by Oliver Tidy
‘Not yet.’
‘When you do, get me a sample of his spit, and I’ll tell you if you have the right man.’
‘Thank you,’ said Romney. ‘Thank you very much.’
*
Romney spoke with Superintendent Falkner. The day before, he had been forced to admit that they had precious little in the way of leads to pursue. Now, despite the shocking news regarding Claire Stamp, he had a suspicious death, an obvious campaign of terror for one of the victims, and a forensic breakthrough to investigate.
He made his way back to CID and collected DC Spicer – an experienced officer. Romney briefed him of the role he was to play, and then they headed to the holding cells for an appointment that had been made with Simon Avery. His lawyer was waiting.
*
As they settled around the little table in Interview Room One, Romney said, ‘Moved up in the world since yesterday, have we?’
‘What are you talking about?’ said Avery. His cockiness of the day before had been replaced with a tetchy petulance. After two consecutive nights in the cells and all that had gone on in-between, he was looking understandably jaded and his temper was clearly fraying.
‘Yesterday you were calling for the duty solicitor. Today we have the pleasure of... ?’ Romney turned and raised his eyebrows.
‘Kenneth Lane of Bridgewater, Burke and Lane,’ said the solicitor. He had an expensively educated voice. ‘My client would like to protest in the strongest terms for the treatment he has received.’
‘What treatment would that be?’
‘His liberty has been deliberately curtailed by the police’s unnecessary impediment of due process.’
‘That might be the way you see it, Mr Lane. It’s certainly not the way we see it.’
‘Perhaps, Detective Inspector,’ said the solicitor, ‘we will both have to see how the authorities that concern themselves with such things view it.’
‘Fine by me. Now, instead of wasting anymore of your client’s valuable liberty and money on your doubtless fat fee, why don’t we make a start?’
The recording equipment was set in motion, and the necessary details were spoken into it.
Romney said, ‘Mr Avery. I’d like to talk to you about last night.’
Avery threw up his hands, theatrically. ‘See?’ he said to his lawyer. ‘I told you. Just pissing me about ‘cos they’ve nothing better to do. ‘Cos they don’t like me. You know what this is? It’s harassment. You had me in here the night before for nothing. I’ve already been interviewed about last night. Everyone else has been processed, but surprise, surprise, I’m still here.’
After a long, patient moment Romney said, ‘Have you quite finished? For the record, firstly, as I understand it, you were detained the night before last and subsequently cautioned for causing an obstruction. You were fortunate not to have been charged with the assault of a police officer.’ Avery snorted. ‘Secondly, I wish to interview you in connection with a possible crime that was committed last night.’
‘And I’ve told you. I’ve already been interviewed about last night.’
Romney turned his attention to the solicitor. ‘Are you just going to sit there all morning and let him open his valve every couple of minutes? Don’t you think you should advise your client that it might be in his best interests to shut up and hear what I have to say? Ah, of course not. You’re being paid by the hour aren’t you?’ It was a cheap shot, but to Romney, who had taken an instant dislike to the smarmy, well-tailored solicitor, it was made worth it by the suspicious look Avery shot his legal representation. It seemed to have the desired result. Avery slumped silently in his seat. ‘Let me make things nice and simple for you, Mr Avery. I do not want to talk to you about the brawling that you were involved in at The Castle.’
‘Allegedly involved in, Detective Inspector,’ said the lawyer.
Romney ignored it. He was about to either deliver shocking news to Avery or unveil the elephant in the room that only he, Avery and Spicer were aware of. Romney wanted to be quite sure of how he interpreted Avery’s reaction. Romney considered that after many years and hundreds of interviews of all manner of villains he had developed an acute understanding of when the person on the other side of the table was being less than honest. If Avery had some knowledge of what Romney had him there for; if he, as Romney hoped, had been directly involved in, or at least complicit in, events that led to the death of Claire Stamp then he should begin to show signs of such.
The lawyer seemed to misunderstand Romney’s pause as a lack of conviction for his position and he pressed further. ‘Well, Inspector? What is it that you wish to speak to my client about?’
Romney only had eyes for Avery when he said, ‘I want to speak to your client about the death of Claire Stamp: your client’s ‘girl’. She was found dead this morning in her nightwear in the parking area of the building in which she lived.’
***
11
Romney and Spicer agreed that Avery was either innocent of complicity in the death of Claire Stamp or an exceptionally talented liar. Romney felt the disappointment keenly that Avery’s involvement had not been made transparent through his reaction to the news or under subsequent questioning.
Despite that lack of confirmation of his suspicions, Romney still intended to treat Avery as a suspect until he felt he had no choice but to do otherwise. He would be among the first to admit that gauging the physical reaction of a suspect to accusations of murder was hardly at the cutting edge of police investigative methods, although in his thinking there would always be a place for instinct and intuition when it came to police work.
As Avery had already been interviewed regarding the previous night’s disturbance and had not crumpled into a sobbing, guilt-ridden heap when confronted with the news of Claire Stamp’s death, Romney was obliged to release him with the customary warning that he should keep himself available for further questioning, should the need arise. Romney hoped sincerely that it would. His distaste for the man grew with every encounter.
*
While she had been waiting in Claire Stamp’s apartment, Marsh had tried ringing the number the images were sent from, but no network connection had been made.
On his return to the station, Romney had set someone the task of discovering whether there was any record of a phone contract for the number that had been used to send the images to Claire Stamp. He and Marsh had discussed the likelihood of this. They had agreed that with the trouble the attacker had gone to to protect his identity it was unlikely he would throw his anonymity away so easily. Indeed, the number turned out to be one of those on a SIM card that phone networks gave away by the fistful in the hope that someone might actually load some credit onto just one.
Enquiries regarding credit top-ups for the number revealed that it had only ever had credit applied to it once. That was by cash some weeks before. Further enquiries of the number’s history showed it had never made a call, and it had only been used to send four messages. All were picture messages sent to Claire Stamp’s phone the previous night.
This information gave Romney further evidence that the rape was a pre-meditated act. Its execution and follow-up campaign of terror seemed too well planned to be anything else. The supposition gave Romney a nasty feeling in the pit of his stomach. The rapist had seen his plans succeed so brilliantly that he would surely be tempted to do it again. They invariably were.
The next task was to go through Claire Stamp’s phone’s contact list, and ring every number, get addresses, visit homes, seek out the men and invite them to attend the station for a mouth swab test so that they might be eliminated from police enquiries. There were thirty-six male contacts in the phone.
In addition to this, an officer was set the task of discovering and locating all the men who had visited the petrol station in some capacity other than customer over the last few months. It was not that customers were being ruled out, but manpower dictated what they could reasonably hope to achieve.
Romney paid a visit to the uniform officer in charge of coordinating the paperwork for the previous evening’s disturbance at The Castle. He explained his particular interest in Avery’s involvement and timings of the evening. He received assurances that the information he required would be with him as soon as all witnesses had been interviewed, their statements examined, information collated and timings reliably calculated.
*
Romney was on his way back up to CID just as Marsh was heading downstairs to take Carl Park’s statement.
‘Anything interesting?’ he said.
‘No one who was home heard or saw a thing. There are a couple of flats that didn’t answer. I’ll go back and see them later. The building’s superintendent is going to ask them to get in touch.’
Romney accepted the news without surprise. He hadn’t expected anything much from it.
‘I’ve been thinking, sir,’ said Marsh.
Romney made a noise in the back of his throat to indicate she should continue.
‘There are four ways Claire Stamp could have gone off that balcony. She could have been forced, conscious or unconscious; she could have jumped; she could have fallen accidentally; or she could have already been dead before being thrown.’
Romney nodded. ‘Right,’ he said. ‘And?’
‘I don’t think that she fell accidentally.’
‘Agreed.’
‘The dead don’t scream, and I’m guessing that jumpers don’t either, but those who are pushed alive probably do.’
‘Go on.’
‘No one that I spoke to at the flats heard anything, which could suggest that she wasn’t pushed alive and conscious. She was either already dead, unconscious or jumped.’
Romney waited. When it appeared that Marsh had nothing to add, he said, ‘That’s it?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Very interesting. Doesn’t exactly narrow things down much, does it?’
‘Just thinking it through, sir,’ said Marsh. ‘I did find out how Claire Stamp got her phone back. The caretaker said that a young man showed up at the flats yesterday afternoon asking to be let in to see her. He didn’t much like the look of him. He asked him what he wanted. The lad said she’d phoned the garage about leaving her mobile there. He’d offered to drop it off on his way home.’
‘Park?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘What was he doing on his way home at that time of day? I thought he didn’t start until lunch time.’
‘I phoned the garage. Mr Patel said that he’d started complaining of a headache soon after we’d spoken to him. He felt it best to send him home.’
‘How compassionate,’ said Romney. ‘Probably didn’t want to risk the fuss and bother if the poor sod took a turn for the worse.’
Romney explained the breakthrough on the forensics, leaving out the detail that it was his suggestion that had brought it. He told Marsh that when she’d finished with Park to make herself useful working with the other officers in tracking down males in Claire Stamp’s phone’s memory.
*
In the afternoon Romney received a phone call from Maurice Wendell. The post-mortem examination of Claire Stamp revealed that she had died of massive head trauma. Romney asked whether she could have already been dead before she left the balcony.
The pathologist took a moment before answering. ‘It’s possible, Tom, but she would have had to have been pitched off the balcony pretty soon after any blow had been dealt for the traumas that her body suffered to be consistent in the way that her body reacted to them.’
‘Anything else? Anything unusual? Had she been drinking?’
‘Nothing. No booze, no drugs, nothing under her finger nails to suggest a struggle. Nothing at all apart from the marks around the neck that DS Marsh seemed to know all about. Sorry.’
Romney thanked him. He summoned Marsh into his office to share the information. ‘Let’s suppose that Avery did stove her head in with something and then pushed her off the balcony. He’d probably have had to use something handy, something just lying around and suitable, and portable enough to be hefted and swung.’
‘She might have hit her head on something if they struggled,’ said Marsh.
‘True. Think back to when we were in her lounge the first time. Try to remember if there was anything that would fit the bill that was missing from the lounge today.’ Marsh made a face. ‘I know,’ said Romney, 'it’s a hard ask, but as I remember there wasn’t too much in there.’
After a few moments Marsh shook her head. ‘Nothing springs to mind.’
‘Me neither,’ said Romney. ‘Think about it.’
‘Why, though, sir?’
‘Pardon?’
‘Like you said, when all else fails ask why? Why would Avery kill her?’
‘Maybe he didn’t mean to. Maybe they had a row that got out of hand. Maybe it was an accident. You heard them shouting at each other when we left.’
‘Plenty of people shout at each other, sir, but that doesn’t often lead to one of them ending up dead.’
‘I know, but she did. And remember: he’s a nasty bastard. He’s just suffered a career threatening embarrassment that he might find hard to live down; he has access to the flat and they were rowing when we left. It’s not something we can ignore.’
*
The tenant of the flat directly below Claire Stamp’s contacted Marsh to let her know she was in but that she had young children with her. She asked if someone could visit her at her home rather than traipse the children through the cold and wet to the station. Marsh offered to drop in on her way home from work.
***
12
The woman had not seemed particularly friendly on the telephone. She clearly had her hands and her evenings full, judging by the way the two under-fives were tearing around the flat. Marsh was invited in, found a seat not cluttered with toys or playschool ephemera and offered a cup of tea. The woman stuck the children in front of the television with a biscuit each. She told Marsh she had about five minutes before they got bored.
‘I’m still in shock about it,’ said the woman, in response to Marsh broaching the subject she was there for. ‘I had no idea until I came home this evening after picking these two up.’
‘Did you know her?’
‘Only to say hello to, you know?’
Marsh did. She had lived in her block of flats for nearly a month and had had no conversations longer than exchanging greetings with any of the other tenants.
‘It’s terrible,’ said the woman. ‘She was so young. What can be so bad in your life that you throw yourself off the fourth floor? She always seemed happy enough, had her looks, nice flat, boyfriend. Mind you they ding-donged up there some nights.’
‘Did they? Describe him to me would you?’
The woman’s eyes widened as she caught on quickly. ‘She did jump, didn’t she?’
‘We’re keeping an open mind at this time. I’ll ask you to keep that to yourself. Until all our investigations are finished, we have to treat the death as suspicious.’
‘Of course,’ said the woman. ‘But they were fighting last night. Sound travels well in this building.
‘About what time?’
The woman thought. ‘Nineish. Maybe later. I didn’t watch any telly last night, or I could have told you what was on. Sorry.’
‘Don’t worry. I don’t suppose the words carry down, do they?’
‘No. Just the noise. Voices mostly, and sometimes something sounds like it goes over.’
‘And last night?’
‘I’m sorry. I heard some shouting, but that’s all I could swear to.’
‘You were going to describe the boyfriend for me.’
The woman described Avery well enough.
‘After you heard raised voices last night, did you hear anything else? Anything unusual?’
Again, the woman thought. ‘No, but I was in bed by ten. Husband’s away, and I’ve got to get up
early. Get these two ready for dropping off before I go to work.’
Marsh thanked the woman, said goodbye to the children who ignored her and went in search of the caretaker. She convinced him to let her back into Claire Stamp’s flat with the lie that she thought she’d left something behind when she was there earlier. He unlocked the door and left her to it. He told her to make sure she pulled the door shut after her, and to let him know when she was leaving.
Marsh had the idea that while she was in the building she would take another look at the lounge area of Claire Stamp’s flat. Now that she knew there might be something missing – something that might have been used to strike Claire Stamp – she would see if anything was notable by its absence.
She flicked the lights on and wandered down the passageway. It was cold; someone had turned the heating off. She’d only gone a few paces when her sixth sense told her something was wrong.
The flat had been ransacked. In the bedroom every drawer had been pulled out and emptied. Clothes from the wardrobe were strewn around. The mattress had been pushed off the bed. The bath panel had been ripped off its fastenings. The laundry basket’s contents had been tipped out.
In the kitchen a similar scene awaited her. The cupboard doors and drawers were open and packets and tins lay where they had been thrown. The lounge was a mess. Cushions were scattered. The sideboard cleared, and the coffee table upended. The big plasma television was still there. On the floor was Claire Stamp’s purse. Marsh checked it. There was cash and a couple of credit cards in it. This wasn’t a robbery; someone had been searching for something.
Marsh phoned Romney. When he’d finished upbraiding her for being there at all, let alone on her own, he listened to what she had to tell him.
‘Any sign of a forced entry?’
‘No.’
‘We know Avery has a key, and he would have had ample opportunity,’ said Romney. ‘Speak to the caretaker. See if he saw Avery, but until someone reports that a crime has been committed you know as well as I do it’s none of our business.’