Shit. Kenneth Diamond. Fluke had forgotten about him. ‘Sorry, Jo, you’re right. He potentially fits who we’re looking for. Nobody really knows what his role in the family business is. Where do we think he is again?’
‘Nobody knows. We don’t think he’s been home for a few days though, judging by the build up of mail. Looks like he lives on his own,’ she said.
There was a short discussion about whether the UK Border Agency should be informed, but they agreed it was probably pointless. If he’d fled, he’d have already left the country. Jo Skelton said she’d inform them anyway. Fluke decided he’d only get seriously interested in Kenneth Diamond if the DNA they’d taken from his toothbrush or comb matched the semen taken from Samantha. It didn’t mean they couldn’t start looking for him, though. He put Towler on it.
‘In the meantime, let’s get back into those interview rooms. See who else we have, and see who’s important to the family. Speak to someone you haven’t spoken to yet. See if we can find something else out, and let’s get working on that family tree. I want to know who else is out there with Diamond blood running through their veins. I’ll have another run at Nathaniel. Anyone got any questions?’
They were all staring at him. No nods that time. Something was different, something had changed.
Towler looked uncomfortable. ‘Boss, your nose is bleeding.’
Fluke had refused to go to hospital, and after a few minutes with his head tilted back and toilet paper stuck up his nostrils, the blood flow had at least slowed. Towler had, without appearing too urgent, cleared the room.
‘You look fucking awful,’ he said, as he closed the door. ‘All this shit can’t be good for you.’
‘I’m fine,’ Fluke had replied.
‘You’re fucking grey. The victim has a better complexion than you.’
Fluke said nothing. He busied himself getting clean. He opened a drawer and took out the new shirt he always kept for emergencies. It was still in the wrapper. He threw the old shirt in the bin then examined his tie and decided it was salvageable. ‘See, good as new.’ It didn’t put Towler off.
‘And these appointments you’re having at the hospital. They’re nearly every week now.’
Fluke’s stomach lurched. He didn’t think anyone knew about them. His appointments were always first thing or last thing. He hadn’t wanted HR or Occ Health finding out. Or worse, Chambers. ‘How’d you find out?’ Fluke asked.
‘I didn’t. But you’ve just confirmed it,’ Towler replied, holding his hand out to stop Fluke’s protests. ‘Look, I’m not an idiot. You’re always knackered, you’ve got eyes like a racing dog’s bollocks and now you’re having fucking nosebleeds. That’s the fourth one this month. Something’s gonna give, boss.’
‘I’m fine,’ he repeated.
‘Whatever,’ Towler said. ‘Keep going like this and I’ll go and see that doc of yours myself. See what the fuck she was playing at letting you come back to work.’
Although the concern was genuine, Fluke knew it was an empty threat. ‘Who else knows?’ he asked. The last thing he wanted was Chambers putting him on involuntary sick leave.
Towler looked as though he was going to press his previous point but decided to let it go. ‘No one. But anyone can follow breadcrumbs this big.’
‘Look, after all this is over, I’ll take a holiday, get some proper rest,’ Fluke said. ‘Honestly,’ he added when he saw Towler’s expression.
‘Until then, take it fucking easy,’ he ordered.
Fluke knew Towler was right. He wasn’t concerned about the nosebleeds, they were inconvenient but not debilitating. They were a symptom. What they were a symptom of, Chambers could never find out.
‘Fair enough. Don’t want you worrying,’ he said, grinning. ‘I don’t know why I let you talk to me like this, I really don’t,’ Fluke said.
They were interrupted by a knock on the door. Jiao-long stuck in his head.
‘Found it, boss.’ A massive grin split his face.
‘Found what?’ Fluke said, still on the back foot.
‘Her house. It was a flat actually. You were right.’
Fluke stood up so quickly that he spilt his drink all over his new shirt. He ignored it – a coffee stain he could live with.
Fluke got in Jiao-long’s car and they drove up the M6 to Carlisle City Centre. On the way, Jiao-long briefed him on how he’d tracked down Samantha.
He’d followed her on CCTV from a variety of sources across the city. She was sneaky but Jiao-long was sneakier. She knew where most of the cameras were. He knew where they all were.
He followed her as she walked towards the west of the city, not always taking logical routes. She’d eventually turned down a small street sandwiched between the River Caldew and the railway viaduct. Viaduct Estate Road had little on it and was most often used as a shortcut to the Royal Mail sorting office on Junction Street. She should have reappeared. She didn’t. The council had no cameras facing down the road. Jiao-long still had a few tricks left, however. Knowing that the buildings opposite were all student accommodation and that there’d been a spate of cycle thefts, he checked whether the university had put up cameras of their own. They had.
One of the buildings had installed a high-tech machine. During daylight, it faced outwards, covering the area where students parked their bikes. At night, when all bikes were either chained up or indoors, it pointed down, and performed a safe-entry role for the front door. The daytime angle gave an uninterrupted view across the dual carriageway and down Viaduct Estate Road. Jiao-long had watched her entering the only block of flats on the street.
He’d watched the remaining hours before the camera moved down at about seven p.m., to check she didn’t leave.
Fluke asked him if there’d been sight of anyone who might be their killer.
‘Nothing, boss. It only points that way during the day. There are people going in and out of the flats obviously, but no one stands out. If there’s an entrance to the back then it’d be in a blind spot. I’ve taken a copy so we can look when we get back.’
Can’t have everything
, Fluke thought. Three days ago, they had nothing, so it was real progress.
Fluke was banking on her flat being the murder scene. If it wasn’t, he wasn’t sure where he could go next. He had no more leads. Jiao-long told him that he’d viewed the surrounding cameras twenty-four hours before and after, and had seen nothing. Either she hadn’t left and had been killed in her flat, or she’d left at night and somehow evaded Jiao-long. Fluke was impressed nevertheless. He always was with Jiao-long’s work. Although he knew some of it was fairly routine stuff for a man who lived and breathed computers, Jiao-long had not once complained. He’d try and give him something more interesting next time.
They assembled in the car park of the flats. There seemed to be one designated space per resident. At that time of day, most of them were empty but they’d been filled with the various police vehicles already on scene. The smell of the nearby biscuit factory was making Fluke salivate. He’d need to eat soon. He looked round and got his bearings.
To his right, on the other side of the dual carriageway, sat the most besieged castle in Britain. During its thousand years, Carlisle Castle – once described as the ugliest in Europe – had been a Norman stronghold, a royal garrison and a frontier fortress in the border wars between Scotland and England, and its red sandstone walls were soaked with blood and history. Clinging to the small hill, it looked as formidable as it had to the highland clans all those centuries before. It now housed a territorial company of the Duke of Lancaster’s Regiment. Fluke sometimes walked round if he had half an hour to kill.
Not today though. He was pressed for time. He hopefully had a crime scene to process, and he wanted another crack at Nathaniel Diamond before the custody sergeant had to release him.
He turned away from the castle and viewed the flats. He wanted it done quickly and was glad to see that the breach team was already there. The same man who had smashed Diamond’s door open that morning was back with his discoloured battering ram. A two-man armed response team was also waiting. Fluke knew they wouldn’t have been involved in that morning’s raids, there were tight controls on how many hours an armed officer could do before there was compulsory downtime.
The flats were modern and privately owned. Fluke had been thinking on the drive up about how to identify Farrar’s but decided that simple was best; knock on doors and show the photo until someone recognised her and told them where she lived. Then go in with armed response. He thought it extremely unlikely that the killer would still be there but there was no point taking unnecessary risks.
They got lucky straight away.
‘Quiet girl, polite, lives in number five upstairs,’ a middle-aged man had told them when they knocked on the first door. His wife peered out from behind him with fear in her eyes as she stared at the men with guns. ‘What’s she done?’ the man asked.
Fluke, politely as possible, asked him to go back inside and they made their way upstairs and quietly gathered in the stairwell below her flat.
‘I’m going to knock first,’ Fluke said. ‘I’m fairly certain there’s no one in. But we go in hard. You two first,’ he said, pointing at the two officers with the H&Ks slung over their shoulders. ‘Secure the flat, but remember, this is probably a murder scene so the priority is to preserve forensic evidence. I don’t want to get excited about a print, only to find out it’s one of yours. Got it?’
They affirmed they had indeed got it.
The short stocky officer with the battering ram worked his way into position.
Fluke knocked twice, hard. The sound was in sharp contrast to the silence that had preceded it. They waited, holding their breath, straining to hear the slightest noise, anything that might point to the flat being occupied.
Fluke knocked again. Louder.
A door opened behind them making them jump. The two armed officers swung round, flicking their safety catches off as they did. Fluke saw their response before he could see who was behind him, so was relieved when they lowered their weapons.
‘Sam’s not in,’ said a young man.
A nerd, as Towler would have called him, stood in the doorway of the other flat on the landing. He was wearing a faded Captain America T-shirt and looked paler than Fluke. Myopic eyes stared at them through modern glasses. He pushed them up his nose. More through fear than anything else, Fluke suspected. He had untidy hair and was stick thin but otherwise seemed normal enough.
Fluke identified himself. ‘How do you know?’ he asked gently.
The man looked sheepish. ‘I watch out for her.’
‘What do you mean, “you watch out for her”? Do you look out for her, or do you spy on her?’ Towler snorted. ‘What’s your name? What do you do?’
‘William, sir, William Robinson. I work at DEFRA. I keep their software running. I meant I like her. I speak to her sometimes. I notice when she leaves her flat.’
A crush
, Fluke thought, as he fired a warning glance across to Towler. ‘When did you last see her, William?’ He could hear armed response getting restless behind him. They could wait.
‘Not for a few days, sir. But that’s not unusual. She often doesn’t leave her flat. I knocked and offered to pick something up when I went to Sainsbury’s one night but she said no. Said she didn’t need anything. She actually goes out less than I do. And I hardly ever go out.’
‘You don’t say?’ said Towler.
William, obviously realising that Fluke was in charge, ignored him.
‘You hear anything suspicious a couple of nights ago, William?’ Fluke asked. ‘It would have been late, in all likelihood.’
‘No, sir, but I play online games most nights and use headphones to avoid annoying anyone. I play war games and they can get noisy.’
Towler snorted again, quickly changing it into a fake cough when Fluke glared at him. ‘Sorry, ignore Sergeant Towler, William. Nobody likes him very much.’
‘Yes, sir,’ he said. He appeared to give Fluke’s question some thought. ‘I’m up until about midnight then go to bed. I sometimes see the light in the corridor change when her door opens but I can’t remember when I last saw her.’
Fluke needed to keep moving forward. He’d come back to speak to William later. For now, he had to get inside her flat and see if it was the murder scene. And it wasn’t lost on him that he had armed police standing round in a public area doing nothing. ‘Okay, William. A police officer’s going to take your statement. I need you to go back inside. We’re going to have to break the door down so don’t worry if you hear something loud.’
William looked up. ‘You don’t have to break in, sir. I have a key.’
‘Excuse me?’
‘I have keys to all the flats. The landlord gives me money off my rent if I take care of the building’s systems. They’re all computerised you see. I need access to them all to reset things sometimes, heating and electric timers. Not often, our electricity’s quite good as we’re close to the hospital. We’re on a more secure grid.’
‘Okay, thanks, William. Could you get me the key, please?’
William disappeared into his flat and returned a minute later with a box of keys. He sorted through them and handed Fluke one on a red plastic key ring, bearing the number five.
After standing down the officer with the battering ram, Fluke quietly opened the door with the key and the two armed officers, in total contrast to the earlier raids, moved in quietly. Towler followed them in. Fluke held his breath. They were back out before he needed to exhale.
‘All clear, boss,’ Towler said. ‘Nothing obvious.’
Fluke was disappointed but not discouraged. A great deal of evidence could be missed in the first sweep. Things that couldn’t be seen with the naked eye. He’d have preferred a big pool of blood but, even without one, he was convinced it was where Samantha was killed. He thanked the armed response unit and stood them down. It was now a detective’s job. On the off chance a weapon was recovered, he and Towler were more than capable of making it safe before it was bagged for evidence.
He called everyone together. ‘Right, I’m treating this as a crime scene. That means full forensic protocols. No exceptions. When’s the CSM getting here?’