by E C Deacon
Helen hesitated, then rose and made her way slowly over to the counter. Pauline watched her go, bleakly amused. “Looks like she’s got a problem with you too.”
“No,” lied Teal. “I have a heart condition. I shouldn’t eat bacon, but on days like this you think fuck it, there are worse ways to die. Are you okay?”
“You mean considering my husband’s a serial killer?”
The flak just kept coming; she had an arsenal of the stuff. “Is that a rhetorical question or do you want me to answer?”
“No,” she said, allowing herself a wintry smile. “I have a tendency to switch to attack mode whenever I feel threatened. It’s not my most endearing trait.”
“In the circumstances, I can hardly blame you.”
“About the article – it was a cheap shot. A headline for a quiet week. Sorry.” Teal smiled ruefully in return but said nothing. “If it’s any consolation to you, my over-eager colleagues outside are going to do the same to me and my family.”
“How is he doing, your son?”
“He’s not sure whether to hate his father or love him. I’ve always had that problem too.”
“He doesn’t make it easy for people. Speaking of which, I need to ask you a couple of questions. Did you record a meeting between one of my officers, DS Clarke, and a man called Brian Hoffman?”
Pauline, impressed by how deftly he’d manoeuvred the conversation, cracked a grin and said, “That was very smooth, Inspector. Yes, I did.”
“Did you by any chance make a copy of it?”
“No. Everton didn’t trust me not to use it. Once bitten, you know?”
Teal groaned. The ray of hope that had flickered briefly had as quickly been extinguished, and without it he knew that it wouldn’t be DS Clarke’s career that was over but DC Helen Lake’s.
The journey back to London was punctuated by a series of prolonged phone calls to Teal. First from his superintendent, demanding to know what the hell was going on and why he’d been informed about Bowe by Commander Walsh, who’d heard the news from a “bloody journalist” rather than from Teal. Then from the borough commander himself, demanding to know exactly the same thing, and ordering an urgent meeting of all the heads of department to discuss the “disastrous management of the investigation” and how to limit the fallout. Then from Teddy, the forensic manager of the lab, confirming that he’d prioritised the case and even called in Dr Noonan, who was on sick leave, to help. He hoped that they’d have some preliminary results from the photographs later that day. But he felt it incumbent to voice his concern that DS Clarke seemed more concerned with convicting Bowe than waiting for any corroborating evidence.
Helen listened second-hand to the phone calls with a mounting sense of dread. Teal had already warned her that without hard evidence there was no way he could support the word of a police constable suspected of murder against a senior serving officer. His superiors would hang him out to dry. Helen argued in vain that there was no evidence to link Everton directly to the other missing women. But Teal told her she was being naive. The Met needed a result to get the press off their backs and charging Bowe would give them one. Plus, it would allow them to slip the moribund missing women enquiry quietly onto the back burner.
“Hold on. Are you saying you’re pulling me from the case?”
“You’ve had a prior relationship with our prime suspect and made serious unfounded accusations against a fellow officer. What do you expect me to do?”
“Unfounded? I’d hardly call them unfounded.”
“That’s what DS Clarke will say, and you can’t prove different. If he makes a formal complaint, I can’t protect you”
“Or yourself.”
“I’m not going to martyr myself for you.”
“What about Hoffman?”
“He’s an ex-cop, he knows the score. He’ll deny everything. I’m re-assigning you to the Phipps Bridge stabbings.”
“Guv, no. Please. I’ve been working on this missing women case for over a year.”
“What you do in your spare time, DC Lake, is entirely up to you.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
Teal looked her squarely in the eyes and offered her a peppermint.
The briefing room on the second floor of the Wimbledon nick was full. Commander Walsh, Superintendent Cross, DCI Teal, DS Clarke, DCs Rogers and Coyle and PC Sugarman sat on one side of the Formica conference table with various files laid out in from of them. Forensics occupied the other side, along with two representatives from media and communications, who said little but took copious notes. The only absentee was the lead officer on the case, DC Helen Lake.
Teddy Baldwin was referring to a series of images uploaded from Everton’s mobile that were being projected onto a whiteboard. “All of the photographs were taken at the same time, but you’ll notice the body seems to have been moved into different positions, which would indicate that she’d been posed. Which suggests he was doing it for his own sexual gratification. I think he gets pleasure from dominating his subjects, terrifying them whilst they’re still conscious.”
“Hold on. How do we even know that she’s even alive in these photos?”
“There’d be no need for him to tape her mouth if she was already dead,” said James Noonan, as if patiently stating the obvious to a dim student.
The commander cleared his throat and moved the discussion briskly on. “Do we know anything about the car she was photographed in or the location?”
Noonan nodded to Teddy and allowed him to pick up the baton again. Teddy scanned the table for an ally, someone who was willing to support a fellow copper. There was no one. Not even Noonan. A decision had been made, and they were no longer looking for the truth, merely corroborating evidence to convict Bowe.
He ploughed on regardless. “Nothing, sir, except that the photographs appear to have been taken outside and at night.”
“She was seen leaving her flat by a neighbour at around 11am. It’s doesn’t get dark until after five. Someone must have seen her in between,” suggested PC Sugarman.
“She didn’t take her car. We’re assuming she either travelled to meet someone or was picked up locally,” replied Coyle.
“We do know that Bowe placed a number of unanswered calls to her in the days prior to her disappearance,” added Noonan. “Teddy logged seven I think.”
“Six,” corrected Teddy. “But if she was meeting Bowe surely she’d have answered his calls.”
“Not if he was harassing her,” interrupted Clarke.
“Why would she agree to meet him?”
“Maybe she didn’t. He could have just lost it and abducted her.”
“In broad daylight? Bowe’s not stupid, Sergeant, he wouldn’t take the risk.”
“He was drunk. He reeked of alcohol. He didn’t even attempt to brake when he crashed through that barrier on Stokenchurch Gap.”
The commander glanced over at his PR team, smelling a potential problem, and said, “Did Bowe have a history of alcohol abuse?”
Teal, who could feel the noose tightening, and not just on Everton, formulated his response, saying finally, “He had some medical issues, sir. He was on gardening leave and I recommended that he apply for early retirement on health grounds.”
“What type of health grounds specifically, Inspector?”
“High blood pressure. He also suffered from Meniere’s Disease – vertigo. And he was diagnosed as suffering from chronic tinnitus in both ears.”
“We’re going to need a copy his medical records,” interrupted one of the PR guys, leaning forward animatedly, intent on making a contribution. “To prepare a response before it leaks.”
“It won’t leak,” interjected Teal, staring hard at Clarke. “Or heads will roll.”
“For the record, sir,” said Clarke, ignoring Teal and addressing the commander, “although I suspected PC Bowe was drinking, he never gave any indication of being under the influence of drugs whilst on duty. It wasn’t until DC Coyle
and I searched his flat that we found quantities of cannabis resin openly on display.”
Superintendent Cross turned balefully towards Teal for confirmation. “He was using drugs too?”
Teal hesitated and took the only course left open to him: to side with Clarke and cut Bowe adrift. He said, “It appears that Bowe was self-medicating, sir. Using the drugs to treat his anxiety and ease his symptoms.”
“Terrific,” snorted the commander. “The press is going to love this. Alright. What about the car she was photographed in? Have we any idea what make it was?”
Teddy clicked through to another image, an extreme close-up of a chrome tailgate locking mechanism, and said, “It’s a soft-close design, probably a Mercedes, sir.”
“The same model used in the abduction of Tessa Hayes,” added Noonan.
“Well, that’s something at least. What about the colour?”
“From the trim, I would say it was either black or dark blue.”
“Midnight blue. It’s the same colour,” said Clarke, ramming home the point. “It’s him, sir. It’s too much of a coincidence for it not to be.”
“Except Bowe doesn’t own a Mercedes,” countered Teddy, doggedly determined to add a note of caution.
“That we’re aware of,” replied the commander. “I suggest we make tracing the car a priority. What about the scratches on the victim’s leg?”
Noonan held out his hand, forcing Teddy to relinquish the clicker and his authority. He moved the images rapidly on to another close-up, this time of a series of small scratches on the inside of Laura’s left thigh.
“The marks are consistent with those made with human fingernails.”
A close-up of Everton’s bloody fingernails was projected onto the screen.
“Significantly, the blood type of the sample retrieved from under PC Bowe’s nails, seen here, matches that of the victim’s, found in her medical records.”
The room fell silent, realising the significance of the damning piece of evidence.
“Thank you, Mr Noonan. Alright, that’s all for now, ladies and gentlemen,” said the commander.
The team filed out of the room. The commander watched them go, leaned over to Teal and said, “Find her or her body. Then charge Bowe. Bury the bastard.”
Celia Lewis was overseeing the preparations for her dinner party. The mayor was guest of honour and she’d invited five other influencers, none of whom were politicians, to balance the table. The Admirable Crichton were catering, which was expensive, but the dinner signalled her rehabilitation into the party so the investment was worthwhile. She was in the dining room checking the Wedgewood crockery whilst Angus decanted the Côte de Beaune in the kitchen. Under strict instructions not to sample it, he’d sneaked a sharpener earlier so was happy for now just to savour its heady perfume. Both of them heard the front door but left it for the other to answer. Since the debacle over Colin Gould, they’d barely been on speaking terms but had been forced to call a truce for the dinner. A waiter finally answered the door and ushered Helen into the hallway. Angus saw her and, mistaking her for the chef, wheeled himself out to welcome her. His greeting turned distinctly cool when Helen reintroduced herself as Detective Constable Lake.
“I suggest you speak to my wife. Celia!” he called, reversing back into the kitchen. “It’s the police again!”
She was already dialling on her mobile as she powered into the hall.
“Mrs Lewis. I apologise for–”
Celia held her hand up for silence and barked into the handset, “Celia Lewis for Commander Walsh… Tell him it concerns our discussion and to ring me ASAP. Thank you.” She turned with a face like bleached stone to Helen. “You do not come to my home without a prior appointment.”
“If you’ll just let me explain–”
“No. No more explanations. No more harassment. Leave. Now, please.”
“Laura Fell has been abducted.”
Celia took barely a moment to compose herself and replied in a voice that remained frighteningly detached, “I’m sorry, what has this got to do with me?”
Helen couldn’t believe her indifference. It was as if they were talking about a complete stranger, not the closest friend of her daughter. “Mrs Lewis, it’s possible that she could have been murdered. Don’t you care?”
“Of course, I care. But it’s your job to find her, Detective, not mine–”
“For God’s sake, Celia!” snapped Angus from the kitchen doorway. “That’s what she’s trying to do, her bloody job.”
Celia turned witheringly towards him. “She’s not doing her job! She’s been removed from the case! This has nothing to do with her. Now, will you please go back into the kitchen, pour yourself another whiskey or whatever it is you’re drinking tonight, and leave this to me?”
Angus visibly wilted under her anger and, head down in humiliation, wheeled himself away. Helen was stunned, not by his capitulation but that Celia already knew about her demotion. Surely the information couldn’t have come from commander Walsh?
“You’re very well informed, Mrs Lewis.”
“I make it my business to be. Now, I advise you to leave before I make a formal complaint and you find yourself in even more serious trouble.”
Helen’s confidence faltered. Until now she’d always put herself first, been ruthlessly pragmatic, but caring for somebody other than herself made her feel vulnerable. Celia sensed it, took the initiative and, reaching out, took her firmly by the arm and steered her towards the door.
“Goodbye, Detective.”
It was the utter confidence in her voice that stopped Helen. “I’d think very carefully before you start complaining, Mrs Lewis. Otherwise the story of your infertility and Gina’s adoption is going to be all over the newspapers. Not to mention your part in your husband’s drink-driving cover-up.”
Celia removed her hand and said icily, “You can’t blackmail me.”
“Watch me.” Helen pulled out her mobile and pressed speed dial. “The news desk, please. Pauline Bowe… Pauline, it’s me… Yeah, the Lewis cover-up story, go ahead and print it.”
“No! Wait, damn you… Alright. Alright… What do you want to know?”
Teddy Baldwin tried to ring Helen back after her bizarre phone call, but found that her phone had been switched off.
Not long after, she walked through doors of the forensic reception and demanded an urgent meeting with him. He made no attempt to hide his animosity as he beckoned her to follow him inside the laboratory. “I’m busy. Make it brief.”
“Of course,” she replied, not rising to the bait.
She knew that Teddy had been the source of Everton’s information regarding the bookie robbery. The question was whether she could persuade him to put aside his dislike of her to help his friend again.
“Look, you don’t like me, Teddy, and that’s fine,” she said, keeping her voice low so as not to attract the attention of James Noonan, who glanced up at her as she entered from a nearby workstation. “But we both know that Everton Bowe is incapable of hurting a woman.”
“It doesn’t matter what you or I think, the evidence doesn’t lie.”
“Everton would never drive if he were stoned.”
“How can you be sure of that?”
“Because his younger brother was killed in a crash whilst he was out of it on Ketamine and Everton never forgave himself for turning his back on him.”
This was news to Teddy and he took a moment to assimilate it. “Okay. But he was found smelling of booze with a half-bottle of vodka in his car.”
“Yeah, and that doesn’t make sense either. He hates vodka, calls it ‘girly giggle water’. He won’t touch it. He only drinks rum.”
Teddy caught the eye of Noonan, who was looking up from his bench, having overheard part of the conversation. Noonan shook his head and mouthed “stay out of it”.
Teddy knew he should take his advice, that as a scientist he should adhere to the principles of the probability theory, but friends
hip and love weren’t quantifiable like physics. He’d already lost a wife; he couldn’t turn away and lose a friend too. “I’m assuming you told all this to DCI Teal?”
“I’m off the case.”
“I know, I was at the briefing. As far as the Met is concerned you never existed.”
“They need a scapegoat and I’m it.”
“Now you know how Everton felt.”
“Then help me clear his name.”
“And get you your job back?”
“The two things aren’t mutually exclusive, I admit. Are you going to help me or not?”
Teddy looked her slowly up and down and said, “Not you. Everton.”
“Okay. Celia Lewis confirmed that her daughter Gina was adopted and that she’d traced her brother, a man called Kieron Allen. But she swears she knows nothing else about him. The thing is, Everton couldn’t find anything about Allen either. He said it was weird, like the guy doesn’t exist.”
“The tracer must have found him.”
“Exactly. She ran a company called Lost and Found. The thing is, I need access to her files to find him.”
“So, phone her up.”
“I can't. Her husband battered her to death ten days ago.”
Helen left the lab with a folder containing the latest forensic data, and a warning that if she intended to remove evidence from a murder scene, Teddy didn’t want to know. Noonan watched her exit and homed in on Teddy like an Exocet.
“Are you mad? Bowe did it–”
“Don’t.” Teddy held up his hands like a boxer on the ropes, knowing what was coming. “And you didn’t see or hear any of that.”
Noonan stared bleakly at him, then turned and stalked off, muttering, “Be it on your own head.”
Everton hated eavesdropping on his family’s grief but, hard as he tried to fight against the pentobarbitone, the words of reassurance wouldn’t come. Worse still, he had no recollection of how he’d even got there, let alone the monstrous things he appeared to have done.
Adam was watching the Chelsea v Roma European Cup match on his iPad whilst he and his mum sat vigil beside the bed, but when Pauline slipped out for a coffee, he took one of the headphones from his ear and gently placed it inside Everton’s.