by Jane Isaac
‘I never looked past the trial,’ Gina said. ‘Never allowed myself to wonder what it would be like afterwards. I assumed the verdict would fix everything, but I guess there was never going to be a normal again, was there?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘No smoke without fire. That’s what they spray-painted across our door. Even if Stuart was exonerated at trial there will always be people that believed he was guilty, regardless. He’ll always be soiled with this. We all will be.’ Gina drew a long shaky breath. ‘Would you visit Phoebe for me to see if she’s okay?’ she asked, changing the subject. ‘I’m concerned she might need help. I remember when my mother, her grandma, died. She was in pieces but she didn’t take a day off work, apart from for the funeral. The weight dropped off her afterwards; it took me ages to build her back up. She’s never dealt with loss well.’
‘I’ll see what I can do.’
‘Thank you.’
Beth watched the rise and fall of the dog’s chest as he slept, when a thought nudged her. The CSIs had mentioned finding a multitude of dog hairs. Blond, brown, black. She surveyed the dog. He was every shade of chocolate, apart from white and there was certainly no blond. The hairs were concentrated in the front room, not upstairs or in the kitchen, or the utility. Which suggested a visiting dog. ‘Which of your friends visits the house with a blond dog?’ she asked.
‘I don’t know what you mean.’ Gina spoke softly, firmly, but there was a slight twitch in her cheek.
‘There were blond dog hairs found in the front room during the search.’
‘They must be old.’
‘Who were they from?’ Beth angled her head trying to catch Gina’s eye.
‘It’s not important.’
‘I’m afraid it is. If the owner is not already on our list of contacts, we will have to eliminate them from our inquiries.’
Gina looked down.
‘We will find out, you know,’ Beth said. ‘It’s better if you tell us now.’
It took an age for Gina to lift her gaze and when she did tears glazed her eyes. ‘It’s just a friend who visits occasionally.’
Beth flipped open her notebook. ‘And their name is?’
Gina stiffened. ‘Please. I don’t want them involved in this.’
Something about Gina’s body language put Beth on guard. She leaned in closer, lowered her voice. ‘When did they last visit?’
Several beats passed before Gina answered. ‘His name is Shaun Nash. He’s a neighbour, lives around the corner, in the house that backs on to ours. He took early retirement last year and was one of the dog walkers I used to chat to when I walked Oscar over the fields. After the charge, the other walkers kept their distance. He was the only one who still approached me, asked how I was.’ She gave a shuddery sigh. ‘It was nice to… well, to be treated normally, not like an outcast. Whenever I was out with Oscar and our paths crossed he made a point of talking to me. I must have dropped into conversation about Stuart’s bowls on Thursday nights. His wife also goes out to a flower arranging group. So, he started visiting. There’s a gap at the side of the tall conifers at the end of our garden. Stuart boarded it up to keep Oscar in, but you only need to slide the board across to walk through. Shaun uses that route and brings his dog with him.’
‘When did this start?’
‘I don’t know exactly. Perhaps eight or nine months ago.’
‘Did Stuart know?’
‘No.’
Beth pondered this. There were no unusual numbers in Gina’s recent phone records, although if she was seeing Shaun without Stuart’s knowledge, perhaps they didn’t liaise by telephone. ‘Are you having an affair with Shaun?’
‘No! We’re friends. Apart from the occasional dog walk, we only see each other on Thursdays. It’s company.’
‘Does his wife know?’
‘No.’
‘I don’t understand. If you’re only friends, why are you keeping it secret?’
‘It’s complicated. Shaun’s wife can be difficult, jealous. She wouldn’t understand that he was being kind and supportive to a friend. I didn’t think Stuart would either, so it was easier not to say anything. For me, it was an evening of respite. We’d watch a film, or sit and talk and the world would feel normal again. For a while.’
‘Was he here last Thursday?’ Beth asked.
Gina nodded.
‘Why did you lie?’
‘You know what we’ve been through, how we’ve been treated. I couldn’t bear to inflict that on someone else.’
‘What time was he here last Thursday?’
‘He arrived shortly after seven-thirty and left at nine-thirty. His wife was due home at ten and he likes to be back before her.’
‘Are you sure he didn’t have anything to do with Stuart’s death? You’ve said yourself that the car keys are missing. He could have taken them.’
‘No! No way. The last thing Shaun wanted was to cause a fuss, or worse for his wife to find out about our meetings.’ A tear trickled down Gina’s cheek. ‘You can’t involve him in this.’
‘We have no choice. I’ll explain the situation, request discretion, but we’ll need to verify his movements. I’m sorry.’
Beth gathered up the mugs and placed them on the drainer. A line of milky light seeped in through the window in the hallway illuminating a letter on the mat. ‘What’s that?’
‘What?’
Beth squinted. ‘On the doormat.’ She walked out into the hallway and crouched down beside a white envelope. It was blank, unaddressed. ‘Have you seen or heard anyone come to the door?’ she asked Gina who was behind her.
Gina looked bewildered. ‘No. I haven’t heard a thing.’
Beth reached into her pocket, pulled out a pair of rubber gloves and stretched them over her hands, before she lifted the envelope and turned it over. It was unsealed, the flap tucked in at the back. She slid out a piece of paper, cut to size. A line of typed script ran across the middle:
Justitia suum cuique distribuit.
‘What does that mean?’ Gina asked, peering over her shoulder.
Beth ignored her. She stood, unchained the door, opened it and checked the street. The pavements were empty.
‘Was this here when you came down earlier?’ Beth asked.
‘I don’t think so.’
Beth had been awake all night, made routine inspections of the front and rear of the house. She hadn’t seen or heard anyone arrive. But then she hadn’t heard Gina creeping about either. A glance back at the letter box revealed a silent flap. She flicked it back and ran her finger along the brushes behind. The mail was light. An envelope like this could slip in and float down without making a sound.
‘What does it mean?’ Gina asked.
Beth didn’t answer. She was convinced it wasn’t there when she’d come out to the hallway earlier. Which meant it could only have been delivered over the past half an hour, while she’d been sitting with Gina.
She looked up at the other woman dubiously. The arrival of the note and the revelations about Gina’s neighbour visiting on the evening of Stuart’s murder made her uneasy. She fished her phone out of her pocket. ‘I don’t know. I’ll need to take it to the station and have it examined.’
14
The huddle of press had already arrived when Beth pulled into the car park at headquarters at 6 a.m. that morning. She eyed them furtively, retrieved her briefcase from the boot and made her way towards the staff entrance under an ashen sky, the dismal weather set on continuing.
‘No comment,’ she said, as a microphone was thrust in her face. More in hope than expectation, she guessed. The media weren’t interested in her. They were jostling for the arrival of one of the big wigs, hoping for a line, a snippet, a quick update that might form the basis of their next article or news bite. She held her briefcase close. It didn’t bear thinking about what they’d make of the creased note inside.
After she’d discovered the note earlier, Beth had called Freeman and then Ni
ck. When neither picked up she’d tried the incident room to report her findings and request assistance. Her shoulders had dropped when it was Acting Detective Inspector Andrea Leary that phoned her back. But Andrea had been surprisingly helpful, despite the early hour, and agreed with Beth’s request for discretion. Given what she’d been through this past year and how she’d be treated by her local community, it was understandable Gina would want to protect those who stood by her, especially when the friendship was secret. If they had colluded together to murder Stuart, the truth would come out. But there was something innocuous about Gina’s demeanour, and the timing didn’t fit – why arrange to kill him now? The trial was around the corner. If Stuart had been convicted, Gina would be alone and they could continue their meetings. If he was acquitted, they could have taken action then. To kill him now didn’t make sense. A low-key approach with Shaun would help to build a bond with Gina and increase her trust. Andrea had listened intently to her reasoning and made all the right noises and, at the end of the call, Beth was impressed with the acting detective inspector’s support. Perhaps her time at region had mellowed her behaviour.
Andrea also arranged for Warren to relieve Beth so she could bring the note back to the station for forensic examination. It was doubtful they’d find any prints. Somebody who’d taken enough care to creep about in the middle of the night would probably have taken precautions and worn gloves. A police car would be dispatched to patrol the area in case the offender was still nearby, although they were unlikely to hang around.
It did niggle Beth though that, despite listening intently, she hadn’t heard it being delivered. More to the point, neither had the dog who’d barked for several minutes when she’d arrived the evening before. Gina hinted at Oscar being a heavy sleeper which might explain why he wouldn’t be alarmed by his owner wandering around under the cover of darkness. But surely he’d be alerted by a stranger posting a note through the letter box? Which led her to wonder whether it was genuine. Was this a ploy to take the heat off Gina and divert their attention elsewhere? She couldn’t have placed it there herself, she was in the kitchen with Beth when the note was delivered. Her laptop had been seized and the house subjected to another search, which suggested she didn’t have a device on which to draft it. Unless of course she’d prepared it in advance. Or maybe she had help. Once again that question mark of assistance, of someone else involved in her husband’s murder, floated over the case and with the new information about Shaun Nash, Beth was keen to speak with him.
By the time she’d handed over the sealed evidence bag containing the note to the Exhibits Officer and arranged for him to fast-track it through forensics for prints, it was nearly 6.30 a.m. She was ambling back towards the incident room, when she saw a familiar figure approaching from the other end of the corridor.
Beth looked up at DC Pete Winston in surprise. ‘You’re in early.’
‘I was called in by the DI to interview your Mr Nash.’
‘Oh, how was he?’
‘Like a deer in headlights, poor man. It was a no-go. As soon as he calmed down, he spoke freely, waived his right to a solicitor. Said he was with Gina Ingram from seven-thirty until nine-thirty. His wife returned shortly after ten from her flower arranging. He also claims he was putting out his wheelie bin and spoke to his next-door neighbour, who arrived home from a late work shift around a quarter to ten. We’ll need to get all that verified of course, but if it’s true he can’t be our killer. Why the DI felt the need to send the blues and twos out to pick him up in the early hours of the morning, I don’t know. Apparently, his wife had to be sedated.’
‘What?’ Beth was incredulous. ‘I asked for discretion.’
He huffed. ‘Well, if that’s her idea of discretion…’
‘Where’s Shaun now?’
‘Still in a cell. Andrea’s pulling out all the stops, looking into his background, checking his connections to see if they colluded together, but it’s all routine stuff. If you ask me, he’s an unfortunate witness.’
Beth’s blood fizzed. She understood the early morning call; as soon as they were alerted to Shaun’s association with Gina, they had to bring him in, search his house. If he was guilty, he might attempt to dispose of potential evidence. But all it required was a couple of detectives to quietly knock him up and bring him down to the station. Another couple to complete the search. It wasn’t necessary to send out an army of police cars and cause a disruption. Andrea used to be a family liaison officer herself. If anybody understood the need for a diplomatic approach, it should be her.
‘Where is the DCI?’ she asked.
‘Freeman was called out to an incident in the night. Suspicious death. He’s taken Nick Geary with him.’
‘Where was that?’
‘A strangling on the north of the county. Appears to be unrelated.’
She thanked Pete and made her way down the corridor.
Andrea was sat behind her desk, focused on her computer when Beth arrived at her open door.
‘Ah, Beth,’ she said. ‘I take it you’ve logged in the note?’
‘It’s with forensics.’
‘Good.’ She eased back in her chair, arched her forehead. ‘Was there something else?’
The calmness in her tone irked Beth. ‘I hear you brought in Shaun Nash.’
‘Yes, we’ve just finished interviewing.’
Beth fought to keep her voice even. ‘I thought we were going to be discreet.’
Andrea stroked her sleek neck. ‘Shaun Nash didn’t come forward, in spite of our appeals for witnesses. Gina Ingram lied to us when she was interviewed, covering up his visit on the night of her husband’s murder. Their association, whatever that may be, gives them a motive.’
‘I’m aware of that, I interviewed Gina,’ Beth said, desperately trying not to snap. ‘But, as I said on the phone, there’s also the strong possibility that neither are involved. It wasn’t necessary to bring him in like that.’
‘You’re being naïve, Beth.’
‘I’m being practical. We could have taken a subtle approach. If he’s guilty, nothing would have changed. He’s not a violent man. No police record, doesn’t appear to be connected.’
‘Be careful, Beth.’
‘I don’t understand the need to go in heavy-handed and upset the families.’
Andrea licked her lips and rubbed them together before she responded. ‘You’re getting too close.’
‘That’s not fair.’
‘I heard about what happened at Alderley Edge on the last case.’
‘We got a good result there.’
‘It could so easily have gone the other way.’
Beth stood her ground. ‘But it didn’t.’
‘The liaison role walks a fine line. You need to maintain a professional distance.’
How dare she? Blood rushed to Beth’s head. She opened her mouth to respond when the phone rang. Andrea reached for the handset, snapped away and answered with a smooth musical tone. Beth stormed out of Andrea’s office, grinding her teeth as she marched down the corridor.
This wasn’t about getting too close to the family, it was about treating people with respect. They’d gained nothing by creating a fuss in the early hours of the morning and left a host of problems and angst for both families in their wake. Andrea wasn’t considering the families, or the case, when she made that judgement. She was thinking of herself. On the outside chance that Nash was guilty, she was trying to earn brownie points by catching a killer and solving a case while the DCI and DS were out of the office. And the decision stank.
*
Back in the incident room, Beth was surprised to find so many empty seats considering they were still in the first thirty-six hours of a live murder investigation. The leads were drying up. Hopefully, the note would offer a new direction. She bit back her anger, plugged in her iPad and Googled ‘justitia suum cuique distribuit’. The Latin phrase appeared to relate to an ancient Greek principle of justice. She moved down the search
engine, clicking on the links, working through the differing philosophical translations. The most regular translation appeared to be: Justice renders to everyone his due. Was this some kind of vigilante message? And, if so, why was it posted through the Ingrams’ letter box now, after his death?
Beth closed the Internet and switched to writing up the notes of her time with Gina Ingram. Family liaison officers were required to keep copious notes, not only of their conversations but also any odd comments or strange behaviour of the families they were with, and she was determined not to miss anything, especially with Andrea breathing down her neck.
As she wrote, Beth mulled over Gina’s reaction to the message. She hadn’t seemed particularly surprised when it appeared. Even when Gina asked what the contents meant, her face was flat, deadpan. Was that because she was involved, or because she’d been subjected to so much that her senses were inured?
Beth became aware of colleagues wandering in, calling out greetings, slipping off coats. The low drone of computer fans whirled as people made a start to their day. The smell of coffee, a pre-requisite for heavy cases, crept into every corner, mingling with the central heating that had now kicked in. Somebody placed a mug on the coaster beside her. 7 a.m. passed and then 8. The office hummed around her as colleagues clicked away at keys, spoke on phones, sifted through papers. Freeman’s continued absence puzzled her. Usually by this time in the morning he’d be wandering through the open-plan room, leaning over shoulders, catching up with his team in readiness for the morning briefing.
Beth finished the last of her coffee and flinched at the cold liquid slipping down her insides. She examined last night’s incident log. There was an affray reported in Northampton centre at 10.10 p.m.: seven arrests, two casualties. A call to an arson at Brackmills Industrial Estate before midnight. She scrolled through and eventually found a call at 11.30 p.m.: the body of a man had been discovered in Scotter Walk, Corby. It was reported by a neighbour. Nothing further had been added.