No Smoke Without Fire (A DCI Warren Jones Novel - Book 2) (21 page)

“OK, good work, folks. Let’s lock up and get Scenes of Crime in to process the place properly. In the meantime, we’ll see what the neighbours have to say before we go and break the bad news to Carolyn Patterson’s parents.”

The shadow Warren had spotted through the lace curtains next door turned out to be Carolyn Patterson’s eighty-year-old neighbour, Arthur Beddlington. A widower for ten years, he’d moved into his flat about five years previously.

“It wasn’t the same without Polly” he said wistfully, explaining his decision to leave their marital home, “and it was too big for me on my own. These places are the perfect size for a young couple or someone single.”

“Does Ms Patterson live alone?” asked Warren as he steered the conversation back around to the reason for their visit, careful to refer to the deceased young women in the present tense. The last thing he wanted is for Mr Beddlington to ring the unsuspecting woman’s parents to pass on his condolences.

“Oh, yes, she moved in about nine months ago. She’s had a few friends around now and then and I’ve often seen her parents, but I haven’t seen any boyfriends.” He paused for a moment, before continuing awkwardly, “I’m not a very modern man, but I don’t think she has a girlfriend, if she was that way inclined.”

“Do you know how she earns a living?” asked Tony Sutton.

“Yes, she’s a graphic designer. She works from home a lot but she goes into town about twice a week. Wednesday and Thursday, I think. She dresses up smart then, I think she works for some company a couple of days then spends the rest of the time at home.”

“When was the last time you saw her?”

The old man paused for a moment. “I heard her front door slam Thursday evening. I didn’t see her, but she normally goes out about half-six, dressed in a tracksuit. I think she goes to that sports centre round the corner.”

“And you didn’t hear her return?”

He thought for a bit longer. “No, I didn’t, as it happens.”

“Would you expect to? Could she have returned without you knowing?”

“I don’t think so. I watch TV in here and I can hear her front door quite clearly. Besides, there’s a security light with a sensor — it didn’t light up.” The old man’s eyes brightened slightly as another thought occurred. “Come to think of it, I don’t think she put her bins out either. Bin men come Friday morning. I’m an early riser so I put mine out first thing then walk around the newsagent’s to get me paper. Most folks round here put their bins out Thursday night. I don’t ’cos it encourages the foxes. Her bin wasn’t out.” Warren remembered that the kitchen bin had been close to full when he’d looked that morning.

After a few more minutes, it was clear that the old man knew little else about his neighbour. Leaving behind his card and asking the old man to keep quiet about their visit until they had a chance to talk to her parents, Warren and the team left.

Checking his tie in the rear-view mirror one last time, Warren put the car into gear. Next stop the Pattersons’ and a job that nobody was looking forward to.

Chapter 27

The drive to Carolyn Patterson’s parents in Saffron Walden took about half an hour. Strictly speaking, Walden was in Essex, but it was so close to the border with Hertfordshire that Warren met no resistance at all when he suggested that Hertfordshire’s Family Liaison Officers took over after Warren and his team broke the bad news.

The family home was a fairly modern affair on the outskirts of the town. Attractive in its own way, it nevertheless lacked the charm of the listed buildings that populated the centre of the ancient town, some of which could be dated as far back as the medieval period.

Two cars were parked on the wide, open driveway, suggesting that both of her parents were home. Informing both parents at the same time meant they could offer each other support.

Pulling to a halt in the street outside the house, the three officers got out immediately, walking purposefully up the drive. In Warren’s experience, it was best not to delay when delivering such news. Taking time to find gentle words was a waste of time and could be counterproductive, if it led to misunderstanding, confusion and false hope. There was no way to soften the blow ultimately — better to get on with it and stand ready to pick up the pieces.

Taking a deep breath, he rang the doorbell. Inside he heard the immediate yapping of a small dog, followed by a loud shushing noise. A moment later the door opened.

The woman on the threshold was unquestionably the victim’s mother. Late middle-age, with ash-blonde hair, the woman had a slim figure that had clearly influenced her daughter’s own physique. Her face spoke loudly of the power of genetics. Aside from a few extra wrinkles, the two women looked more like sisters than mother and daughter.

Warren was holding his warrant card aloft and had barely asked for confirmation of the woman’s identity before she clapped her hand over her mouth and screamed for her husband, Carl.

Seconds later a similarly aged man in a thick cardigan appeared at her side. He took one look at Warren’s identification and his serious expression before he too let out a moan. It was only the fast reflexes of Tony Sutton that stopped him from simply hitting the floor where he dropped.

* * *

After helping a wobbly, but otherwise healthy Carl Patterson to a seat, Warren introduced the three officers and confirmed the news that the couple had already guessed.

It seemed that the two parents had been worrying about the whereabouts of their daughter since the previous night when she had failed to make her regular Sunday evening phone call. When she hadn’t phoned by ten p.m., her mother had called both her landline and her mobile phone, leaving messages on both.

Carl Patterson was twisting a white handkerchief in distress. “Carol was worried — well, we both were — when she didn’t phone. We saw what happened to that other young woman on the news and of course we’d heard about that body being found. She wanted to drive over or call the police, but I said, ‘No, she’s a grown woman with her own life. You can’t call the police over a missed phone call.’ Maybe she was out or had company…” His voice broke. “Now I wish I’d listened to her. Maybe she’d still be alive…”

Tony Sutton leant forward immediately, putting a reassuring hand on the man’s shoulder. “I’m sorry, Mr Patterson, but there’s nothing that you could have done by then. We found her on Saturday night. Unfortunately, she didn’t have any identification on her so it took a little while for us to identify her, or we’d have been here sooner.”

Warren saw the sudden flash of hope in her mother’s eyes and knew exactly what was coming next.

“Could it be a mistake, then? Maybe it’s some other poor girl?”

Warren knew it was a false hope; her mother’s uncanny resemblance aside, a family picture of the couple standing proudly either side of their daughter at her university graduation stood above the fireplace. It was unquestionably the same young woman. Nevertheless, he took out the colour photograph of the victim from the morgue.

The wrenching sob from her mother and the stifled cry from her father was all the confirmation they needed. Karen Hardwick leant forward and gently touched Carol Patterson’s hand. “Can I make the two of you a cup of tea or coffee?”

Carol Patterson looked up, blinking; her voice was distant. “Of course, where are my manners?” She started to rise, before Karen touched her hand again. “No, I’ll make it. You just sit here. Is that the kitchen through there?”

Not for the first time Warren was impressed by the young officer’s instincts. After taking orders, she disappeared into the kitchen; as she did so she discreetly signed to Warren the universal symbol for a telephone, mouthing the words “Family Liaison?” Warren nodded. He’d wanted confirmation that the body was that of Carolyn Patterson before arranging for the team to travel all the way over from Welwyn.

Carl Patterson touched the photograph tenderly. “She looks so peaceful…” he murmured. “How did she die? Did she suffer?”

“No, she didn’t suffer. We believe that she was sedated with a chemical before she was strangled. She won’t have felt a thing.” Strictly speaking it was a bit of a white lie — they couldn’t know if Carolyn Patterson had been semi-conscious or not during her ordeal and there was no telling how much pain she was in before she was sedated. Her broken hand could have been excruciating. However it was a lie that Warren was comfortable with — there was no need at this stage for too many details. A glance from Tony Sutton showed his agreement.

Sutton looked at the graduation photo above the fireplace. Another picture next to it, taken on the same day, featured Carolyn Patterson next to a gangly, dark-haired girl of about fifteen or sixteen. Despite the acne and an impressive set of wire braces showing through her smile, the resemblance was unmistakeable. However, whereas Carolyn Patterson was clearly her mother’s daughter, the teenager was obviously Daddy’s girl.

“Is there anybody that you would like us to contact for you?”

Carol Patterson tore her gaze away from the photograph. “Oh, no, Caitlin. How can we tell her what’s happened? She’ll be devastated.”

“We have another, younger daughter, Carolyn’s sister. She’s at Durham University and just about to submit her master’s dissertation. She’s due to come back at the weekend to celebrate Christmas, then it’s full steam ahead for the ‘wedding of the century’.” Carl Patterson gestured at the photo above the fireplace. “That’s her. She’s six years younger than Carolyn. She was so excited and proud when she graduated. Although she’d never have admitted it at the time, of course, she idolised her big sister.” He smiled wistfully. “Carolyn’s final year was also the year Caitlin took her GCSEs. She didn’t know what she wanted to do and wasn’t taking her studies at all seriously. She was hanging about with the wrong crowd at school and we were a bit worried about her, to be honest. Carolyn insisted that she stayed with her for a few days during the October half term. She came back full of how much she wanted to go to university and really started working hard.” He took his wife’s hand affectionately and his face creased slightly at the memory. “Between you and me, I think Carolyn’s housemates had the biggest influence on her — good-looking boys, all three of them.”

“And the beer,” his wife reminded him.

“Oh, yes, I think Carolyn got her into the Students Union one night — not that we approved, of course — but she certainly came back with a new-found attitude.”

Both Jones and Sutton smiled along with the Pattersons, sharing a brief moment of lightness on this darkest of days.

“We can arrange for Durham Constabulary to break the news to her and bring her home, if you’d like. Or you could phone her or go up there in person. We can assist you in any way necessary. You don’t have to decide now,” he added, noting the indecisive look on the couple’s faces.

“What did Carolyn study?” asked Karen as she returned with a tray of coffees.

“Graphic design,” answered her father, cupping his hands around the coffee as if he were standing outside in the cold, rather than a slightly stuffy, overheated living room. “She worked for a few years in London, then moved to Middlesbury about four years ago. Strictly speaking, she’s freelance, but she has a long-term relationship with a small publishing house in town and pretty much works full time for them now, doing the odd freelance job on the side to earn a bit of ‘play money’ as she calls it.”

“Did she work from home a lot?” Warren was careful to keep on using the past tense to refer to Carolyn Patterson, whilst not correcting the couple’s use of the present tense. Coming to terms with such a loss was a very individual thing and Warren knew that the couple would need space and time to deal with it in their own way.

“She did most of her work at home on the computer. She went into their main office about twice a week to drop off and pick up work and to meet with clients. She loved her work.”

There was a lull in the conversation as the group sipped their coffee. Warren tried to decide how to broach the more delicate subject of suspects. However, Carl Patterson saved him the job.

“She was murdered, wasn’t she? Was it the same person that killed that other poor girl?”

Warren nodded cautiously. “We are keeping an open mind, but, yes, she was and it looks as though the two may be linked.”

Carl Patterson’s voice shook. “We’ve been following the news and we saw the announcement earlier in the week about what happened to that other girl. Was Carolyn also…interfered with?”

Warren nodded again. “It looks as though that might have been the case, although we have no clear evidence either way. Her clothing had been disturbed.”

Carol Patterson bit down on her fist as if to stifle a cry.

“I’m sorry, I have to ask, but do you know of any connection between your daughter and Sally Evans, the other victim? We’re looking into any links between the two women, but it would help greatly if you could think of anything.”

To help them, he produced a number of photographs of Sally Evans. Both parents shook their heads, recognising neither the name nor the pictures beyond what they’d seen on TV.

“When was the last time that either of you saw or spoke to Carolyn?”

“Last Sunday lunchtime, we met up in a pub near Duxford. We’d do that sometimes, split the distance between us.”

“And how was she?”

“Very happy. She’s really enjoying work and looking forward to Christmas. She’s really excited about Caitlin’s wedding. She’s going to be maid of honour. She picked out the dress a couple of weeks ago and…” Suddenly she stopped talking as she realised what she was saying. Carl Patterson placed his arm around his wife and hugged her to his chest as the dam finally broke and the tears flooded free.

The three officers sat helplessly, knowing that there was nothing they could do. Had this been any other type of death, a road traffic accident or other tragedy, then this would have been the time to step back and let the professionals, Family Liaison, take over. But it wasn’t, it was a murder investigation; the clock was ticking and Family Liaison weren’t here yet.

After a few moments, Warren cleared his throat.