‘I thought you’d like to know that the bungalow is crawling with people,’ he said. ‘There’s tape across the front gate and vans parked in the street outside. They seem to be searching the place. I passed by on my way to a job.’
‘About bloody time. They must finally be convinced that something odd has happened, though with those two detectives in charge it’s hard to predict anything. Thanks for letting me know, Pete.’ She glanced at the clock on the wall. ‘Maybe I’ll have time to call round. I’ve got a slack half hour due to a couple of cancellations.’
‘Do you want me to come with you?’
‘Thanks, but no. I can handle this, and you have a job to go to. Is Rod still with you?’ She watched the look of concern cross her uncle’s face.
‘No. He walked out on me on Tuesday and didn’t come back, so that’s it, I’m afraid. I told him it was a final warning, but he still stormed off in a temper and didn’t appear again. I’ve done all I can for him, Sharon. He was a liability.’
Sharon nodded. ‘I know. Thanks for what you’ve done for him over the past couple of years. We all realised that it wasn’t easy for you. I know Mum and Dad were grateful. Well, I’d better be off.’ She hurried back to her office to collect her coat and bag.
* * *
Sharon parked her car as near to her parents’ house as she could, then walked towards the bungalow, making her way through one or two clusters of people who were standing watching the goings-on. PC Warrander was standing at the entrance gate.
‘What’s happened?’ she asked.
‘Nothing to worry about, Dr Giroux. We’re just following standard procedure. DC Blackman decided to arrange a forensic check, so that’s what’s happening. I’ll take you in, if you like. You’ve timed it right. I think they’ll need your fingerprints for elimination purposes. The forensic chief is here for a few minutes.’
They walked to the door and entered the hallway. It seemed to be a hive of activity, with half a dozen people inside the bungalow, all busy with kits of various kinds. A tall, good-looking, middle-aged man looked up as they entered.
‘This is Dr Giroux, Mr Nash. She’s the missing couple’s daughter.’
‘Hi.’ He held out a hand and smiled at her, his eyes crinkling at the corners. ‘Dave Nash. I’m the county’s chief forensic officer. I only called in to check on progress but I have a few minutes to chat if you want to.’
Sharon realised that she was holding onto his hand for rather too long and suddenly let it go. ‘Thanks. That would be useful. What can you tell me?’
‘We’ve started a basic house check as a result of your parents being reported missing. Dusting for prints, looking for anything unusual or out of place, taking a few samples for auto-analysis. At the moment my staff are following a checklist and they don’t need me here, but I always make a quick visit in person if I can.’
‘So you’re the top dog?’ She looked surprised.
‘Indeed I am. One of my team will need to take your prints, so if it’s convenient it could be done here.’
She nodded. ‘Of course. And my brother, he’ll need his taken as well at some point.’
‘That’s in hand, Dr Giroux. It’ll take a little while before we can start drawing any conclusions, but my team’s a good one. There’ll be no slip-ups.’
Sharon felt a weight lift from her shoulders. She gave him a smile. ‘Thanks. That’s what I need, some reassurance. It’s what I’ve been looking for since I reported them missing on Monday, that my concerns are being taken seriously.’ She paused. ‘I’ve just got this feeling that something awful has happened to them. I know it’s illogical, but it’s with me all the time.’
‘I can understand that.’ Nash looked at his watch. ‘Better be going. Look, if we do find anything suspicious, that’s when Sophie’s squad will be called in.’
Sophie’s squad?’
‘It’s one of our pet names for the county’s top investigation team. Let’s hope they won’t be needed.’ He turned and left the house.
She turned to George Warrander. ‘Thanks. I don’t know how much of this was your doing, but I’m grateful, really.’ She smiled, the first time he’d seen her do so since his first visit on Monday. ‘What was that about this so-called top team?’
George picked his words carefully. ‘Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that.’ He didn’t elaborate. ‘Let me take you to one of the forensic people who can take your prints. It saves us a lot of trouble, you calling in like this.’
* * *
DS Stu Blackman and his sidekick, Phil McCluskie, were visiting Rod Armitage. It had been obvious that the younger Armitage offspring was in bed when the two detectives first arrived. It had taken several knocks on the door before it had been opened, and even McCluskie had been impressed by the dishevelled state of the man.
‘Rise and shine, Mr Armitage, it’s a beautiful day,’ he’d said, with a smile on his face. ‘My, my. We are looking a wee bit the worse for wear, aren’t we? Heavy night?’
His boss took over at that point, leading Rod to a chair in the sitting area while miming to his assistant that cups of tea might be in order.
‘No news yet, Rod,’ Blackman said. ‘I can call you Rod, can’t I? Easier for us. But I’d like a bit more information from you about your parents and your relationship with them. Can you confirm when you last saw them? When was that again?’
Rod looked blank, scratched his head and yawned again. ‘A couple of weeks ago, it was. I told you that days ago.’
‘Yes. I want you to be a bit more specific. An exact day and a precise time would be helpful.’ He looked over Rod’s shoulder at his colleague, standing by the kitchen worktop, and silently indicated that Phil should have a quick look round while waiting for the kettle to boil. McCluskie nodded and started turning over some letters that were untidily piled on the worktop.
‘Monday? Tuesday maybe? I remember you saying that it was soon after your sister had left on her family holiday. Does that help?’
‘I think it was the Tuesday evening. I would have been about six thirty ’cause I joined them for their meal.’
‘Right. What did you have?’
Rod looked blank. ‘What?’
‘What did you have to eat? Your mum cooked it, did she? So what was it? Chicken? Fish? Pizza?’
‘Christ, how do you expect me to remember that?’
‘Try, Rod. Please try. I wouldn’t have thought it was that difficult. It was probably the last time you saw your mum and dad alive. It’s important.’
‘Spaghetti Bolognese, I think. Dad likes it. Not one of my favourites. Why is it important?’
Blackman ignored the question. ‘That’s a bit surprising, isn’t it? If your mum knew you were coming round, wouldn’t she cook something you liked? Or didn’t she know you’d be arriving?’ He was watching McCluskie who was quietly inspecting the contents of the drawers and cupboards in the kitchen area, finishing with a negative shake of his head.
‘No. I was busy at the time so I called on the off-chance.’
‘To borrow some money? That’s what you told one of our uniformed colleagues.’ Blackman waited a few seconds. ‘How much was that then, Rod? How much did you borrow?’
‘Fifty quid. Look, what is this? What’s it got to do with you?’
Again the question was ignored. ‘How much did you ask for? More importantly, how much did you actually need? And what did you need it for?’
‘My rent was due and I was fifty short. That’s why I asked for fifty and that’s why Mum lent me it.’
Blackman nodded. ‘So there wasn’t any friction? Not from your dad?’
‘He was outside. It’s always easier talking to Mum alone.’
‘You mean she’s more of a soft touch? Whereas your dad isn’t?’
At this point McCluskie, who had just finished checking the room, sat down on the other side of Rod. ‘I bet you could really use a big slab of cash, couldn’t you, Rod?’ he suggested. ‘I mean, not these pett
y wee amounts, but money that you could really do something with. Thousands, mebbe. Eh? God, what I could do with a few thousand. Holidays, women, the high life. We can but dream. Here’s your tea.’ He passed a mug of steaming liquid across to Rod and another to Blackman. ‘Does your big sister approve of you going round and cadging money from your mother? I bet she doesn’t, does she? I bet she tells your mum not to lend you cash. A bit of a meddler, is she? Bloody sisters, eh? Goody two shoes.’ McCluskie sipped his tea and put the grubby mug down on the nearest surface. ‘Tell us about that wacky baccy that’s in the wee box under the sink, Rod. We’d love to know about it and where you got it.’
Rod didn’t reply.
‘Well now, my friend,’ Blackman said. ‘Here’s how it works. We can have a good look round right now with your permission, and we’ll leave the place tidy. If you make us get a warrant, then we’ll come back with the team and we’ll tear this place apart. The choice is yours, so which is it to be?’
Rod held his head in his hands.
* * *
If anything the room looked tidier after the two detectives had finished their search than it had done before. They’d dumped many of the mouldering food containers in a large plastic bin-bag, creating some much needed space in the cramped flat. On the low table in the middle of the room was a small collection of packets containing a mix of tablets, most of them voluntarily offered up by Rod. The search had only uncovered a few others that he’d forgotten about. They’d found nothing that seemed relevant to the disappearance of his parents.
‘We can see that you’re only a user of this stuff, not a dealer,’ said McCluskie, who’d been a member of the drug squad sometime in the distant past. ‘And I have to say, it’s a real mix of junk here. Uppers, downers, the lot. Do you actually know what you’re taking when you pop one of these?’
Rod shook his head ruefully. ‘Nah. I’m usually a bit pissed.’
‘Brave man. Or mebbe more accurately, stupid and foolish man. So what do we do now, Sarge?’ He looked across at Blackman.
‘We’ll take the gear and look after it. But we won’t charge you, Mr Armitage, not at present. Let’s just say that we’ll hang on to everything, waiting for co-operation and good behaviour from you. Am I making myself clear? You’re not yet in the proverbial deep shit unless we turn up something else or you do something stupid. Comprenez, amigo?’
Rod nodded.
‘I’m impressed,’ McCluskie said as they lugged the bin-bag of rubbish outside with them, depositing it in a nearby wheelie bin. ‘Getting both French and Spanish into a two-word phrase. Got to be a winner, that, boss. Worth a pint, I think.’
‘And cheesy chips?’ Blackman suggested.
‘Whatever,’ came the reply. ‘It’s your turn to pay, I think, boss.’
CHAPTER 5: Morden Bog
Friday Morning, Week 1
Sergeant Rose Simons extended her baton and used it to tap George Warrander on the shoulder.
‘Arise, Sir George, do-gooder extraordinaire,’ she said. ‘I have one rest day and I return to find you being talked about as if you’re some kind of celebrity. By CID, no less. The wheezing Sergeant Blackman and the entirely sober Detective McCluskie, of all people.’ She looked at Warrander directly. ‘So you may have been right after all. But don’t pin too many hopes on those two wasters. They’re notorious.’
Warrander was puzzled. ‘So why are they in charge of Missing Persons cases?’
She laughed. ‘They’re not. It’s normally a three-person squad. The leader is away on a course, due to return next week. The second-in-command retired last month and hasn’t been replaced. And the dogsbody third was in an RTA at the weekend and is recovering from her injuries. Our two illustrious detectives are the scrapings from the very bottom of the barrel, filling in for a week or two. So don’t get your hopes up, young Georgie boy. You’re not in the big league yet. Better stick with me for a while. I’m very protective of my young charges, as you have already discovered.’ She smiled at him. ‘Cup of tea? It’s my treat. Take it as a sort of apology. I was over the top on Wednesday night. Too much responsibility on these slim shoulders of mine.’
Warrander relaxed a little. ‘Thanks. Tea would be great.’
‘When I said it’s my treat, what I really meant was that you fetch the mugs and make us both tea, but use my tea-bags. Okay?’
Warrander grinned at her. ‘Yes, ma’am.’
‘Oh, and you should be able to get two mugs’ worth of tea out of a single tea bag if you go about it the right way. No sense in you wasting my hard-earned money needlessly, is there?’ She looked at her watch. ‘Fifteen minutes before we’re due out on the wild streets of Danger Land, so get a move on, Georgie.’
* * *
It was mid-morning, several hours later, that a call came through to their squad car to head south to the Morden Bog Nature Reserve. The call would normally have been taken by a local team from Wareham, but they were all engaged elsewhere and Simons and Warrander had just finished a visit to a small general store in Lytchett Minster, where the owner had reported a possible till theft. In fact there hadn’t been one — the missing money was found in a small cash bag on a shelf beneath the till, overlooked by the elderly manager. The sergeant was making some typically laconic observations about senility when these were interrupted by her radio crackling into life. It was a request to visit the site of an abandoned car that had just been discovered.
They drove south to the bleak heathland destination and turned off the road onto a track where two forestry commission workers were waiting for them. Warrander followed their vehicle as it made its way slowly along a rough track into the desolate northern section of the reserve and finally reached the edge of a large copse of trees. They stopped in a clearing at the end of the trail and stepped out of their vehicles, following the two men in silence for a minute or two as they walked between thick outcrops of undergrowth. And there it was, as reported. A small green Ford Fiesta, half hidden in a thicket of greenery.
‘It’s not nice, believe me,’ said one of the workmen. ‘We’ll stay back.’
Warrander followed the stocky form of Sergeant Simons as she walked towards the car. A flexible length of pipe, taped to the exhaust pipe, led in through a window, open only a crack. Rose peered in. Two bodies, upright in the front seats and seething with maggots. Warrander peered over her shoulder then turned away, walking several paces before he vomited into a clump of ferns. There was no other sound. Even the birds seemed to have abandoned this particular spot, as if they knew of the tragedy that had unfolded on the ground below their perches.
* * *
‘We found them an hour or so ago. We do a quick ground survey about every six months, looking for any clearance work that might need doing. You know, gorse, rhododendrons, the kind of stuff that will choke other plants given half a chance. It’s a pretty lonely part of the reserve up here. Most of the nature lovers stay further south or west where it’s a bit more accessible. This track’s rarely used, you could see that yourself driving up it. Even then, that car has been driven off the track and through the bushes to end up where it is. It might have remained undiscovered for a lot longer if we hadn’t chanced on it.’ The speaker, the older of the two forestry workers, shook his head. ‘I don’t know. Why do they do it?’
Rose shrugged. ‘Not worth speculating at the moment. I’m sure we’ll get to the bottom of it, but there’s all kinds of reasons. Some of them even make sense. Try not to talk about the details to anyone, will you? Forensics should be here soon. We don’t want people told any of the details, not until we’re absolutely sure we know what we’re dealing with. We’ll need statements from you both. George here will get those a bit later, once someone arrives to take charge.’
The two forestry workers returned to the clearing to wait with the vehicles and Warrander walked the route between it and the death site, following the path that the small car must have taken. Larger vehicles would have had more difficulty squeezing be
tween some of the trees. Even so it was relatively easy to spot the occasional broken branch and scraped bark where the gap had proved almost too narrow for the small Fiesta. Why make it so difficult to find? Was that a common feature of the suicides of elderly couples? He returned to his boss, who was sitting on a tree stump, deep in thought.
‘Just had a radio message. Forensics here in five minutes,’ she said.
‘Why would they do this, boss? Why would they have driven all the way out here to the back of beyond and hidden their car this well before doing it?’
She shrugged. ‘Don’t try to second guess it, Georgie. It’s not worth it. We’ll wait for forensics, then the experts will pick it all over. There’s no accounting for what people will do when the pressure’s on them, trust me. I’ve seen it all and nothing ever surprises me now. It’s not our job to speculate and if you see the family, don’t get drawn in by the questions they’ll fire at us.’
‘Will we have to break the news to them?’
She nodded. ‘Expect so. It’s us who’ve been in contact with them, after all. And it’ll be better for us to do it than those two cowboys from CID. Blackman and McCluskie — detectives from the Far Side.’
‘Don’t you mean the Dark Side?’
‘No, I mean the Far Side. They’re a joke.’
* * *
Dave Nash arrived a few minutes later and started directing his team to their varied tasks as each unit arrived, starting with photography and video. A tent was put up over the car, even though the weather was expected to remain fine for several days. He was joined within an hour by Benny Goodall, the county’s senior pathologist, who’d driven across from Dorchester. The personnel all wore white nylon overalls and facemasks, and looked like ghosts as they moved quietly among the trees in the copse. Finally the car doors were opened and clouds of noisy flies flew out, sounding like a chainsaw. The two experts started to gently probe the bodies in the car, but access was difficult because of its position, jammed into the trees. At this point they were joined by a third figure, just arrived in a silver saloon and tying a mask around her head, a few wisps of blond hair blowing out from under the hood of her white overall. She was accompanied by a younger, ginger-haired detective, also busy covering himself in a forensic suit.
Detective Sophie Allen Box Set 2 Page 28