Death and Deception (8 page)

Bill wrote ‘PHONE?’ in large letters on the board.

‘Jenna is my last person of interest. I think there is more to that girl than people see. She’s only thirteen but she’s the cook and the cleaner, and there are very few pictures of her around the place. She’s like Cinderella. She seems to be in a permanent state of anxiety about her Dad’s moods but she doesn’t complain. Even when I used all my Northern charm to draw her out, she wouldn’t have a word said against her sister or her Dad. I don’t know how she’s holding up.’

Bill scribbled furiously. Dan realised he hadn’t quite got the point.

‘Bill, just the main facts or opinions go on the map, like headlines, we’ve got the proper reports for the details, and I need a bit of space to add the forensic and Post-Mortem stuff when we get it.’

Bill stopped and glared at Bennett and Gould who were pulling “who’s got told off by the boss?” faces at him.

‘OK. Pictures are beginning to emerge, I think,’ said Dan. ‘I spoke to the character who runs the studios in town, Jed Abrams. He said he didn’t see Carly at all on Sunday night, that he waited an hour and then went for a drink on his own. He couldn’t remember where he’d had the drink at first, and then he remembered he had gone for a drink in his own home and that nobody had seen him at all.’ He stopped for effect. As far as he was concerned it was the first proper lead any of them had got that day. ‘He was not in a good way, lots of nervous tics and sweaty palms, so we’ll bring him in tomorrow and interview him under caution, and give him this evening to stew a little. I have no idea what his motive for killing this girl could be, but we’ll know more tomorrow.

‘I also spoke to his assistant, Chas Lloyd, age 19 and a student on gap year. She left at 6.00pm and said that Abrams usually did evening sessions on his own at weekends, to avoid paying overtime. In her opinion he is a bit of a letch, but she didn’t think he had it in him to kill someone. But we all know how wrong members of the public can be. Bill, any chance we could fingerprint and photo both of them tomorrow?’

Larcombe sat up. ‘Easy to do Abrams, he’ll be here. Might take a day or two to get to the girl though. I’ll see what we can do.’ He made a note in his pad.

Dan looked over at Sam Knowles, but he shook his head, ‘Sorry, sir, nothing to go on the board except gossip and vitriol.’ Sam paused, then added, with a wistful sigh, ‘I have a dream that one day I’ll have a junior officer on my team who I can force to spend the whole day being giggled at and toyed with by sixteen year-old girls who think they are hilarious and irresistible.’

Dan tolerated the wolf whistles and hoots round the table. With his great height and extreme skinniness, Sam was nobody’s idea of a sex symbol, including his own.

‘They did know about Carly’s relationship with Jamie May, and most of the girls were jealous of her, in a catty sort of way. She was clearly Mr Westlake’s favourite, too, and that made them even more jealous. Jamie’s considered very cool at school, although a couple of boys said he has a nasty side when he’s crossed. I’ve got the contact details of a couple of lads from his band if we need to ask for more.’

‘So,’ Dan said
, ‘what have we got so far? Why would someone want this girl dead? We need to find a motive, folks. What
did she see, or hear, or find out, or threaten to do that would cost her her life? Who was the last person to see her alive?’ He paused. ‘I think we look closely at Jed Abrams- he’s hiding something.

Sally, keep close to the family, I’m not convinced that Dad hasn’t got something to do with it.

‘And Ian, the boy is important, find him. It may be significant that he disappeared from school today.’ He squeezed the tendons at the back of his neck – solid. Definite headache lurking there under the three ibuprofens he’d swallowed. ‘Did Carly get as far as the studio on Sunday night?

Sam, go round the local shops on Sidwell Street and check their CCTV recordings for Sunday. There was a camera outside the studio door, start with that one.’

The young officer nodded.

‘Also, what about this Music teacher? It’s not normal for teachers to have kids at their houses, is it?’

He looked across at Gould who consulted his notes.

‘The teacher said it was a one off because of the recording session. His wife said it was OK, so I assume she was there.’

‘So, in fact, they could have been there many times, couldn’t they? And did his wife really agree to this rehearsal? Was she even there? Should Miles Westlake be in the frame, not Jed Abrams?’ He let the thought slide around the room. ‘Too much we don’t know, and every hour takes us away from finding the killer.’ Dan shut himself up. He knew he had a tendency to go on a bit and state the bleedin’ obvious. They were the professionals and there was no need to over-egg the seriousness of the situation. He was just angry at Gould’s assumptions. It was poor detective work.

‘Right, post-mortem tomorrow morning at 10.00 a.m. Ian, will you and Sam pick up Jed Abrams and bring him in round about 10.30 a.m.? He can sit and sweat for a bit while I watch the PM. Can you both then go and talk to the boy, Jamie May, please? He is the girl’s close friend and possibly the last person to see her. I wanted to interview all the main suspects today.’

He stopped himself having another go at Ian for not catching up with boy. It would be fine to do that tomorrow.

Julie Oliver nodded to the team and suggested Dan joined her in her office straight after the meeting to plan a brief statement for the late news. The noise level in the room rose as she left. People shuffled papers and pushed back chairs.

‘Night all,’ shouted Dan. ‘Take your own mugs back to the dishwasher and I’ll see you at 8.30 am, bright and breezy. Thanks for your efforts today.’

He saw Gould raise his eyebrows again at the Flowerpot Men, and mimic Dan’s thanks in a little girl’s voice. A wave of anger washed up his throat. Gripping the edge of the table, he put his burning face down and made busy with his paperwork. It was a small victory. Two years ago, he’d have been across the office floor shouting in their faces and providing entertainment for the whole team, as well as loss of face for him. They were just having a bit of fun at his expense. He’d done it himself, and this lot were much more gentle with him than the general banter in the Sergeants’ room at the Met had ever been. He gathered his stuff and headed for the Superintendent’s office.

Oliver’s office was spacious and furnished in beech. Probably laminate from Ikea, but still, it looked comfortable and modern, unlike the main office downstairs. Oliver pointed to a chair and shouted for coffee from the reliable Stella. Dan wondered if Stella ever went home, imagining her living in a cupboard under the stairs so she could be on hand to satisfy Oliver’s every whim.

He looked past the Chief Super’s shoulder to the Victorian rooftops of the University buildings opposite. Pigeons jostled and hooted on the ironwork as they settled in for the night. He ran his tongue over his teeth, folded his arms and settled back on the wooden chair to wait for her to finish reading the briefing notes from the meeting. He wondered who got invited to sit round the fancy table at the other end of the office.

Oliver bit down hard on the lid of the biro, her eyes following the secretary as she brought coffee and dropped a fat file onto the desk. She waited until they were alone.

‘It was a bloody nightmare getting into the station this morning,’ she said, cracking the silence. ‘How do those vultures find out about people being killed at the exact same time as we do? It’s not right. It stops us doing our job properly. We haven’t even released the name yet but there were three of them hanging about. And I nearly trampled that silly cow from the Echo who wouldn’t get out of my face. Someone must have leaked it. Must have…’

Dan moved to answer but she ploughed over him.

‘I know we don’t get many murders in Exeter, and before you say anything, I know that the body being found on a school’s grounds is even more entertaining for the press than usual but...’ She placed her elbows on the desk and rested her chin in both hands, looking up over her glasses. ‘Oh God,’ she sighed, rubbing her temples. ‘It’s bound to attract the nationals, and the telly. Just what I don’t need.’

Dan thought about the way she had spoken about Gould earlier in the day. He’d heard rumours about an affair between her and Gould once upon a time. He found that hard to credit. Oliver was lean and fit and attractive in a viperish sort of way. She was always neat with her brown bob and white shirts. Gould was bloated and balding and grunted when he got out of the chair. Unconsciously, Dan smoothed his hair down and pulled his stomach in.

‘You’ll be leading a somewhat smaller team because of people being off, but we’ve brought in people from the other teams. So don’t worry, they’re a good bunch.’

She gave him a brief smile and said,

‘Dan, you’re keen, but you’re very new to this level of responsibility. You’re bound to make mistakes, to miss things, things that may be vital to the case. Don’t get so carried away trying to catch the bad guys that you forget that your eyes and ears and your instinct are your best tools.

‘We’re not the Met. We don’t see many guns or terrorist threats. Here, low-lives will give themselves away if you let them. Not as sophisticated as your average London crim. But develop some decent people skills and persuade them to talk to you, otherwise you’ll get nowhere. Ian can do all these things – learn from him while you’ve got him.’

She paused and gulped down the last of her coffee, wrinkling her nose at the lukewarm bitterness.

‘I know what you were going to say about Gould this morning. He’s unreliable and a bit of a maverick, we all know that. But he was a good copper once, and I want him to leave on a high next month, not creep out with his tail between his legs. So you will work together. Got it?’

‘Got it, Ma’am.’

‘Right, let’s prepare the statement for the Press and then we can all go home.’
      

He finished presenting the TV broadcast for the late evening news with Oliver and was on his way home by 7.30 pm. He hoped that would keep the press off his back for a day or two.

It was a mild and clear evening, so he parked the Audi in his reserved space and wandered round to the quayside. He bought a bottle of lager from the Italian restaurant, which ran the length of the bottom floor of his apartment building and took it outside.

Dan sat on a bench watching the rowing practice on the river. He wondered if that would be a good way to make friends as they seemed to be young and having fun. He wanted to get in touch with some of his old school and University friends, but it felt like too much time had gone by. People change so much. And, if he was being honest, he felt like a failure because his relationship with Sarah had fallen apart and he wasn’t ready to talk about it to anybody yet. He wasn’t ready to talk about Sarah or his sister. They were two scabs he would pick at that were probably best left alone to mend.

He felt so alone. Funny, how quickly you become used to waking up with a familiar warm body next to you. How quickly you fall into routines over breakfast or last thing at night. How you develop shared jokes and sayings picked up from people encountered and places visited. A relationship was a whole private language and landscape, the result of thousands of hours of commitment and compromise and love that he had thrown away when he had walked. And, at the moment, he still wasn’t sure it had been worth it.

Watching the light change to purple dusk, he wondered if he should just get on the phone anyway and call a couple of old friends. What had he got to lose except a bit of face? He let his eyes wander to the river basin to his left. The swans that haunt the river harassing visitors for food were quiet, having settled onto their nests further up river. Sounds of laughter reached across the water from the pub.

On the bench under the soft lamplight, Dan understood that he had been living in a bubble of grief for the last two months, pretending to be a human being but not connecting with anyone, not making a commitment to anything. Here on the side of the river, in the kindly evening gloom, he could hear the sounds of birds settling, and bats swooping. He could also smell the tantalising garlic from The Veneziana’s kitchen behind him. It was like watching his first 3D movie – everything seemed heightened. Maybe, after all, he was ready to move on and just needed to give himself permission do it.

He drank his beer feeling an edginess. He was full of a nervous energy that had nowhere to go except out through the bottom of his tapping foot. He felt the urgency of the case and was frustrated at having so little information yet to go on. How could the others go home to their families and forget all about it until the next day?

He sighed and swallowed the last of his beer. No point fretting about things you can’t change, as his mum would say. Food would settle him down. His mum would say that, too.

Dan realised he was hungry. Really hungry. The smell of the food was overwhelming his taste buds, and he could feel saliva awakening his mouth. He needed a plate of pasta Puttanesca. Now.

As he turned to enter the restaurant he noticed someone trying to attract his attention from the water, waving at him with an oar. It took him a few moments to realise that it was Chas Lloyd, balancing in the front of a canoe and looking fetching in Lycra shorts and a performance tee shirt. Dan smiled and walked towards the water’s edge. The team was getting out of the boat on the other side of the river.

‘Wait there,’ she shouted, ‘I’ll come over for a beer!’ The evening might not be entirely lost, he thought.

Ian Gould, Bill and Ben peeled out of the Barn Owl at 7.30pm. The early-doors crowd had thinned and the evening throng was beginning to fill up the corner tables and order from the menu. Ian waved the pair an extravagant farewell and wove his way towards his car. Christ, three pints and he was wobbling like a virgin ice skater.