The Soul Killer

by Ross Greenwood

  Barton’s jaw dropped open at Clavell’s cheek as he strode from the room. Zander broke into a wide-mouthed chuckle. Clavell, the bold sod, had already heard all about the suspension and was just double checking. Barton tutted at his deviousness. He really would go far.

  56

  DI Barton

  Barton and Zander shared a look as they sat down early that evening in front of Rowe and his solicitor. The solicitor’s name was Burke, which Barton thought was entirely appropriate, and his reputation preceded him. After they completed the formalities, Barton held up the watch in the plastic bag.

  ‘I’m showing Mr Rowe evidence bag 44-e containing a gold watch. Is this your watch?’

  Rowe glanced at it without emotion. ‘No, it’s not.’

  ‘Can you explain how it came to be in your house?’

  ‘I don’t know anything about it.’

  ‘It belonged to your dead neighbour, Arnold Stone.’

  ‘I haven’t seen it before.’

  Barton put the watch to one side while Zander continued.

  ‘Did you visit Wisbech in the last six months?’

  Rowe’s eyes narrowed. ‘I visited in March for the first time in years. A friend was interested in seeing the display on anti-slavery at the museum. I certainly wasn’t there at Christmas in an allotment.’

  ‘Do you know what Automatic Number Plate Recognition is?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘It can tell us in real time or historically where a car was on a certain date. It identified your vehicle in Wisbech.’

  ‘I went in my boyfriend’s car.’

  ‘On Boxing Day?’

  ‘No, in March. I told you that was the only occasion I’ve been there in years.’

  ‘Mr Rowe, we flagged your car at various points between here and Wisbech on Boxing Day. There are no mistakes with this system.’

  ‘But I was at a—’

  Tears began to flow down Rowe’s face and his solicitor decided he’d had enough. ‘My client is getting upset. Please stop the interrogation for a moment.’

  Zander coughed. ‘We prefer the word interview but, regardless, Mr Rowe has been having a running argument with his neighbour, Mr Stone. That man disappears around Christmas last year, and then his skeleton appears in an allotment in Wisbech. We estimate it’s been there since he went missing. Your client denies having been there then, but his car has been traced to that location. When we searched his house, Mr Stone’s watch was hidden there. There’s motive and evidence.’

  ‘Circumstantial evidence. Do you have images of my client driving the car?’

  ‘Not yet.’

  ‘I’m sure I don’t need to tell you that the ANPR system records movement of cars. It doesn’t reveal who drove them. Any pictures found on CCTV of a moving vehicle on a dark night are unlikely to stand up in court. Even if you can locate such images.’

  ‘And the long-running arguments and insults?’

  ‘Circumstantial.’

  ‘And the watch?’

  ‘Explainable. Perhaps he found it. You would have charged my client with murder by now if you believe he did it.’

  ‘We think he knows more than he’s letting on.’

  Barton noticed the solicitor’s eye twitch at his comment.

  ‘Will he give us his passwords for his phone and laptop?’

  Rowe snorted at the prospect.

  ‘Not at this point,’ said Burke.

  ‘Who is his alibi? Why doesn’t he reveal his identity?’

  Finally, the solicitor crossed his arms and exhaled. ‘We’d like a break. Let me talk to my client. I’ll let you know when we’re ready.’

  Zander stood. ‘We’ll return in our own time.’

  The solicitor also got to his feet. ‘Your twenty-four hours to charge him are up. If you’re requesting an extension, I will need to be informed.’

  Barton and Zander stepped from the room and Zander shook his head. ‘I don’t like this Rowe for it, but, without his alibi, I say we have no choice but to charge him. He’s guilty of something. I reckon his lover came around and got into an argument with Stone. Sounds as if Stone could be combative. Rowe isn’t the fighting type, but maybe his boyfriend is, and Stone dies. Perhaps it was an accident; one of those head-hitting-the-kerb incidents. They panic. Someone knows about this allotment. Before they have time to think it through, they’ve stuck the body in the back of Rowe’s car, driven to the compost heap and buried him. Then they dream up this story about him saying he was moving out.’

  ‘That’s plausible. Why stick up for the other person, though, when we have the car’s movements and the watch?’

  ‘Well, I suppose Rowe could be a knife wielding maniac who’s trying to cover his tracks.’

  ‘It will have been a while since I was that surprised.’ Barton sucked his teeth. ‘That smart-git solicitor’s not helping. Problem is, I’m not convinced either. There’s something else we’re not seeing. I’ll ask Cox to sort out an extension. If he doesn’t give up his boyfriend in the next few days, we probably have enough to charge him with murder, although we have nothing concrete. Perhaps time under lock and key will weaken his resolve.’

  ‘We’ve got his laptop and mobile phone. The details of who he’s protecting will probably be in one of them somewhere.’

  ‘You know we struggle to get into these new iPhones. We’ll have more luck with his laptop, but he’d need to reveal his passwords if we want to read his emails, and he’s already laughed at the suggestion. The old fashioned route is the quickest and strongest.’

  ‘You mean threaten him until he confesses?’

  ‘I wouldn’t say threaten. Convince him that honesty is the best policy.’

  Zander smiled. ‘Any angles that we might have missed?’

  Barton considered what they knew. ‘It’s weird that Whitlam lives next door.’

  ‘Yeah. I wonder if he knows who the boyfriend was. What a mess.’

  ‘They wouldn’t pay us the big bucks if it was easy.’

  Barton smiled. ‘It’s never simple. Let’s sleep on it. Another night in the cells will help. If he refuses to talk in the morning, we’ll get started on the other routes. If we can track his phone to Wisbech as well as his car, it’ll confirm his movements, but we all know how long that sort of thing takes.’

  ‘Can’t they rush it all through?’

  ‘You’d think, but look at it from their point of view. We have a skeleton with no damage to it and a lot of circumstantial evidence. There doesn’t appear to be an imminent risk to anyone else, especially with Mr Rowe enjoying our facilities downstairs. It’s always the same. Neither Rome nor cases are built in a day.’

  Zander bobbed his head in agreement. ‘Let’s hope time is on our side.’

  57

  The Soul Killer

  I don’t want to show myself at my house in case they haven’t finished with the potential crime scene next door. There’s no point reminding them how close to the scene I live so I spend the afternoon walking around the new Tesco Extra shopping centre at Hampton. My latest credit card bill prevents me from buying anything so I have a cheap dinner at the Mulberry Tree Farm pub. By accident, I sit beside the toddler play area, only to endure screams and shouts with my food.

  Afterwards I head to Claudia’s office. She’s supposed to finish at six o’clock but she often works late. The reception closes before that, but the cleaners have opened the door in the past. A harried looking young lady is leaving as I arrive, so I try to slip past her.

  ‘Can I help?’ she asks.

  ‘I wanted to catch Claudia before she leaves for the day.’

  The woman pauses. A range of expressions passes over her face. I spot pity and sympathy, possibly even a hint of fear. She knows who I am, that’s for sure.

  ‘She’s been working out of our Huntingdon branch for the last few weeks. It’s quieter and more relaxing. You understand how she must feel.’

  I think I’d feel better if she’d told me personall
y. ‘Of course. My mistake.’

  My poor attempt at recovery is more degrading than not knowing in the first place. I decide to go to her house, even though I’m perhaps not in the best frame of mind. I have no choice. It has to be done.

  If Barton plans to tell Claudia about my lack of disclosure about seeing Malcolm the night he died, I’m better off delivering the news myself. I frown as I consider our future. There’s no good reason why she wouldn’t tell me of the office move. The breadcrumbs of missed calls, texts and dates beforehand have lessened the shock, but it’s still a blow.

  Claudia won’t be home from Huntingdon yet, so I meander back down Oundle Road to the petrol station. I decide to venture into the British Sugar site opposite and cruise past Donald’s old house. Expecting it to look the same, I slam the brakes on when I spot children’s curtains hanging in the windows. There’s a ‘sold’ sign lying flat in the grass out the front and a shiny people carrier fills the too-small driveway. I get out and peek through the glass into what was once his study, which now appears to be a playroom, filled with more toys than I’ve ever seen before. I can’t help wondering if the new family know the history of the house. Mind you, lives are worth less nowadays. They probably don’t even care.

  I return to the car and park up next to the playground that we wistfully stared at what seems a lifetime ago. There are children playing now, even a dad in his suit, no doubt just back from the office. That should be my future. I stare down at my clenched fists and force myself to relax. Driving usually calms me, so I drive around the estate. It seems everywhere I look there are families. Part of me wants to mount the pavement.

  I nip to the parkways and let off some steam in the fast lane, before heading to Orton Waterville to explain my actions. Claudia’s back as both of the twins’ cars are parked outside. Perhaps I should talk to them together. At least I’ll be able to take note of their reactions at the same time. I wonder how furious they’re going to be. It’ll definitely be a shock, but it’s not as though they’ll think I murdered him. But I suspect Claudia will use it as an excuse for us not to see each other any more. She won’t get rid of me that easily.

  Her sister stares through the glass after I knock. She’s a wraith in a mauve tracksuit. I open my mouth to talk but she hollers up the stairs, ‘It’s him,’ and doesn’t open the door. Bitch. Claudia arrives, moving as if she has a concrete coat on. She opens the door slowly, as though she’d rather not have to.

  ‘Hey, David. What are you doing here?’

  ‘I came to explain something.’

  Her mouth droops but she maintains eye contact. ‘I’ve been planning to speak to you for a while. I just don’t seem to have a second free at the moment.’ She takes a deep breath. ‘Now is as good a time as ever. Come to the kitchen.’

  I follow her. Her jeans are baggy. We meet many anorexics and people with eating disorders in our line of work. There’s also contact with drug addicts, who often waste away. But it’s the misery that comes from grief that depletes people the fastest.

  ‘Tea, coffee?’ Claudia asks.

  ‘No, thanks. Can you fetch your sister, too? What I need to tell you is relevant to both of you. I hope you’ll understand why I never said anything at the time. It concerns Malcolm.’

  Puzzled and curious now, Claudia shouts to Annabelle. Finally, they sit opposite me at the big kitchen table. Claudia appears ready to cry; her sister looks demonic. Claudia has lost a lot of weight, but Annabelle’s arms are the thinnest I’ve ever witnessed on an adult. She might not be long for this world at this rate.

  I start my tale at hearing a splash when Malcolm fell in, and finish with feeling guilty the next day when I heard the news. I explain the poor decision not to tell anyone. It was a big mistake and I’m so sorry. The news takes quite a few seconds to sink in. Longer, in fact, than it took Malcolm to sink under.

  The silence is almost a physical presence in the room. The pressure builds on their faces. Claudia shakes her head from side to side. Annabelle’s face forms a mask of such pain-filled hatred that I want to look away.

  ‘You pulled him out and let him walk home in that state!’ roars Annabelle.

  ‘Why didn’t you say straight away?’ asks a wide eyed and disappointed Claudia.

  ‘I thought you’d both react like that. I offered to get him a taxi, but he told me to clear off. You know how he was.’

  Meanwhile, Annabelle has circled to the pans hanging on hooks. The frying pan flies closer to Claudia than me, but it’s thrown with real venom.

  In the melee I can see Claudia staring at the table, trying to process the information, but there’s too much for her to get it straight. The only thing she can focus on is the worst part. ‘You lied to me, to all of us.’

  ‘You might as well have killed him yourself,’ screams Annabelle.

  I dodge the saucepan and egg poacher, which both hit the wall next to my head with a clang. My knuckles are white as I pick up the saucepan. My shoulders open up as I feel its weight. How dare she? I came around so they could hear it from me. I step towards Annabelle and she gasps with incredulity. Then bares her teeth. She’s as mad as her father. She wants to die. I manage to change the expression on my face just before Claudia looks up at me. I place the pan on the side.

  A snarl from Annabelle snaps my head back towards her. It’s time to leave as she heads towards the knife rack. Claudia follows me out. She slams the kitchen door behind us and something sharp-sounding ricochets away. The next sound is a thud and a point of metal pokes through the wood.

  I step outside the front door, which Claudia closes before turning the key. She stays on the other side and through the glass I see her shake her head again. There’s sorrow and regret, but worst of all is the expression of acceptance. The decision she’d made earlier, without me, was the right one. Annabelle flies into view, bangs her fists on the glass, and tries to get out but Claudia pulls her into a hug. Then they collapse on the floor and Claudia strokes her sister’s hair.

  I stride to my car and get in. The whole car rocks as I slam the door shut. With a quick reverse, I bump off the drive and zoom from the street. I’m in a rush to get away but, deep down, I know what I want is back there. Annabelle is such a drain on poor Claudia. It’s up to me to help.

  58

  DI Barton

  Barton left Robin Rowe sweating in his cell and he weakened overnight. Perhaps it was the pressure of the evidence, or maybe his solicitor talked sense into him. Whatever it was, the pair of them faced Barton and Zander across the table.

  ‘My client would like to make a statement. I will read it.’

  ‘Go on,’ said Zander.

  ‘My client denies any involvement in his neighbour’s death and any knowledge of the watch you have as evidence. Mr Rowe was with his boyfriend at the time that car was being driven to Wisbech on Boxing Day. His partner is on holiday at the moment and can’t be contacted. However, my client is prepared to give you his partner’s email address to enable you to receive the alibi.’

  Barton glared at Rowe. ‘Do you think this is a game? That email address could be your mother’s, for all we know.’ He moved his frown to the solicitor. ‘We need the name of the person who is giving the alibi. We will want to question him in person. Who is he? Tell me his name. Or I’ll have your client in front of a magistrate this afternoon.’

  The solicitor whispered in Rowe’s ear. Rowe nodded but didn’t look up.

  ‘My client is trying to protect his boyfriend, who is a pillar of the community and married to the mother of his children.’

  A slow grin crept onto Barton’s face. ‘That makes more sense. No dice. I want him back from his holiday and in here today, tomorrow at the latest. In fact, I’ll have his phone number and location immediately.’

  ‘My client’s boyfriend is not contactable by phone because he is abroad. The only method of communication is electronically.’

  ‘Where the hell is he, Antarctica?’

  The solicitor rubbe
d his temples. He turned and rested his hand on Rowe’s arm, whose head bobbed twice.

  ‘Cambodia.’

  ‘Don’t mobile phones work in Cambodia?’

  Zander was much faster off the mark. ‘Visits Cambodia a lot, does he?’

  He stared hard at Rowe. ‘For the benefit of the tape, Mr Rowe has nodded.’

  Barton caught up. ‘I assume he hasn’t gone for the cocktails and palm trees?’ When no response came, Barton growled and pushed further. ‘Ah, now we see why Mr Rowe didn’t want to mention it. These prostitutes he visits. I trust they’re over eighteen.’

  ‘Of course! He just likes to party with young men.’

  Rowe’s head drooped lower. Barton could see his eyes flickering from side to side. The solicitor cleared his throat.

  ‘It’s legal over there, Inspector. And he knows nothing about any murder.’

  ‘I think you’ll find it is illegal over there, just that the law is ignored. When is he due back?’

  Rowe finally raised his head. ‘I don’t know. Sometimes he goes for a fortnight, other times he stays a couple of months.’

  ‘Doesn’t his wife care?’

  ‘They’re only together for the children and for the sake of appearances. I think she prefers it when he’s not there.’

  ‘When did he leave the country?’

  ‘A week ago.’

  Barton and Zander watched the sweat trickle down both sides of Rowe’s forehead. It wasn’t even hot in the room.

  ‘The evidence points to murder. You’re the one currently in the frame,’ said Barton.

  Zander inhaled sharply. ‘You’ve been with your partner to Cambodia, haven’t you?’