COVER BLOWN: covert police work clashes with a murder investigation

by Ian Robinson

Nash adjusted her seating position, her legs side-on to them both, hands in her lap as she leaned forward.

  ‘When you last spoke to Melissa, did she mention anything or anyone that had been troubling her?’ Nash said.

  Mrs Phelps looked at her husband who sat with a thousand-yard stare. She touched his hand and stroked the back of it then answered Nash’s question.

  ‘I spoke with Melissa a week ago. She sounded happy with life and never expressed any concern. As her mother, I’ve always known if there was anything troubling her. I could tell in her voice, you see. We were very close, all three of us. There was nothing she said that gave me any cause for concern, but no one could predict what has happened, Inspector, surely?’

  Nash nodded. ‘Absolutely. I’m just trying to get an idea of your daughter’s likes, dislikes, friends, relationships, anything that could give us an opening as to who would wish her to come to such harm,’ Nash said, and waited as Mrs Phelps took out a hanky and ruffled it in her spare hand.

  ‘Inspector, we’ve come here to collect what’s left of our daughter’s life and to arrange for her to come home to be laid to rest. There’s nothing we can tell you that will help find the bastard who killed her… I’m sorry… I only wish there was.’ Mrs Phelps gripped her husband’s hand and both Nash and Moretti could see the tears that began to surface in both parents’ eyes.

  Moretti had informed the manager they were to be left alone for the next twenty minutes, and the manager was astute enough to not ask questions. She’d seen the papers and recognised the surname when the Phelpses had been booked in. She assured Moretti of complete privacy.

  Moretti gave a warm smile to Mrs Phelps. ‘I’m so sorry you have to go through this but we shouldn’t be too much longer. You’re right, there may not be anything you consider important but sometimes the smallest detail that may appear irrelevant can provide a breakthrough for an investigative team,’ he said.

  Mrs Phelps returned his warmth and nodded her head in acknowledgement at his genuine empathy. She turned to Nash.

  ‘You know, you remind me of Melissa: warm, kind and sincere. I’ll miss talking with her. We would talk every week… sometimes it would be using WhatsApp or Messenger or Facebook and she loved Instagram. I’ll miss seeing her photos, she takes such lovely photos… took such lovely photos… oh dear.’ Mrs Phelps collapsed into her husband’s side and sobbed.

  He remained perfectly still then slowly placed his arm around her shoulders and looked directly at Nash.

  ‘Find the bastard who killed my daughter and when you do, make sure they don’t come quietly. With any luck they’ll live at the top of a tower block where the lift is broken and take an unexpected fall down many flights of stairs. Now, I’d like some time with my wife before the other officer arrives. If there’s anything else you need then obviously we’ll do our best to help. We always do our best to help anyone and Melissa was the same, such a sweet loving person.’

  He finished speaking, turned and kissed his wife on the side of her head that was buried into his shoulder and whose tears gradually soaked his blue Oxford shirt. Nash nodded at Moretti and they both got up. Nash passed Mr Phelps a card.

  ‘If you need anything then call me. My mobile is always on should you think of anything while you are here. My team will do all they can to bring the perpetrator to justice,’ she said before she and Moretti left them alone on the small two-seat Chesterfield sofa to experience their grief.

  As Nash closed the door to the bar she looked back at the couple and took a deep breath. She could feel a pain in her stomach and hoped she’d have closure for them soon.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  The briefing room fell silent as Nash joined her team. Moretti sat at his usual place alongside Nash at the head of the table. Nash opened her daybook and glanced around. All were present who were expected to be there. She updated the team on the meeting with Melissa’s parents and turned to the Intelligence Desk manager, DS Owen Matthews.

  ‘Owen, in addition to the social media accounts, I need a breakdown to differentiate between friends and family and provide me with some knowledge about any groups she belonged to or any areas of interest she highlighted. We’re at an impasse as far as intelligence is concerned, and all we’ve discovered about her hasn’t provided a lead, suspect, or any possible motive for her murder. No forced entry to the flat bothers me. She either let the person in because she knew them or the lock was bypassed electronically. I’ve asked for the lock to be removed and forensically examined to see if there’s any indication it’s been hacked. I want her phone records and emails checked for any deliveries on the day she was murdered: food, drink, shopping, anything.’

  DS Matthews nodded and scribbled down the tasking.

  Nash turned to the source unit DS, Hugo Dillon, who’d agreed to attend at her request. ‘Anything from your sources?’

  ‘Nothing as yet. We’ve shown the image of the dispatch rider to a few of our friendlies and they’ve all drawn a blank. We’ll keep up the pressure for information and if one of them hears anything then they’ll be in touch, that’s for certain,’ Dillon said.

  Nash continued, ‘Anyone else got any new information for the table? I need some answers, people. This poor woman came home to be strangled in her bath and all we have is a grainy image of a dispatch rider that may or may not have any bearing on the investigation.’

  Nash’s work phone vibrated in her pocket. She looked at the screen and saw it was the contact desk. She excused herself from the room and stepped out to take the call.

  ‘DI Nash?’ a voice asked.

  ‘Yes, how can I help you?’

  ‘Ma’am, I’ve an officer on scene of a suspicious death. He’s requested that you be contacted as his team attended one similar to where they are now and–’

  ‘Sorry, are you saying the officer attended the scene at flat 33, Thamesmere Heights, and the circumstances are similar?’

  ‘Yes. I’ve accessed the restricted Computer Aided Dispatch report for the previous incident and compared the two. They would appear identical. Obviously, I’m not linking anything until a homicide detective has made an assessment,’ the contact desk officer said.

  ‘Pass the details to DS Moretti and myself. I will have the scene looked at and a decision made if it’s for us.’ Nash hung up.

  She drew her fingers over her ponytail and rubbed her mouth before she re-entered the briefing room. The voices that had been circulating quietened as all eyes fell on her. They all knew the look of a DI who’d been given a new job. Heads dropped while others clasped their faces and peered through fingers at her.

  She leaned on the desk. ‘Not confirmed, but we may have another job identical to the Phelps murder. Nick, go down to this new scene. Make an assessment as to whether this is linked, or not, based on the MO. Until I get feedback from DS Moretti, we all carry on with our current duties. No one is to book off or go home until they’ve spoken to me, understood?’

  All heads nodded and the meeting was brought to a close.

  Nash lightly grabbed Moretti’s arm as he was about to leave. Once the room was clear she spoke quietly. ‘It appears identical from what I’ve been told on the phone but make your own assessment and feedback to me. I know you’re interested in taking the exam for inspector so this will all add to your application,’ she told him then added, ‘but more importantly, I trust your judgement. Any doubts, let me know and I will be straight down.’

  Moretti gathered up his daybook and on his way out, shouted for Jonesy to grab his scene bag as well as his own and to meet him in the parade square.

  CHAPTER NINE

  Moretti waited outside what appeared to be a newly decorated bathroom. The ivory grout was flush with the tiles, pristine and untouched by water damage. The latest victim lay face up in the water as though she’d fallen asleep, but he knew that wasn’t the case. He let his eyes take in the room as they searched.

  The detectives detailed with the scene examination all moved from the
ceiling down as they scrutinised every available space for anything that stood out as unusual or out of place. All searched for a clue that could lead to an investigative breakthrough. If it belonged in the flat, why was it where it was when it could have been situated elsewhere? The very question Moretti asked himself of Jade Williams, the bath’s occupant.

  Dr King leant over the lifeless body while he moved a strand of long lank Afro curl from Jade’s forehead. The bath’s tap emitted a steady drip, the echo of which had become an irritant to those alive in the small space. It felt like déjà vu to Moretti. Nash had joined them once Moretti had got the ball rolling. As soon as he’d seen the body, he’d placed a call to her.

  There were no signs of forced entry to the flat. It was situated two blocks along the river towards Battersea power station from where Melissa had resided and incorporated the same entry system.

  JJ and Jonesy were absorbed in the search of the flat with DC Katriona ‘Katie’ Maloney, the designated exhibits officer for this case. Yvonne Campbell, the SOCO, was studiously dusting a single wardrobe’s interior in the main bedroom. The doors of which had been open when the first officers arrived and checked for any other occupants. They’d been skilled enough to choose a common approach path and used their body-worn cameras as a visual aid for Moretti to view on his arrival.

  This was invaluable for Moretti as he could view footage from the officer’s camera without having to enter. The footage where the victim lay was too brief, so he’d taken the decision to enter and assess. He used the same route as the uniform officer had, so the scene remained as undisturbed as possible.

  There was a hush to the premises, the peace of which was shattered every so often by the sounds of investigation: the uniform officer’s personal radio, and the sound from the photographer’s camera flash as it rose from a mute to a crescendo before finally getting released by the shutter button. All officers and support staff were deep in concentration. Every victim mattered. Nash insisted on the ethos at any scene her team attended, and she was honoured to witness it in abundance in each room her staff occupied.

  The flat was neat and ordered much like Jade’s life appeared to be. She was a barrister for a prominent legal firm. Her office had been visited and the head of chambers informed. He’d struggled to comprehend what he was being told. He explained how valued she was and that he’d just taken a call from the Old Bailey where she’d been due in court and not been seen. A graduation photo sat in a wooden frame perched atop a windowsill in her living room. She was with an older couple that Nash assumed to be her parents as there was a likeness in the eyes.

  Pictures attached by magnets clung to the fridge that depicted fun times in Jamaica. The national flag flew above the beach bar they were photographed at. People dressed in flowing white linen, all smiling and relaxed. A far cry from where she lay now surrounded by murky water and a montage of white forensic suits. Dr King stood up. Nash and Moretti moved aside and gave him room to leave the bathroom. They all resumed in the small hall.

  Dr King kept his mask on as he spoke, the material moving in and out with every word. ‘The MO is identical to the Melissa Phelps murder. Asphyxiation due to strangulation. I will be taking measurements of the bruising again at the mortuary and a comparison will be made of the two cases. I’m confident I’m right, but need a thorough forensic comparison made beyond my cursory observation. Any progress on the Phelps case? I confess I’ve been so busy I’ve barely had time to catch up on current affairs,’ he said.

  ‘We’re no further forward beyond a possible suspect seen on CCTV. It’s circumstantial at best. Until we’ve traced and spoken to the individual then we’ve made as much progress as a drugged slug.’ Nash sighed.

  Dr King patted her arm in an unusually fatherly gesture.

  ‘I’ll see one of you at 8 a.m. sharp tomorrow for the post mortem. Oh, and Ms Williams was killed between five and seven o’clock last night,’ he said as he signed a uniform officer’s crime scene log and left.

  As they moved back into the living room, they saw JJ. He was coming out of the kitchen carrying a cat basket and shaking his head. ‘What is it with high-flyers and pet cats? Like they’d have any time for them being out at work all day? It just ain’t fair,’ he said, by way of reassurance to an almost identical-looking cat to that of Melissa Phelps’s.

  A white and brown-flecked cat purred from the wicker cat basket JJ cradled under his pronounced bicep.

  Nash looked closer at the entrance to the basket. ‘JJ, was the cat in the basket when you found it, and was the door to the basket open or closed?’ she asked.

  JJ smiled back at her and started shaking his head as he wagged his spare index finger.

  ‘You know, boss, I may not be the best at pet-sitting, but I do know my job. It was shut and locked with the cat in it. I got Yvonne to dust the basket’s door as best she could. She’s swabbed it for good measure too in case our suspect got a scratch. There’s nothing obvious but you never know. Oh, and for your information this ain’t the basket from the kitchen either,’ JJ said as he continued to nod his head in self-recognition at his sterling work.

  ‘When I took Melissa’s cat, I was given this basket as a spare to carry in the car should I ever be in the same situation again. In truth I think, Veronique, the cat shelter supervisor, likes me. She’d intimated that it would be nice to see me again. Looks like it’s her lucky day, eh?’

  Nash shook her head and smiled. ‘Good work, JJ. You’re a thinker and if I came across as doubting your abilities then that was never my intention. You know me, I think out loud at times when I should keep quiet. After all, my job’s to question. I need to see the others and see where we’re all at before Jade’s body’s removed,’ Nash said.

  Nash left Moretti speaking with JJ and found Campbell. She’d moved from the wardrobe and was looking at a drinking glass on a bedside table. She dusted down the outside of the glass, the light from the bedroom window creating a shower of colour as she flicked the brush hairs across the surface. She looked up and let the varifocal lens do its job; as her eyes zoned in on the areas, she was keen to explore for any prints. Prints that wouldn’t be attributed to Jade. She felt like an artist as she worked, and held the tumbler away from her face to study the glass.

  ‘You never know, our suspect may have taken a moment to have a drink before they left. There’s no lipstick mark on it from what I can see, and Jade is wearing lipstick,’ she offered, by way of explanation that Nash didn’t require, as she could see it for herself but nevertheless respected.

  ‘Stranger things have happened, I’ll give you that,’ Nash replied.

  She liked the way Campbell worked and she’d managed her last case very well, so she was pleased every time she arrived at one of her scenes. Campbell was a methodical worker, much like herself, and she had a lot of time for colleagues who took pride in what they did.

  Jonesy drifted in from a spare bedroom and raised his chin at Nash. Nash went to him. Jonesy booked in a laptop he’d found, and two mobile phones with DC Maloney. One smartphone and a Nokia that looked old and beyond working.

  ‘Anything else from that room, Jonesy?’ Nash asked.

  ‘That’s it,’ he said.

  There was a knock at the flat’s door. Nash turned and saw that the undertakers had arrived to transport Jade to the mortuary. Her team had almost completed all they could do at the flat for today. Nash sat at a small table and looked through what exhibits had been gathered while Jade’s body was removed. She’d thought the investigation at the end of last year was her “big” case but now, as she moved the various plastic exhibit bags to the floor, she realised she couldn’t have been further from the truth.

  CHAPTER TEN

  Nash had instructed Moretti to attend Jade’s post mortem on the understanding she would deal with the team’s actions and updates from yesterday’s scene. She’d not slept well. She never did as a matter of rule but when a new murder broke the insomnia became worse. Her mind became the m
ajor incident room with no one to turn out the lights at the end of the day. She had two deaths to manage and that meant her mind was in overdrive. She longed for the freedom of a run.

  The incident room was alive with the sound of computer keyboards, various discussions and the drinking of coffee. As the room settled, she nodded to Jonesy who activated a roller blind she’d had installed on a portable board. Jonesy turned in his chair and pulled the ring down, letting the mechanism roll the plain white blind upwards. Behind it, Nash had added the picture of Jade Williams along with that of Melissa Phelps. The team had been reluctant to take a step back in time to use the board. HOLMES, the computerised record of everything that was taking place, took care of everything the board, carousel turntable and index cards used to. Nash believed people operated better when they could see the person they worked for. It didn’t correlate to bosses but worked for victims. Every member of the team was now the victim’s voice. Something a computer couldn’t be.

  On this occasion she’d decided to use the images obtained from Dr King alongside the images of the victims taken from their homes. Nash hoped King’s further exploratory work in the mortuary would corroborate his opinion of a linked case.

  Nash sipped her lukewarm coffee and started the meeting.

  ‘DS Moretti is at the post mortem. He’ll feedback the results later. In the meantime, let’s start with the Jade Williams investigation, then we can look at the Melissa Phelps case…’

  ‘So we are linking the two then?’ Sagona asked.

  ‘Not officially – no. I want them to run side by side though. I don’t want to miss any similarities… you know the drill.’

  As Nash finished speaking, Sagona rolled his eyes.

  ‘George, do not give me that look again. I never issue a directive without giving the subject due diligence and I thought you of all people would have realised that by now,’ Nash said.

  Others in the room adjusted their positions to ones that projected attention. Nash continued. Her team’s body language noted.