To Catch a Rabbit

by Helen Cadbury

  ‘Go on.’

  ‘When we got up to it, it was proper spooky. Like a glow from inside the caravan. Brandon didn’t want to go any closer but I made him. There was a little crack in the curtain. That’s when we saw it.’

  ‘It?’

  ‘The zombie. Just sitting. Sort of like this.’ He hunched his knees up and wrapped his arms round them, staring wide-eyed at the candle.

  ‘What did this zombie look like?’

  ‘Pale. They’ve got no blood, because they’re dead. Well it was pale, like really white, and had mad, green eyes and red hair, sticking up all wild.’ Sean shivered and Ruby began to whine at the door. ‘Now d’you believe me?’

  ‘I believe you saw someone, but it wasn’t a zombie was it?’

  ‘Might have been.’

  ‘Did you see anything else?’

  The boy frowned and stared into the candle. He licked his finger and drew it back and forth through the flame.

  ‘Declan?’

  ‘What?’ He didn’t look up.

  ‘Was there anything else?’

  ‘You got any food, mister? I’m starving.’

  Sean stood up and stretched his shoulders back. The dog circled him, hopeful that they might be on the move again.

  ‘It’s not far down to my nan’s place and we could pick up a bag of chips on the way.’

  ‘All right.’

  It was lucky for Sean that Declan didn’t have the suspicion of some kids, who’d accuse you of child abuse as soon as you spoke to them. The uniform helped, but it also bothered him. Declan trusted adults too easily. Half an hour later he asked Nan and Carly to stay in the room as chaperones, while the boy sat in front of the computer screen, stuffing chips into his mouth and staring at an image from the Gazette’s webpage.

  ‘What’s it say?’

  ‘It’s about another girl who was found dead. The other woman in the picture was her flatmate.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘Declan, d’you think this is the woman you saw, the one you thought was a zombie?’

  Maureen looked from the screen to Sean. She opened her mouth to say something but thought better of it.

  ‘I think so. She’s got the eyes.’ He made a gun with his hand and shot at the screen. ‘Pyaow! Zombie hunters!’

  Carly walked back up to the estate with Sean and Declan. It was on her way home. Ruby had enjoyed a cold pie in Maureen’s kitchen and trotted happily back by the boy’s side. The rain was just a fine drizzle now. Declan had a spring in his step, karate-chopping phantom zombies and chattering on about how he was going to track them down. Once they’d seen him safely through the back door of the flats, Carly turned to Sean.

  ‘Who was she?’

  Sean shrugged.

  ‘Maureen recognised her, and you seemed pretty sure the boy would ID her too.’

  ‘It’s hardly an ID. He thinks she’s the living dead.’

  ‘Don’t fuck about Sean. This is a murder enquiry.’

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  At Doncaster magistrates’ court, the coroner had begun his introduction. An usher took their names and showed them in, then delivered a note to the coroner. Karen hadn’t expected it to be so much like a trial, but an official was reminding everyone that this was a court of law and anyone who was asked to speak would be placed under oath. He explained that these were public proceedings and a member of the press was present. Karen saw a thin, pale girl with glasses and a shapeless grey suit, sitting with a pad poised on her knee. Stacey was sitting between Keith Clegg, who had a protective hand on his daughter’s arm, and Johnny Mackenzie.

  A court official cleared his throat and began to read out the pathology report. Karen felt sick at hearing her brother’s remains described so graphically. A forensic examination from the scene described partial decomposition, slowed by the cool and shaded nature of the quarry. Although the caravan had tipped into the water, the body had remained dry. It appeared that the deceased had fallen or possibly been struck, or both. The nasal bones were fractured and embedded in the brain. Blood samples from a gas heater and from the floor of the caravan matched the body. Residual facial features and personal effects were deemed sufficient for initial identification, confirmed by DNA samples from hair and skin tissue on an item of clothing supplied by the widow. A number of other fingerprints were found, belonging to numerous males and one female, they had yet to be matched with any others on the system. The man’s voice was as level as a newsreader’s.

  Stacey was placed under oath and asked to take the stand. She was visibly upset and her voice quavered when asked to describe the last time she saw her husband alive. Reg clenched his pipe in his pocket.

  ‘And did you speak to your husband during the day?’ The coroner leant towards her, his voice soft and kind.

  ‘No.’

  ‘Would you normally expect him to call?’

  ‘If he was going to be late.’

  ‘What time did you expect him back?’

  ‘By six, or a bit before. I was supposed to start my shift at the pub at six.’

  ‘I know this is very distressing for you, Mrs Holroyd, but I have to ask you, did you realise that your husband was found in a location believed to be used for the purposes of prostitution?’

  The coroner looked like an owl, Karen thought, his eyes widening under grey, bushy eyebrows.

  ‘Yes, the police said it was.’

  ‘He was reported missing by his sister, not by you.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Why didn’t you report him missing?’ The eyes narrowed, but the softness was still there in his voice.

  ‘I thought maybe he was having an affair. He’s had affairs before, it turned out. I was told that he’d run off with another woman.’

  ‘I see. While you are under oath, Mrs Holroyd, can I confirm that you identified your husband’s body?’

  ‘Yes.’ She said, quietly but clearly. ‘At the hospital.’

  ‘And you supplied an item of clothing for a DNA match?’

  ‘His jacket.’

  The community support officer was called next. Karen was surprised to see Sean Denton again; he seemed to be all over this case. Denton was telling the coroner that he’d been led to the caravan by the same boy who’d found the unidentified body of a young Chinese woman on the steps of a snack bar van on the Chasebridge bypass.

  ‘The boy said, and I’m quoting: ‘my brother said it were another prozzie living in the caravan.’

  The coroner cleared his throat and Keith Clegg patted Stacey’s arm. Johnny Mackenzie stared straight ahead, while Denton read from his notebook in hesitant tones. He looked nervous, but the coroner was almost as kind to him as he had been to Stacey.

  When Johnny Mackenzie was called, Karen noticed Stacey squeeze his hand as he stood up. He was asked about a call made to his office from Mr Holroyd’s mobile phone. Mackenzie said Philip had called, sounding very low.

  ‘What was your relationship with Mr Holroyd?’

  ‘He was a mate, a good mate.’

  Reg Holroyd coughed loudly, Karen wished he hadn’t because at that moment Johnny looked in their direction, his scalp reddening under his thin hair. A court officer was walking down the aisle from the back of the room. The coroner beckoned him to the bench, where he handed over a note.

  ‘Ladies and gentlemen,’ the coroner said sternly. ‘I’m going to call a recess for fifteen minutes.’

  The court rose and Karen took Reg by the arm and hurried him out into the lobby.

  ‘What the hell’s going on?’ Reg muttered. ‘Why didn’t he tell the truth? Mackenzie was his boss, not his mate. I need a bloody smoke.’

  They kept going, out through the glass doors and into the fresh air. Reg wasn’t the only smoker; a mu
scular looking woman with short hair had just taken out a cigarette and offered Reg a light.

  ‘You family?’ she said.

  ‘I’m the father, this is my daughter.’

  The woman nodded and sized them up. Karen wanted to be alone with her father, but Reg was obviously feeling sociable.

  ‘You got kids?’ he said to the woman.

  ‘A lad, he’s eleven.’

  ‘I can’t get my head round it,’ Reg continued. ‘That’s my boy they’re talking about. I mean, I’m not saying Phil was a saint but I just don’t recognise a thing they’re saying. Phil, a serial adulterer? Phil with a prostitute? Where are those coppers? I want a word…’

  ‘Wait.’ Karen realised she had spoken at the same time as the other woman. They’d both reached a hand out to stop him.

  Karen waited for the woman to say something, but she looked unsure now. Finally, she cleared her throat and suggested they go back in.

  ‘Well, he’d better have something to say for himself.’ Reg chewed on the stem of his pipe so hard it might crack.

  She took Reg’s arm and propelled him up the steps. ‘Come on, Dad, let’s see.’

  Back in the courtroom, the coroner called Mr John Mackenzie back to the stand.

  ‘May I remind you, Mr Mackenzie, that you are still under oath and that this is a court of law.’ Johnny nodded and looked uncomfortable. The owl-like coroner had a new, steely edge to his voice. ‘You say you were a friend of the deceased?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Why do you not mention that you were also his employer?’

  ‘He was helping me out a bit.’

  ‘We’re not the Inland Revenue, Mr Mackenzie. We are trying to ascertain what happened to Mr Holroyd on the day he died.’

  ‘Yes. I asked him to deliver some stuff for me.’ Johnny was barely audible. The journalist craned forward to catch what he said.

  ‘Indeed. I have just been shown a missing person’s report filed by the sister of the deceased, suggesting that Mr Holroyd was driving your van.’ Johnny nodded, avoiding Karen’s stare. ‘What concerns me is that I am not satisfied that you have told us the whole truth. I would appeal to you Mr Mackenzie, as you are under oath, not to hide your business dealings in such a way as will jeopardise the outcome of this inquest.’ More whispering, then the coroner, failing to hide his irritation, shuffled his papers and cleared his throat. ‘I am afraid we are in no position to continue this inquest until we have reliable witness evidence. I am adjourning until further notice.’

  Johnny wandered away from the stand as the court rose and people started to mill about. The ushers went to open the doors at the back of the room and two uniformed police officers left first. Karen and Reg followed them out into the lobby where the officers stopped and turned, standing like bouncers in front of the automatic glass doors to the outside world. She guided her father between them and as they left the buidling, Karen heard a scuffle behind them and a familiar voice.

  ‘John Mackenzie. Can I have a word?’

  The doors swished shut and she and Reg were left to the sound of cars queuing in the traffic. She was sure it was Charlie Moon’s voice, but when she turned to catch a glimpse of him, all she saw was the street and the sky reflected in the glass.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Doncaster Central Police Station was getting crowded. The Community Support Team had lost their corner. They’d set up a temporary base in one of the interview rooms, but now the DCI from Human Trafficking had requisitioned that for a polite chat, as he called it, with the guy they’d pulled at the inquest. Sandy was buzzing. She’d been asked to write a press release to the effect that a John Peter Mackenzie of Common Gate Farm, Moorsby-on-Humber, had attended the police station voluntarily in relation to an ongoing investigation into the employment of illegal immigrants. It was still under embargo awaiting further developments.

  ‘Which means if they charge him, I’ll have to delete it all and start again,’ she told Sean. ‘I’ve had that wimpy girl from The Gazette on the phone non-stop and I keep telling her she’ll have to talk to the press office, but she won’t listen.’ He was looking for somewhere to sit down and drink a cup of coffee when she gestured him to perch on the edge of her desk.

  ‘I think there’s more to it than that,’ Sean paused, making sure he’d got her full attention. ‘I’m not sure it’s just about illegal immigrants. He was pulled at the caravan inquest.’

  ‘So?’ Sandy waited, twirling a ballpoint pen. ‘Spill the beans! If there are any beans to spill. But be careful you don’t let your imagination run away with you.’

  Or the imagination of a ten-year-old boy. ‘Never mind. Look, I’d like to chat but I need to find Lizzie Morrison. It’s urgent.’

  ‘Now, Sean, I know I’m old enough to be your mother and I don’t see why you should take my advice, but…’

  ‘About the case, Sandy, the case!’ The bottom half of his paper cup imploded as he slammed it on the desk.

  ‘PCSO Denton?’ He looked up to see a tall woman in a mac. Holroyd’s sister. He was struggling for her married name.

  ‘Karen Friedman,’ she shook his hand. ‘I wanted to thank you for attending my brother’s funeral.’

  ‘Right. We thought we should…pay our respects.’

  ‘And follow your nose.’

  ‘Ma’am?’ Sean tried to mop up the spilled dregs of his coffee before the brown stream reached Sandy’s keyboard.

  ‘Actually I’m looking for DCI Moon,’ Mrs Friedman said. ‘Your friend Carly was kind enough to buzz me through.’

  Sandy and Sean exchanged glances. Carly had clearly given up playing by the rules. He’d seen her in civvies, skulking around at the back of the inquest and now she was letting all and sundry wander around restricted areas. Not that anyone would notice yet another new face.

  ‘Interview suite three,’ Sean said, ‘and there’s an observation room next door. Come on I’ll show you.’

  He was curious to hear what Johnny Mackenzie had to say. He peered through the one-way glass into suite three and flicked the switch that brought the two men’s voices into the room. Moon had a map spread out on the table and was pointing at something, asking Johnny if this was where they arrived. Johnny shook his head.

  ‘Wouldn’t know, mate. They just answer job adverts, or they’re friends of the ones we had last year.’

  ‘Africans? Chinese? They’ve all got papers?’

  ‘There’s plenty of black people, and Chinese too, born and bred here. Someone’s being a little bit racist if they think I’m employing illegals just because they’re non-white.’ He smiled at Charlie Moon and his shoulders relaxed. Moon smiled back.

  ‘Do you employ more men than women? Or is it about equal? And what about girls? Young girls?’

  Mackenzie’s smile vanished. ‘Are you going to charge me with something? Because if you’re not, then I’ve got a business to run.’

  ‘Relax. You’re being a great help.’ Moon sat back, while the other man shifted in his chair, folding and unfolding his arms.

  ‘Come on, push him a bit,’ Sean whispered.

  Mrs Friedman was about to say something when the door to the observation room opened.

  ‘Hello.’ It was DI Rick Houghton. ‘This is cosy.’

  ‘Have you met Karen Friedman, Human Trafficking Service?’ Sean said.

  ‘Pleased to meet you,’ Mrs Friedman said quickly.

  ‘DI Houghton.’ He shook her hand.

  ‘PCSO Denton was kind enough to let me listen in, but I’ve heard enough, thank you.’

  ‘No problem.’ Rick turned to the window.

  In the artificial silence of the soundproofed room they heard Johnny Mackenzie giving the DCI some flannel about hardly knowing Forsyth. Sean opened the door for Mrs Fr
iedman and they stepped out into the hum and chatter of the first floor office suite.

  Halfway down the corridor she burst out laughing. She sounded a bit crazy.

  ‘Ma’am?’

  ‘Please, don’t keep saying that. You make me sound like the Queen. Why did you say I was HTS? I’m not even a police officer.’

  ‘That makes two of us.’ He laughed too. It felt like the rulebook had been shredded. ‘I’ll just say I got mixed up, it won’t be the first time.’

  ‘What a strange old day,’ she walked along the corridor slowly, looking at her feet, the laughter had subsided and her voice was sad. Sean sensed her unhappiness creep over him too.

  ‘Thanks for covering for me,’ she said.

  ‘No problem.’ The fluorescent lighting flickered above them as they headed for the stairs. He wanted to say more, but he held back.

  Over a cup of canteen coffee she asked him why they came to the funeral and if it was on official business.

  ‘Not officially,’ he said.

  ‘Thought not.’

  ‘It’s complicated, but let’s just say Lizzie Morrison, my colleague, was following her forensic nose.’

  ‘What do you know about Mackenzie?’

  Thin ice, thought Sean, very thin ice. ‘This and that. None of it good.’

  ‘You know, don’t you, that my sister-in-law has moved in with him, with her five-year-old daughter?’

  Sean shuddered.

  ‘I need to know, was he involved in my brother’s death?’

  Sean shrugged. ‘I really don’t know.’

  But I do know something, he thought, and I’ve kept it to myself. His heart was racing. Suddenly that old phrase, getting something off your chest, made sense. It was a real physical feeling. He was trying to remember if Arieta had ever mentioned Mackenzie. He could ask Maureen. He felt a creeping chill up the back of his neck. The chill began to take the form of the question. What if Arieta was working with Mackenzie? Together they could have killed Philip Holroyd. Declan’s zombie theory put her in the caravan the night before the murder. If Arieta was a suspect in the death of Philip Holroyd, the woman in front of him was the last person on earth he should share that with, however much he might want to tell someone. At that moment, to Sean’s relief, he saw Charlie Moon weaving between the tables of the canteen, heading in their direction.