the wish that he were coming with her, rather than Theo. As well as being a cocky little so-and-so, Theo liked to listen to rap and RnB as he drove, which gave Kate a headache. Would it be rude, she wondered, to wear her iPod on the journey?

  The traffic was fairly heavy on the way out of Abbeyford – the council were engaged in their seemingly interminable plan of digging up every available road to cause maximum inconvenience to all with the resulting roadworks. Theo said as much to Kate, except in words that were somewhat shorter and rather more Anglo Saxon in tone.

  “Yes, I know,” said Kate. The car inched forward another foot. “Where are we actually going?”

  “Swindon. The landlady of the flat that Wade used to rent lives there. He skipped out owing a few months’ rent, apparently.”

  Kate was flicking through the file they’d already amassed on Guy Wade. “This guy has a serious arrest record. GBH, ABH, civil disorder, resisting arrest…”

  “Yeah,” said Theo, finally pulling onto the motorway. “I know. Person of Interest, yeah?”

  “Mmm.” Kate watched the green banks of the motorway roll past. If Wade was the man they were seeking, they needed to find some hard evidence to link him to both or either crime. Just being a criminally violent thug wouldn’t be enough, unfortunately.

  Chapter Eighteen

  The house where their suspect used to live was in the middle of a tired estate of mid-century houses, most of which had probably been built as social housing after the Second World War. Here and there were pretty front gardens and a brave – and in the context, somewhat pathetic – attempt to smarten up the exterior of a house. These few well-kept houses stood out in contrast to the dirty pebbledash, broken windows and rubbish-filled front gardens of most of the others. Kate had grown up on an estate not too dissimilar. She felt the same wave of depression wash over her as she had when she used to visit her mother. At least their estrangement meant she didn’t have to do that anymore. Silver linings, and all that…

  The landlady, Mrs Grenson, was a fat, blousy woman, with greying blonde hair scraped back into a scrappy ponytail and a lit cigarette dangling permanently from her fingers. The building in which she lived had once been a three bedroom house; she now occupied the ground floor, renting out the rooms upstairs as bedsits. Guy Ward had apparently lived there for six months, before disappearing eight weeks earlier.

  “What was he like?” asked Kate, trying not to breathe in any more smoke than she had to, a hopeless task.

  Mrs Grenson shrugged. “He was quiet, I’ll give him that. Didn’t make much trouble. Only thing I had to take him up on was the pets. I said no pets, see, and he still brought them in. A kitten and an effing great rabbit. Made a right mess of the carpet, chewed it all up.”

  “Did he ever have any visitors, people to stay?”

  “Not that I ever saw.”

  “Do you know if he had any family?”

  “Nah.”

  “I don’t suppose he left any forwarding address or anything like that?”

  Mrs Grenson laughed a cynical laugh
. “Nah,” she said, again.

  “Do you have any tenants now?” asked Theo, as Kate was overtaken by a coughing fit. Mrs Grenson looked at her in disgust, as if she were putting it on.

  “Just one. ‘E’s up there now, if you want to talk to ‘im. Number one.”

  They escaped the downstairs flat thoughtfully and climbed the stairs. The smell of smoke gradually lessened, but was replaced by others just as unpleasant. Kate took a quick look into the bathroom and wished she hadn’t.

  The tenant of room number one took a long time to answer the door. When he did so, he looked at the police in sleepy confusion, which swiftly became panic as he realised who they were. Noting his bloodshot eyes and the reek of marijuana smoke that came from the room, Kate raised her hand in a placating gesture. “We’re not going to arrest you for having a spliff,” she said. “So you can calm down. We need to talk to you about Guy Wade.”

  The tenant, who turned out to be called Paul, looked to be about twenty two; he was skinny and pale, like someone who hadn’t seen much daylight recently. He claimed firstly not to know who they were talking about, but after being shown Wade’s photograph, foggy comprehension dawned.

  “Oh, that guy. He was a nutter. Seriously weird eyes, like, I dunno, dead or something.”

  “Were you friends? Did you spend any time with him?”

  “That guy didn’t have any friends, I’m telling you. No one ever came to see him. He just used to spend his time watching these well loud films or porn. I’m telling you.”

  “How do you know?”

  “These flats are so shit, you can hear everything through the walls, man.”

  “Did you ever hear him talk on the phone, perhaps?”

  Paul sniffed. “Dunno. Oh yeah, maybe a couple of times. He was mumbling though, couldn’t really hear what he was saying.”

  They persisted for a few more questions, but it was obvious that neither Paul nor Mrs Grenson could help them any further. Returning to the car, Kate sniffed her shirt sleeve, grimacing.

  “Come on,” said Theo, “That wasn’t the worst house you’ve ever been in, not by a long shot.”