Death's Privilege (3 page)

She looked back at the hotel. It was still an intimidating building even from all the way at the other end of the car park. ‘We should go back.’

‘No, we shouldn’t. Had she spoken to you instead, we’d have been here till the early hours launching a full investigation. Some things can wait.’

‘Did you even take her name?’

‘Nope. She can call it in and she’ll be taken care of. You can only do what you can do, Gladstone. The truth is, I knew you wouldn’t be able to say no, and that’s why I stepped in to speak to her first. No other reason to it whatsoever.’ Dales opened the passenger door.

Sarah got in, started the car and turned the station to Classic Gold FM. ‘My hero.’ ABBA’s ‘Mamma Mia’ filled the car.

‘Must we?’

‘Driver always picks.’

Sarah’s plan for the evening didn’t go quite as expected. When they came back to the CID office, the late-turn officers were all tucked up with a stabbing. A sixteen-year-old boy had been stabbed outside the Mavenswood train station. The lad was in hospital and, thankfully, likely to survive. Uniform were out looking for the suspects with the brief descriptions they had, whilst CID trawled for witnesses and examined the crime scene. Within moments of walking through the door, Detective Inspector Manford had asked Sarah to attend Dainton Road and conduct enquires at any houses overlooking the path to the station. She’d spent the next couple of hours walking from address to address in the pouring rain. No one had seen anything. She came back to the nick, updated the DI with the results and clocked off.

It was one in the morning by the time she reached home. The twins were already asleep. There were three notes on the fridge door: Heather’s contact details—her sister was great at looking after the girls at short notice; account details and contact numbers for Mark’s company; and, most importantly, a note telling her dinner was on the bottom shelf. It was addressed to ‘Mummy’ and signed by her husband and the twins. She removed the cellophane-wrapped ceramic tray and spooned the cold carbonara into a large white bowl. Half a bottle of Merlot was left on the side counter with a yellow Post-it note stuck to the front:
You may need this (Turn Over) - M xx.
She removed the stopper and poured a glass. On the other side of the note Mark had written
Don’t forget, the investors meeting is tomorrow xx.
Her husband was part of a small web design start-up. The company had gotten off to a successful start, and they’d been looking for investors to ‘take it to the next level,’ as he liked to say. Someone had recently expressed an interest in fronting up some capital and the meeting had come around soon. She was on earlies and although she would be due to finish at five, she was quickly learning a finish time was never guaranteed. She needed to put Heather on notice in case the wheel fell off at work.

After the microwave pinged, she sat on the sofa, bowl on her lap and glass in hand for her first bite to eat in around nine hours. She wolfed the carbonara down. Before long her eyes fluttered and she crept upstairs to the bedroom, careful not to disturb her snoring husband. She grabbed a set of clothes for the morning, black suit pants and a blue blouse, before checking on the girls. They’d soon be too big to share a room, but until work settled down a notch the spare room would remain unfinished. Sophie had been more vocal than Ellie on the issue, as was expected, and they’d begun fighting and falling out more often as they grew from children into young women. A small framed photo of One Direction was nestled in between a plush teddy bear prince and a fluffy piglet princess. They were nine years old going on nineteen. Sarah wondered when they’d put that up and where they’d got it from, but those were questions for another time. She carefully stepped over the clothes on the floor, and kissed her sleeping daughters each on the forehead before heading downstairs to sleep on the sofa.

Four

‘So, TDC Gladstone, let’s start with your current case. Report of possible fraud with an elderly complainant?’ DI Manford’s office was too small to hold a meeting for five people. The briefing room would have been a far more comfortable option, but was being used by the chief inspector for a rundown of the Mavenswood police station’s refit. Rumour around the nick was they’d miscalculated the budget and were having to scale back the refurbishments, despite being partway through the project. Joel Johnson wheeled in the last chair and held it out for Sarah to sit down, pulling his own up next to her. DS Matt Hayward and DS Dales sat next to their respective tutees, all four squeezed into an uncomfortable line in front of Manford’s desk.

‘We spoke to Valerie yesterday and she’s not telling us any more than we already know. The original caller, Mr Semples, was there. He told us she isn’t of sound mental health, that she’s mentioned various people before who have all been in her head.’

‘Have you considered social services?’ asked the DI.

‘I mentioned it to him and I’ve put a report into AVU this morning. I’m sure they’ll want to speak to her. I asked him if any suspects come to mind, and he couldn’t think of anyone.’

‘Okay. Send the report and file it through DS Dales. We can reopen it if any other information presents itself. Joel, you’re running a suicide out in Amblin Park. How’s that coming along?’

‘Scott Enderson, twenty-two years old, hung himself from a tree in Amblin Woods last Sunday. By all accounts, he was a bit of a loner –’

‘Bit of a loser, you mean.’ Hayward shuffled uncomfortably in his chair, which was far too small for his girth.

Joel ignored his interruption. ‘He was in significant debt. His parents say he didn’t have a penny to his name.’

‘In contrast to the evening news report?’ Manford’s pen strokes became less refined the faster he wrote. ‘You catch it?’

‘Yeah, the family appear wealthy. Nice house, nice area, but something tells me they’re swimming in debt to maintain it. Surprised the story hit the national news.’

‘Suicides are on the rise, especially in men and especially since the recession. I don’t know the stats offhand, but there’s definitely been a significant local increase too. Work, job, friends?’ It was the standard set of questions everyone asks after a suicide. Where were their support networks? Who knew how they were feeling? Who knew something was up and who bothered to listen?

‘None of the above. Used to work for an electrical store, but he lost that and ended up spending most of his time at home on his computer. The person who found the body’s been spoken to, nothing untoward there. Only one friend, a guy called James Golders, who I'm yet to speak to.’ Joel’s paperwork had multicoloured sticky labels along the right-hand side which organised the bundles into statements, medical evidence, forms, intelligence reports and miscellaneous, allowing him quick access to the document he was referencing. Not that he seemed to need to refer to anything. Sarah was impressed at just how much seemed to come from memory.

‘What was he spending on? Gambling or women? It’s normally one of the two,’ asked Manford.

‘Clothes. His wardrobe was full of designer gear, from top-end high-street brands all the way to designer names. His wallet was sparse, but the boys found five credit cards in his bedroom. His folks signed the bank release forms and I expect they’ll come back all maxed out. We examined the phone.’ Joel held up a ring-bound booklet with two pictures of a Nokia cameraphone front and back, with a list of technical terms and numbers including IMEI and SIM card details on the cover, along with the phone number: 07709 431298. ‘He had a penchant for sex text services. There’s numerous text conversations with women, some are of a graphic sexual nature and most I’d say seem automated, or at least contrived.’

Hayward took the report from Joel’s hand and turned the page to the list of sent messages. ‘I've highlighted the best ones. I want to tie you to the church gate and bugger you. I want to put my fist inside your…’

‘That’s quite enough, Matt. There’s a lady present.’ Sarah took umbrage at Manford’s reason, but was glad he’d stopped Hayward mid-sentence. Hayward wasn’t someone she wanted to associate with anything remotely sexual. Joel’s deep and pleasant Afro-Caribbean accent soon replaced that image in her mind.

‘Sir, they start relatively tame, but get progressively worse. There weren’t any photos on the phone, so it’s possible he just gets off to the thought of it all.’

‘Happy it’s not suspicious?’

‘At this stage. I’m not returning any of his property to the family until we have the PM results and I can finalise the coroner’s report.’

‘Good. Well, you’ve both impressed me so far. Remember, when it comes to the exam, go with the first answer that comes to mind. That’s gotten me through all my promotion exams. One of the options will always stand out as being obviously wrong anyway. You’re under a lot of pressure on this fast-track programme. They expect you to complete in three months what your tutors and I had two years to do. And even then, some took a few attempts, didn’t they Matt?’ He looked at DS Hayward and cut him off before he could return a snide remark. ‘Keep up the good work.’

They left the office and wheeled their chairs all the way back to their pods at the other end of the room. Sarah’s phone rang and she sped up to answer it.

‘Sarah? Front office here. There’s a lady here to see you, a Leilani Hayes? Said you’ll know what it’s about.’ The caller had a raspy, smoker’s voice.

‘Mmm, I don’t recognise the name.’

‘She wants to speak to the female officer from the Oxlaine last night. I checked the log and you came up.’

‘Oh. Okay, I’ll be down in a minute.’ She put the phone down and spun around, stepping straight into Joel’s chest.

‘Hi.’ She stepped back, bumping her bum on her desk, causing her stationary to rattle.

‘Hello. Sarah, right? We’ve not properly met. I’m Joel.’ His deep voice reverberated through his hand as she shook it; or as he shook hers, his whole hand almost enveloping her palm.

‘Yes, hi.’

‘I transferred here last weekend and we’ve not had a chance to speak. How are you finding all this fast track business? I started out in the sticks, and then they moved me here. Mavenswood is where the work is, it seems.’ He casually sat on the edge of the opposite desk, the fabric of his steel-blue suit gently resting on his chest, hiding a physique as exquisitely tailor-made as the garment covering it.

‘Loving it. Love it. It’s all been fantastic.’

‘Don’t you find it…intense?’ His big, dark eyes and wide smile, contrasted with sharp, high cheekbones and a jawline that could cut cocaine, displayed dominant strength wrapped in an innocent, open appeal.

‘Yes. Very much so. That’s, that’s precisely the word I’m thinking of.’ She shook her water bottle to take a drink, not realising it was empty. ‘I’ve got someone waiting for me in the front office.’

‘Okay, sure. We’ll finish this conversation another time.’

‘I’d like to take a look at that mobile phone report a little later, if that’s okay?’

‘The texts? It’s really not pleasant reading. Which one in particular grabbed your attention? The church-bound buggery or the fisting?’

‘Oh, no, not the texts.’
I’m blushing. I know it and he knows it.
‘I’ve just never seen one before. A phone examination report, that is. Didn’t really need that sort of thing on uniform. Don’t need to examine a phone to know who’s called your daughter a slut in the street or parked so badly it’s criminal, now do you? I don’t want to read the texts. Definitely not my thing. I should go.’

‘Sure.’

She darted out of the office to avoid any further eye contact.

Five

The rooms next to the front office had to be booked in advance for statement taking, out-of-custody interviews, returning property and a long list of administrative tasks required of police officers. People tended to book the rooms with a half an hour extra either side to allow for any problems—appointments turning up late or officers being caught out on jobs and not getting back in time. Sarah accepted this was a common problem, but people that failed to tell the front counter staff that an appointment had been cancelled irked her. Each room had a sheet of paper taped to the glass window of the door with the date, the time, spaces for the officer’s name and the reason for the booking. The front counter staff changed these every morning and today was no exception. Despite the lists being full, all three rooms were empty.

‘Is anyone in these?’ Sarah peered round to the front desk to see a lady in her forties in a civilian uniform. Her red-brown hair came to a fringe over a face that had seen too much sunshine and not enough SPF.

‘Have a look through the windows.’

‘I can see no one’s in there, I was wondering if they’ve cancelled? Or they’ve called to say they’re running late?’

‘Does anyone ever call? Room three is free all day.’

Room three was always free. It was the smallest room and had been tagged on when the reception area was refitted. Whoever had organised the station’s refit miscalculated the sizes, leaving excess space which, as the cramped interior showed, wasn’t nearly enough to house another full-sized room. Room three remained as a testament that some people were good at architecture and some were good at policing and those disciplines should never cross. Sarah walked past the two empty rooms, choosing not to use them in case the forgetful officers were on their way back in, and opened the door to room three. Each room had two doors, one that opened into the police station offices and the other into the waiting room. Sarah opened the second door and called Leilani in.

‘Sorry about the space.’

Leilani’s slender waist slid past the side of the desk with no trouble at all. She scrolled through her notifications and flicked the switch on the side to turn her phone on silent. She wore her Oxlaine uniform, white shirt and pencil skirt, minus the buttoned black waistcoat.

Sarah breathed in as she closed the door and then knocked her knee on the side of the table trying to sit comfortably on the cold metal chair. The family trip to Paris had taken its toll on the waistline and she made a mental note to take Heather up on her offer of free Zumba classes.
Zumba. Even sounds like a dessert. One chocolate Zumba, please.