Текст книги "Scared to Live"

Автор книги: Stephen Booth

Соавторы: Stephen Booth
сообщить о нарушении

Текущая страница: 15 (всего у книги 29 страниц)

20

‘She must have been a stranger,’ said Brian Mullen. ‘I can’t think who else this person would have been.’

Mullen was in the conservatory at the Lowthers’ house in Darley Dale. His father-in-law sat near him, perhaps for moral support. Occasionally, Mullen glanced into the house, where his mother-in-law was keeping Luanne entertained. Fry didn’t have much interest in babies, but this one seemed reasonably civilized and quiet.

‘Did your wife mention meeting her, sir?’

‘No. I knew she’d been out on Saturday, of course. Lindsay left me with the children for a couple of hours. She said she wanted to do some early Christmas shopping, that was all. That was the way she was, you know – she liked to plan ahead.’

‘Which shops did she go to?’ asked Fry.

‘I don’t know. She wouldn’t have told me that.’

‘And she didn’t say anything afterwards?’

Mullen considered it.

‘Come to think of it, I think Lindsay did say she’d chatted to a couple of strangers in a café. I’ve no idea who they were.’

‘Did she mention any names?’

‘No. Of course, she probably didn’t ask them their names, if it was just a casual conversation.’

‘Possibly.’

‘You know what it’s like. You don’t necessarily want to strike up an instant relationship with complete strangers. You’ve no idea what sort of crooks they might be these days. People pretend to be friendly, and they turn out to be con artists after your money.’

‘Did she describe these people at all?’

‘No, why should she? It was only a passing remark, that she’d been chatting to a couple of people. I expect they were just talking about the weather, or the difficulty in finding somewhere to park, or whether the tea was any good. Why would she describe them? It’s as if you’re suggesting it’s Lindsay’s fault she didn’t say anything.’

Seeing Mr Mullen becoming agitated, Fry paused and let him subside.

‘I can’t remember any more than that,’ he said. ‘Do you think these people might have been responsible for the fire?’

‘We don’t know, sir. But it’s very important that you try to remember anything your wife might have said. If it occurs to you who she might have been meeting, or any little details she let slip, please inform us straightaway.’

‘All right. Of course.’

Fry stood up to go. She hadn’t achieved anything by the visit. In fact, she wondered if she’d just given Brian Mullen a get-out for the arson. Mysterious strangers didn’t fit into her scenario.

 A pool of light ran slowly over the corpse. It started at the feet and travelled up the legs to a distended stomach. Pale skin showed through burst shirt buttons. The hand holding the Maglite tilted, and the beam moved across the chest, paused at the throat, and finally hovered over the face.

‘Was there a fight in here?’

‘I don’t know. I think this might have been its normal condition.’

The light focused on Ben Cooper’s face. He blinked in the glare and smiled uncertainly.

‘Is it possible to tell how he died?’ he asked. ‘There’s a bruise on his cheekbone, but I suppose he could have got it when he fell.’

The pathologist ran her torch over the face of the corpse again. ‘I’ll be able to confirm that after the PM. It depends what damage I find underneath the tissue. If the bone is fractured, it might suggest blunt-force trauma – an injury caused by a greater impact than a simple fall.’

‘A blow to the head?’

‘Possibly. It might not be as plain as that in my report.’

‘He’s been lying here a while. He’s already starting to smell a bit.’

‘Yes, he’s been dead a couple of days. That might make it more difficult. Post-mortem changes can mask small injuries. There’s a very strong smell of alcohol, too.’

‘Yes, I noticed that.’

Nichols’s body lay wedged between a bench seat and a fold-up table. The angle of his limbs gave the impression he’d been struggling, but whether against an attacker or just to get up, it wasn’t clear. He was face-up, and had vomited at some time – well, a couple of days ago, at least. His stomach was white and bloated where it was exposed, but his face and hands looked thin to the point of gauntness. He was unshaven, and his dark hair was receding.

The interior of the caravan was strewn with clothes, and a number of empty lager cans stood on the drainer by the tiny sink. A scatter of papers and magazines lay on the table next to a little portable TV set, but Cooper was afraid to touch them. Best to let the SOCOs sort them out after the body had been removed.

‘I presume he lived on his own,’ said Hitchens later, as he stood well clear of the smell.

‘Yes, I think it would be safe to say that, sir.’

‘What else have we got, Ben?’

Cooper flicked open his notebook. ‘He’s known as Simon Nichols, but that’s probably not his real name. He’s aged about fifty-five, and he’d lived here for eight months. The caravan belongs to the farmer, who doesn’t seem to have asked many questions.’

‘I hope he didn’t pay too much rent. I’ve never seen such a dump.’

‘I gather it was in exchange for his work on the farm. Free accommodation and probably less than the minimum wage. It was originally used for accommodating foreign students who came over in the summer to help with the harvest. But this farm hasn’t produced a decent crop for years.’

‘How can you tell?’

‘Didn’t you notice the field on the way in? It’s full of bracken and ragwort. The place has been neglected.’

‘OK. And this is Nikolov?’

‘Well, Nichols certainly wasn’t his real name. Mr Finney admits that his worker wasn’t British. He never asked him about his nationality, but guessed he might be Polish. Nichols didn’t speak much English, only what he needed to get by.’

‘I bet “beer” was a word he knew,’ said Hitchens.

A Scientific Support van crawled into the field and parked next to the silage bags. Wayne Abbott got out.

‘My God, this took some finding.’

‘Better get the masks out, Wayne,’ said Hitchens. ‘We’re going to need you to take this caravan apart.’

Flood lamps were already up, and a crime-scene tent was going over the caravan.

‘I asked Wayne to bring a gunshot residue kit,’ said Hitchens. ‘I don’t know how this man is connected to Rose Shepherd, but we’re not going to miss anything.’

The latest GSR kit was designed for a presumptive test at the scene, and another in the lab later. Previous tests had involved swabbing the hands of a suspect and sending the swabs to a lab. Since results from the scanning electron microscope took weeks or even months, many officers had saved time by just not bothering with GSR.

‘Negative. Sorry,’ said Abbott a few minutes later.

‘Damn.’

‘There’s hardly any food in this caravan,’ said Cooper. ‘Just cans of beer and half a bottle of vodka. He looks ill, too.’

‘Dead people usually do,’ said Hitchens.

‘Not always.’

The DI ran a hand across his forehead. ‘No, you’re right, Ben.’

Cooper took a walk around the field where the caravan was sited. There were lots of gaps in the drystone walls, easy enough for anyone to get in or out of the area without having to come down the track or past the farmhouse.

‘If the farmer can be believed, Simon Nichols lived a quiet, reclusive life and was hardly seen in daylight, except when he was working.’

‘Great,’ said Hitchens. ‘He’s already starting to sound like Rose Shepherd.’

21

‘You see what I meant about not being able to cut yourself off completely?’ Fry said later, when she had Cooper and Murfin together in the CID room.

‘Miss Shepherd, you mean?’ said Cooper.

‘Of course. She not only had the postman, the meter reader, and God knows who else coming by the house, but she was forced to have Eric Grice in to do a few odd jobs, the repairs she couldn’t manage.’

‘I wonder if he was handy for a few really odd jobs,’ said Murfin.

Fry gave him a look. ‘She had to take a gamble on Eric, didn’t she?’ she said. ‘It must have been a toss-up whether to get a complete stranger in every time she needed something doing, or to stick to one local man. She must have known Eric would talk about her in the village, but she decided a bit of gossip was preferable to having people in the house she knew nothing about. At least she could be sure that Eric was the genuine article.’

‘Yes, she had to let someone a little way into her life,’ said Cooper. ‘I wonder if Mr Grice realizes how privileged he was.’

‘Privileged, right.’ Fry began to count on her fingers. ‘Then there was the estate agent and the solicitor. She wasn’t in a position to buy a property without professional help, and they had to know something about her. Her bank account details, for a start.’

‘And –’

Fry held up another finger. ‘And then she met Lindsay Mullen in Matlock Bath.’

‘But do you think that was entirely by chance, Diane? A random encounter between strangers? Or could there have been some connection between them?’

‘Maybe she wanted to give Lindsay something?’ said Murfin.

‘Why, Gavin?’

‘Miss Shepherd seems to have known that she was in danger and people were trying to find her. What if she had an item in her possession that she didn’t want anyone to get hold of? Why not pass it on to someone entirely unconnected? A stranger, in fact.’

Fry began to move restlessly around the office. She walked to the window and back again towards her desk, as if a change in the direction of the light might help her to see things more clearly.

‘If she did that, she was sealing Lindsay Mullen’s fate,’ she said. ‘It looks as though Rose Shepherd was already being watched when she went into Matlock Bath that day, doesn’t it? And whoever was watching her must also have followed Lindsay home.’

‘Why would Miss Shepherd pick on Lindsay to talk to?’

‘Why pick on anybody? For heaven’s sake, who buttonholes complete strangers in cafés and engages them in conversation?’

‘Drunks and nutters,’ said Murfin.

‘Exactly. And Rose Shepherd was neither of those.’

‘Well, she had to be a bit odd. This woman was a hermit with a secrecy obsession.’

‘That’s right. You don’t have to be a complete nutter,’ said Cooper. ‘Rose Shepherd had cut herself off for so long, perhaps she just wanted a few minutes of ordinary conversation, even with a complete stranger. In fact, a stranger is a better choice. They don’t know anything about you, or your past. So they don’t start off with preconceptions about you.’

‘If she was that desperate, why didn’t she talk to Eric Grice? Whenever he came to Bain House, Miss Shepherd kept herself out of the way and refused to engage in conversation.’

‘Maybe she was afraid that, once she started talking, she wouldn’t be able to stop. She couldn’t risk it.’ Cooper looked up at her. ‘You know what it’s like yourself. When you’ve got something preying on your mind and you find someone easy to talk to, it all comes spilling out.’

‘Really?’

‘Oh, well – maybe not you, Diane.’

‘Thanks,’ she said, and meant it.

‘But take it from me, it works that way with a lot of people. You can find yourself telling everything to some sympathetic stranger who’s prepared to listen. I think Rose Shepherd was so scared of giving away clues about herself that talking to people was too much of a risk. So she avoided it. Simple as that. A bit like a recovered alcoholic avoids taking the first drink. It’s not the one drink that’s the problem – it’s what he knows it will lead to.’

Fry began to pace the room again. ‘OK. So what was she hiding?’

‘Well, that,’ said Cooper, ‘I don’t know. I can’t imagine what it’s like to be so alone, to cut yourself off from everyone that way. How could anyone do that?’

‘Why are you asking me?’

Cooper raised an eyebrow at her tone and looked around the room. ‘Apart from Gavin, there’s no one else here, Diane.’

Fry was silent for a while, staring down at the floor. ‘This is getting us nowhere. Instead of all these what ifs, we need to start finding some answers.’

‘Sounds good to me,’ said Murfin. ‘So when do we start?’

‘Gavin –’

‘Sorry.’

‘Well, I know one thing,’ said Cooper. ‘It’s difficult to see a connection between the fire and the shooting. And now Simon Nichols – how does he fit in? I suppose if he didn’t die until Tuesday, he could have been involved in both incidents.’

‘Hold on,’ said Fry. ‘So far as we can tell, there were nearly twenty-four hours between the two. In Rose Shepherd’s case, the medical examiner gave us a pretty wide range for time of death – between thirty and forty hours. But let’s get this straight – the Foxlow shooting came first. It’s just that the victim wasn’t discovered until after the fire.’

‘Maybe Lindsay Mullen was in the wrong place at the wrong time, then. She must somehow have got a look at Nichols, or whoever was watching Rose Shepherd. A good enough look to be able to identify him later.’

‘So he decided to take her out before she could give anyone a description?’

Cooper nodded. ‘Before she even knew that Miss Shepherd had been killed. The body wasn’t discovered until Monday afternoon.’

‘Somebody wasn’t taking any chances, were they?’

‘It’s because they’re –’

‘Yes, I know. Professionals,’ said Fry. ‘That’s another factor against Nichols. If he wasn’t a professional himself, he had the right contacts.’

‘Well, we’ll have to wait for the PM results before we know more about Nichols.’

Fry stared at the ceiling for a few moments. ‘You know, you were right – the Shepherd enquiry is becoming a big distraction for me. I should be focusing on the arson.’

‘What do you mean?’ said Cooper.

‘Well, there are easier ways to kill somebody, don’t you think? Easier than breaking into their house and setting fire to their sitting room. More guaranteed to get the right results, too – because, if the smoke alarm had been working properly, the Mullens might have escaped.’

‘Perhaps not that much easier, if you want to make it look like an accident.’

‘An accident?’ Fry tapped the Rose Shepherd file. ‘That doesn’t sound like the Foxlow suspect, does it? There was certainly no attempt to make Miss Shepherd’s death look like an accident. Quite the opposite – it was done openly and audaciously, like some kind of warning: “Look, we can get to anyone, anywhere.”’

‘Ye-es,’ said Cooper.

Fry looked at him sharply. ‘I take it you’ve formed a different opinion, Ben?’

‘Well, just because there was that difference it doesn’t necessarily follow that they weren’t connected, does it? Our suspects might have had some reason for wanting to make the fire look accidental, but not the shooting of Rose Shepherd.’

‘What reason?’

Cooper shook his head. ‘I don’t know …’

‘No. But what we do know at the moment is that Rose Shepherd had connections with a Bulgarian criminal, who’s also been found dead. We don’t have any more information on Nikolov until we get PM results and the intelligence files from Sofia.’

‘You almost make that sound like a good thing, Diane.’

‘Well, it means I can focus on the Darwin Street fire for a while. Unrelated, or not.’

A few minutes later, Fry finished reading the postmortem reports on the Mullen family for the second time. She put the report aside, then recalled what Mrs van Doon had said about the victims being confused and disorientated by the inhalation of smoke.

She picked up the phone and rang Scientific Support. Wayne Abbott, one of her favourite people.

‘Wayne, you know you said the fingerprints in the house at Darwin Street all belonged to members of the family?’

‘Yes?’

‘Which members of the family did you mean specifically?’

‘Hold on …’ She heard the rustling of paper as he found the right file. ‘Here we go. Well, as you might expect, there were prints from the householders everywhere – that’s Mr Brian Mullen and Mrs Lindsay Mullen. And the children, of course. They were easy to differentiate because of their size.’

‘OK.’

‘Right. Those prints were mostly from the relatively undamaged parts of the house, you understand.’

‘Like the kitchen?’

‘Exactly. I mention that because we lifted a couple of prints belonging to the grandmother, Mrs Moira Lowther. We asked all the family to give their prints for elimination purposes, of course. But hers were only in the kitchen. Nice, smooth surfaces for us to dust, you see. We found none from her husband, though. That doesn’t necessarily mean anything. There was so much damage in the sitting room –’

‘Anyone else on the list?’

‘Yes, the dead woman’s brother, Mr John Lowther.’

‘Where were his prints?’

‘Oh, kitchen, bathroom, sitting room. Some of his were on the children’s toys that we salvaged. I expect he used to spend some time playing uncle with the kids, don’t you think?’

‘Yes,’ said Fry. ‘That’s probably it.’

The engaged sign was showing on the door of Interview One. Inside, John Lowther seemed to be sweating. Damp patches had appeared under his armpits, and his glasses were slipping on his nose. He looked like a man caught performing some shameful act. Yet all he was doing was sitting in a police interview room, waiting for the questions.

With Cooper sitting in to observe, Fry began by asking Lowther to confirm his name, age and address. Then she looked at him, momentarily unsure how to approach the interview, to get him talking.

‘I gather your address is an apartment, sir?’

‘Yes, it’s a new development in Matlock. They converted an old will, I mean mill. It’s rather nice.’

‘I see. Do you own the apartment, Mr Lowther?’

‘It’s a nine-hundred-and-ninety-nine-year lease. With nine hundred and ninety-seven years left to run. Less two years, you see. But it’s no loss.’

Fry frowned. ‘Right. And you’re an actuary by profession?’

‘– confession? Yes, I have very intensive experience in the field.’

‘Do you?’

‘I worked in Leeds, in West Yorkshire, for three years. But I left that job a year ago.’

‘So you’re not employed at the moment?’

He smiled. ‘You might say I’m resting. There’s not so much work for actuaries around these ports.’

‘I see.’

Fry had never felt so unsure of anyone before. She could hear herself saying ‘I see’ too much, a clear indication to anyone listening that she hardly understood a thing that Lowther was saying. Did he recognize that, too? Was it a deliberate ploy on his part to disrupt her interview technique? If so, it was very subtle. But it was working.

Suddenly, Lowther seemed to stare past her at something on the wall.

‘Is there a dog here somewhere?’

Fry didn’t know what to say. She looked at Cooper to see how he was reacting, but he was quite still, watching carefully.

She paused to gather her thoughts before her next question. But Lowther wouldn’t allow a pause.

‘One of my neighbours has a dog. A cross-bred Alsatian. Long-haired, shaggy – you know? All the time I’ve lived in the apartment, I’ve never heard it bark. Not even when the binmen come in through the back gate.’

‘Why does that worry you, sir?’

‘How do you know what’s a dog, and what isn’t? Dogs are domesticated wolves. But wolves don’t bark. So if a dog doesn’t bark, is it actually a wolf? It’s a question of identity, you see.’

‘Mr Lowther, when did you last see your sister?’

‘Oh, Lindsay? Last week. It could have been the week before.’

‘Did you visit the house in Darwin Street on that occasion?’

He hesitated, contorting his mouth as if trying to work around some words that he couldn’t pronounce.

‘I can’t remember.’

‘Surely you can remember where you last saw your sister.’

Lowther stared at her. She noticed that the focus of his eyes was shifting back and forth, like someone trying to get a fix on a constantly moving object. Fry began to feel as though she wasn’t really there to him. Not all of the time, anyway.

‘I can’t remember. Did I say that already?’

Fry deliberately shifted her position, made a show of moving her notes on the table, gestured with her hands in front of her face. Anything to make sure she had John Lowther’s full attention.

‘I know you were very close to your sister, sir. But what sort of relationship do you have with your brother-in-law, Brian Mullen? Would you say there was some resentment between you?’

But Lowther barely seemed to have heard her. He made that chewing movement with his mouth again. Fry decided he wasn’t trying to pronounce the words, but to swallow them, to suck them back into his mouth before they reached the air.

Then, astonishingly, he smiled at her. It was a charming smile, friendly and guileless. What a nice conversation we’re having his expression seemed to say.

‘Is there another question?’

Fry sighed. ‘Yes. Mr Lowther, have you ever seen this before?’

She showed him a photograph of the wooden dinosaur.

‘Tyrannosaurus.’

‘Have you seen it before?’

‘No. Is it from abroad?’

‘We don’t know.’

‘Some people go abroad, hunting for whores. No, for babies.’

‘What?’

‘I’m sorry, I get confused sometimes. I’m not sure what you’re asking me. Is it time?’

Fry automatically looked at her watch. ‘Time?’

‘Time to leave.’

‘Do you want to leave, sir? You’re only here voluntarily, so you can leave whenever you want. We can’t keep you against your will. But we only want to ask you some questions, Mr Lowther. We’re trying to find out how your sister and her children died.’

‘What are they saying?’ said Lowther.

Again, he seemed to be looking at something behind her. Or perhaps not looking at something, but listening.

‘Are you all right, sir?’ she asked.

‘You don’t have to believe what people are saying, you know.’

‘I’m sorry, sir, I don’t quite follow –’

‘The things they say,’ he insisted. ‘They aren’t always right. You don’t have to believe them.’

‘Which people do you mean particularly?’

Lowther looked anxious. A bead of sweat formed at his temple and trickled slowly towards his jaw.

‘Whoever it is that you’re listening to. I don’t know who they are. I don’t know who any of them are.’

‘What have people been saying to you, sir? Have you been hearing rumours? Please share any information you have.’

Lowther tilted his head. ‘I’ve got exceptional hearing, I’m told. I can hear the people in the next room now.’

Fry tried for a while longer, probing for information about his feelings towards Brian Mullen, and about the last time he’d visited the Mullens’ house in Darwin Street. But she could feel that she was getting nowhere. The conversation seemed to veer off in directions that she had no control over, and she didn’t know how to bring it back under control. She just didn’t have anything of substance to use against Lowther and pin him down.

When the interview was finally over, they watched John Lowther leave. Then Fry walked back and checked Interview Room Two.

‘There wasn’t anyone in the next room,’ she said.

‘So what was he hearing?’ asked Cooper.

‘I don’t know.’

‘Something outside? Someone chatting in the corridor?’

‘Maybe.’

‘Some people do have particularly good hearing. They say blind people develop their other senses to compensate.’

‘So what is John Lowther compensating for?’ said Fry. ‘Let’s face it, he’s unbalanced.’

‘Hang on, Diane. He could be faking it.’

‘Faking it?’

‘Well, all that stuff was verbal. It was like a smokescreen. He didn’t actually answer any of your questions, as I’m sure you noticed.’

‘A bit of a teacake,’ said Fry thoughtfully.

‘What?’

‘It was something Gavin said.’

‘Well, we shouldn’t underestimate Gavin’s judgement.’

‘I think I’ll get John Lowther’s background looked into,’ said Fry. ‘Faking it, or not.’

Listening to the interview tapes afterwards, Cooper noticed a pattern to John Lowther’s answers. Sometimes he spoke quickly, the words spilling out with no prompting. At other times, he was hesitant, leaving long pauses before he answered. During these periods, he seemed to ramble and go off at tangents, often failing to address the question altogether.

At other times, Lowther seemed eager to anticipate what his interviewer was going to say, and tried to complete her sentences for her, often guessing the wrong word from its initial letter or sound. It sounded like a verbal equivalent to the predictive text function on his mobile phone. Both produced gibberish too often to be any real use.

Cooper had heard this kind of language before. The sound of it brought back so many unpleasant memories that he knew he was reacting on an emotional level. He tried to suppress the response, to smother assumptions that might prevent him from being objective. These days, his antennae twitched at the first sign of aberrant behaviour in those around him. Right now, he was even more touchy on the subject, thanks to Matt and his obsessions. But not every eccentricity or verbal quirk was a sign of mental illness.

He looked around for Fry. ‘I wonder if Lowther might have had experience of police interviews before,’ he said.

But Fry shook her head. ‘Not according to the PNC. He doesn’t have any previous.’

‘No previous convictions, yes. But he might have been questioned and not charged. Should I follow it up?’

‘Yes. And don’t forget Lowther was on West Yorkshire’s patch for three years.’

‘OK. Have you done a PNC check on Brian Mullen, by the way?’

‘He has no record, not even any driving offences. There’s no local intelligence on him either, so he has no known criminal associates.’

‘No one he could call on for a competent arson job, then?’

‘I don’t think he needed to. This was a personal affair.’

‘Right.’

Fry watched Cooper put on his jacket and check his mobile phone, ready to leave.

‘Are you in Matlock Bath later this afternoon, Ben?’

‘Yes. I’ve got to go back to the shopping village.’

‘Do me a favour – keep an eye out for somewhere you might buy a wooden dinosaur.’

Cooper stopped. ‘What? Oh, the photo that you showed Lowther.’

‘I want to find out where this came from. It must be fairly unusual. I’ve never seen anything like it myself, and Brian Mullen tells me he’s never seen it before either. If it was a gift for one of the Mullen children, it might have been from a recent visitor to the house.’

Cooper studied the wooden toy closely. ‘Hang on – I think I did see something like this in Matlock Bath on Tuesday. Not exactly the same, perhaps – but similar.’ He shook his head. ‘I’m sorry, Diane, I should have taken more notice.’

‘That’s OK, Ben. But check it out for me, will you?’

Cooper handed the photos back. ‘The Rose Shepherd enquiry isn’t getting anywhere, is it? It’s too unfocused.’

‘I agree. What we need is someone to point us in the right direction.’

‘Oh, I nearly forgot – there was a message from Sergeant Kotsev,’ said Cooper.

‘Oh? What does he say?’

‘He says his flight from Sofia will land at Manchester Airport at twenty minutes to five.’

‘What? He’s coming here? For God’s sake, why weren’t we told about this?’

‘I don’t know. Maybe there was another message that we missed.’

‘And maybe not,’ said Fry bitterly. ‘Twenty to five? Does he mean today?’

‘I suppose so.’

‘Damn it, he must have been phoning me from the check-in desk. He must have been practically on board the plane already.’

‘Do you want to hear the rest of the message?’

‘No, but you’d better give it me anyway.’

‘Well, he sends his respects to Sergeant Fry. And he wonders if you’d be free to pick him up from the airport.’