Текст книги "Bones in the Nest"

Автор книги: Helen Cadbury

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Текущая страница: 7 (всего у книги 18 страниц)

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Halsworth Grange

Bill lets Chloe ride the mower. It’s not the same model she used at her last place, so he takes her through its attributes one by one, as if he’s selling it to her.

‘Best thing, in my opinion, is this safety feature. Soon as you’re not in contact with the seat, it cuts out. On these slopes, that could save your life if it topples over.’

He offers her a Halsworth Grange baseball hat to keep the sun out of her eyes and she pulls it low, hiding her face.

‘There you go, much better!’ He laughs a big belly laugh, but she doesn’t see why. ‘Only kidding,’ he adds, holding up his big hands in supplication. ‘Don’t mind my sense of humour, no one else does.’

He explains where he wants her to go, behind the house to the orchard.

‘Leave the grass long around the base of the trees,’ he tells her, ‘it’s good for the bees. You’ll have the place to yourself. Closed to the public.’

She nods and wonders if he knows that she wants to hide. Perhaps he read her disclosure letter before handing it over to his boss, or he’s seen the same headline that she saw in the local paper. All he needs to do is put two and two together. A quick search on the Internet will do that for him in a matter of seconds. She wonders what pictures they’ve got of her, and whether she’ll need to change her hair again.

A pair of magpies spring up as she drives the mower into the orchard. She takes off the ear defenders and listens to their shouts. But they’re not like her Jay, they don’t have any message for her. She smiles to herself. If people knew what was going on in my head, she thinks, they’d lock me up again for sure. Birds don’t talk; everyone knows that.

She puts the ear defenders back on and muffles the noise of the engine as she starts the mower. She guides the machine carefully around each tree trunk just as Bill asked. In her muted world her mind wanders back to the bird with the blue tattoo, laughing like static. The boy and the bird, the bird and the boy, one in the same.

Damn. She’s mown too close to a tree. The circle of long grass and wildflowers is lopsided, more like a half-moon. She hopes Bill won’t be annoyed. Her mind is messing her around; it might be because she’s not eating enough. She’s been trying to ignore the hunger, telling herself she can manage, but other people have noticed, so it’s becoming more difficult. Emma kept some shepherds’s pie for her last night. She wolfed it down cold while her friend stood watching her.

‘You need to get something in,’ Emma said. ‘Some Pot Noodles or something. I’ll lend you if you’re strapped for cash.’

Chloe said she would, but she knows if she starts borrowing, she’ll have to pay it back with interest. She’s not getting into all that again, not now she’s out of prison. A debt is a dangerous thing. Another protected circle of long grass is cut in half, too close to the tree. She needs to concentrate, but a thought is hanging on, the thread of a thought, pulling her back to sitting in Taheera’s car, outside the smart house that appeared to have been built in an orchard. While Taheera was talking to her brother, there was a man getting into a dark blue car, and the eyes of the man in the car were eyes she thought she knew.

‘Chloe!’ Bill is shouting from the orchard gateway. ‘Lunch break! Kettle’s on, d’you want a brew?’

She snaps back to the present and cuts the engine. When she gets back to the potting shed, ready to confess to making a mess of the mowing, a woman is there. It’s Brenda from the ticket office, Bill’s wife. She’s broad, like him, but not as tall. Chloe feels the other woman sizing her up and not looking too impressed with what she sees.

‘I see what you mean, Bill; there’s nothing to her.’

Chloe is frozen to the spot. Brenda Coldacre must have seen the newspaper reports and she’s come looking for a killer, a monster, but she’s just found a woman with no strength at all, a woman with bones like a bird who can be snapped in two with one hand.

‘I brought you this.’

Brenda Coldacre is holding something out to Chloe. She expects it to be a newspaper or a printout from the Internet. She’s sure Mrs Coldacre will say, I know who you are. Maybe it’s a noose to hang herself with. Someone sent her one once in prison, but it got intercepted.

‘Go on, open it,’ says Mrs Coldacre.

Chloe shivers and makes herself look at the object. She sees a brown paper bag.

‘Cheese and pickle, in case you were a vegetarian.’

Chloe walks slowly back into the orchard, not wanting to gobble down the sandwich in front of them. She still has some dignity. At the furthest row of trees she chooses one where she mowed too close to the trunk. At least she can sit on the short grass without fear of disturbing any wild bees. She leans against the tree, letting it press into the centre of her back.

The smell of the pickle starts her salivating. The cheese is sharp, strong enough to make her suck her cheeks in, but wonderful, and the bread tastes better than any she’s ever experienced. There’s something nutty and clean about it. She’s sure it’s home-made. Her throat tightens, but she fights the urge to cry. She should be happy. Surely this is as good as it gets. Live in the moment. Who said that? Jay was fond of saying it, but she was sure he got it out of a book. She remembers sitting like this in one of the allotment sheds with the sound of rain on the corrugated roof. They were safe inside. There was no need to talk.

Jay had a packet of orange Club biscuits from his mum’s cupboard. He said she would only buy biscuits in wrappers, so she could be sure they were clean. Chloe thought that was daft because how could she know the people in the factory hadn’t picked their noses before they wrapped them? The biscuits could last them all day if they were careful. They sat against the wall of the shed in a corner by an old filing cabinet. Its drawers were marked ‘Top Secret’, ‘Middle Secret’ and ‘Bottom Secret’. They found a bottle of whisky in ‘Top Secret’, but she didn’t want any; she thought the smell was disgusting.

She thought this might be the time that Jay would kiss her, but they weren’t touching. They’d held each other once, hugged, sort of, but she wasn’t sure if it meant anything. Jay was upset. He wouldn’t tell her what about, but he cried for ages. She felt like a mum with a little child, not like a girl with a boyfriend. It wasn’t really certain that he was her boyfriend, even though everybody thought they were going out and it was written on the back of the toilet door at school.

That day in the shed he was very quiet, quieter than his normal quiet self. She shuffled a bit nearer to him so that their thighs, where they sat with their knees drawn up, were close enough that they could be touching by accident. He flinched and wrapped his arms tighter round his knees. The space opened up between them again.

‘What’s up?’ she said.

‘Nothing.’

‘D’you want another biscuit?’

‘I’m all right,’ he said. ‘Have one if you want one.’

‘I’m all right.’

The rain pattered harder above them and it was a while before he spoke again.

‘I wish I could fly.’

‘Yeah?’ she said. ‘Yeah. That would be cool.’

‘Any time I wanted to, just up and out. I do it sometimes, in my head.’

She laughed and wished she hadn’t, because he folded over his knees and hid his face. She thought he might be crying again, but there wasn’t any sound. His curly red hair fell forward and she wanted to stroke it. On the back of his hand, where it clasped his leg, there was a mark she hadn’t noticed before: a red disc of blistered skin. She looked more closely and realised the same marks were on his knuckles.

‘Who’s done that?’

‘No one.’ He didn’t lift his head, but she sensed he was watching her from under his hair.

‘Did you do it to yourself? That’s flipping stupid, that is.’

‘Why would I do that?’

She didn’t know. Other people did stuff to themselves, she’d seen marks on girls’ arms. She didn’t think lads did it though.

He raised his head and looked at her. His eyes were dry, but there was something different, as if the light had gone out of them. She was looking at him, but it was like she didn’t know him any more.

‘Chloe?’ Bill is standing in front of her, blocking out the light. ‘You were fast on.’

‘Was I? I’m sorry, I’m not sleeping so well at night.’

‘Aye, well. Brenda’s got the kettle on. Come and have a cuppa.’

She pulls herself up to her feet and follows him.

‘You know what they say, don’t you?’ He calls over his shoulder. ‘Them that lie awake at night have a guilty conscience.’

He’d no sooner said it than he hesitated, missed a step and mumbled to himself.

‘Brain before mouth, Bill, brain before mouth.’

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Doncaster

Meeting room four was laid out with rows of grey plastic chairs. One of the IT guys was setting up the laptop. Khan handed Sean a marker pen.

‘Time, date, location on the whiteboard, please. And leave some space to add anything important that comes up.’

‘Hope I don’t cock up any spellings. At least I know how to write “Chasebridge”.’

‘You’re not kidding, are you?’ Khan said. ‘You worry about that a lot. In the lift you said…’

‘Dyslexic.’ Sean said. ‘Thought I was thick until I became a PCSO, got a test and there it is. Doesn’t cure it, knowing what it’s called, just means you can’t discriminate against me.’

Khan looked at him sharply, then a smile flickered across his lips.

‘You were Community Support? So you’re working your way up. Nice one. I like that.’

Quietly and carefully, Khan spelt out the victim’s name for him as the seats started to fill up. The room looked different this way round, Sean thought, standing up front with a cluster of faces looking at him. The new District Commander, Chief Superintendent Laine, was sitting in the front row. Not a crease in his uniform or his face. Sean wondered how many anti-ageing products he kept on his bathroom shelf. The community support officers at the back didn’t even have chairs. He couldn’t see Carly, but as Commander Laine started the introductions, Sean spotted her spiky hair edging round the door.

‘I’d like to welcome DCI Khan, joining us from Sheffield. He’s heading up the investigation. Sheffield has also kindly leant us Detective Sergeant Dawn Simkins, who’ll be managing the incident room here and coordinating the house-to-house inquiries. I’m told she’s the queen of spreadsheets, so she’ll keep everyone organised.’

The woman in the grey suit, who Sean had seen yesterday, stood up in the front row, turned to the audience, nodded without smiling and sat down again.

‘The current climate has left us shorter staffed than normal, so I’m sure we’ll all benefit from the collaboration.’ There was an unhappy murmur from the audience, which stopped dead when Laine raised his pale, unblinking eyes and scanned the room. ‘From our side we’ve got DI Rick Houghton from drugs and I’m pleased to confirm that PC Denton will be seconded to CID for the time being.’ He paused, offered Sean a brief glance of recognition and then his face softened into a smile. ‘And it’s a great pleasure to welcome Lizzie Morrison back to Doncaster. She’ll be the operational Crime Scene Manager for this case.’

Her hair was different. She said something to the person sitting next to her and when she turned her head, Sean could see she’d had it cut short at the back of her neck. It looked like it would be soft and fuzzy to touch.

‘We’ve got an IC4 male,’ Khan launched straight in, ‘positively identified by the family as Mohammad Asaf, aged twenty. No wallet on the body, but there was a Blackberry phone. That’s gone to IT to see what we can get from it. Stab wounds to the shoulder, direct hit to the heart and then, hold on to your lunch people, but there’s a particularly nasty knife wound to the genitals. Over to you, Miss Morrison.’

Khan stepped back and Lizzie stood up and took his place.

‘It was a small, sharp blade, very clean wounds. The path lab is having a really good look, but it seems someone tried to remove his testicles. It’s not clear yet whether this was pre– or post-mortem.’

A mumbled response from the audience was curtailed by Khan.

‘Thank you. That’ll do.’ He gestured to Sean to start the slideshow.

The image of the young man appeared on the screen, lying as Sean had seen him, curled up, head resting on the step.

‘We were at the scene at 05:30 hours,’ Lizzie said. ‘The way the blood had coagulated, and the general odour, suggests very early stage decay. Dr Huggins has put the time of death at between 21:30 and 23:00 hours. Next slide.’

Sean brought up a photograph of the bloody footprints with their little white flags, enlarged to show the landscape of the tread patterns.

‘Four main sets,’ Lizzie pointed to the screen. ‘They came and went in different directions, one from above, three different treads below. And … next slide please … a fifth set, much fainter, that came up when we dusted. These might be unrelated but they’re quite fresh and carry traces of soil from outside. Looks like this one may have come in and gone out again. Potentially a witness. Next slide, please. Sean, can you zoom in a bit?’

She said his name as if they were old friends.

‘That’s far enough.’

The image on the screen was surprising. The head of a large ant was staring at them. Someone laughed.

‘Lasius Niger, or the common black ant. He’s fresh, his head and thorax were squashed on the concrete in these fainter footprints. The other half of him will be in the space between the treads, possibly still attached to the shoe. It sounds a bit Cinderella, but if we can find out whose feet fit these muddy shoe prints, we may have a witness. The others will know they’re covered in blood and will probably have destroyed their clothes by now, but this one kept his feet out of the blood. He, or she, wears a size seven trainer, so could be a small male or a large female, and they came in and went out with soil on their feet, and possibly half an ant, but that’s all.’

Khan was drawing something on the whiteboard, a zigzag of steps, populated by stick people.

‘Recovering the weapon is a priority,’ Khan said. ‘So far, a local fingertip search has drawn a blank: playground, grass, bins, you name it. DS Simkins will draw up a grid of a wider area and assign officers to sections.’

He mentioned Mrs Armley and questioned her statement about hearing nothing.

‘She said she saw someone running, so it must have still been light. If it’s our vic, then that puts his arrival at the block at before 9 p.m. And if she saw him, did she see someone else that she’s not telling us about? We’ll see if we can have another chat with Mrs Armley, but she’s vulnerable, sounds like she may have agoraphobia, so we don’t bring her in unless we have to.’

DS Dawn Simkins was sitting on the front row making notes. She wore a permanent frown.

‘Meanwhile,’ Khan was saying, ‘we need as much manpower as we can afford going house-to-house in the tower block. Did anyone else see a young man running? Was anyone following him? Again, Dawn, can you draw up a list of blocks on the estate and assign officers. We’ve got Mohammad Asaf on the PNC with form for drugs offences, and he’s served a stint on the young offenders’ wing at Doncaster Prison. Out early on tag for good behaviour. He’s gone back to college recently, his mother says. So, Denton, I want you to go over to the college and ask some questions, then get yourself back up to the Chasebridge estate and join DS Simkins on the house-to-house inquiries.’

‘Do we have a motive?’ Rick Houghton spoke from the front row.

‘Too early to say,’ Khan said. ‘He served nine months of an eighteen-month stretch for possession with intent to supply, but we need some intelligence on what he’s been up to since he got out. He wasn’t carrying a weapon when we found him. His clothes are being tested for traces of narcotics, but there’s nothing visible.’

Rick nodded and jotted something down. At the back Carly Jayson had her hand up. Khan called her to speak.

‘There’s a young woman recently been released, sir. She killed a lad on the estate exactly ten years ago. Marilyn Nelson. She’s known as the Chasebridge Killer.’

‘Thank you. Worth checking. Anything else?’

A few shrugs but no one spoke.

‘When the tech guys have cracked the pin code on the Blackberry,’ Khan continued, ‘we should be able to find his contacts and track his last movements. By the way, no press release. I want media silence on this for as long as we can manage, please. I understand from DI Houghton that there might be a connection to a larger dealer, but there’s something else I want you to be aware of: in my opinion, the nature of the area we’re working in points to the possibility of a hate crime.’

Sean heard a ripple of muttering spread across the room. Khan paused, waiting for quiet.

‘We need to see people’s reactions when we talk to them directly, and when the time comes, I want the right kind of headline on this. OK. That’s all for now.’

The mumbling was audible as everyone got up from their seats. Sean heard ‘drug war’ and ‘Pakis’ before he looked over to Khan to check his reaction. The detective was stacking his papers, cracking them down hard on the table. Sean wished him well on the media silence. If his nan knew there had been a murder, then half of Doncaster knew by now.

‘Enjoying being back on home turf?’

Sean looked up, but District Commander Laine wasn’t looking at him.

‘Absolutely.’

Despite the scraping of chairs and general hum of voices in the room, Lizzie Morrison’s private school accent was unmistakable. Sean had been hoping to have a word with her but he’d have to wait in line.

‘Penny for your thoughts?’ Carly Jayson made her way through the departing officers towards the front. ‘Or are they valued at the upper end of the price range these days?’ She fingered the fabric on his cuff playfully, giving a nod to where Lizzie was sharing a joke with Laine.

‘Don’t touch what you can’t afford,’ Sean said and slapped her away gently.

‘Don’t be mean. And I was just thinking if I might quite fancy you with all that power, if I wasn’t a dyke.’

‘Funny. Look, I’ve got to go over to the college. Fancy coming along for the ride?’

‘The detective seems to have taken you under his wing. Are you sure he can spare you?’

‘He’s sent me on a mission.’

‘Go on then, Captain Scarlet, if it means I can get a lift back to the estate when we’re done. I’ve got to check in with DS Stalag Luft at ten-fifteen.’

‘Rick says she’s known as “The Rottweiler” back in Sheffield.’

‘Suits her,’ said Carly. ‘Come on; let’s see if we can find something zippy in the car pool.’

Lizzie was still deep in conversation with Laine and Sean didn’t like the way the Commander leant over her, as if he was hoping for a better view down her top.

‘Are you coming?’ Carly said.

He followed Carly out of the room and down the corridor, the words ‘Police Community Support Officer’ rippling in silver across the back of her jacket.

She was disappointed that the only car left in the yard was a Vauxhall Astra hatchback with luminous green and blue checks.

‘We’re not going to creep up on the baddies in this.’

‘That’s not the plan.’

‘Pity. Might be a laugh. Have you got your magnifying glass and your sleuth’s hat?’

‘Give it a rest,’ Sean said. ‘Be thankful we’ve got a vehicle, otherwise you’d be on the back of my moped.’

The huge glass walls of the college reflected a cloud-filled sky. Carly pulled up in the disabled bay by the front entrance.

‘Looks like a massive car showroom.’ She peered up at the building.

‘Don’t knock it,’ Sean said. ‘About time this town had something to be proud of.’

He had his own reasons for feeling loyal. He’d spent months doing evening classes here, working his way through the exams he’d never got at school. His teacher was probably in there now, bribing his students with Werther’s Originals and coaxing them through the minefield of Functional Skills English.

They planned to go straight to student services, but when the receptionist clocked Carly’s uniform, she offered them a cup of coffee and asked them to wait until the principal was available. Carly peered into the rooms along the carpeted corridor.

‘They’ve got better kit in there than we’ve got down at the station. Look at those computers!’

‘Try and look just a little bit professional, Carly.’

She walked back and slouched down on the seat next to him. He was beginning to wish he’d brought someone else. Carly was several years older than him and she’d looked out for him in the past, but they were experiencing some kind of role reversal. Maybe it was his suit.

‘What made you bring up that girl?’ Sean said.

‘In the briefing? Well she’s called the Chasebridge Killer, isn’t she?’

‘Right. I think there would have to be a bit more of a connection than that, don’t you?’

‘Maybe.’ She leant back in her seat and looked up at the glass atrium above them. ‘I feel like a naughty kid sitting here,’ she said.

‘Yeah, and you’re behaving like one. It’s all about PR, I reckon. They want to make sure nothing reflects badly on them.’

‘“College Student – Victim of Castration”. They can hardly be blamed for that.’

‘Don’t be giving the press ideas,’ Sean said.

‘Get lost. Those wankers won’t get anything out of me and you know it.’

At which point the principal, Dr Angus Balement, was standing in front of them.

‘Detective Denton?’

Dr Balement was wearing one of those collarless granddad shirts which are meant to recall a glorious working class past, but Sean could see that the fabric was well-cut, top quality linen, stretched over too many lunches. Sean was about to correct the principal’s mistake, but Balement was ushering them into his office and gesturing for Sean and Carly to sit. They remained standing, told him what they’d come for and watched him slump into a leather chair with a deep sigh. He ran his hand through his hair and turned to his computer.

‘Yes. Mohammad Asaf. Name rings a bell. He’s technically on roll here. We’ve been trying to engage with him.’

‘Meaning?’

‘Meaning that he’s enrolled in a course of study. I don’t wish to breach any data protection issues, of course. Suffice to say that it appears from his attendance record that we haven’t seen very much of him. Here we go. He was on a second warning, so technically on his way out.’

‘I don’t suppose you could tell us who his associates were?’ Carly said, through a poor pretence at a smile. ‘I don’t mean to pressurise you, but technically, I think we’re a bit late for data protection.’

Dr Balement said nothing.

‘He must have had some friends,’ Sean said. ‘Is there anyone here who knew him, from his course?’

‘As I said, he was rarely here, so I think that’s unlikely.’

‘What did he study?’

Balement looked at the screen again and smiled. ‘Foundation Diploma in Media. Does that help?’

‘Might do,’ Sean said.

‘Hold fire on putting out a statement, if you don’t mind,’ Carly chipped in. ‘We don’t want anything in the press yet.’

‘A statement? I can’t see why we’d want to make a statement.’

‘Yes, “the college regrets” etcetera. Usual thing.’ She smiled. ‘We’ll make sure the press know he was one of yours, but not yet.’

Sean wondered if he could kick her without Balement noticing. ‘We’ll be in touch if we have any more questions.’ He shook the principal’s hand and headed for the exit.

‘Is it me or is that guy a slippery freak?’ Carly said.

‘It’s not you. I wonder why Mohammad was on a second warning?’

‘Maybe this fine young gentleman can help us.’

Outside, the squad car had a visitor. Saleem Asaf was testing the doors and windows.

‘Now then,’ Sean said. He was sure they were well covered by CCTV if Saleem tried his police brutality trick.

‘I need protection,’ Saleem said.

‘I’m sorry?’

The boy’s fingers played over the wing mirrors of the car.

‘Mistaken identity, innit.’

‘You’ve lost me.’

‘They were after me and they got my cousin.’

‘If you’re worried,’ Sean said, ‘you’re welcome to a lift home. I’m sure we could fit you in.’

Saleem jumped back as if the car had stung him. ‘I’m not getting in that voluntarily.’

‘We can cuff you, if you’d prefer,’ Carly said.

For the second time, Sean fought the urge to kick Carly, but Saleem was looking at her, as if a new idea was forming in his mind.

‘Can you tell me,’ Sean said, ‘why Mohammad was on a warning from the college?’

‘They didn’t like him doing business here,’ he shrugged. ‘This is where he got nicked. And even after he came back and was more sorted, they’ve been trying to find ways of getting rid of him.’

‘What was he selling?’

‘Whatever people wanted: skunk, sweets for the gym boys, a bit of miaow. Coke and old school ganja for the teachers. But nothing lately. That’s what I’m saying. They got the wrong guy. I’m the one in danger now.’

‘I don’t know what you expect us to do,’ Sean looked at his watch. He and Carly needed to be back on the estate or the Rottweiler would be on their case. ‘Unless you’re confessing to a crime.’

‘Yeah, maybe I am. OK, you better bundle me in the car now. Knock us about a bit, in case anyone’s watching. Then drop us off at the Cash and Carry on Christ Church Road, will you? I promised Ghazala, my sister, that I’d get some stock.’

Carly shook her head. ‘Forget it.’

Sean watched the boy run his fingernail along the black rubber trim on the windows. It started to lift. ‘Leave it out, Saleem, or you’ll be nicked for damaging police property.’

The boy looked up and grinned. ‘Suits me.’

‘Go home, Saleem.’

They got in the car and left him in the car park, staring after them like a kid whose mates have taken the ball and left him with nothing and no one to play with.

‘Just a wind-up merchant,’ Carly said, as she opened the glove compartment and rooted around among the old tissues and sweet wrappers.

‘What you looking for?’

‘Dunno, peppermints. Whatever. Seeing if anyone’s left us anything nice.’

‘We should be so lucky,’ Sean said.

At which point, Carly launched into an impression of Kylie Minogue that lasted all the way to the Chasebridge estate. Sean couldn’t be bothered to tell her to shut up; he was still trying to make sense of Saleem Asaf. Carly was probably right. He was a wind-up merchant and an attention-seeker too. Sean thought back to the other night in the alleyway. He and Gav were sure they’d seen money or drugs change hands, but all the boy had on him, when he’d been searched at the station, was chewing gum and cigarettes. Saleem wasn’t as gangster as he made out. His cousin, on the other hand, had been playing with the big boys, and it had cost him his life.