Payback

by R. C. Bridgestock

  ‘Scratching his sweaty hide to get rid of the human odour?’ suggested Kristine as she joined Charley, who was standing with one foot in her car and her head on her folded arms resting on top of the door. ‘You’re up early. Didn’t you sleep last night?’

  ‘As much as Solomon Myers, I hope,’ she said with a sigh.

  Kristine looked at her, puzzled.

  ‘I’m hoping that he hated it so much in that cell that he’ll want to talk to us today.’ She gave her friend a straight-lipped smile. ‘But you know as well as I do: in this job we can never assume anything.’

  The incident room was buzzing. Having a prisoner in custody meant a collective feeling that a case could soon be broken. This wasn’t always to be, of course, but for now the high felt good.

  ‘To understand the buzz, you’ve just got to be involved, haven’t you?’ said Annie.

  ‘Days, weeks and sometimes months of hard work might give us a resolution, and therefore an update for the family of the victims.’ A pained expression crossed Charley’s face. Not closure as people liked to think. The victims and their families were the ones that serve the life sentence.

  The custody officer from the cells informed her that Myers had complained of feeling claustrophobic during the night, but the old-timer wasn’t having any of it.

  ‘A big, burly man like him acting like a church mouse. Pff! When I took him breakfast in this morning, his attitude seemed to have changed somewhat. I think you might find he’s ready to talk.’ He winked before turning to leave and Charley watched him saunter away, shoulders back, whistling a cheerful tune.

  She felt a second flicker of optimism as the prisoner’s mobile phone analysis report came in with the initial findings: two pictures – both murder victims’ bodies in situ.

  ‘I’m sending the images over on email for you to view,’ CSI Supervisor Neal Rylatt said, as a loud ping notified Charley of incoming mail. ‘And I want you to inspect them very closely.’

  Slowly, she dropped the phone on its cradle; her eyes didn’t leave the screen. Her fingers hovered over the keyboard and, as if in slow motion, with an unintentional intake of breath, she switched the first image – the close-up picture of the dead Kylie Rogers – to full screen, and did the same with the next image, Stewart’s dead body.

  ‘Calm down,’ she said under her breath. ‘Evidence, but still not proof that he was there.’

  Charley scanned the first picture back and forth, comparing it with the scene as she remembered it in her mind’s eye. Then she flicked to the second picture. Suddenly, she realised that something was not quite right in the first image and she flicked back to the picture of Kylie’s body, only to see something alien poking out from under a clump of long green grass. Her heart leapt inside her chest. Were her eyes deceiving her? No, someone else was in the picture. Someone else had been there when the picture was taken; someone who was wearing brown brogue shoes.

  Someone else was involved. But who?

  Annie Glover walked into the office as Charley was searching her desk drawer for the Sherlock Holmes magnifying glass that had been bought for her on promotion. It had been intended as a joke, but it worked perfectly. Annie looked at her boss quizzically. ‘You can zoom in, you know,’ she said, as she walked round the desk to look over her shoulder.

  ‘I know. I have done,’ said Charley, screwing up her eyes. ‘But … Tell me, did CSI manage to lift any footmarks at the scene?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ said Annie. ‘Do you think the murderer is photographing his work for himself, or to show someone else?’

  ‘Whatever, it’s something for this morning’s interview,’ she said.

  Heads down, the two set about planning their interview strategy.

  ‘Firstly, we get confirmation that it is his mobile, and then we show him the pictures.’

  ‘See if we get a comment?’

  Charley nodded. ‘Then we push the fact that the picture shows that someone else is present.’

  ‘And we ask him who it is?’

  ‘Exactly! A failure of many interviewers is that they don’t ask direct questions.’

  ‘Like, did you kill him?’

  Charley nodded her head. Her eyes returned to the pictures. ‘These images connect him to both murders.’

  ‘He’s got some explaining to do,’ Annie frowned, ‘but will he answer, or will his solicitor stop him from speaking out?’

  Charley shrugged her shoulders. ‘We can only ask the questions for now and hope that his mobile data tells us more.’

  ‘It’ll be interesting to see who he’s been communicating with…’

  ‘It will, but what bothers me is that the phone just happened to be down the back of the settee where it would obviously be found quite easily … And where is his laptop?’

  ‘If he had a laptop.’

  ‘The leads are there.’

  ‘You think someone has been meddling with the investigation?’

  ‘If they have, they’re one step ahead of us.’

  Annie’s look was one of surprise. ‘Maybe the shoe in the picture belongs to the person who was heard in Solomon’s flat.’

  Charley’s phone rang. She picked up. It was Connie. ‘The local paper has a headline that concerns me.’

  Charley frowned. ‘Go on.’

  ‘“Local man arrested for recent murders” – it’s causing me loads of grief amongst the rest of the media who are demanding to know if it’s true. How’d Danny Ray know about the arrest?’

  ‘I’ve no idea. I’ve not spoken to anyone nor, as far as I know, has any of the team. But you can confirm to them that a twenty-seven-year-old local man has been arrested in connection with the murders, if that helps.’

  ‘And, I guess, no further comment at this time which is normal protocol when a suspect is in custody?’

  Charley knew she could only keep things quiet for so long, but how dare that bastard run with the story? There was no doubt in her mind he had decided he would be a thorn in her side by ignoring protocol. Was he wanting a reaction from her? She banged the palms of her hands flat on the table and Annie jumped.

  ‘Enough,’ she said under her breath – she wouldn’t be sidetracked by him; she had work to do and Solomon Myers’ custody clock was ticking – ‘I have a briefing to do before the interview.’

  With positive findings to put to him, the interview with Solomon would be interesting. Charley had decided that she would go back into the interview with DC Annie Glover to see if being in his presence gave her any gut feelings about him. After this, she would watch any further interviews onscreen through direct video link, where she could study his body language without any distractions.

  The briefing was a positive start to the day. All enquiries were focused on Solomon Myers. The anticipation in the room was tangible. Did they have the killer in the traps?

  ‘Michael! Good to see you again,’ said Charley, in a cheery voice. Their meeting, prior to Myers’ joining them in the interview room, was expected. With a limp hand, Myers’ solicitor reciprocated with the briefest of handshakes. He swung his briefcase up onto the desk and let his fingers explore the inner pocket of his suit jacket, producing his pen before he took the jacket off and sat down. He took out his notebook, found a clean page and began to write. He didn’t look up when Charley spoke to him.

  ‘For your information,’ she continued, ‘I will be asking for a twelve-hour extension in custody, via the Divisional Commander, and if we still need more time, I will be going before the Magistrates to extend his detention in custody for the further maximum thirty-six.’

  ‘And I’ll appear for my client at the Magistrates. We will,’ he emphasised, ‘be asking for bail.’ His eyes found hers and he smiled.

  Charley raised her eyebrows. ‘Good luck with that one,’ she said.

  The look in her eyes wiped the smile off his face. ‘I don’t rely on luck, Detective Inspector,’ he snapped.

  ‘But I rely on the courts of justice to be prudent,
knowing that after the seventy-two hours I am granted by law to interview your client, I will be ready to charge,’ she said, her voice lowered to a whisper, ‘or release.’

  Once again in a cell-area interview room, dwarfing Parish at his side, Solomon Myers was relaxed, or so it seemed. The solicitor had been informed of the findings on Myers’ mobile phone and the clothing, and he had already spoken with his client about the disclosure. All that was left to do, after the caution and identification of those present for voice recognition on the tape, was for the detectives to remind Myers that he was under arrest for the two separate murders, before the interview commenced.

  ‘Solomon, as you are aware, we have your DNA from a condom found at the scene of the murder of Stewart Johnson and we have also now recovered, from behind the cushions on the settee in the lounge of your flat, a mobile phone. This mobile is presently under examination by our technical team. We already know there are two photographs on that phone.’ From beneath the file in front of her Charley produced paper copies of the two photographs showing the bodies of the two murdered people, and a picture of the mobile phone. Exhibit CM1 was a picture showing Kylie Rogers hanging from a tree by her feet. Pointing to it, Charley asked, ‘Did you take this picture?’

  Solomon Myers’ eyes were red-rimmed and his hair badly needed a brush. ‘No comment,’ he said.

  Charley produced the second picture. ‘I am now showing the prisoner Exhibit CM2 which is a picture of a mobile phone. Is this yours?’

  His eyes glanced at the picture and then back at her. He shrugged his shoulders.

  ‘Solomon Myers is shrugging his shoulders. Could you please answer the questions and speak out for the purpose of the tape?’

  The prisoner cleared his throat. ‘No comment.’

  Charley showed him the third picture depicting Stewart’s dead body. ‘I am now showing the prisoner Exhibit CM3. Did you take this photograph?’

  Again, he looked up at the CCTV camera. ‘No comment,’ he said, before returning his gaze to her. ‘Carry on.’

  ‘Thank you,’ Charley replied, without a trace of sarcasm.

  Myers rhythmically tapped the table.

  ‘The pictures, the DNA, all suggest that you are responsible for both of these brutal murders. Did you kill them at your place of work and then take them to where they were found?’ Charley fired across the table.

  Myers smiled, turned to his solicitor, and then nodded his head. ‘Same answer. No comment.’

  ‘Did you do the murders by yourself, or was there someone else with you?’

  Myers drew a long breath, exhaled and then continued. ‘No comment.’

  ‘Was there a reason for hanging Kylie’s body where it was found?’

  ‘No comment.’

  Charley pushed the picture showing Kylie’s body in situ across the table. The image sat directly in front of Solomon. He didn’t look at it until he was asked to do so.

  ‘Take a closer look. You see, this picture brings me to a pretty inescapable conclusion, that you didn’t commit these murders alone. Tell me who was with you?’

  Myers gazed at the detectives across the table, silently, for several seconds.

  ‘Solomon?’

  ‘No comment.’ He whispered at first, and then added loudly, ‘for the purpose of the recording device.’

  ‘I want you to look in the bottom left-hand corner. There was someone standing with you when you took this picture. How do you respond to that?’

  Myers flinched. He turned to his solicitor and frowned.

  Without lifting his head from the notes he was making, the solicitor crossed his legs and hunched in his chair, before looking over his glasses at Charley, his mouth fallen open like the hinged jaw of a ventriloquist’s dummy. It was apparent to her that he had not scrutinised the photograph and seen what she’d seen. He turned to his client and looked at him questioningly.

  Hurriedly, Charley continued to push the line of questioning which had obviously touched a nerve. Leaning forward across the table, she lowered her voice. ‘Someone make a mistake?’ she asked, raising one eyebrow.

  Myers sat up, cleared his throat and shuffled back in his seat, as far away from her as his chair would allow. ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’ He scoffed.

  An answer! Charley felt a surge of adrenaline run through her veins. She carried on. ‘By taking this picture, you’ve implicated someone else, haven’t you? Are you just the brawn?’ Her eyes narrowed. ‘If so, who’s the brains?’

  Solomon was clearly becoming agitated. He turned to his solicitor with a questioning look in his eyes. His solicitor remained silent.

  Charley’s voice became gentle and sympathetic, but firm. ‘We will find the other person, but at this moment in time this interview is to give you an opportunity to tell us what’s been going on and with whom.’

  Myers shook his head slowly from side to side. ‘No comment, no comment, no comment, no comment! What don’t you understand about that?’

  From the file in front of her Charley slowly slid out a picture of the women’s period clothing. ‘Are these yours?’ she asked.

  ‘No comment,’ he said.

  ‘It’s your prerogative, Solomon. I think we get the message,’ – she stopped, picked up the papers in front of her and shuffled them into a neat pile – ‘but perhaps you should think about your position. No one is worth that sort of loyalty. Let’s face it, you’re in here being questioned about two murders. And the other person? Well, they’re at home, sleeping in a nice comfy bed and just getting on with their life.’

  Charley didn’t wait for a response, but terminated the interview. She walked back to the incident room with Annie with a spring in her step.

  ‘Do you think we’ll be ready to charge him, even if we aren’t granted the full seventy-two hours in police custody?’

  ‘It’ll not be for the want of trying.’

  ‘It’s so obvious: he’s not clever enough to set up a dump site to look like the scene of the crime, is he?’

  ‘No, definitely not. He’s someone’s puppet, that I am sure of. The good thing is he’s going nowhere for now. He can wriggle as much as he wants, but he’s in the net. We have to keep on digging though. I’m going in to the debrief to tell everyone that we need one hundred and ten per cent, no distractions. We need the evidence to put him and his accomplice behind bars.’

  Annie sniggered.

  ‘What?’ said Charley.

  ‘I guess a little help from the Hobgoblin wouldn’t go amiss? Maybe we should all put a jug of milk out tonight?’

  The two women were laughing as they entered the incident room to be met by a wall of shocked faces.

  ‘Wilkie’s been involved in an accident. He’s in an ambulance, on his way to the hospital. It’s not looking good,’ said Mike.

  ‘Has someone been in touch with his wife? Does he have a wife?’

  Mike Blake and Ricky-Lee exchanged glances. ‘He has. She’s wheelchair-bound. She’s totally reliant on him,’ said Mike. ‘I thought you knew.’ His head down he followed her into her office. ‘But then, why should you?’

  Charley collected her car keys from her desk drawer. ‘Children?’

  Mike shook his head. ‘No, there’s no other family. He’s devoted to Fran.’

  ‘He is?’

  ‘Yes, he is. All his spare time, and spare money, is spent on looking after her: doctors, homeopathic treatment, magical gold rings warranted to cure rheumatism in quick time – the lot.’

  ‘And what else don’t I know about him?’ She didn’t know why she felt shocked, but she did.

  ‘Oh, he does most of the housework, the washing, keeps a nice garden, a dozen hens and a hutch with rabbits – he bakes a nice cake.’

  ‘I had no idea…’

  ‘No, he keeps his personal life pretty much to himself.’

  Charley rushed into her office to grab her jacket. There was a message from Wilkie on her desk. ‘I think we might have found us the perpetrato
r of Eddie’s murder,’ it said.

  She shuffled into her jacket. ‘I’ll be at the hospital if anyone needs me,’ and with that she was out of the door. ‘Inform Roper,’ she called over her shoulder.

  Chapter 15

  Charley put her hands on her head and sighed. She wound down the car window, much in need of fresh air, and for a moment closed her eyes, letting her head fall backwards on the headrest. She turned her face to feel the cool breeze and composed herself. Sitting in the line of traffic, she waited for the lights to change. The north-easterly wind that had blown her hair away from her face appeared to have picked up suddenly, rocking the tall trees. She saw a lady lose her hat and a small child chased it into the road. Charley held her breath until he was safely back on the pavement. A group of school girls from the private school, clad in dresses and skirts, held on to their hats. It all seemed surreal. Whatever her initial thoughts about Wilkie had been, they had changed after their discussion. She had thought she had the measure of Detective Constable Connor, but how wrong could she have been? And could he really have found the culprit who’d flown the drone in the restricted airspace that they believed had spooked her beloved Eddie to his death?