by Graham Smith
‘Not yet. Paul has come up with the theory that it may have been a taxi which picked Angus up.’
O’Dowd scrunched her nose in thought. ‘Makes sense. He’d trust a taxi. Nice thinking, Paul.’
‘Actually, ma’am, it was Beth’s idea not mine.’
‘You never told me it was Young Beth’s idea.’
Beth felt her temper rise when she heard Thompson’s sneered rebuke of Unthank the moment he realised it’d come from her. ‘I just put myself in his place. Thought about whose car I’d get in if I was in his position.’
‘You could be right.’ O’Dowd turned to look at Thompson. ‘Get onto the CCTV boys, get them to pay close attention to any taxis that left that area.’
‘Already done, but I doubt we’ll get much. There’s only one camera in Longtown and it looks along the A7. We’ll see if any taxis turned onto Moor Road, but that’s all. I was going to get onto the taxi companies, but then I realised it would probably be a waste of time.’
Beth was about to ask why, when she realised the answer to her question. No driver working for a firm would take unsolicited pick-ups – only the black cabs in Carlisle did that – therefore the person who picked up Angus would more likely be working for themselves. There were a couple of dozen independents in Carlisle and probably only a couple of one-person operations in a place as small as Longtown. Once Unthank had spoken to them all, she’d get his notes and add them to her spreadsheet in case one of them had a connection to Angus.
O’Dowd fixed Thompson with a look. ‘So what are you doing?’
‘I’ve asked Paul to contact the council licencing office when they open at nine. Once we know the name of every independent registered taxi in the area, we’ll run a trace on where their mobiles were. With luck one will be a match for Angus’s movements and we’ll have our murderer identified.’
O’Dowd jabbed her pen towards Unthank. ‘Don’t bother calling the council office. Get down there in person. Shout all you need to, and if you’re not getting results, call me. I’m in the mood to shout at someone today.’
Thompson left the room with Unthank striding after him.
Beth wanted to speak, but was afraid of how O’Dowd would respond. The DI was slamming papers about and looked as if she was getting ready to explode. Until she knew the reason for O’Dowd’s anger, Beth planned to tread with great care.
‘Right then, Beth. Spill it. You’re sitting there itching to say something. I just hope it’s to do with the case.’
‘Angus Keane’s grandmother used to be a cook at Arthuret Hall. She worked there when they housed evacuees.’
O’Dowd’s eyes lit up for the first time that morning. ‘Is she still alive?’
‘Yes. I’ve traced her to an old folks’ home.’ Beth averted her eyes from O’Dowd. ‘I called Angus’s wife when I learned of this connection. She doesn’t know anything, but Angus’s mother will be home tomorrow.’
‘Tomorrow? Her son has been brutally murdered and she’s not back until tomorrow? What the hell is wrong with some people?’
Beth picked her words with care.
‘She’s driving back. Apparently, she winters in Spain every year and drives so that she has a car and she can take her dogs with her.’
O’Dowd harrumphed as she collapsed into her seat.
‘There’s something else, ma’am. One of the evacuees, a George Bellingham, has done time for arson. Admittedly it was back in the seventies, but still…’
‘He’s got to be too old to be the killer; I mean, he’s bound to be at least mid-seventies by now. Give him a quick look over in case he’s put the killer up to it. What else do you know about him?’
‘Not a lot.’ Beth made a sheepish gesture. ‘I didn’t want to spend too much time looking at him until I had gone through the whole list. Since he came out of prison, he has worked for a firm called RGKMS Limited and he’s listed as a director on their Companies House profile, but there’s no website for the company on Google, and when I did a Street View on their registered address in Manchester, it’s nothing more than an abandoned warehouse.’
‘So, we’ve got the dinner lady’s grandson turned into a dragon, and a man who likes to play with matches. Our arsonist knows Arthuret Hall and has a derelict building as his business address.’ O’Dowd grimaced. ‘That speaks of organised crime to me. Like the building it uses as an address, RGKMS Limited may be a shell.’ She pointed at Beth’s computer. ‘What did the PNC say about him?’
‘Just the arson.’
‘What about HOLMES?’
The Home Office Large Major Enquiry System allowed all the police forces in the UK to simultaneously access information connected to large investigations, such as murder cases. Its database held case notes and details of all people connected with any particular case, and allowed officers to follow cases in real time.
‘I didn’t find anything. I’ve sent an email to his local force asking if he’s on their radar.’
‘Good. If you haven’t heard anything by noon, follow it up with a call.’ O’Dowd took a noisy slurp of the coffee she’d carried in with her. ‘C’mon then, let’s go and see Granny Keane. With luck she’ll still have her wits about her.’
Twenty-Nine
Pine View Residential Home for the Elderly was everything Beth expected it would be and nothing more. It carried the look of a former hotel; one side was backed against an industrial estate, while the front had a road, a stone wall, and a view of a strip of pine trees that was just thick enough to obscure the view of the fields beyond it.
Other than cars passing by, there was nothing for the residents to look at. The frontage was more car park than lawn and there was a narrow flowerbed containing not quite enough flowers to hide the weeds.
Beth stood to one side as O’Dowd pressed the bell and waited. A shadow appeared behind the door’s frosted glass. When the door was eased open there was a rasping squeak as the hinges protested.
‘Sorry. Visiting’s at ten. No exceptions.’
O’Dowd’s foot thumped against the closing door as she lifted her warrant card. ‘Police. We’re here to speak to Mavis Keane.’
The care worker pulled a face. ‘You’d best come in then.’
As she stepped inside the old folks’ home, Beth was struck by the banality of the place. It was held in a time warp. All the ladies wore floral dresses and the two men had slacks pulled up over their bellies. The air hung with the antiseptic smells of liniment and detergent with an undertone of fried bacon. A wall-mounted TV blared out the last remnants of a breakfast show presented by a smug man in a crisp suit and his put-upon co-host.
The care worker led them along a corridor. ‘She’s just down here.’
‘Thanks.’ Beth spoke before O’Dowd could unload on the care worker. ‘What’s her state of mind?’
A malicious smile spread across the care worker’s face as she stopped and opened a door without knocking. ‘See for yourself.’ With the door swung wide, the care worker leaned a shoulder on the wall where she could oversee her charge.
As Beth followed the DI into the room she saw Mavis Keane wasn’t going to be much use to their enquiries. The elderly lady lay on a surgical bed which had both guard rails lifted to prevent her from falling out. At the foot of the bed, she saw a red light indicating it was powered by electricity. The only reason she could think of for this was that the bed was a hospital-type which moved its base so as to prevent its occupant getting sores. Therefore Mavis Keane must be more or less immobile.
‘Hello, Mrs Keane? Mavis?’
Beth marvelled at the way O’Dowd had the self-control to park her anger and use a soft tone. It was a skill she knew she’d have to master if she was to succeed as a detective. Various situations called for different tactics and her own emotions would always have to take second place to the needs of the investigation.
The woman’s head turned to look at them. ‘Are you doctors? HELP! There’s doctors in here. I don’t want them touching me.’
‘We’re police. We have a few questions to ask you. Do you think you can help us?’
Mavis shrank her head back as far as her frail body allowed, her eyes suspicious in a fearful face. ‘You’re not doctors?’
‘No. We are police officers. We’re here to ask you some questions about your grandson.’
‘I haven’t got a grandson. Nor a son. Who are you? Are you doctors? If you are doctors, my bunions are killing me. Can you take a look at them?’
While nobody had said as much, it was clear that Mavis hadn’t been told about her grandson’s death, or in her confused state the news hadn’t registered. There were no family photos in the room and the old girl appeared to live in a world populated only by doctors. O’Dowd shot Beth a look full of exasperation.
Beth took the cue and stepped forward a half pace. Mavis had turned her head to face the far wall. Her white hair was so sparse Beth could see her scalp between the strands.
Perhaps a little role play might trigger something. ‘Mavis, do you remember working up at Arthuret Hall with me?’
‘As a doctor? You’re a doctor, aren’t you?’ Mavis’s voice went from confused to proud. ‘I used to be a doctor.’
Beth painted a smile on her face and tried to layer it into her voice. ‘No, silly, we worked in the kitchens there. You were cooking and I had to do the dishes. Surely you remember me?’
Mavis’s face lit up. ‘Joanie, is it really you, Joanie?’
‘It is. Do you remember feeding all those kids? I certainly remember washing all their plates.’
‘I didn’t feed any kids.’ Mavis’s head rolled to face Beth and she fixed her with a proud stare. ‘I was a doctor. You’re not a doctor. You’re probably not even a nurse.’
Beth felt O’Dowd’s fingers give a gentle pull at her arm. When she turned to look at her boss she saw nothing but sadness and pity in her eyes. It was clear Mavis’s mind had failed her, and now all her thoughts were about doctors. Had it not been for the handwritten nameplate on the door, Beth would have suspected the surly care worker had brought them to the wrong room out of spite.
As she walked back to the car, Beth pondered on the futile existence of Pine View’s residents. There would be infrequent visits from relatives they no longer recognised, regimented days and carers who earned minimum wage washing them down with a haste and roughness borne of uncaring indifference.
Their days would blend into uniformity with the only highlights the addition of a new face. They’d also witness the decline of others, notice the empty chair or see a place at the table no longer set at meal times, and they’d wonder how long it would be before their space at the table became unoccupied.
Once they were in the car, O’Dowd pulled out the list of people they had to talk to. Each one had a connection with either Angus Keane or Arthuret Hall. The list had been compiled from conversations the Family Liaison Officer had had with Suzy and from things the Digital Forensics Unit had found on Angus’s laptop. As they drove away from Pine View, Beth vowed to herself that, when her time came, she’d have to find a way to make sure she didn’t end up in a place like that. It wasn’t so much God’s waiting room, as the outer circle of Dante’s hell.
Thirty
The man picked his way through the house. He didn’t get many visitors as he’d crossed swords with the few members of his family that remained. His list of friends was non-existent, that’s why he trawled for angels to admire. When he opened the door he was met with a pair of women he didn’t know. The older one was holding out a wallet containing some kind of identification. She didn’t warrant the time it took him to look past her and see her companion.
The younger of the two women was stunning, a rival for Sarah Hardy in every way. While her trouser suit hid the shape of her body, he could see from her posture that she was lithe and his imagination filled in the blanks for him.
‘DI O’Dowd and DC Young.’
It was the older one who spoke. She confirmed his name and he nodded agreement. His first thought was that one of his angels had made a complaint against him. It wouldn’t be the first time.
‘How can I help you?’
‘You did some work a few weeks ago with an Angus Keane. Can you confirm that you and he didn’t part company on the best of terms?’
The older woman looked past him into the house. His manners told him that he should invite them in. He would have done so, but he didn’t want the junior one to see the mess.
‘Well, what have you got to say?’ The DI’s tone was full of aggression, making the man feel there was an unspoken accusation.
‘Angus and I never did see eye to eye for very long. We worked together on and off for years. He’d get me in on jobs where he needed an extra pair of hands. Problem was, he was years younger than me and he expected me to put in the same hours he did, and work at his pace.’ He shook his head in sadness. ‘I’m afraid time has caught up with me and I’m not as fast, or as strong as I once was.’
‘Is that why you fell out?’
DC Young’s voice was soft and there was only a trace of a Cumbrian accent to it. He wished he’d put on better clothes, maybe a tie, certainly a clean shirt instead of the grubby T-shirt he wore. A part of him wanted to invite them into his home regardless of the mess. To have such a beautiful woman in his home would be a high he could savour for months.
‘It was. Except, it wasn’t so much of a falling out as a parting of ways.’ He used a thumbnail to scratch his ear. ‘I told him I was too old to work as hard as him and that in future he’d be better off getting someone who could. I shook his hand and wished him well.’
‘Are you sure that’s the way it happened?’ DI O’Dowd’s eyes were full of suspicion.
‘Yes, I am. He may have told it differently, but that’s how it happened. He’s more of a private ranter than an arguer. He probably went home and told his wife I’d let him down. Can you tell me why you are asking these questions?’
The beautiful DC turned to face him. ‘Angus Keane has been found dead and we have strong reason to believe he was murdered.’
‘That’s terrible.’
He felt one of his hands lifting to his mouth, but his mind was elsewhere. It was busy trying to work out if the shock he felt was his response to Angus’s murder, or whether it was to do with the destruction of DC Young’s left cheek.
To him, the idea that looks like hers were damaged was nothing less than sacrilege. That her scars looked as if they were the result of a brutal attack was an affront to his very being. It was all he could do to tear his gaze away from the scar and look downwards to let the desecration to her face tumble from his eyes.
He could feel his temper rising and was aware he must contain it. The police were here pursuing a suspect. Should he let his temper display itself he’d put his name at the top of their list. That would never do.
‘Do you have any idea who Mr Keane may have fallen out with?’
The man pulled his attention back to the DI and focussed it on her question.
‘Not really. He was a hard taskmaster, but otherwise he was a decent guy who got on with pretty much everyone. I know he had a few ups and downs with his wife.’ He liked that line. It shifted blame away from him. ‘They had something of a volatile relationship.’
‘So we’ve heard.’
The DI’s comment was laced with a substantial level of dryness. As far as he was concerned, she could never be an angel. She didn’t have the looks or the personality. Sarah Hardy did. As did DC Young.
‘Are you able to account for your movements over the last week?’
The man stiffened, this was a dangerous question. One he knew must be answered with care.
‘I can.’ He gave a smile he hoped would come across as self-deprecating. ‘I live alone, so I’m afraid I’ve nobody to verify what I say, but I go out for lunch and dinner most days. I have receipts that show where I ate.’
He saw the dumpy DI exchange a look with the gorgeous DC. Caught the
fractional shake of the head and realised he was being discounted as a suspect.
* * *
After watching them walk back to their car, he shuffled into the house and took a seat in his chair. He let his mind wander to the place where he kept his angels. There was a new one now. A special one who needed more care than the others.
DC Young was more than worthy of her status as an angel, even with her scarred cheek. To him the disfigurement only accentuated the beauty of the other side of her face. In his mind, the injury was fixable and would heal with love and adoration. She was an angel with a broken wing. Treated properly, she would once again fly.
He’d seen enough wounds in his time to recognise her scar was caused by an unconventional weapon such as a broken glass or bottle. As he lit a cigarette, he turned his mind to her psyche, and speculated how a young woman would have coped with such a dramatic change to her looks.
There was also her choice of career to consider: had she picked up the injury separating a bar fight, or had it been with her when she joined the police? Either way, she’d chosen to continue meeting several new people every day. To have them appraise her and see the result of what must have been an agonising injury. That spoke of bravery and he liked the idea of his angels possessing courage.
Another point to consider was her relationship with her boss. There was the natural deference of the subordinate, along with something more. He got a sense that despite being several inches taller than her boss DC Young looked up to her DI.
Their dynamic was an interesting one; the DI was grumpy and irascible. A trait he put down to having a younger, fitter and far more attractive woman alongside her. It would grate on any woman to have an angel beside them for comparison. They’d always come off second best, and he could tell that even twenty years ago, when she was in her prime, DI O’Dowd wouldn’t have been comparable to her protégé.
That had to be a source of resentment, of bitterness at the genetic lottery favouring someone else more than her. Now there she was, her looks fading, grey hairs and crow’s feet appearing as life’s stresses took hold of her.