Road Closed (29 page)

‘Frightened?’ Jeremy looked surprised. ‘Look, it’s no big deal. I’ll call her in my own time, OK? I just want some space, that’s all. I’m so tired…’

Reaching home, Geraldine sat on her sofa and fell asleep. It was two o’clock in the morning when she woke up, too late to phone Hannah. She crawled into bed, exhausted, and drifted
into an uneasy sleep. She dreamt she stumbled over a dead body with glittering blue eyes and tanned face.

‘You can’t kill me, I’m a doctor,’ he said, although she knew he was already dead. His face changed and she saw her mother staring up at her. She was dead, but her arms reached out to Geraldine, pleading for a last cold embrace.

52

Injured

The absence of any adult relatives made the job harder. There was no one to make funeral arrangements, and probably no one to take care of Maggie Palmer’s motherless children. An image of the old box file she had shoved to the back of her wardrobe slipped into Geraldine’s thoughts. It occurred to her that she was treating the box in exactly the same way as her mother had, keeping it out of sight.

Maggie’s neighbour, Alice Reynolds, came in to identify the body. ‘Yes, that’s Maggie. I’ve taken in the children for now,’ she told Geraldine. ‘Poor kids. They know me. I used to collect them from school every day when Maggie was working. She wasn’t too happy about not being able to meet them herself, but needs must, Inspector. She was a good mother. She did what she could. I suppose they’ll be taken into care now, poor little mites. I just dropped them off at school. Best to keep to their routine and the school’s being very good about it all. They won’t let me keep them, will they?’ Recovered from her initial shock she had grown talkative. ‘Will they let them stay at the school? I suppose I’ll be able to see them, won’t I?’

Geraldine said she wasn’t sure. She recalled the small boy she had seen clinging to Maggie Palmer’s skirt, and felt a sudden rage against the driver of the car that had killed her. ‘Is there a father around?’

‘There was, but he took off years ago, before I met her. I’ve no idea who he was. I think she mentioned his name. Jimmy, it might’ve been.’

‘Jimmy?’

‘That might’ve been it. Or was it? I’m sorry, I can’t remember. I’ve known Maggie – I knew her, for three years and as far as I know the children’s father never visited them or got in touch with her in all that time. I can tell you he left her just before – or was it just after? – her little boy was born, her second, and he’s nearly eight.’

‘No father then,’ Geraldine said. ‘Thank you for your help, Alice.’

After she had seen Alice Reynolds off, Geraldine returned to the mortuary where Dr Talbot was waiting. Maggie Palmer looked a lot smaller in death than she had in life. She lay on the slab like a broken doll, her injuries stark against the white of her flesh. Geraldine struggled to concentrate as Dr Talbot droned on about scalp lacerations, traumatic haematoma and depressed fractures.

‘I thought you said there was only a little bruising,’ Geraldine interrupted him. She gazed down at the dead woman, a pathetic heap of flesh and bones that had once possessed the energy to work on a market stall. It was astonishing.

‘She looks like she’s been run over by a tank,’ the doctor replied.

‘A lot of injuries then?’ Geraldine asked. The doctor nodded. ‘Can you take us through them in order?’

‘Right. Let’s start from the top.’

‘Is it possible to go through them in chronological order?’

The doctor frowned. ‘There are severe contusions to the left temporal lobe, opposite the point of impact, which confirm a severe head injury resulting from a fall. In other words, she was knocked down from an upright position. The car hit here, on the knee. There are joint injuries, bone bruises and wedge shaped fractures, all caused by a high impact collision. Other indications of a bumper injury: soft tissue damage, bone
bruising and glass fragment injuries, together with traces of blood and black paint on the outside of her left leg.’

‘So, to clarify, she was hit on the leg by a car, injuring her knee. As a result of the collision she fell and hit her head on the road, and that’s what killed her?’

‘The fracture at the site of impact wasn’t directly lethal when she fell but the ensuing traumatic intracerebral haemorrhage led to fatal cerebral oedema. The complication killed her almost immediately. But that wasn’t the end of it. It looks as though the vehicle drove over her again, twice.’

‘Tyre tracks indicate the car drove over her, reversed back over her and then drove forwards over her again,’ Geraldine agreed.

‘The second time it shattered her scapula, clavicle, sternum and ribs. The third and final time the car crushed her pelvis, sacrum and coccyx,’ the doctor said, pointing at the various injuries as he named them. ‘She also suffered injuries to three limbs: both femurs and patellas fractured, along with left radius and ulna. In addition the tarsals, metatarsals and phalanges on the right foot. In fact, almost every bone in her body’s broken.’

Geraldine stared at the body. The doctor’s commentary was beginning to sound like a lesson on the various bones in the human skeleton.

‘I’d say the driver may have been worried she might survive and identify the vehicle,’ the doctor went on.

‘Or someone deliberately set out to kill her and made sure he finished the job,’ she answered.

‘It seems an odd way to kill someone. What if he was seen?’

Geraldine sighed. House to house calls in the quiet side street where Maggie Palmer had been killed had so far drawn a blank. No one who lived there had seen or heard anything.

Back at her desk, Geraldine was staring at the post mortem report when Ryder walked into her office. She smiled wearily up at him.

‘Well?’ he asked her.

‘Nothing new.’

‘You’ve seen the PM?’ Geraldine held it up and he nodded. ‘What do you think?’ he asked. They talked it over but, whichever angle they approached the report from, the conclusion was the same. If this was an accidental hit and run, it was a very unusual one.

Two minutes into the morning briefing Geraldine’s phone vibrated. At first she ignored it, then she slipped out of the room.

‘Hannah, I can’t talk now.’

Her friend ignored her. ‘You saw Jeremy last night, didn’t you? Why didn’t you call me?’

‘I would’ve called last night but I got back too late,’ she fibbed. ‘I only saw Jeremy for a few minutes. He didn’t want to talk to me. But he didn’t want you to be upset. He said he just needs some space. The best thing would be to talk to him. Give him a ring and tell him how you feel. Look, I have to go. I’m missing the briefing. Call him.’ Without waiting for a response, she hung up and hurried back to the Incident Room. She felt wretched, as though she had let her friend down.

‘We believe Maggie Palmer had information that connected Callum Martin to the recent burglaries. As soon as we spoke to her, she was killed,’ the DCI was saying as she went back in. ‘We need to put pressure on Martin, ask around some more. Do some door to doors with the neighbours. What about the witness in the pub? Has he turned up yet?’

‘Bert Cartwright.’

‘Yes. What was it he said?’

Geraldine checked her notes. ‘He told us Martin and Barker had an argument on Saturday. He thought Martin was going to hit Barker. The landlord also told us Martin and Barker had a disagreement, but he’s tight lipped. I don’t think we’ll get much out of him.’

‘Well, let’s see what we can find out,’ Ryder said. He sounded worried.

The pub was empty when they walked in.

‘You told us Raymond Barker and Callum Martin were arguing on Saturday,’ Peterson said. The landlord didn’t respond. ‘Do you have any idea what they were arguing about?’

‘It just looked as though they were angry. I could be mistaken.’ Peterson pointed out the serious consequences of withholding information. ‘I can’t withhold information I haven’t got, can I?’

‘What about Monday night?’ Geraldine asked.

‘The night of the fire at Ray’s place?’

‘Yes. Was Callum Martin in here that night?’

‘Yes.’

‘What time did he leave?’

The landlord thought. ‘I can’t say for sure. Probably around nine. He left just after Bert.’ He told them he hadn’t seen Bert for a few days. ‘Not since Monday. It looks like he’s found somewhere else to drink.’

‘He’s not been seen by his neighbours since Monday.’

The landlord shrugged. ‘That’s nothing to do with me.’

‘You’re not concerned about him?’

‘It’s not my business. People come and go.’

‘Do you have any idea where he might be? Has he talked about any family?’ The landlord knew nothing about Bert but his name and his drinking habits.

Geraldine and Peterson checked at Bert’s flat. He wasn’t there. No one had seen him.

‘I get a bad feeling about this,’ Geraldine said as they left. ‘First Maggie Palmer, now Bert.’

‘Anyone who might have information about Callum Martin conveniently disappears,’ Peterson agreed.

‘If only we could find Bert,’ Geraldine said. ‘Where the hell is he?’

53

Car

A young constable, Ollie Letwick, spotted a vehicle abandoned off the Harchester bypass that morning. He noticed light reflected off the back of a car concealed in the bushes as he sped past.

‘Done some damage there,’ he said. ‘Some bugger’s driven off the road.’

Ted, the driver, slowed down. ‘Best take a look. Could be someone still inside.’

‘Looks like it was driven deliberately off the road through a gap in the bushes. I only noticed it because the sun caught it as we went past,’ Ollie said. They circled the next roundabout and drove back.

‘Keep your eyes peeled, Twicky. We don’t want to go shooting past it.’

‘It’s not easy. These bushes all look the same.’

They went straight past and had to go round the next roundabout and return again.

‘I hope this is going to be worth it,’ Ted groused as he swung the wheel again. ‘There it is!’ Ollie shouted. They pulled up and jumped out of the car. ‘Bloody hell. It’s the stolen vehicle the DCI’s been looking for.’ He started talking rapidly into his radio, confirming the registration number. If it had been an accident, the car would most likely have crashed as soon as it veered off the road, but it had been manoeuvred neatly along a gap between the trees, smashing a path through outstretched twigs and brambles. It looked as though someone had been trying to conceal the vehicle
in the vegetation only to crash into a tree trunk before it had been completely hidden from the road.

SOCOs arrived promptly. It wasn’t easy for them to access the car but they wanted to examine it before moving it. DI Steel turned up and paced the pavement, talking to DS Peterson. Ollie tried to listen to what she was saying but was only able to catch snatches of conversation against the noise of passing traffic.

‘They have to find something…’ he heard her say.

The DS nodded. ‘Found the vehicle…’ he said.

Next time she passed, Ollie heard her mention a name, ‘… Martin…’ Then she turned away, and the rest of her words were lost in the roar of a passing lorry.

The constable returned to the patrol car where his colleague sat patiently awaiting instructions.

‘It must be a thrill,’ Ollie said as he slipped back in the car, ‘being a detective. I wouldn’t want to work for her, though.’

‘Why’s that then?’

‘She strikes me as the bossy type. You know.’ His companion shrugged. They watched DI Steel as she walked up and down, talking. Sergeant Peterson was bending down to listen to her. ‘He’s a good bloke, that DS,’ Ollie went on. ‘He’s all right. What do you reckon to the DI then?’ There was a pause as they both sat watching Geraldine.

‘Reckon she gets the job done,’ Ted replied at last. ‘I reckon she’s sharp as needles.’ Ollie nodded. ‘They say she’s good,’ Ted went on, voluble now that he had begun. ‘I heard she once made an arrest before the DCI had even got going on the investigation. That’s why they promoted her so quick. Bit of a know it all.’

‘I heard that too,’ Ollie agreed. ‘I don’t know that I’d like to work for her though,’ he repeated.

‘No. You’re right there. Bossy women are the worst. She’s quite a looker though.’

They paused, thinking. A call came through and the driver took it.

‘Domestic in Garden Street,’ he said and they pulled away. ‘Neighbours called it in.’

‘Never a dull moment,’ Ollie said cheerfully. Ted grunted. Unlike his young companion, he had been on the job too long to feel anything but dejected about a domestic brawl.

SOCOs found nothing of interest when they examined the car among the trees. Despite the bright artificial lighting they had rigged up, the working conditions were awkward. In the end they decided to move the stolen car to the workshop. It was beginning to rain by the time they prepared to tow the car away. Geraldine watched them edge it backwards, away from a tree which had become unstable with the impact. A local tree surgeon was standing by to secure it. The car had been severely damaged when it crashed into the tree making it impossible to gather any information from the front of the vehicle to confirm whether it had been used to run over Maggie Palmer.

‘They’ll have to look again,’ the DCI told Geraldine when she reported back to him.

‘We’ll keep looking until we find something, sir. There must be something, some thread from the victim’s trousers, or a blood spot, something. They’ll find it when they check again. They have to.’

‘This isn’t CSI,’ James Ryder reminded her with a worried smile. ‘More’s the pity. We could do with a dramatic breakthrough. And a few glamorous women,’ he added with an attempt at a lighthearted laugh. Geraldine forced a grin.

The forensic officers checked the car over again in the workshop, scrutinising the bent bumper, the radiator grill and the crumpled metal for any sign of a previous impact. The car was put up on ramps, and SOCOs began examining the underside.

‘Found anything?’ Geraldine asked when she visited the workshop.

A white coated figure looked up from the vehicle. ‘We’ve only just started underneath,’ he replied. He nodded at her. ‘Don’t touch anything,‘he added unnecessarily. He flicked the bottom rim of a door and a fine cloud of rust flew from it. ‘Give us a half hour or so. If you want to go back to the station, you can call us from there.’