RUTHLESS CRIMES a totally captivating crime mystery (Detective Sophie Allen Book 9)

by MICHAEL HAMBLING

  ‘You’ll need to explain, Charmaine.’

  ‘There was a girl . . . I was sixteen. I started seeing this new boy. He was supposedly a real catch. What I didn’t realise was that he already had a girlfriend. She didn’t go to my school and I think she may have been a year or two older than me. Anyway, she came looking for me after school one day. She pushed me back against a wall and said she’d kill me if I went out with him again. I was terrified. It was unlike anything I’ve ever experienced before, or since. She pulled out a knife and said, I’ll use this on you, pretty Charmaine Cookson. I’ll cut your eyes out and slit your throat. Those were her exact words. I’ve never forgotten them. She knew my name.’

  ‘I can understand why you were so terrified. Did you ever find out who she was?’

  Charmaine shook her head. ‘Not really. And I stayed clear of her boyfriend, even though he tried to contact me. He wasn’t my type anyway. Apparently, he made a habit of playing the field. I never bothered to find out if she threatened anyone else.’

  ‘That’s really helpful.’ Rae was about to close her notebook.

  ‘Oh, there is something else. I heard that she was really clever at school.’

  Something struck Rae. ‘What about the boyfriend? Do you remember his name?’

  ‘Yes. Phil something or other. I suppose he might still be around, but I never saw him again. Why would I want to, with that kind of threat hanging over me?’

  ‘You can’t remember his surname?’

  Charmaine shook her head. ‘It was too long ago, and I only went out with him once or twice. I’ll check with one or two of my friends from those days who I’m still in contact with, but don’t get your hopes up. The thing is, I can remember thinking at the time that there was something familiar about her, but I never worked out what it was. Maybe she reminded me of someone.’

  Chapter 20: Abduction

  Sophie paid a quick visit to Jim Metcalfe, the ACC. She needed the consent and assistance of someone at the top of the police hierarchy before taking the next step. Jim sat and listened to her, tight-lipped. It didn’t take long to convince him that this was the obvious course of action, so he lifted his phone and made a call to the Home Office in London, using his official, direct line.

  Sophie sat and listened, though hearing only Jim’s side of the conversation made it difficult to understand. One thing quickly became clear. Something unexpected had happened. Jim was frowning rather more than usual and seemed exasperated.

  ‘Can I send one of my senior people across?’ he asked. ‘She’s in charge of the investigation at our end. We need to know how all this links together.’

  He listened. ‘Of course. It’s Sophie Allen, head of our Violent Crime Unit. You know her.’ A pause. ‘Okay. She should be with you by early afternoon.’

  He put the phone down and turned to Sophie, still frowning.

  ‘Well, that didn’t go as I expected. You wanted me to smooth the way for an interview with Corinne Lanston. Well, that can’t happen now. She’s gone missing and her flat’s been ransacked. It looks like she’s been abducted.’

  ‘Did they tell you what her role was?’

  He nodded, still looking serious. ‘She was the unit boss, running the operation. And someone’s got her.’

  * * *

  A two-hour train journey took Sophie to Waterloo Station. From there, it was a short taxi ride to the address she’d been given, an upmarket apartment block in Kensington. The side street was full of cars and crime-scene vans, and the cab was stopped by an armed police officer as it tried to turn into the cul-de-sac.

  She showed her identity card and made her way towards the building, halfway along the street, where she spoke to two uniformed PCs on security duty.

  ‘I’m looking for AC Paul Baker,’ she said. ‘Is he still here? I’m Detective Superintendent Sophie Allen. I’m expected.’

  The two constables scanned a clipboard list. After speaking into her walkie-talkie, one of them indicated that Sophie should follow her into the building. They passed a forensic team making their way out, carrying their kit in various boxes and cases. Sophie’s host was standing in the lobby on the first floor, talking to a local detective. He stepped forward.

  ‘Sophie. Good to see you. This is DCI Steve Lamb. Steve, let me introduce Superintendent Sophie Allen from Dorset. Sophie and I started out together as cops on the beat in this very area, many years ago. I’ve invited her to be here because of the south coast connection, and because she’s a very experienced detective. Shall we go in?’

  Sophie looked around her at the high ceilings and ornate cornices of the corridor they were in. No cheap residence, this. The door to Corinne’s flat was wide open and showed no signs of having been forced. The three officers stepped inside. The small hallway was sparsely furnished and showed no signs of damage, apart from a mirror on the wall facing the front door that was badly askew and a short trail of blood spots on the floor, still marked by the identification flags left by the forensic team. A bouquet of badly wilting flowers was lying on the floor near the front door.

  ‘Any identification yet?’

  ‘Yes. We rushed it through yesterday evening, after we got into the place. The blood’s definitely hers. The DNA matches hairs we took from a brush in the bedroom. There’s no other entry route, by the way, so whoever did it came in through that door. Either they had a key, or she let them in. We think the latter. We think she opened the door to someone, maybe the delivery person bringing those flowers, then quickly realised something was wrong. She must have resisted the entrant and got hit.’

  The group went through a doorway to their left into a large, well-lit living room, pleasantly furnished in pale gold. A low table was lying on its side, and several drawers in a desk set against a wall were open, with letters and papers strewn around it.

  The next room off the hallway was a large kitchen/diner. Sophie gazed around in admiration. Someone, presumably Corinne herself, had good taste. No damage was visible here. They went back out and into the main bedroom, which was furnished in deep red and gold. It was a mess, with drawers open and clothes strewn across the bed and the floor. A jewel case lay open on the dressing table, empty apart from a couple of sets of small earrings.

  ‘Is the missing jewellery valuable, do you know?’ Sophie asked.

  Steve Lamb pursed his lips. ‘Probably. One of her colleagues says she has some tasteful stuff. It’s possible some cash might be missing too.’

  The en-suite seemed to have been undisturbed. Sophie slipped on a pair of latex gloves and searched through the cupboards, which seemed tidy enough. The group moved through to the main bathroom where she did the same. It, too, looked untouched.

  ‘Was she on any medication?’ she asked. ‘There’s none here.’

  ‘We’re still checking,’ Steve Lamb replied, ‘but we don’t think so. According to her colleagues, she never mentioned any health issues.’

  ‘When do you think it happened?’

  ‘It looks like sometime on Thursday evening, but that still needs confirmation.’

  The second bedroom seemed not to have been searched. One wardrobe door had been left ajar, but everything else appeared as it should — to an outsider anyway. They returned to the lounge.

  ‘Any thoughts?’ Paul Baker said.

  ‘The puzzle is why she let them in. But I suppose those flowers can explain that, if they masqueraded as a delivery person. Either that, or it was someone she knew. The blood is a bit worrying. It means she got hurt, although there isn’t much of it, so it’s probably a minor injury. There’s the possibility that the injury might have been more serious, with the blood retained within her clothes, but the spatter pattern doesn’t look like that.’ She paused. ‘Have you considered that the ransacking might have been staged by the kidnappers to throw you off the scent?’

  ‘Why do you think that?’ Baker asked.

  Sophie shrugged. ‘Well, it’s worth considering. The way the stuff is scattered around the plac
e looks a bit staged. The theft of jewellery, cash and bank cards implies it was a burglary, but the abduction might be for a very different reason.’

  ‘That’s the way our thoughts are going. You’re dealing with the results of a security leak in your neck of the woods. What if that leak stretched all the way back here, to include the addresses of personnel running this unit of hers? We’ve moved everyone else to safe accommodation. Just between the three of us, the organisation was a bit haphazard. I’ve spoken to a couple of people from this so-called internal security unit and I can tell you it was a string and sealing wax setup. Our own security people were a bit scathing about it.’

  ‘Do you mind if I take a few photos, Paul?’

  ‘Go ahead. But I can give you access to all the forensics if you like, as it comes in.’

  ‘That would be good too. But I’ll just take a few snaps to look at on the train. What have you found out about the origins and background of this unit?’

  ‘Shall we talk over lunch? There’s quite a bit to discuss and you seem to know as much as anybody. I think an exchange of information is called for. I’m bloody angry, Sophie. We all are. I’m the Assistant Commissioner for the Metropolitan police, for God’s sake. I should have known about this Home Office unit. It’s totally insane that they chose to keep themselves so secret. What kind of people were they, and exactly what were they up to?’

  * * *

  The two-hour train journey back from London seemed to pass in a flash. Sophie had lots to think about — not just the abduction of the unit leader, but the information she’d been able to share with Paul Baker. London’s top priority was clear: to trace the missing Corinne Lanston. Could her life be at stake? The Scotland Yard team certainly thought so. Once she was found, maybe with her help, they could begin to make some sense of what had been going on. But they were all extremely concerned. If Corinne was in the hands of the people traffickers, what hope did she have? Life was cheap in their eyes. Innocent people drowned in their hundreds battling across unforgiving waters in small, overcrowded boats. Whether it was the Aegean, the Mediterranean or the Channel, all were graveyards for people at their wits’ end who were at the mercy of anyone out to make a quick buck. With such evident disregard for human life, could the police seriously expect a different set of values to apply to this abduction?

  Sophie looked again at the photos of the rooms in Corinne’s flat that she’d taken on her phone. Had she missed anything important in her walk through the apartment? That’s when crime-scene photos became so useful, you could double-check something only half-remembered. One thing Sophie was fairly sure about, the ransack looked to have been staged. The abductors were probably only interested in Corinne herself and had taken the valuables in an attempt to throw the police off the scent.

  She opened the file on Corinne Lanston. Corinne had worked at the Home Office since graduating from university some twenty years ago. She’d never married, and little was known of any relationships she might have had. She’d worked her way up the civil service promotion ladder and had moved into security-based work related to migrants and asylum seekers almost a decade earlier. It was clear that she lacked field experience. Who had chosen her to head this special unit? And why?

  Sophie looked at Corinne’s photo. It showed an attractive, middle-aged woman with pale ginger hair, freckled skin and broad cheeks. Where was she now? Held captive in a room somewhere? Bound and gagged in a cold, dank cellar? Or dead?

  Sophie shook her head slightly and closed her eyes. Too many thoughts.

  Chapter 21: Walkers

  Monday afternoon

  The area around Seatown and Chideock is a favourite among walkers. Not only is it part of Dorset’s Jurassic Coast World Heritage site, but it also boasts Golden Cap, the highest point on the south coast of England. Most ramblers stick to the south-west coast path which climbs up one side of Golden Cap and down the other. But there are also paths and tracks radiating to inland destinations, meandering around hills and along river valleys. Alan Boothroyd and Denny Churchill had spent the day on one section of this intertwining network, heading south towards Golden Cap. They were walking from Bristol, having set out four days previously, and were on the last leg of their journey, dropping down the incline from the high ground above Chideock. They were accompanied by their two dogs. Alan’s was a border collie, Sammie, who was now getting rather old for such long walks, but she loved being outside on open land and trotted happily beside her owner on these annual autumn walking expeditions. Denny had a much younger dog that he’d bought as a puppy some three years earlier, after his wife died. Jodie was an energetic golden retriever, full of bounce and vigour, keen to investigate every smell, every slightest movement.

  The two men were tired. Even though they were regular walkers, the years take their toll and a walk of seventy-five miles in five days was no joke for two recently retired pensioners. They’d broken the walk up into five manageable chunks, with an overnight stay in a pub at the end of each day. This final stretch was the shortest. They were hoping to make it to Golden Cap by late afternoon for the views, then head down the north eastern flank to their final overnight resting place for a celebratory meal and drink. A bottle of champagne might be in order, although they were more likely to opt for a couple of pints of the local ale. Neither of them was particularly keen on bubbly.

  ‘What do you think? About another forty minutes or so before we reach Golden Cap and get to the top?’ Alan asked.

  Denny shrugged. ‘You’re the navigator, Al. If you don’t know, then I sure don’t. What’s that pesky dog up to now? Here, Jodie. Come on, girl.’

  Jodie had disappeared into a thicket of brambles and nettles at the side of the path. The line of the fence lay somewhere in the middle of the tangled mass, but it looked as if it had rotted away some years before and had never been replaced. Despite Denny’s repeated calls, the dog didn’t reappear and, surprisingly, Sammie had trotted across to join her younger companion in the thicket. The sound of snuffling and low growling came from the two dogs. Both of them ignored their owners’ calls. Instead, the older dog emitted a mournful howl.

  ‘Something’s wrong,’ Alan said. ‘I’ve not heard her howl like that for years.’

  He picked up a dead branch that was lying nearby and started thrashing a way through the tangled mass towards the snuffling dogs. A body lay face down in the middle of the thicket. Alan touched it reluctantly. It was cold and lifeless. Alan shuddered.

  ‘I don’t think we’ll make it to Golden Cap now,’ Denny whispered at his shoulder.

  * * *

  First, a local uniformed police squad from nearby Bridport arrived. They took one look at the body and moved back, well away from the thicket, made some hurried radio calls and started to stretch bright yellow crime-scene tape across the path, above and below the scene.

  Several teams from further afield turned up, bringing sturdier barriers. They erected these across the bottom of the track where it met the main road, then seemed to be working out logistics.

  Next to arrive was a unit of forensic officers, who carried out a close search of the thicket, cleared some of it from the immediate area of the body, and got to work erecting a tent over the corpse.

  And, finally, the detectives. Denny and Allan were obliged to tell their story several times over. They guessed that this must be a significant find just because of the sheer number of people who were steadily arriving, all looking grim. They seemed to know what they were doing, though, which was reassuring. The two men sat on a nearby log, sipping coffee from a flask Denny had been carrying, the dogs beside them, watching the comings and goings.

  A detective arrived, his ginger hair conspicuous in the throng, accompanied by a tall young woman. He came across to them and yet again asked them to recount the story of their macabre discovery. The questions these two asked were more probing and wide ranging. Had they spotted anything else unusual? What had they heard? Had the dogs shown any interest in other places i
n the vicinity? What had the weather been like earlier in the day? Had they seen anyone else on the path?

  The young woman detective walked up and down the track, examining the surface. She showed a lot of interest in a rutted area nearby and pointed something out to one of the forensic people.

  Finally, the senior detective asked them where they’d be staying that night. He seemed relieved to hear that their planned destination was so close by.

  ‘We’ll be in to see you later this evening,’ he said. ‘I’ll be bringing the superintendent, I expect. She’s on her way back from London just now but she should be in the area soon. She’ll want to speak to you.’

  Alan decided to ask the question that had occurred to the two men while they were watching all the developing activity. ‘We’re very impressed with the police response. It seems so smooth and well-planned. Were you expecting something like this to happen?’

  The ginger-haired detective gave a wry smile. ‘Not precisely this, but we were ready for something. And I can’t elaborate any further, I’m afraid.’

  ‘We’re out of the loop, you see,’ Denny added. ‘We’ve been walking from Bristol since the middle of last week, out till late afternoon every day, then into a pub. A meal, a couple of pints and we’re so whacked we just flake out for the night. We’ve no idea what’s been happening. We did hear a helicopter a few times as we’ve come further south. Did that have something to do with this?’

  ‘We couldn’t possibly comment. Enjoy your meal and drink. We’ll see you later.’

  * * *

  ‘Is it him, do you think, Rae? Doesn’t it look like one of the men from the boy’s photo?’

  Barry was taking a final look at the body before it was taken away. Rae checked the image on her phone.

  ‘I think so. That bearded one. It was probably him who came over on the boat. Some of the people said he had a squint. But those aren’t the clothes he was wearing. They said he was in waterproofs, and they thought he had a dark blue tracksuit on underneath, not jeans and a jumper.’