The Body in the River (8 page)

‘
Yes, boss.
’

‘
Good, get your coat on, I
’
ll buy you a pint.
’
Turning to Middlemiss, who
’
d put the phone down, he said,
‘
Fancy a pint, Fred?
’

‘
Might as well, boss; the missus will be in bed by now.
’
He was happily married to a very understanding wife and had four young children.

The four detectives adjourned to The Princess Alice, a pub just a few doors from the police station.

*

Half an hour later, Rose sat at the wheel of the pool car with Brookes in the passenger seat beside her.

After giving her directions, he said,
‘
Well, how was your first day on a murder squad?
’

‘
Fascinating, sir, DI Short is a mine of information. I can
’
t wait for tomorrow.
’

Brookes gave her an appraising glance and decided she was genuinely enjoying the experience.
‘
Good, the pace can get a bit hot and the hours are long, but I
’
m sure you see the urgency at the beginning of an investigation. People have short memories and the colder the trail gets the harder it gets to catch the villain.
’
He added,
‘
Take the next right, I live just past the second lamppost on the left. Pick me up at seven in the morning.
’

*

‘
Some circumstantial evidence is very strong, as when you find a trout in the milk.
’

Thoreau; journal Nov. 1850

The shrill ringing of the telephone broke through the veil of sleep. Brookes groped for the receiver on the bedside table.

‘
Yes?
’
he said, gruffly, into the mouthpiece. Then,
‘
OK, I
’
m up, thanks.
’

The clock beside the phone showed the time to be 6.30 on the dot. He swung his legs around and sat on the edge of the bed, elbows on knees and head in his hands, waiting for the cobwebs to clear. After a few moments, he got up and headed for the shower. His heavy frame was well-muscled but showing signs of a paunch. Not enough exercise and too many snatched meals were having their effect.

Twenty minutes later, he was sipping his first coffee of the day. His team would spend the day gathering information: examining records, searching dustbins, and talking to people; what the pundits called routine enquiries. In fact, there was nothing routine about them. The people being questioned certainly didn
’
t find it routine. Some were flattered by the attention, others were reluctant to help, worried that the skeletons in their own cupboards might be rattled, some were just plain annoyed at the interruption to their own busy schedules. And the detectives themselves couldn
’
t treat them as routine or they might miss the clue they were looking for.

But Brookes had every confidence in his team of detectives; he had, after all, hand-picked them. Well, almost. Jacqui Rose had not been his choice. And for that reason he would not let her out of his sight until he discovered whether she was reaching the standard he set.

His thoughts were interrupted by the ringing of the doorbell. He looked at his watch; it said 7am precisely. At least she was on time.

After exchanging pleasantries, they completed the journey to Leman Street in silence; she was shrewd enough to see that he was not in a talkative mood.

Short was already at his desk when they arrived. He handed Brookes the reports of the previous evening
’
s house-to-house enquiries.

He said,
‘
One of the cars was identified. It turned out to be a yellow Fiesta. It belongs to a Gary Shelton. He was visiting the woman who lives in flat forty-two, Riverside Mansions.
’
He smiled.
‘
She wasn
’
t too happy to admit it at first
‘
til Liz leant on her a bit. Shelton is married but not to her. Apparently he didn
’
t leave till after two. He checks out though; they were just having some innocent rumpy-pumpy.
’

Brookes returned his smile.
‘
He
’
s not a Premier League footballer by any chance, is he?
’

‘
No chance, boss, not in that motor. He
’
s a local plumber. Apparently he did some pipe work for her a few months ago and she liked his style.
’

Whilst they
’
d been talking, Rose had brought them all coffee.

She said,
‘
What
’
s our position when we find out things like that, sir?
’

Brookes took a cup from her.
‘
Thanks, Jacqui. As long as it has no bearing on the case, it
’
s none of our business. We log it and ignore it.
’
Then to Short he said,
‘
So we
’
re left with the BMW. Had any of the neighbours seen it there before Saturday night?
’

‘
No, boss; they all said it was new to them. Apparently, the old dear who lives opposite is a bit of a Nosy Parker. She said it has definitely never been there before or she would have noticed.
’

Brookes smiled and nodded.
‘
Have we interviewed all the neighbours now?
’

‘
Everyone in a fifty yard radius. Do you want us to extend that?
’

Brookes shook his head.
‘
No, not at this stage.
’
He frowned.
‘
Do we know if there
’
s any off-street parking facilities nearby?
’

‘
No, boss, none that we know of.
’

‘
So this BMW might be important; the killer must have got there somehow.
’
He paused, then added,
‘
OK, I
’
m going to spend an hour on the bloody paperwork, then Jacqui and I are going to see the Wilson woman again.
’

*

At the top of his in-tray was a note that simply said,
“
Phone Lynne
”
. The two words brought a smile to his face. When his wife had tired of the neglect his dedication to work had brought to their marriage, she had found someone else. Like most cuckolded husbands, he had suffered the pain of rejection for a while. Eventually, he
’
d learned to live with it and thrown himself even more into the job. But no matter how he had tried to ignore his need for love and affection, the need had persisted and troubled him.

Since then he
’
d had two other relationships. But neither had lasted, as his job had always been his first priority and each of the women had tired of playing second fiddle. Then, two months ago, he
’
d met Lynne Brandt.

Lynne too had been through a painful divorce. She too sought a casual relationship without the strong emotional ties that usually went with it. She ran a restaurant near Brookes
’
home, one he frequented whenever he had time to relax over a meal. They had become friends and fallen into a relationship, almost literally. When one wanted the company of the other, they simply lifted the phone and called. It happened usually once or twice a week and seemed to satisfy them both.

Brookes picked up the phone and dialled her number. When she answered, he said,
‘
Hi, Lynne, I got your message. How are you?
’

‘
Good, Brooksie, and you? I haven
’
t seen you for a while and wondered if you
’
re free this evening.
’

‘
Not a good time, love, I
’
ve just picked up another case.
’

‘
Well you have to eat, drop by. It doesn
’
t matter how late it is.
’

‘
I
’
ll try; I
’
ll ring you when I finish this evening.
’

‘
Make an effort, I could use the company.
’

Brookes frowned as he put the receiver down. She usually didn
’
t pressure him when he was busy, but he would do as she had said; he would make an effort.

He brought his mind back to the job at hand and attacked the pile of paper. First, he looked at a case progress report prepared by DI Short. He read and signed it. Copies would go to the division
’
s senior management and would keep them off his back for a day or two. Then he worked his way through the remainder of the pile.

By just after nine, he
’
d made a dent and put down his pen. He walked back to the incident room. Jacqui Rose was sitting beside Sally Barnes, looking at her computer screen. Sally was talking animatedly, obviously flattered by her attention.

Brookes walked to the coffee machine and poured himself a cup. Back at Short
’
s desk, he sat sipping it.

‘
Did you let Joan Wilson know we want to see her?
’
Brookes asked.

‘
Yes, boss, she
’
s expecting you at ten.
’

‘
Who
’
s gone to Alison
’
s office?
’

‘
Fred and Bob. Dave and Liz are doing the dustbins; they
’
re not due to be emptied
‘
til tomorrow. Stumpy is doing phone records and Bill is doing her bank accounts. The parents are due this morning. I
’
ll talk to them.

‘
We
’
re still getting calls on mispers. I
’
m transferring them to main CID office; DCI White is not happy, he
’
s got enough on his plate anyway.
’

Brookes nodded.
‘
We
’
ve all got our problems, Derek.
’
He looked at his watch: 9.30.
‘
Right, has Jacqui got Wilson
’
s address; we
’
d better be off.
’

Short smiled.
‘
Yes, boss, and she
’
s looked it up on the A to Z.
’

*

Bow Common Lane, East London.

Shortly before 10am, Brookes and his new sergeant arrived at Jane Wilson
’
s studio apartment. She too lived in a converted warehouse but, unlike Riverside Mansions, there was nothing up-market about its location. It was at the unfashionable end of Bow on what had once been a sprawling industrial estate alongside the River Lea. Many of the old buildings had already been demolished; a few remained. She lived in what had been the processing plant of a peanut distributor; the company logo was still on the wall above the main entrance and the smell of the nuts still hung in the air.

Wilson answered the door with a paintbrush in one hand and paint-spattered rag in the other. She was dressed in faded blue jeans and a pink tee shirt daubed with paint. The tee shirt did little to hide the shape of her generous bust. Her shining black hair was pulled back off of her forehead with an elastic band, her face devoid of make-up. It was obvious that she had made no effort to pretty herself up for the interview, yet she still looked very attractive. Standing beside Brookes, Jacqui Rose smiled to herself, thinking of his remark about all women attempting to look their best when expecting company. But she wisely said nothing.

Wilson said,
‘
Sorry I
’
m covered in paint, Superintendent, I
’
ve been trying to work to take my mind off Alison
’
s death.
’

Brookes responded gallantly,
‘
Please don
’
t apologise, Miss Wilson, you look delightful anyway.
’

She invited them in and Brookes introduced DS Rose. Wilson showed them to the only two comfortable chairs in the room and offered to make tea.