Road Closed

by Leigh Russell

  50

  Scene Of Crime

  Peterson set to work finding out as much as he could about the car involved in the fatal accident. Road Traffic Control had received no reports of a road traffic collision and had recorded the incident as a failure to stop. The SOCO team had found a few shards of glass which they thought came from a smashed headlight. There was evidence to suggest the vehicle was black, and Peterson was hoping the splinters of glass picked up at the scene would enable him to track down the model.

  ‘Find it,’ Geraldine said. ‘Even if it’s stolen –’

  ‘Which it probably was –’

  ‘It might have been driven away from a car park, somewhere with CCTV.’

  The sergeant nodded. He turned back to the images on his screen. ‘Once I’ve identified it, I’ll check reports of vehicles stolen in the past day or two,’ he went on. ‘With luck, we might find the vehicle abandoned somewhere.’

  Geraldine nodded. Dr Talbot was examining the body, Peterson was tracking down the vehicle. This time, with luck, not even Bronxy would be able to protect Callum Martin.

  Geraldine looked up when James Ryder entered her office.

  He didn’t return her weary smile. ‘Is it a coincidence, the old guy doing a vanishing act just now?’ he asked. They were all frustrated that Bert Cartwright had not been found.

  ‘The landlord said he’s always there, day in day out. And he’s not at home sick, sir.’

  ‘And he’s not in hospital,’ Ryder said. ‘What does he know about Martin, and where the hell is he?’ Bert Cartwright’s description had been circulated to every force in the country. ‘I’m worried. Geraldine. I’m beginning to think something’s happened to him.’ He sighed. ‘I’m thinking of organising a search of the woods near the old man’s flat.’ A neighbour thought she might have seen the old man walking towards the canal with an unidentified companion on Monday evening. It wasn’t much to go on, but Geraldine thought the DCI was right to follow it up.

  At two o’clock Geraldine went out for a coffee. She sat in Starbucks, trying to clear her head. Something had to break soon. Whatever else happened, they couldn’t let Martin walk. But they had nothing to connect him to the hit and run. She considered the possibility that Maggie Palmer’s death so soon after the police questioned her had been a coincidence. But the pathologist had reported that the car had driven backwards and forwards over the body several times. If it had been an accident, the driver would either have stopped, or else panicked and accelerated off in a hurry.

  While Geraldine had been on a break, a report had been passed on about a stolen car. Geraldine and Peterson hurried off to speak to the owner. He was pacing in his front garden as they drew up.

  ‘Has it been found yet?’ he demanded as they approached.

  ‘I’m afraid not, sir,’ Peterson replied.

  The car was a 2002 black Honda Accord. A quick email had confirmed that the tyre tread of the model matched a track they had found at the scene of the hit and run. The black paintwork was a further indication that the stolen vehicle could have been used to run over Maggie Palmer.

  ‘Where did you leave the car?’ Geraldine exchanged a glance with Peterson. If the car theft had been caught on CCTV, they might make a quick arrest. They could have it tied up before the local paper even went to print. She could feel her heart beating. Mr Ellis had left his Honda in an open air supermarket car park near the shopping centre in Harchester. ‘Not the multi storey?’ Mr Ellis shook his head. There were security cameras at the entrance and exit to the open air car park, and an attendant, but the main area wasn’t overlooked.

  ‘I was at the supermarket with the wife,’ Mr Ellis said. ‘What a nightmare. She had the kid in a buggy, I was pushing the trolley. A load of stuff. I take her once a week to stock up. It’s not easy for her, what with the kid and everything. She’s not been well. So we come out with all the stuff and the car’s not there. I thought I must’ve forgotten where I left it, you know how it is. We walked around for a bit, then I left Sarah waiting with the buggy and the trolley under the covered walkway because it started raining. I walked round the whole car park twice but it wasn’t there. It wasn’t anywhere. I told the manager and we put Sarah in a taxi home with the kid. The manager was great. They’re delivering the stuff for us. He even stored the frozen stuff… He said they’d take care of everything…’ He sighed. ‘But he’s not going to bring my car back, is he? They ought to have proper security, don’t you think? Now what am I supposed to do?’

  Geraldine went through the story again, making a note of the time the Ellis family had arrived at the car park, and the exact position of the car, which had been parked in a corner near the exit but out of sight of the car park attendant.

  ‘And you’re sure you locked the vehicle when you left it?’

  ‘I think so. I always do.’

  ‘An unlocked vehicle is a target for casual joy riders. If the car was locked, we may be looking for a professional thief.’

  ‘I can’t see why anyone would want to steal my car. It’s not exactly a Ferrari.’

  ‘Mr Ellis, we have reason to believe your vehicle, stolen between two thirty and three thirty, may have been used in a hit and run accident between four and four thirty this afternoon.’

  ‘A hit and run? You mean someone was run over? You think my car was involved in an accident?’

  ‘A woman was knocked down and killed, Mr Ellis. We don’t yet know if it was an accident.’

  Mr Ellis’s mouth dropped open but he didn’t say anything for a few seconds. Then he rallied. ‘Don’t tell my wife,’ he said. ‘Please don’t tell my wife. She’d freak. And if the car turns up, I’m going to have to drive it again, aren’t I?’

  The car park was half empty when Geraldine drew into it. She had left Peterson at the station co-ordinating a search for the stolen Honda. A few people were pushing trolleys along the lanes between parked vehicles. Car boots were open. People were piling plastic bags inside. Daylight was beginning to fade when she approached the car park attendant’s tiny hut. It was difficult to talk, with wind gusting through a row of trees that screened the car park from the road, and cars revving past the barrier every few minutes. Geraldine held up her warrant card. She had to raise her voice to gain his attention.

  ‘Can’t leave my post,’ the attendant claimed.

  ‘Call your manager.’

  ‘What do you want me to say to him?’

  ‘You can start by telling him you’re obstructing the police.’

  The little man hobbled out of his hut. He left the barrier up. Without a word he led the way into the store. The manager invited Geraldine into his office. She asked the car park attendant to accompany her.

  ‘What’s the problem?’ the manager asked. He was sweating slightly. Geraldine reassured him that her enquiry had nothing to do with his store.

  ‘We’re investigating the theft of a vehicle from your car park this afternoon.’

  The manager spoke rapidly, detailing the security measures in the car park. ‘We do what we can,’ he finished, ‘but we can’t watch all the vehicles all the time. Eddy here does a good job. Legally –’

  ‘A very good job,’ the car park attendant interrupted. Nodding his head above rounded shoulders, he looked like a tortoise.

  ‘We’re interested in tracing the driver and the vehicle,’ Geraldine explained. She described the car. The manager wrote the registration number down.

  ‘We’ll look out for it. Do you remember seeing it, Eddy?’

  ‘A black car? You’ve got to be kidding. I can’t be everywhere. Would you remember every car that goes past?’ He glared at Geraldine. ‘Someone drives a car out, how do I know it’s stolen? Long as they’ve got a ticket. That’s my job, to check the tickets. I do a good job.’

  ‘I’m sure you do, Eddy. No one’s expecting you to remember all the cars you see. But can you remember anything about the driver of a black Honda that left the car park around three?’ Eddy shook his
head. It was hopeless. She turned to the manager and asked to see CCTV footage from that morning.

  At two fifty a black Honda had driven out of the car park. The sun shield was down, concealing the driver’s face. It was impossible to make out a face or the driver’s stature, but digital enhancement confirmed the driver was wearing gloves. There was no point checking the used tickets for prints. A call to Mr Ellis confirmed that his car had a ‘Baby on Board’ sign in the rear window and a sticker from a local theme park, both of which were distinguishable as the car drew up at the barrier.

  They knew the vehicle that had been used to kill Maggie Palmer. They had a shrewd idea who was behind the wheel. But they had no proof.

  ‘Find the vehicle,’ the DCI said in the pub that evening, ‘and forensics will find something to prove Martin was driving it.’

  ‘We don’t know it wasn’t a random joy rider who knocked her down by accident,’ Bennett said, joining the discussion.

  ‘And drove over the body three times?’

  ‘To make sure she wouldn’t be able to identify him, or the car,’ Bennett suggested but even he didn’t buy that for a moment.

  ‘It’s too much of a coincidence,’ Geraldine insisted. ‘We found a witness who could link Barker and Callum Martin to Thomas Cliff’s death. Next thing we know, she’s run over and killed. Barker’s out of the frame. He can’t walk, let alone drive right now. It must have been Martin. And now Cartwright’s done a runner. Is it a coincidence or does he know something about Martin that he’s frightened to tell us?’ But though they might have grounds to believe Callum Martin had killed Maggie Palmer, they couldn’t touch him.

  ‘Whoever upsets him next, I wouldn’t want to be in their shoes,’ Peterson said.

  Geraldine recalled a bloodless face staring blankly from beneath a shock of badly dyed blonde hair. ‘We can’t protect everyone,’ she sighed. Callum Martin’s girlfriend had denied several anonymous allegations of domestic violence although from her injuries it was clear that she was in an abusive relationship. If Callum Martin was capable of murder, Brenda might not live to regret her loyalty.

  51

  Gossip

  The DCI had sent a team of dog handlers into the woods beside the canal. They had found a pair of glasses they thought might belong to Bert Cartwright, but there was still no sign of the old man.

  ‘Social Services are double checking their records,’ Ryder said. ‘There may be family members he could have gone to. We’ll give it another day before we start dredging the canal.’ He sighed. ‘It’s an expensive exercise. We have to be certain it’s necessary.’

  There was a flurry of excitement when a hire car that had been sighted on CCTV leaving Sandmouth on Saturday evening at seven thirty five was picked up by a camera in Harchester a couple of hours later. A phone call to the car hire firm confirmed it had been driven by someone called Bobbie Geere. A local constable was dispatched to follow it up. The manager looked flustered when asked about cars taken out the previous Saturday.

  ‘It wasn’t the lad’s fault,’ he explained. ‘We had a problem with our computer system. Couldn’t use the computers all day. According to head office, someone hacked in and caused the whole system to crash. A likely story!’ As he spoke he rummaged through a drawer full of papers and pulled out a handwritten list of names with addresses and car numbers.

  ‘The customer must’ve paid in cash. We get so many going through, and it being a Saturday, we had the boy in to help out.’ He glared at the constable. ‘We check their documents carefully. We’ve never had any trouble.’

  ‘Do you get many punters paying cash?’

  ‘You’d be surprised.’

  The boy who had been on the desk on Saturday was equally vague. ‘Nah,’ he said, ‘I can’t remember.’

  ‘Can you remember anything about the customer?’

  ‘Nah.’

  By narrowing down the time the car was taken, and studying the CCTV, a constable was able to report a blurred visual on the driver, a grey haired woman in steel rimmed NHS glasses who walked with a pronounced stoop. She wasn’t Sophie Cliff.

  Later that afternoon Geraldine went to the canteen. While she was waiting for her coffee she noticed Bennett sitting at a corner table laughing and chatting with a couple of local female constables. She went over to join them. They fell silent at her approach.

  ‘How’s things?’ she asked. One of the constables put her hand over her mouth. ‘Is something wrong?’

  ‘Nothing, gov.’ Bennett assured her. He frowned at the giggling constable. After she had finished her day’s work, Geraldine decided to call in at the pub over the road for a quick drink before setting off home. Peterson was at the bar with Bennett and one of the two female constables he had been having coffee with earlier on. The two senior officers were leaning forward listening to her.

  ‘He was there again,’ she was saying. ‘If you ask me –’ She glanced up, caught sight of Geraldine, and closed her mouth. A slow blush spread upwards from her neck to suffuse her whole face. Peterson and Bennett looked round. Peterson’s face remained fixed, but his eyes opened a fraction more widely. He looked distinctly uncomfortable. Bennett looked down with a faint smirk.

  Geraldine bought a round before asking casually, ‘So who are you lot gossiping about?’ As if she didn’t know.

  ‘It’s nothing,’ Peterson answered. They had obviously been talking about her. Geraldine left after one drink. She glanced over her shoulder on the doorstep. The inspector, sergeant and constable were leaning forward and they all appeared to be talking at once.

  As if her day hadn’t been bad enough, when she arrived home her phone was flashing with a message from Hannah.

  Wearily, Geraldine picked up the phone and called her back. ‘Han, I’d love to come over but –’

  ‘Great. I’ll put something in the oven.’

  ‘I’m sorry, I can’t –’

  ‘Fish OK? And I’ve got a nice white wine already opened and in the fridge.’

  ‘You’re not listening. I can’t make it –’

  ‘I can put the fish on now so it’ll be ready when you get here if you come now.’

  ‘Hannah, I said I can’t make it tonight.’

  An hour later, Geraldine was sitting in Hannah’s kitchen, dutifully eating. ‘This is gorgeous.’

  ‘Jeremy used to love my salmon teriyaki,’ Hannah answered tearfully.

  ‘I’m sure he still does.’

  Hannah cleared away the plates and sat down. ‘Geraldine, you’ve got to talk to him.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘You’ve got to go and see Jeremy. Talk to him.’

  ‘Me? Hannah, he’s your husband. We’ve hardly ever spoken to each other, apart from occasional small talk. I don’t think he even likes me.’ Geraldine did her best to dissuade her friend but Hannah was determined. ‘Why me?’

  ‘There’s no one else I can ask. You’re my oldest and my best friend, Geraldine. I’m asking you to talk to him.’

  Geraldine sighed. It was an improvement on being asked to spy on him. ‘What am I supposed to say? Accuse him of cheating on you?’

  ‘Don’t be silly.’

  ‘What then?’

  ‘You can start by telling him how worried you are.’

  ‘What exactly am I supposed to be worried about?’

  ‘Me, of course. Tell him you’re afraid I might do something.’ Geraldine shook her head, perplexed. ‘Tell him you’re worried I might kill myself.’ Seeing the expression on Geraldine’s face, Hannah added quickly, ‘I’m not really about to top myself. The point is, you have to make him understand the consequences if he doesn’t come back.’

  ‘Suppose I agree to speak to him. I’m not saying I will, but let’s say I agree. Do you know where I can find him?’

  ‘He’s staying with Colin and Nancy.’

  ‘Colin and Nancy?’

  ‘Colin. His brother.’

  ‘Jeremy’s staying with his brother?’

 
‘Yes. That’s what I said.’

  ‘And you think he’s run off with another woman?’ Geraldine thought back to when her own boyfriend had walked out after they had been living together for six years. ‘Where are you going to sleep tonight?’ she had asked him. He had answered he was going to stay with a friend, admitting under pressure that his friend was a woman. She sighed. ‘All right. What’s the address?’

  A woman opened the door to Geraldine. ‘Yes?’

  ‘You must be Nancy. I’ve come to see Jeremy.’ Nancy hesitated. Geraldine had to stop herself reaching for her identity card.

  ‘I’m sorry, what did you say your name was?’ Nancy looked puzzled. She probably vaguely recognised Geraldine from the wedding.

  Geraldine almost announced herself as DI Steel. She corrected herself just in time. ‘Dee – Geraldine.’

  ‘Dee?’

  ‘Geraldine.’

  Nancy looked even more confused. ‘Geraldine?’ Her eyes narrowed in sudden understanding. ‘Are you a friend of Hannah’s?’ Geraldine nodded. ‘Just a moment.’ Nancy shut the door leaving Geraldine waiting on the doorstep. It was cold. At last the door opened again. ‘Come in.’

  Nancy led Geraldine into a small TV room on the ground floor.

  Jeremy looked up, unsmiling. ‘What do you want?’ After his ungracious greeting, the conversation wasn’t likely to go well.

  Geraldine sat down. ‘I want to talk to you about Hannah.’

  ‘I hardly think my relationship with my wife is any concern of yours.’

  He didn’t refer to Hannah as his ex-wife. Geraldine relaxed slightly. ‘Hannah’s my oldest friend,’ she said gently, ‘and I’m worried about her, Jeremy. I don’t think she’s coping very well with your separation. I think you should talk to her. She may tell you she’s fine, but… I don’t think she is. I’m worried about her.’ She didn’t pass on the message that Hannah was suicidal. ‘Just talk to her, Jeremy. She’s upset and very frightened.’