Death's Privilege (8 page)

‘Remarkable communication skills,’ said Dales. The security guard swallowed hard.

Sarah continued. ‘Did you get a look at her face?’

‘Her face was covered the whole time, with a grey hood. She was white, I did not see her eyes, no more than her mouth. She kept pulling her hood down, having her head down, so I couldn’t see, like this. I am very tall and she was very short, so it was difficult to see.’

‘Her voice? Any accent?’

‘English. English accent, like you.’

‘What about her clothing? Was she wearing anything distinctive?’

‘A grey Nike hoody. Full grey and trainers. I don’t remember her trainers much. Her build was very slim, but she had large breasts, like this, the top hung off them.’ He put his hands out in front of his chest as if holding a beach ball.

‘Have you seen her before and would you recognise her again?’

‘No and no, I didn’t see her face.’

‘Right. Anything else we’ve not covered that you think may be relevant?’

‘No. I think she was just in the wrong place, or someone had told her the wrong thing, that’s all.’ Sarah wrapped up the interview, thanked him and let him leave to get some sleep.

‘A snobby receptionist and a security guard that can’t describe a face, but would take a good guess at a bra size. The prices aren’t the only thing putting me off this place. And, let’s not forget, likes to lie about his preferred methods of lawful ejection.’ Sarah put her notebook back in her bag.

‘I was wondering how you were going to handle that.’ Dales had stayed quiet throughout the interviews, which Sarah took as a sign she didn't miss any crucial details.

‘I wouldn’t have gained anything by calling them out. They’d have clammed up and the interviews would have become arguments. Ms Goddard’s behaviour was a little concerning.’

‘Must have been one of her episodes Semples referred to.’

‘She’s clearly not a well woman.’

They collected the footage from Gareth on the way out and asked Semples a few further questions. He confirmed no one called Roxy stayed there that night, or had in the past month, nor had anyone with any name that could reasonably be shortened to Roxy. There were a few Richards; in case the guard had misheard her saying ‘Ricky’ or ‘Richy.’ They took their contact details should they need to speak to them as the investigation progressed. The incident book was sparse. The hooded woman’s performance was the only recorded incident in the past three months and after flicking back two years in only a few pages, it was clear she wasn’t a regular visitor. Semples walked them to the door, apologising profusely for Ms Goddard’s interruption.

Nine

The Osbasten train station car park was far smaller than its demand required. It had a direct, albeit slow, line into London, a row of shops opposite and also housed Quick Cabs cars. The Quick Cabs office was a small hut to the side of the station’s main entrance and the waiting room was tiny, with blue frayed carpet and cold plastic seats.

The Hotcup coffee machine spluttered lukewarm brown liquid into a paper cup that Dales opted not to drink.

‘He’ll be about five minutes, just out on a job. Anything I need to know about it?’ The unkempt man behind the counter belched into his fist.

‘It’s about someone he picked up the other night.’ Sarah put her badge away, conscious the two men sitting behind her had started whispering the moment she identified herself. Osbasten wasn’t a police friendly town.

‘I’m the manager here, so if it’s a complaint about one of my drivers, I need to know about it.’ The assumption suggested he’d had a few visits from the police before.

‘No. Nothing like that.’

‘Okay. Well take a seat and he’ll be in in a bit.’

As Sarah sat down, the two men left. That was standard for this part of town. Police officers made people paranoid, especially people who were up to no good.

The cabbie arrived on time. The manager took them to the kitchen and hovered awkwardly for a few seconds before leaving them alone. The boss asked his driver to come and see him once he’d finished and gave him a stern look. There was nowhere to sit and Sarah chose to write with her notebook on her thigh, rather than place it on the unwashed surface next to the piles of plates and mugs.

‘I remember her. Blonde hair, pretty dress, about forty odd.’ The cabbie’s phone buzzed in his pocket. He took it out and put it back again.

‘Where did she want to go?’ Sarah shook her pen to free the ink.

‘She said Rhystown. Nowhere specific.’

‘Is that unusual?’

‘No. If customers have an odd address, somewhere difficult to find, down a cul-de-sac or something, they give the general direction and guide us in once we’re nearby.’ He had a clipped accent, South African maybe. ‘This was just Rhystown.’

‘What did she say when she got in?’

‘She said we have to rush because she was late and I asked her again where she was going. Again, she said Rhystown and she’d let me know when we got there.’

‘What did you talk about?’ Sarah was hoping that she'd given something away as part of a casual conversation. Something that would lead her to whoever sold her the drugs.

‘Not a lot. Before we got to the end of the drive, she received a phone call. I was about to turn left from Oxlaine Road, in the direction of Rhystown, but she said turn right. I explained that it wasn’t the right way, but she was adamant that we turned right.

‘She was reading the road names to whoever she was talking to and every so often she’d suggest a detour. All the while the meter was going up and the drive was taking longer. The route she wanted to go cost far more than taking the B roads straight onto the high street.’

‘Did she say anything else? Mention any names? Places?’

‘No, just read out where we were going and that was it. At the end of the call, she said, “See you soon, baby.”’

Sarah drew a basic sketch of the route he’d described. He confirmed it was accurate. The route had taken them in the complete opposite direction to Rhystown, then round in a loop through the country roads.

‘Where did you drop her?’

‘At the far end of the high street. Nowhere near the nightlife.’

‘Did she mention where her final destination was?’

‘No. You can bet she was heading into the town centre dressed like that. Rhystown women are always stepping out in that kind of get-up.’ The cabbie gave a disapproving look. It seemed Sheila couldn't impress no matter how she dressed.

‘Was that the last you saw of her?’

‘No. She asked for my card, for a lift later that night. I gave her my driver name as we don’t give out our real names. She called again in less than an hour. Around eight thirty, I can get the exact time from our records.’

‘Where from?’

‘Same spot. Said she wasn’t feeling well and needed to get back. In a hell of an emotional state, kept saying, “People never fucking change.” Between you and me, she may have taken something too. Her eyes were all over the place, she couldn’t sit still in the back of the cab. I offered to take her to hospital, but she refused. Kept talking about her necklace.’

‘Did she have her necklace on when you picked her up?’

‘No. She said, “I gave her my necklace, but she doesn’t care about anyone but herself.” She kept mumbling after that. Didn’t get another sensible word out of her.’

‘What about the route home? Same diversions as on the way there?’

‘No, she wanted the shortest route possible. Good thing too as I didn’t want her chucking up in my car.’

Dales left the kitchen to take a call, whilst Sarah wrapped up their conversation. Sarah took a copy of the job records on the way out and reassured the manager his employee wasn’t in any trouble.

Dales leant on the bonnet of the car and lit a cigarette. ‘Drugs packaging results are in.’

‘Come on, out with it. You’re not a game show host.’ Sarah threw her bag and book on the back seat of the Getz.

‘One unidentified profile.’

‘Chances are that’s Sheila’s.’

‘Wouldn’t be surprised. What do you think of Sheila’s detours?’ Ash fell to the floor from Dales' cigarette and he stamped it out.

‘ANPR cameras? The route he described takes her around our northernmost camera. Whoever was on the other end of that phone knew any car going past it would be snapped. I guess that’s one covert camera that isn’t so covert anymore.’

‘Odd to worry about being photographed in a taxi.’

‘Especially sitting in the back.’

Automatic Number Plate Recognition cameras were placed at various strategic points around the county. The cameras took pictures of vehicle numberplates and searched them via the police database. Should the ANPR camera snap a vehicle that has been flagged for suspicious activity, it would alert officers to its location and a unit would be dispatched. It also allowed officers to search for a number plate to determine whether that vehicle had driven past a camera and at what time.

‘Well, one thing we do know is those fixed ANPR cameras are impossible to differentiate from a normal speed camera. An average member of the public wouldn’t spot it; the average criminal wouldn’t either. Whoever was on the other end of that phone really knows their stuff.’

‘Looks like you’ve got one of your own now.’

Sarah looked up at Joel whilst continuing to type her updates on the Hargreaves case. He held up a brown envelope with
Mobile Phone Unit
written in black marker across the top. He looked through the bundle of envelopes and green case files in his hand. ‘No other post for you. Hargreaves?’

‘Should be. I see it’s your post-duty week.’

‘I’m coming up in the world.’

‘How’s your case going?’

‘Post Mortem is later today. Hoping to wrap it up after that. Feel sorry for the kid. By all accounts, he was spending all his cash month to month on designer gear and online video game subscriptions. Only managed to trace one real-life friend in the end. High Tech didn’t find anything untoward on his computer. Plenty of legal porn, free cam sites and the like, but nothing illegal.’ Joel continued on his post round, dropping paperwork onto nearby desks. ‘How’s the studying coming along?’

She saved her entry. ‘Nothing’s sinking in. Can’t believe it’s next week already.’

‘You going to the Q and A session on Tuesday? May clear things up a little.

‘I’m going to try and make it.’ She opened the envelope and turned past the technical information and on to the text messages. The outgoing messages were listed first, followed by all the incoming ones. Making sense of the conversation was a case of finding the correct date and time and flicking back and forth between the relevant pages.

She scanned the page for the first instance of ‘Eamon’. His mobile number was 07709 382 950. The conversation started three weeks ago. Eamon had sent the first text at 23:36.
Loved tonight. So unexpected. We should do it again?
Hargreaves sent a reply minutes later:
Yes! I’d like that.
The texts continued the following day. They talked about the weather, plans for the weekend and their
Breaking Bad
addiction. On the following page, Eamon made a suggestion for their second date.
Day trip to London? Or should we stay the night? X.
Hargreaves promptly suggested the whole weekend.

The mood turned following their weekend away, starting with Hargreaves apologising:

‘I’m sorry. I know you said you didn’t want to see me again, but I didn’t do anything wrong. It wasn’t what it looked like.’

‘You’re nothing more than trash. Don’t contact me again. I told you what I’ve been through. I trusted you Sheila and you go off with someone else?’

‘I didn’t do anything. I’ve not exactly had a great run of relationships either. I don’t know what to say.’

‘Just leave me the fuck alone.’

The conversation went dead for a couple of days before starting back up again with an apology, this time from Eamon:

‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean what I said the other day. Seeing you talking to someone else upset me. Pick up the phone?’

‘Sure. Call in half an hour. I’m at mum’s and you know what she’s like.’

‘You’ve got a crazy mum and I’ve got a crazy ex! Ha! What a pair. :) Okay. Half an hour.’

The rest of the week was amicable, with both sending messages to each other that wouldn’t look out of place in a blossoming relationship. Eamon’s mood swings dictated the tone of the conversation, going from a needy moodiness to blissful affection all the way to the intensely sexual. Sheila didn’t encourage his sexual messages, and after sending a few, he seemed to get bored and move on. When the following weekend hit, Eamon launched another bitter argument:

‘Why don’t you want to see me all of a sudden? Is it about the other weekend? Had a better offer, have you, you fucking bitch?’

‘No! That was nothing, you know that. It’s just you know what mum’s like. I want to see you, I do, but whilst I’m living here I can’t. She watches me constantly.’

‘Bullshit. You’re an adult, stop making fucking excuses. Just tell me you don’t want me. I get it.’

‘It’ s not. Let’s talk. We’re not going to solve this by text.’

‘I’ve fucking had enough. I’m sick of people taking advantage of me. If you don’t leave me alone I swear I’ll fucking kill you. You know who my friends are.’

Sarah scanned down to Eamon’s next text. Sheila’s relationship with him was clearly volatile; rosy affection quivering under a steel hammer. It wasn’t long before an apology came and it was all forgotten:

‘I’m sorry. Again. I didn’t mean to say those things. I trust you but it’s hard for me. With you, it’s all so different and, if I’m honest, that frightens me a little. Can we try again?’

‘Things have to change. You can’t keep being this way. It scares me and that’s something I don’t need.’

‘I’ll change, Sheila. I promise. Let’s meet again soon?’

‘Just a local night out this time. I’m not going all the way to London for you to scream at me in the middle of a wine bar.’