by Candy Denman
“But, I keep saying, I don’t know no one−”
“It’s alright, Mark,” Callie said as soothingly as possible, “we know you don’t know who it is, but what Inspector Miller is trying to say, is that he needs to ask you questions to try and help find out who it is, because I am sure you want them caught as much as we do, right?”
Mark stopped examining his fingernails long enough to look at Callie and nod. Once she was sure Mark was settled again, Callie nodded to Miller to continue.
“So, I know we’ve talked about the cans found at the scene, but we really need to know how the killer got hold of those cans with your fingerprints on, okay?”
Mark nodded again, without looking up.
“Okay, so you buy them at the local shop, right?”
“Yeah,” Mark agreed.
“And you take them with you when you go out?”
“Cheaper than buying drinks out.”
“Okay, so you take the cans out with you and when you have finished your drink, you throw them away, where? On the ground?”
“In the bin,” Mark seemed insulted. “I don’t just chuck ’em on the floor.”
“Of course,” Miller agreed. “So, you take a can with you when you go to see Dr Hughes?” Miller indicated Callie.
“Sometimes, maybe.”
“Or to the hospital?”
Mark nodded.
“Or the job centre?”
“Don’t go there,” Mark answered. “On account of my problems, I’m on the sick long term, like.”
“Can you think of anywhere else you go regularly and take your cans of drink with you?”
Mark thought for a few moments before shaking his head.
Miller sighed in frustration.
“Nowhere at all?” Callie asked him, but he shook his head again.
“Sorry.” He really did seem to want to help.
“How about when you meet up with your girlfriend?” Callie persevered.
“Nah. She gets them in for me.”
“Same brand?” His reply interested Miller.
“Yeah, but she’s not involved right? She wouldn’t do this?”
“It’s okay. It’s just another possible place the person might get hold of them.”
“Yeah but lots of places have the same ones, they could’ve come from anywhere.”
“Not with your fingerprints on, Mark,” Miller persisted. “The killer must be picking up your used cans from somewhere and it has to be somewhere you go regularly, either with you taking your own drinks, or with somebody else getting them in for you. Do you see?”
Mark seemed to understand.
“You take the drinks with you to medical appointments and your girlfriend has them at her house. Is there anywhere else you drink them?”
Miller paused again whilst Mark gave it some more thought.
“Well, the centre,” he finally said.
“What centre?”
“The youth support centre. Where I go and see Miss Austen. They have that brand there, charge 30p for a can, only have drinks and snacks on club nights though, not, like, all the time.”
“Club nights?” Miller queried.
“Yeah. Once a month they have nights when they put on like, talks there, and you can play table tennis and that. I have to go as part of my, um, therapy and they’re okay, but that fireman, you know the arson man, like, he’s always there recently and it’s−”
“Chris Butterworth? He goes to the centre?” Miller interrupted, unable to keep the excitement from his voice, making Mark more anxious again.
“Yeah. I don’t have a problem with it, like, it’s just…” His voice trailed off and he hunched over, looking at the floor.
“Difficult,” Callie finished for him. Miller was already on his feet, heading for the door and pulling out his mobile phone.
Chapter 24
Surprisingly, Callie was on time for morning surgery despite warning Linda that she might be a bit late because of her early morning visit to Mark Caxton, and she was amazed when she was still only running slightly late by the time she finished with her last patient. She would normally have gone upstairs to deal with any paperwork, referrals and phone calls, but she decided not to give anyone the chance to delay her, and hurried out of her consulting room, pretending not to hear the receptionist calling to her as she raced through the waiting room and out of the surgery. She wanted to get to the police station and find out what was happening.
Miller had been abrupt to the point of rudeness when warning her not to call Helen before he had a chance to act on the news that Helen Austen and Chris Butterworth both knew about how Mark set fires and had the means to collect his used drink cans. He had hurried away to arrange for them to be picked up without even saying goodbye, but she couldn’t blame him. They were clearly top of his suspect list now, or rather Butterworth was – particularly as it had been him who had pointed the finger at Mark in the first place. Callie couldn’t imagine that Helen was seriously a suspect, it was hard to see how she could be the murderer, but Butterworth was a different matter altogether.
* * *
By the time Callie had arrived at the police station and Jayne collected her from reception, she was pleased to hear that both Helen and Butterworth had been picked up and that Helen had even had a preliminary interview.
“She really wanted to get things cleared up as quickly as possible,” Jayne explained.
“And did she?” Callie asked.
“Well, to be honest, that depends if you believe that it never occurred to her that the cans came from the centre or not.”
“Do you?”
“I’m not sure, but no surprises for guessing which sergeant of our acquaintance thinks it’s a load of poppycock.”
“But I’ll bet he didn’t use the word poppycock,” Callie answered with a grin.
“No,” Jayne agreed.
“What about the fireman, Chris Butterworth?”
“He was livid about being picked up at work and marched out in front of the duty fire crews. I think he would have refused to come if the boss hadn’t made it clear that he would be arrested if he didn’t. Anyway, he has refused to be interviewed without a lawyer present so, we’re just waiting for one.”
“Is he divorced?” Callie asked as they reached the incident room door and Jayne hesitated before going in.
“Well, that’s the strange thing, both he and Helen seem to be happily married, but one of the other social workers at the youth centre said it was assumed they were having an affair because there had to be a reason why Butterworth kept coming back to the centre after the initial time when he had been asked to come and give a talk to the kids about fire safety.”
“And it couldn’t have been just that he was trying to help.”
“Give me a break.” Jayne rolled her eyes and opened the door. “No one gives up their evening to help kids like this without some sort of ulterior motive.”
Callie wasn’t so sure but perhaps she wasn’t as cynical as the average police officer.
As Callie entered the room, Miller looked surprised to see her, but not unhappy, she thought with relief.
“Can’t keep away from us, eh, Doc?” Jeffries said.
Callie looked a little abashed.
“I, um, well, just wanted to see what happened at the centre and the lead that the cans might have come from there.”
Callie knew she had no real right to information about the ongoing investigation, but the fact that she had been involved, and so had one of her patients, made her natural curiosity forgivable. At least she hoped it did.
Miller ushered her into his office and indicated for Jeffries to come with them to Callie’s surprise and disappointment. She couldn’t help but notice that both of them seemed pumped up and that there was a palpable sense of excitement in the room. It had to mean that they felt they were getting somewhere with the case at last and she felt an enormous relief to think that it might soon be all over.
“Do
you know anything about Helen Austen’s personal life? Any rumours about her maybe having an affair?” Miller asked her once she had sat down in the visitor’s chair. He had perched on the edge of the desk rather than sitting in his chair and Jeffries was leaning against a filing cabinet; this obviously wasn’t going to be a long discussion.
“Helen?” Callie was not surprised by this question given Jayne’s revelation that the staff at the centre had all assumed she was having an affair with Butterworth and she had given it some thought. “No. As far as I am aware, she has a really good marriage to a lovely guy called, oh what is his name?” She wracked her brains. “Clive! That’s it. I think he’s an accountant or something.”
“Children?”
“Not as far as I know. Look, are you telling me you think Helen is involved? That’s ridiculous.”
“Why?” Miller retorted. “Why is it ridiculous?”
“Mark’s her client. She’s a social worker, she helps people. She wouldn’t set him up. Why are you so sure she is involved?”
“If she isn’t, why didn’t she tell us that they served drinks and snacks at the youth centre? And not just any drinks, but the very brand that she knew we were trying to trace? And then when we questioned her about it earlier, and about anyone who might have had access to those cans, why did she not tell us that Chris Butterworth came to those sessions? The same Chris Butterworth who implicated Mark in the first place?”
Miller leant forward as he made final his point and Callie flinched at his obvious anger and conviction that the social worker had to be guilty. True, he wasn’t really angry with her, she knew, but it certainly felt like it.
“I don’t know,” she responded with as much dignity as she could muster after this onslaught, “but I suspect you will find that she is as much a victim in this as Mark is. She would never do anything to harm one of her clients, and if she has omitted to tell you things, then it was probably for a good reason.”
“Like what?”
“Maybe because she was trying not to give anyone a reason to pull the centre’s funding or she was ashamed of something she had done, like… like…” Callie scrabbled for a reason, “not doing something by the book, fiddling the expenses, or… or… cheating on her husband.”
Miller sat back and Jeffries looked interested.
“You think she might be nicking stuff?”
“I don’t know!” Callie said in exasperation. “I was just trying to think of a reason why she might not be candid with you under the circumstances, and that seemed like a good one, but honestly, I have no idea. Have you asked her?”
There was a knock on the door and Nigel put his head in.
“Duty solicitor’s here, guv.”
Nigel gave Callie a sympathetic look, it was clear he had heard every word of her exchange with Miller.
* * *
“It was just awful,” Callie told Kate as she curled up on her friend’s comfortable sofa and sipped Earl Grey tea. “He was just so angry.”
“I can understand why though. I mean, if Helen had been less economical with the truth earlier, he might have caught up with the killer before he killed at least the latest woman. Have they found out who she was, by the way?”
“I didn’t even think to ask,” Callie admitted. “That’s terrible, isn’t it? Imagine just being known as the victim, not even having the dignity of a name.”
“Doesn’t bear thinking about.” Kate shivered. “Poor woman. I do hope they manage to identify her and let her nearest and dearest know so that she can have a proper funeral.”
“That’s if she does have any nearest or dearest. I mean, just because she’s on an adultery site, doesn’t necessarily mean she is actually in a relationship, she might just be there because promising sex without strings might be the only way she can get anyone.”
They both thought about that sad idea for a moment.
“Like I said just now,” Kate finally said, “it doesn’t bear thinking about.”
“I don’t know Helen well, but I can’t see her turning a blind eye to her lover murdering women, let alone covering for him. And doesn’t it rather undermine the motive if the killer is having an affair with a married woman anyway?” Kate continued.
“We don’t know that they are having an affair,” Callie reminded her. “That’s what makes me so cross, everyone is just jumping to conclusions. Perhaps they are both behaving, sacrificing their happiness in order to be faithful to their partners.”
“And maybe the fireman’s wife is putting it about a bit and is having loads of fun whilst he’s being a good boy and the frustration has turned him into a homicidal maniac.”
“Your imagination is even more lurid than mine, Kate Ward,” Callie admonished her. “I’m sure Steve Miller is doing his best to get to the bottom of it and I, for one, am just pleased to know they have a suspect in custody. Maybe I’ll get a full night’s sleep on Saturday.”
Chapter 25
It was all over the early morning news that someone had been arrested for the “Death by Burning” murders. The news vans had moved from the picturesque scenes of the crimes and were now camped outside the utilitarian police station where they continued to speculate on very little real information. It would seem that the police had not, so far, named the suspect they had arrested. As Callie ate breakfast, she sat glued to her television, watching, like most of the population of Hastings, an interview with an expert on arson who dropped the very large hint that people fascinated by fire often joined the fire service.
Callie understood that for most people, being arrested was the same thing as being charged, but she knew there was the world of difference. Butterworth would have been arrested on suspicion of the murders, but the police had to meet the prosecution service criteria on evidence before they would allow him to be charged. Callie was interested that the press, so far, hadn’t named the firefighter in question but she wondered how long it would take before they did.
* * *
Throughout the morning Callie checked a news app on her phone, and also the local newspaper online, but there was nothing new reported, just endless rehashes of the same meagre facts. Despite the obvious fact that Butterworth had not been charged, Callie could feel a palpable sense of relief in the air of the main office when she went up after morning surgery to collect her paperwork. Just knowing that the police had someone in custody had taken a weight off each and every one of them.
“Is it him, do you think?” Linda whispered, startling Callie who had not noticed her follow when she left the office. Linda had a batch of prescriptions in her hand and added them to the already overflowing pile in Callie’s basket. Callie realised that Linda had probably kept them back deliberately so that she could come out and speak to her.
“I hope so,” Callie replied. “They must have good reason to think so or they wouldn’t have arrested him.”
“Yes, but you do hear of the police arresting people wrongly, like that landlord chap in Bristol,” Dr Sinha said, having openly listened to the whispered conversation. “It was only when someone else was convicted that people actually believed he was innocent.”
“You are so right, Gauri. And here was I hoping that now they had arrested that firefighter, Dr Hughes here might actually apologise for having accused me of being the murderer.”
Callie’s heart sank as she realised Gerry Brown had also come into the office and heard their conversation, and that he had been closely followed by Dr Grantham.
“I didn’t accuse you of anything, Gerry. I simply told the police some things that you really should have told them in the first place.” Despite her crisp tone, Callie could feel a flush rising up her neck and knew her cheeks would be burning in a moment. How she wished her body wouldn’t betray her feelings of shame and embarrassment quite so readily.
Dr Grantham put a restraining hand on Gerry’s arm and cleared his throat.
“Erm, unfortunately, Dr Brown has tendered his resignation, and I have reluctantly agreed t
o accept it.” He looked around the room and allowed his eyes to rest on Callie. “He will be leaving straightaway and has just come to collect his personal belongings and to say goodbye. I am sure we all wish him the best in his new role.”
Wisely, Dr Grantham didn’t mention what that role would be, but Callie could hazard a guess that it wouldn’t be to do with medicine as she speculated that his rapid departure was because the GMC had suspended him pending further enquiries having found out about his antics at the sex addiction clinic. Or maybe Dr Grantham had decided he could no longer support a doctor who was not taking his rehabilitation seriously.
There was a short silence as Dr Grantham waited for someone to say something and it was Linda who found her voice first.
“I’m sure I can speak on behalf of all the reception and office staff when I say we are all very sorry that you are going, Dr Brown.”
Callie knew that they wouldn’t be sorry to see him go at all, just sorry about all the extra work it was going to cause, and she could sympathise with that.
“Yes,” she added to Linda’s short speech, keeping it similarly general and vague. “And I hope your new role is all you hope it will be.”
“Like you care.” Gerry wasn’t going to keep things impersonal, it seemed. “How do you think it feels to know that not only are you the subject of malicious gossip at work, but that one of your colleagues has actually gone and passed on that gossip to the police?”
“I think that’s a little harsh, Gerry,” Dr Grantham cut in before Callie could answer. “We all have a duty to be open with the police and whilst I feel that Callie would have done better to bring the information to me as senior partner so that we could discuss it and ask you for an explanation before taking it the police, her close working relationship with them probably influenced her decision.”
He gave Callie a look redolent of disappointment rather than reproof and her flush deepened, because she knew he was right.
“However, I think, under the circumstances we should now close the subject. Have you got all your things, Dr Brown?” He was clearly keen to keep the goodbyes as short as possible.