The Death Pictures (33 page)

‘Err… why are you riding a mobile phone?’

She wasn’t perturbed at all. ‘Now that I’m afraid I don’t know. I have no idea. He was a great man, but his imagination wasn’t always the most predictable. That was part of his genius. He saw and thought things that other people couldn’t.’

Dan nodded, tried an understanding smile. He had the sound bite he needed for his report. It was safe to try the difficult question.

‘What do you think about Lewis Kiddey being arrested for his murder?’

She stared at him for a second and he couldn’t read her expression. Then she turned, walked quickly away. Dan went to follow, but she waved him back.

‘Joanna,’ he called. ‘Joanna!’

She hesitated, almost looked around, then kept walking, faster now, her head bowed. He thought he heard some words, but her voice was wavering and she was breathless. It sounded like, ‘Never, never… never. He could never do it.’

Chapter Nineteen

Adam exchanged glances with Suzanne, a look they’d shared countless times this morning. He checked the clock. Only another couple of minutes had ground by. Claire’s chair scraped through the silence of the room as she got up and asked again if anyone wanted tea or coffee. No thanks. He’d had enough tea this morning for a week. Suzanne didn’t want anything either and he was sure Claire herself didn’t. She just wanted to puncture the tension. Escape this room.

He glared at his mobile. Nothing. Silent. There was a signal, a strong one. The battery was fully charged. His phone was working perfectly. Nothing wrong at all.

He’d called the lab three times this morning. They were used to detectives doing that in big cases, but even their patience could fray. We’ll call you as soon as the results come through, the technician had said. The very second we hear, we’ll pick up the phone and call. The machines are crunching the samples. They’re immune to being hurried and we’ll call you the very second. Don’t worry, we will. But you calling us is just interrupting all the other work we’ve got on. We’ll call you as soon as we know.

He was tempted, but he knew he couldn’t ring them again. It would achieve nothing, they would call when they had the results, but it was tempting anyway just to have something to do. He, Suzanne, Claire had all tried to work on other cases, go through files, think about alibis and lines of investigation. But it was a charade. They were all thinking about, and waiting for, the results of the DNA test on Will Godley.

Still, at least they’d solved one crime, Adam thought. Not an investigation he knew anything about, anonymous people in a far away place, but at least they’d cleared it up. Sussex police had been grateful enough.

Steven Freeman’s DNA profile had come through, with mixed results. Are you ready for this, the technician had asked? Adam had managed not to lose his temper, but only just. Of course he was bloody ready. He’d been waiting by the phone to hear, hadn’t he?

‘He’s not your man. Not yours at least.’

‘What? Explain?’

‘He’s not your rapist. Totally different DNA pattern. Sorry.’

‘You’re sure?’

A very audible and pointed sigh on the line. The scientist’s way of telling a Detective Chief Inspector not to annoy him.

‘Yes, we’re quite sure thank you. Quite sure,’ said the piqued voice.

He felt an instant deflation, had to sit down on a desk, shook his head at the other detectives in the MIR. Some gritted their teeth, a couple turned away in frustration. Others mouthed and uttered oaths. One banged a fist on a table, a pounding resonance in the echoing room. It summed up their feelings. Chance gone. No go. The rapist still free and probably preparing his next attack.

‘Hello? Hello?!’

The voice on the line again. Adam composed himself, loosened his tie.

‘Yes, sorry, I’m still here,’ he managed.

‘I said he’s not your man, but he is someone else’s.’

‘What? How come?’

‘Your Mr Freeman is wanted on suspicion of grievous bodily harm in Sussex. Brighton in fact. Some sort of fight outside a bar. A bloke got badly beaten and put in hospital. He’s suffered permanent brain damage and needs 24-hour care for life. A sample of blood taken from the scene matches Freeman’s. We’ve alerted Sussex.’

Adam couldn’t convince himself it was anything other than a consolation prize. He’d spoken to a Detective Inspector Rawson in Brighton and he was grateful, would be here later to talk to Freeman. Not much talking needed really. That was the great thing about DNA. Little room for doubt.

So that was one crime cleared up at least, and a serious one too. And it explained why Freeman didn’t want to give a sample. But it was no comfort, was it? It wasn’t the crime, the one he was chasing. No comfort really. Not when you still hadn’t caught the man who’d carried out three rapes here in your patch, and planned to carry out three more.

Now they were down to two then, two suspects. It was one of those, or... He didn’t want to think about the or. The fact that it could be someone else entirely, someone they hadn’t even had a sniff of yet. Not a thought he wanted to entertain. It would mean their inquiry had got precisely nowhere. Wasted time, wasted effort, no leads. Nowhere.

Nowhere that is apart from the damage it’d done to his career. That conversation with the Assistant Chief Constable, the second he’d had in a couple of days, that wasn’t pretty.

‘Adam, what the hell are you doing appearing on TV saying we’re stumped? And why are you tailing Edward Munroe?’

‘He’s a suspect sir.’

He’d expected the call, but that hadn’t made dealing with it any easier. First accused of wasting resources, now blundering in scaring the public and making the force look inept. That and persecuting innocent pillars of the community. It certainly wasn’t pretty.

There’d been an explosion of snorted disbelief on the line. Adam held the phone away from his ear.

‘First things first,’ growled the voice. ‘What are you doing telling a bloody journalist we’re stumped?’

‘The truth, sir.’

‘Yes, but can’t you be a bit more bloody diplomatic, man? Say something like ‘we haven’t got him yet, but we’ve plenty of lines of inquiry to pursue and we are confident of a result.’ Something a bit more reassuring for the public? It makes us look like we’re no-hopers otherwise.’

‘Yes, sir. Sorry, sir. I will in future.’

What else could he say? He knew that interview would cause trouble, but he’d thought it was worth the risk. He could hardly talk about what he was really thinking.

That seemed to calm Flood a little and distract him. Important that he was distracted, Adam thought. He wanted to close down this part of the conversation, didn’t want Flood asking too much about why he’d said what he had in the interview and certainly not going into what else he was up to in the inquiry.

The phone buzzed again. ‘And what about Mr Munroe?’ Adam noted the mister, not many people accorded that accolade. The movers and shakers dining network in action. He could see them, dressed up in their dickie-bow ties, passing the claret, swapping power stories.

‘He’s a suspect sir.’ Adam tried to keep his voice neutral. ‘He wouldn’t give a DNA sample, he has a reason to dislike women and he has no alibi.’

Another snort. ‘And he’s an eminent local barrister with friends in high places.’ Like you, Adam thought, but didn’t say anything. ‘You can’t possibly tell me you think he could be the rapist,’ Flood continued. ‘That’s absurd.’

‘He’s a suspect, sir and we have to treat him just like the others. We have to be fair.’ No response. ‘Imagine what the press would say if it did turn out to be him and we hadn’t been following him as we had the other suspects.’

Another pause on the line. Adam could hear his boss’s brain working. The media, that was the one thing always guaranteed to worry him, the prospect of a savaging in the press. Bad for the force, bad for Flood’s hopes of one day making the top job.

‘Well, now we’re not tailing the others, I take it you’ll be leaving Ed… err… Munroe alone.’

The slip made Adam feel better. He could see almost hear the little chat his Assistant Chief Constable and the pillar of the community had had before this phone call.

‘Yes, sir, of course,’ he replied.

‘Right, well, that’s enough for now then. But try and keep it together more will you? You’re a senior officer, one of our best. I expect better from you.’

He wouldn’t be applying for any promotions in the near future, Adam thought as he put down the phone. Not unless his little plan came off. And even then, he wouldn’t be telling Flood how he cracked the case.

He wasn’t sure he wanted promotion anyway. A Detective Superintendent he’d be then, yet more big cases to supervise, yet more of a workload. What would Annie make of that? He didn’t have to imagine. They were on the verge of getting back together and he applied for a job that would mean even more pressure.

He glared at his mobile again. Still mute. Suzanne was drumming her fingers on the board with Rachel’s picture, looking at the notes there but not seeing them. Claire was staring out of the window, over at the city and Plymouth Hoe, the red and white hoops of the lighthouse of Smeaton’s Tower lofty above it.

Adam’s mobile rang and he jumped, grabbed it, then swore. He shook his head at Suzanne and Claire, who lapsed back to their drumming and staring.

‘Hi Dan, not a good time,’ said Adam into the phone. ‘I’m expecting an urgent call. No, we’ve no news on the DNA yet. I’ll let you know as soon as I do.’

What would they do if there was a match, he wondered? What could they do? That little scheme of his to get Godley’s DNA was a sharp one, and Dan had done his bit in stealing the hair. But, whichever way it went, if there was or wasn’t a match, that just left them with a whole new set of problems.

If there wasn’t, that left Mr – in the Assistant Chief Constable’s words – Munroe as their prime suspect. How the hell would they get anything on him? He was clever, knew they were suspicious and that they’d already been warned off him. He didn’t like to think of Brian Flood’s reaction if Munroe complained again.

If it was a match they had their man, but then what? Godley wasn’t stupid. He’d seen their interest in him and wouldn’t go out trying to rape another woman in a hurry, if at all. The DNA evidence they had was utterly inadmissible in court. And he didn’t want to go telling his bosses how he’d got it, either. So what would they do if it was Godley?

His mobile rang again. Suzanne and Claire’s heads both snapped round, stared at him. A withheld number this time. Hopeful, that could be the lab. All police numbers were withheld.

‘Hello, Adam Breen.’

‘Adam, Keith at the lab.’

A shot of excitement kicked his mind. He stood up, started pacing, nodded to Suzanne and Claire. They both edged towards him, staring expectantly.

‘We’ve got the results of that sample test you wanted,’ the technician went on. ‘The one on, what was his name? Hang on… I’ve got it here...’

‘Godley,’ said Adam quickly. ‘Will Godley.’

‘Yes, that’s it. Will Godley. Yes, we’ve got the results here.’

Adam thought he was holding his breath. Was the man being deliberately exasperating? ‘Yes?’ he prompted.

‘It’s a... hang on, I’ve got it here.’ For Christ’s sake! ‘Hang on… it’s a… match. A match.’

Adam sat down heavily on a desk, gave Suzanne and Claire a thumbs-up. They stared, then hugged each other.

‘You sure?’ Adam asked breathlessly. ‘A hundred per cent?’

‘Ohh, now, we never say a hundred per cent,’ the voice replied. ‘You should know better.’

Adam was glad the technician wasn’t in the same room. He could imagine his hands around the man’s throat, squeezing.

‘How good then?’ he asked. ‘Ninety-nine per cent?’

‘Oh, we can do rather better than that.’ The man sounded miffed. ‘It’s a very good match. If you pushed me, as I expect they will in court, I’d say ninety-nine point nine nine nine nine per cent.’

Adam thought for a moment, did some swift mental calculations.

‘So effectively it’s a million to one chance that Godley isn’t the rapist?’

This time the response was instant.

‘Oh, at least.’

Chapter Twenty

Friday night had delivered its sweet release from the cares of the week and Dan was heading down to the Old Bank to meet El. He didn’t want to think about it too much, just in case, but he was feeling good. The swamp hadn’t returned, and although he knew its mercy was only ever temporary, he was savouring the moment.

Mood swings were part of the mountainous territory of depression. But if you had to suffer the troughs, you might as well enjoy the peaks. It had been an important, productive, and even enjoyable week and he had a good drinking session to look forward to tonight funded entirely by El, his reward for finding the red-headed woman.

So much had happened. Policing, professionally, even a hint of a new romance. It’d all been stirring. Dan thought it through as he walked down the hill to Mutley Plain. He barely noticed the cars swishing by, the laughing groups of weekend revellers or the luminous full moon rising above the city.

He picked some fluff from the shoulder of the new polo shirt he’d bought. A shopping trip was a sure sign he was feeling better. It was dark blue, with a diagonal red stripe across the front and a number nine on the back. Smart, in a casual way, he thought. Just one of the positives of the week.