by Sally Rigby
‘Transwide are a pain in the arse,’ Gardner said.
‘In what way?’
‘Trying to interfere in the investigation.’
‘How?’ Whitney asked.
‘Wanting us to make clear the murders weren’t related to them.’
‘But they clearly are, as all the rail operators targeted are owned by them.’
‘They consider it to be a coincidence. They believe we should focus our investigation elsewhere, as the bad publicity is causing them harm.’
‘Did you look into the possibility it’s a disgruntled customer or ex-employee?’
‘Of course.’ Gardner glared at her.
‘But there’s nothing in the files,’ she said.
‘Because we found nothing,’ Rowe said.
This was getting boringly repetitive. She forced herself to not respond, as they were going around in circles. Either they were extremely inept at their job, or they were deliberately keeping information from them. Well, that could cut both ways.
‘Why are you using an old-fashioned board?’ Gardner asked, nodding at it.
‘Why wouldn’t we?’ she said, surprised he’d mentioned it.
‘We’ve been using SmartBoards for the last two years. Before that we had interactive boards. Don’t you have any up-to-date equipment here?’ He gave a caustic laugh.
Whitney tensed. ‘It doesn’t matter what we use, providing we solve the crime. And our records speak for themselves.’
‘It’s like being stuck in the eighties. You’ll be telling me next you still use overhead projectors.’
Whitney’s fists clenched by her side. So, this was what it was going to be like. Their constant belittling. Fucking Jamieson. She could swing for him. There was no need for those arsewipes to be part of her investigation.
‘We’re getting away from the point. Now you’re here, how do you think you can help?’
‘We need to see the evidence you have. Has the pathologist’s report come in yet?’
‘I have the report from our first victim on my desk. I’ll email it to you,’ she said.
‘We’d like to see the crime scenes.’
‘That can be arranged. Would you like to go now?’
‘Yes.’
‘I’ll get one of my officers to take you.’
‘Aren’t you coming with? So we can discuss it,’ Gardner asked.
‘No. I have things to do which need my immediate attention.’ She called over one of her team. ‘Take DI Gardner and DS Rowe to the railway station and show them the crime scenes.’
Once they’d left the office, she turned to George. ‘What’s the point of sending them here? Have they told us anything we don’t already know? No, they haven’t. And as for their total dismissal of Transwide, it makes no sense. As far as I can tell, they’re going to be as much help to us as a chocolate teapot. Also, did you get the feeling they were holding out on us?’
‘Yes, I did. In my opinion, they only wanted to know what we’ve got and weren’t prepared to talk about their own findings. They definitely have their own agenda, and we need to be cognisant of that. I noticed you didn’t mention the ticket we found.’
‘I wasn’t prepared to let them take over on that front. But before we investigate further, I need to arrange for the family of the second victim to be informed.’ She walked over to Ellie’s desk, and George followed. ‘Do you have contact details for the second victim?’
‘Yes. She lived in Coventry. I’ve got her address. I’ll text it to you.’
‘Thanks. I’ll get in touch with the Coventry police and ask them to visit her family. They’ll also need to arrange for someone to make a formal identification of the body.’
They walked away from the officer’s desk.
‘Don’t you want to see the family yourself?’ George asked.
‘Not at the moment. We already know from the previous murders the victims are indiscriminately chosen.’
‘We’re assuming they’re indiscriminate, as we haven’t yet found a pattern. It doesn’t mean there isn’t one,’ George said.
‘Maybe. But I’m better off staying here and working through what we know for certain.’
‘Guv,’ Ellie called out from her desk. ‘I’ve just heard back from forensics. They found a print on the train ticket. They ran it through the database and came back with a name. It’s a Patrick Logan. He’s got a record for breaking and entering, and petty burglary, and he’s been in and out of prison. He lives at 20 Lower West Street, Banbury.’
‘Good work. Come on, George, let’s make a house call.’
Chapter Fourteen
Thursday, 12 June
‘Shall we take your car or mine?’ Whitney asked when they got into the station car park.
‘Let’s go in yours,’ George said.
Normally she’d be happy to drive anywhere, especially as her car was much more comfortable than Whitney’s. But she was still feeling less than one hundred per cent so was happy to let someone else take the wheel.
‘You must be feeling bad,’ Whitney quipped.
‘I’ve felt better,’ she acknowledged as they got into the car.
She thought back to the previous night when she’d been out with Ross. It had been an enjoyable evening, and she was relaxed in his company. Well, as relaxed as she could be. What she liked about him was he didn’t force her to engage in conversation and seemed to respect the fact she was a little reticent in other people’s company.
He was happy to talk, especially about his work, which she found absorbing, and she was keen to see some of his pieces in real life. She didn’t know much about sculptures, but she did enjoy art and had seen many of the major works.
She’d googled Ross and was surprised to learn he’d got quite a following. Not that she didn’t think he was talented, but he was self-effacing when discussing his work, which belied his true ability. She liked that about him. He was a member of the UK Sculpture Society, and his work was quite renowned.
He was very easy to be with and told ridiculously stupid jokes, some of which he had to explain to her. And even if, in part, she’d only agreed to go out with him because of her father, she was really pleased she had. She didn’t imagine anything serious happening between them; she wasn’t interested in a long-term relationship. She was happy to be on her own. But that wouldn’t stop her from going out with him again. She had Whitney to thank for making her more laid back about the relationship. She certainly wouldn’t have behaved like this pre-Walker.
‘Earth to George. Earth to George. Can you hear me?’
Whitney’s words cut into George’s thoughts. ‘Of course I can.’
‘Are you sure about that? I’ve been talking to you, and you were ignoring me.’
‘No, I wasn’t. I heard you.’
‘What did I say?’ Whitney challenged.
‘You asked if I could hear you.’
‘What did I say before that? You don’t know, do you?’
‘You must have said it very quietly.’ George cringed at her pathetic response.
‘Yeah, right. I’d put money on you being distracted because you were thinking about your date last night.’
‘What makes you say that?’
‘Nothing much, apart from your eyes glazing over and you obviously being miles away.’
George shifted awkwardly in the seat. ‘Glazed eyes is total nonsense. Maybe I was thinking about last night, but you make me sound like some lovesick teenager and you know that’s not me.’
‘Tell me about him. You’ve kept it so secret I hardly know anything. Other than the fact he somehow got you to go out on a work night, twice, and get pissed, which is so not you.’
‘He’s thirty-six, a couple of years older than me. And he’s a sculptor, of figurative realism.’
‘Which is?’
‘Realistic figures. Often larger but incredibly lifelike. He sculpts animals and humans.’
‘What does he look like? Is he tall? Is he handsome
? Tell me something more interesting.’
‘He’s taller than me, and he looks okay,’ George said.
‘Looks okay. What does that mean? What colour are his eyes?’
‘Blue. But I hardly think that matters. I’ve only been out with him a couple of times. It’s nothing serious.’
‘I’m glad if he makes you happy, especially after that shit you were living with before.’
‘What do you think of the two guys from the Regional Force?’ George asked, changing the subject, as she’d had enough of talking about herself and Ross.
‘Did you notice what they wearing? Even I could tell they were expensive suits. More like they were guests at a wedding than police officers. And don’t get me started on the way they put down our resources.’
‘I did notice they were smartly dressed. Is that what they’re all like there?’
‘To be honest, I haven’t met many of them, so I don’t know. Unless it’s just an act on their behalf to try to intimidate us.’
‘They might help us solve the case. It can be useful to have a fresh perspective.’
‘Don’t count on it. And it’s our perspective that’s fresh, not theirs. I think they wanted to come so they can take the kudos once we’ve cracked it. Let’s face it, they haven’t managed to solve it, so far,’ Whitney said.
‘From what I’ve read, the Regional Force has resourcing issues and are having to restructure. That can’t have helped their investigation.’
‘Resources are tight for everyone. Which is why we don’t have money for the most up-to-date equipment to do our job. Maybe if they’d not spent up large on all those SmartBoards, whatever they are, they wouldn’t be in such dire straits.’
‘Would you ever consider moving there? Could it be classed as a good promotion prospect?’ George asked.
‘You must be joking. I’m happy here. I like the Lenchester police force, warts and all. Right. We’re almost here.’ Whitney turned left into Lower West Street.
After parking the car in the road, they walked up to the terraced house. It was a newer one, dating from the eighties. The sort designed for the London overspill. Small brick-built boxes with cladding.
‘Whoever designed these did an appalling job,’ George said.
‘I agree. They’re ugly and poorly built. I’ve known places like this where dogs have actually chewed through the dividing walls. They were a cheap option to house many people, without a thought for what they would be like thirty years down the track. Luckily, we don’t have too many of these areas in Lenchester.’
They walked up to the door, and Whitney rang the bell. After a few moments, a woman answered.
‘Yes,’ she said, staring at them both.
‘Does Patrick Logan live here?’
‘Who wants to know?’
‘DCI Walker, Lenchester CID,’ Whitney said, showing her warrant card.
‘What do you want, this time? Why can’t you lot leave him alone? He’s done nothing.’
‘We need to speak to him about his train journey this morning.’
‘He’s in bed. He’s been working nights.’
‘Where does he work?’
‘Smithfield Distribution, in Coventry. He does the nightshift.’
‘We need to speak to him about an incident that happened on his train. Please wake him up.’
‘He won’t be happy. He’s only just gone to bed.’
‘Then he won’t be in too deep a sleep,’ Whitney said.
The woman opened the door and let them in. ‘Wait here.’
They watched her jog up the stairs and go into the first room on the left. Although she closed the door behind her, they could hear anger in the man’s voice as she woke him. After a couple of minutes, she came back down, with him following close behind. He was wearing boxers and a T-shirt, and his hair was all messed up. He was a small man, around five foot six, and very skinny.
‘What do you want?’ He glared at them both.
‘We’d like to talk to you about your train journey this morning. Is there anywhere we can sit down?’ Whitney said.
A guilty expression fleetingly crossed his face. What was he hiding?
‘We can go into the lounge.’ He opened the door on the left.
They followed him into a small room, overpowered by a large dark green leather three-piece suite, focused on the biggest television screen George had seen. It had to be at least seventy-two inches.
‘Were you on the train from Coventry to London this morning?’ Whitney asked after they were all seated.
‘Yes. I was coming home from work.’
‘Do you always catch that train?’
‘No. Sometimes I get a lift home with a bloke I work with. He’s on holiday at the moment, so I have to catch the train this week.’
‘Do you have your ticket?’
‘Somewhere. Maybe in my jacket pocket.’
‘Get it for me,’ Whitney said.
He let out an annoyed grunt and left the room. After a few minutes, he came back and handed the ticket to Whitney.
‘This was for yesterday, not today,’ Whitney said.
‘That’s the only one I can find.’ He dropped back down onto the chair.
‘We found a ticket on the floor of the train this morning, which has your fingerprints on it. It’s from today.’
‘So, why did you ask me to find my ticket? What the fuck’s that all about?’
‘We found the ticket near a woman who’d been murdered on the train.’
Logan paled. ‘I didn’t do it. I didn’t do anything.’
‘Where were you sitting on the train?’ Whitney asked.
‘Near the back.’ He glanced in George’s direction, and when she made eye contact, he dropped his gaze. He couldn’t be more suspicious if he tried.
‘Was anyone sitting near you?’ Whitney asked.
‘No.’
‘So, how did your ticket end up on the floor of the middle carriage?’
‘I must’ve dropped it.’ He shrugged.
‘When?’
‘Getting off the train.’ He leaned back and folded his arms.
‘Why didn’t you get off from your own carriage?’ Whitney asked.
‘I didn’t want to,’ he replied.
‘That makes no sense,’ Whitney said. ‘Did anyone see you walking through?’
‘How do I know?’
‘Can you tell me your movements on Sunday during the day between eight and two?’ Whitney asked.
‘Why?’ he growled.
‘Answer the question,’ Whitney snapped.
‘I was at home,’ he muttered unconvincingly.
‘Can anyone vouch for you?’
‘No.’ He shook his head. ‘Dennie was away for the weekend.’
‘And you were at home all the time?’
‘Yes. I’ve already told you. Why do you want to know?’ Logan sounded agitated.
‘We’re investigating two murders, both of which happened on trains.’
‘And you think I did them?’
‘Your ticket was found near one of the victims, and you still haven’t given us a reason why.’
He looked away. Guilt etched across his face. ‘Were you doing something you shouldn’t have?’ George asked.
‘I want immunity if I tell you what I know.’
‘What do you mean immunity? This isn’t some TV show. Either you tell us what you know, or we’ll take you in for questioning,’ Whitney said.
‘All right, I did see a woman sitting on her own when I passed through. But she was asleep. Her laptop was on the seat next to her, so I picked it up and carried on walking. She didn’t notice.’
‘She didn’t notice because she was probably dead,’ Whitney said.
‘She didn’t look dead. I thought she was asleep.’
‘Did you actually look at her?’
‘A bit. She wasn’t looking at me, so I took the laptop.’
‘Is that why you always walk through the train? To
see if there’s anything you can steal?’ Whitney asked.
‘I’m not admitting anything. I only told you about this one time, so you know what I was doing there, and why my ticket was on the floor. It must have slipped out of my hand.’
‘How did you get through the ticket barrier without it?’
‘It’s easy. Most of the time there’s no one around and you can walk through the disabled access.’
‘We need the laptop.’
‘Are you going to charge me with stealing it?’
‘Just get it for me,’ Whitney said.
He left the room and came back within thirty seconds, holding a blue case. Whitney took it from him.
‘Is this the only thing you took from passengers today?’
‘Yes.’
‘Get dressed. You’re coming with us.’
The man scowled at them. ‘You said if I cooperated you wouldn’t bring me in for questioning.’
‘I didn’t say that.’
‘Are you charging me?’
‘We’ll discuss it at the station.’
‘Why can’t we do it here? I didn’t do anything to that woman. I didn’t see anyone else hanging around. The train wasn’t very busy. Why do I have to go with you?’
‘You’re coming to the station with us, now. If you don’t do it voluntarily, I will arrest you. Your choice.’ Whitney stood, and George followed.
‘What about my sleep? I’ve got work again later.’
‘You should’ve thought of that before you stole the laptop. The sooner you get dressed and come with us, the sooner you’ll be back in your bed.’
‘Can I take my car?’
‘No. Dennie can follow behind and take you home once we’ve finished.’
He stormed out of the room and stomped up the stairs.
‘What do you think?’ George asked in a low voice.
‘He doesn’t have an alibi for the first murder. We need a search warrant to look through this place and I don’t want him, or anyone else, getting rid of anything incriminating before we get one.’
‘What about Dennie?’
‘That’s why I suggested she follow us to the station.’
‘It seems a bit of a longshot. In his job he’s hardly able to travel the country. How could he commit the other murders?’ George said.