Mercy Killing (25 page)

‘Albert Woodville was murdered on Friday the fifth of November,’ said Hazel.

‘Oh,’ said Charles Culverton. ‘I’m not a particularly religious man, but I hope that he’s burning in hell.’

Sophia and Tom sat side by side in the farthest corner of the incident room, she at the computer typing furiously, he leafing through sheet after sheet of paper and
occasionally reading something out. Now and again she put her hand up to stop him so she could check she had recorded everything accurately.

‘Are we almost done?’ she asked. ‘I think we’ve got most of what we need.’

‘I think so,’ Tom replied. ‘I’d rather get down and interview him as soon as—’

Sophia looked away from the screen to find out what had distracted him. Her eyes were drawn to Gabrielle who had walked across the room and was unpacking two plastic carrier bags of cakes and
doughnuts. She was placing the unopened packets on the communal table reserved mostly for the office diary and the collection of unwashed, germ-riddled mugs that lived there until someone was
desperate enough for a drink and carted them off to the kitchen.

The only other things Sophia had ever known to find their way to the table were items of food purchased for the incident-room staff’s general consumption.

This had the hallmark of Gabrielle making an effort.

‘Is it your birthday, Gabs?’ called out Tom.

She looked across, a packet of greasy, sugar-coated goodies in her hand. She held them in his direction and said, ‘No, but I thought it’s Monday, so why not? Jam or
custard?’

‘Who buys custard doughnuts?’ muttered Sophia, earning herself a warning look from Tom.

‘I’ll have a custard one, ta,’ he said as he stood up.

‘Stay there,’ said Gabrielle, ‘you’ve got enough to do.’

She strode across, a selection of wrapped cakes in her arms. She put them down on the desk in front of the two DCs and, concentrating on arranging the packets in a perfect line, said, ‘I
bought them before you arrested Leon Edwards. They won’t keep you going all day but I can go out and get you both something else if you haven’t had lunch if you like.’

‘Well, we, er, thanks,’ said Sophia. ‘I’m not sure, that, er—’

‘That’s really kind of you,’ said Tom. ‘We’ll see how we get on and perhaps give you a shout later, if that’s OK?’

He ripped apart the wrapping and made a grab for a custard doughnut.

Gabrielle watched him as he took a bite and gave her a satisfied smile, or as much as he could manage with his mouth full of one of the unhealthiest but most loved snacks to be found in East
Rise Police Station’s incident room.

She hesitated before she took herself away from Tom and Sophia, compelling Sophia to call out, ‘Thanks, Gabs. Really kind of you.’

Sophia watched her give a little wave over her shoulder and disappear down the corridor.

‘Go on then,’ said Tom, turning to Sophia. ‘I know that you can’t wait to say something unpleasant about her. I’m sure you’ll find something.’

‘I like her skirt,’ said Sophia, but couldn’t resist adding, ‘even though there’s not much of it.’

Tom mumbled, ‘Give me strength,’ and returned to his paperwork.

Evening of Monday 8 November

‘Take a look at us couple of hell-raisers,’ said Josh Walker when Harry came back from the bar with a pint of lager shandy and an orange juice.

‘I’ve already had a pint and I’ve got a feeling that I’m going to have to go back to work this evening,’ said Harry. ‘Even so, I fully expect a flurry of
phone calls. I’ve told the interview team to give me a ring too.’

‘Can I ask how it’s going?’ said Josh. ‘I saw that you’d nicked someone.’

Harry took a sip of his orange juice, pulled a face and said, ‘Really? What’s the point of orange juice in a pub unless it’s got vodka in it?’

‘Want me to get you one?’

There was a slight hesitation before Harry answered, ‘No ta. Best stick to this. The murder? It’s an odd one all right. Young lad on the team, Tom Delayhoyde, made an arrest of a
bloke this morning who came into the police station and said that he’d threatened to kill Woodville just before he died. Got to be fair to Tom, when I first met him, I wasn’t sure that
he could detect his own arse with two hands, but he’s done well on this one.’

‘Technically, if you threatened to kill someone and then killed them, you’ve committed a threat to kill but the bigger picture is clearly that they’re now dead.’

‘That, Josh, is why you reached the lofty heights of inspector years before I did.’ Harry rested the base of his glass in his palm and turned the glass around. ‘It’s
times like these I wished I smoked. At least I could get some enjoyment from this vitamin C. I could have done with a straightforward murder. Those lucky bastards at Riverstone have just picked one
up where the whole thing’s on CCTV. Not me. I have to get the nonce with a cable-tie around his throat, possibly linked to a bloke who apparently committed suicide who obviously didn’t.
Throw in an arson for good measure and then this bloke today coming in and telling us that he threatened to kill Woodville.’

‘What’s he said up to now in interview?’

‘Tom and Soph hadn’t got all that far when I left,’ said Harry. ‘By the time they took his DNA, samples and clothing, they’d had one interview where he said that
his only involvement was sending death threats through the post to Woodville.’

‘Any reason?’

The look Josh received in answer made him smile. He knew that Harry was about to rip into him for what was clearly a stupid question.

‘Because the man thought it was OK to rape children. That’s usually enough. What’s wrong with you?’

‘I get that, Harry, but it’s not like sex offenders are a dying breed. If anything, they seem to be flourishing. What I meant was, why Leon Edwards and Woodville? What’s the
link between them?’

‘Years ago, Edwards was at a children’s home which was run by Woodville. Also at the home was Toby Carvell. He’s someone we’ve already been out to see and something
doesn’t seem quite right there either. Carvell was part of the original enquiry into Woodville when he was sent down in the nineties. The only problem was, Woodville was acquitted of offences
against Carvell.’

‘How about Leon Edwards? Was he part of the original investigation too?’ said Josh.

Harry shook his head. ‘Reading through the notes, he claimed that Woodville beat him a lot but nothing sexual. He didn’t even make a statement. It doesn’t seem right that
nothing happened to him as a child, yet much later he decides to send death threats to a man he hadn’t seen for over twenty years.’

‘So what’s the next step?’

‘The usual forensic run with stuff going off to the lab, left, right and centre. Woodville took the letters he got in the post into the nick and gave them to Laura Ward. She was the ViSOR
officer keeping an eye on him. We’ve had a conversation about what a high risk he was but she did all she could to find out who sent the letters.’

‘Fingerprints?’ asked Josh.

‘Nothing on the envelopes’ contents so someone was being careful. The outside isn’t helpful as it gets handled by God only knows how many people until it gets to its
destination. We are, however, talking about a bit of a fuckwit who decided to lick the seal on the envelope. All we need to do now is determine whoever’s DNA it is by finding a match. The
envelope went off ages ago to the lab but matched nothing already on the database. Might turn out to be Leon Edwards’s now we’ve got a sample from him.’

He pushed himself back in his chair and smiled. ‘What would that actually prove? We’ve got someone who’s now dead being threatened weeks before their murder. If the person
sending the threats is the same person as the murderer, the threat to kill is too minor to worry about. If the offender isn’t one and the same, how are we going to prosecute? Woodville
won’t be coming to court to give evidence to say how scared he was.

‘We have enough of a problem getting jobs home at court when the victim’s alive, let alone a fucking corpse. Can you see us even getting a charge authorized for this?’

‘Leon Edwards may accept a caution,’ said Josh.

When they both stopped laughing at this, Harry asked, ‘One for the road?’

‘You’re willing to suffer another orange juice?’ said Josh.

‘It’s either that, go back to work – and I’m probably going to out of sheer nosiness – or go home to the wife. I’d rather sit here and talk about detecting
this murder. It’s more cheerful than being at home right now.’

‘Sorry to hear that things are still so bad indoors. Have you made any decisions?’

Harry pondered his answer. He knew that he avoided thinking about his domestic set-up but on the rare occasions he was asked a direct question about it it at least started him off on a train of
thought, even if he didn’t always feel comfortable with it.

He rubbed at his stubble with both hands, recognizing it as a sign of thinking too deeply for his own good. One hand was habit, two were a bad omen. He preferred not to cogitate, especially when
it came to his wife. He didn’t like the idea that his marriage was struggling because of his work. Better to blame the fact that his domestic arrangement was far from blissful, so he was
forced to spend so much time in the office.

It wasn’t his fault then.

He opened his mouth to ask Josh how things were with him: he had meant to ask him, when his phone rang.

Harry saw Tom Delayhoyde’s name appear on the screen and answered. He could hear the excitement in the DC’s voice.

‘Boss, great news. Leon Edwards is talking, as you know. He admitted to sending the death threats through the post simply to put the frighteners on Woodville. He’s still insisting
that he did it alone but when we pushed him on whether he’d ever been to Woodville’s flat or knew where it was, he went very quiet to begin with. Then came the good part.’

There was a pause whilst Tom got his breath back.

‘He said that he was in the area near to Woodville’s flat on the evening he was murdered. He saw Woodville come out of the Co-op and walk home. It looked like a car was driving
slowly up and down past the victim. It only did it twice, something we probably hadn’t picked up on yet. Edwards thought it looked odd.

‘I’ll grant you, boss, it could be because he’s clutching at straws but right at the moment, we’re reviewing that bit of CCTV footage.’

‘It’s a start,’ said Harry, ‘but have we got any chance of identifying the car or the occupants?’

‘We’ve got the CCTV from the Co-op,’ said Tom. ‘The really brilliant news is that a bus goes past Woodville as he’s about to turn the corner to his road.
We’ve got the CCTV from the bus and it shows someone in the car, though it’s a bit grainy. I’ve got to get it enhanced, but I think we should be able to get the registration at
least.’

‘Fucking hell,’ said Harry, ‘you bloody genius. I’m on my way.’

The day had been an interesting albeit difficult one for Hazel. Pierre had seemed out of sorts too, although he spoke on the journey back about Charles Culverton, and also
about Monica Lewis’s big revelation with an openness that Hazel couldn’t seem to muster. She admired him for the common-sense stance he took when it came to children telling lies and
not knowing how much trouble they could get someone into, but every time she pushed the girl’s admission from her mind up sprang the image of Dean Stillbrook hanging from a tree.

By the time they got back to East Rise Police Station, she didn’t know which she wanted to do first: vomit or take a long hot shower. At least she had come across someone who proved there
could be survivors of childhood sexual abuse. With that thought she managed to salvage something good from her day.

The two detectives trudged up the stairs to the incident room and dropped their paperwork off on their desks.

‘You get off home,’ Hazel said to Pierre. ‘It’s only your first day back from your holiday. I wanted to have a chat to the DI if he’s still about.’

‘Are you sure you don’t mind?’ he said. ‘It was an early start, though at least we didn’t end up staying overnight. I was happy to book into a hotel, but I’m
even happier to be going home.’

‘Yeah, goodnight and thanks for your company today,’ she said. ‘I’ll catch up with you in the morning.’

She waited until Pierre had signed out in the diary and made sure that there was no one else around before she took the short walk along the corridor to Harry Powell’s office.

Even as Hazel stealthily made her way along the worn blue carpet-tiles, she wasn’t entirely sure why she felt the need to ensure she was alone. It wasn’t as if she was doing anything
wrong by wanting to speak to Harry on his own. She tried to rationalize it and paused outside the disabled toilet when a thought hit her. She wanted to talk to him because she had him down as
someone she could confide in and trust.

Such a perception about someone she had only met fourteen hours ago was an extremely odd one. Few people gained her trust, even after years.

Either he was remarkable or she wasn’t herself.

Disappointment hit her when she got to his door and realized that his office was empty.

A lamp was lit on the far side of his desk, illuminating the back corner of the small room where there was a small circular table with two chairs. One of the chairs had a broken arm and there
was a hole in the carpet. The only thing in the room that gave the impression of being relatively new was the enormous whiteboard hanging on the wall.

Hazel stood for a moment, absorbed in the list of operation names written in black marker pen, some going back two years. Nothing from Operation Rotation 2015 to Operation Hydrant 2014 rang any
bells with her, merely made her feel that the country was awash with crimes that most people either knew nothing of, or chose to remain ignorant of.

She heard a noise behind her and for a second she thought that Harry had found her in his office, lost in thought, staring at the wall.

‘Hello,’ said a voice. ‘Are you after Harry?’

Hazel turned to see an older woman, attractive, kind face, smiling at her. Something about her said senior officer, although Hazel couldn’t put her finger on what it was.