A Journal of Sin (23 page)

‘Thankfully you have, Mrs Stapleton. The world needs more people like you.’ Will looked over his notes to ensure he’d drained every possible piece of useful information from her.

‘I’m glad someone’s noticed. People around here have just let that woman do whatever she pleased. We haven’t been told what’s going on, haven’t been allowed to bury him and there’s still a killer out here somewhere. It’s dangerous, but she’s in no rush to do anything.’

‘I can’t argue with that. Well, we have to be on our way. We’ve got a lot to do.’ Will put his notebook back in his satchel.

‘She’s just trouble. That poor Sally was cursed the day she had her. Now she’s fooling around with that John, there’s no telling what they’re up to. They’re a devious pair those two.’ Will backed away.

‘Ok, thank you very much for your time; we really do have to be getting on now.’

‘Of course, dear, you must be busy. So what time is the broadcast?’

‘The broadcast? Oh, we shan’t be using you in the broadcast, my love, it’s just good information to know.’

‘Oh. I was hoping, you know, I’d be on the telly? I thought that’s what this was all about?’

‘We can’t use everyone and, with this information, I think it’s best we pursue those naughty coppers, don’t you?’ He wondered if he’d ever get rid of her.

‘Of course, of course. I’ll be on my way then?’

‘It was a pleasure meeting you.’

She walked away disappointed. She wouldn’t get her fifteen minutes. When they were in cuffs themselves for failing to properly investigate a murder, she’d know she did the right thing and she’d make sure everyone else knew too. For now, she’d retire to her cottage, sit back in her comfortable seat and turn on the television to watch the world shine its light on other people.

‘What’s that look for?’ said Matt. They’d broken open the last of the sandwiches from the cool box and handed the last one to Will. He looked at the hand-scribbled label.

‘Cheese crunch? Just what’s in a cheese crunch sandwich?’ He refused it, preferring to go hungry rather than find out.

‘Dry cheese and thick-cut onions. Beggars can’t be choosers.’ Matt took the sandwich, tore open the cling film and took a large bite, making an audible crunch. ‘Did that last one say anything useful? You were there a while.’ He spoke between chews.

‘We wondered whether you were enjoying yourself a little there?’ Alan laughed and Matt followed suit.

‘She’s just given us our story.’

‘Please. Think of everything we’ve talked about, and tell me that it’s a story about how she lost her cat or has been seeing visions of her dead husband swimming past her ground-floor window.’

‘What’s even better than covering a murder?’

‘Keeping our jobs.’

‘Covering a botched murder investigation. That little old lady has been watching our PC Gladstone since day one and she’s told me exactly where to go to expose it all.’ Will’s mouth was wet with excitement. He couldn’t keep still, as if he’d just drank a pot of coffee all in one gulp.

‘Right. Enough of this. You don’t work for some risky, controversial YouTube news channel. We’re not here to break conspiracy stories, or to expose anything, we’re here to report on the floods. Do you know the effect that kind of thing can have? First off, you’ll be fired. Chances are Matt and I will be right behind you, which is something you should consider if you care about anyone other than yourself. On top of that, once they round up the murderer, how do you think an expose by a national news channel is going to affect the trial?’

Will could tell he’d pushed Alan past his limit, but that wasn’t about to stop him. ‘Aren’t we? Our exact job is to do just that. I’m exposing shoddy police work that may lead to the acquittal of a murderer. That’s news. If I report on their incompetence and someone walks free, is that our fault, or theirs for fucking up in the first place? So, your take on the whole thing is that it’s okay for a dead body to be kept in someone’s house, is it? What you’re saying is that if a relative of yours died, you’d be happy their body was kept in a stranger’s shed? And I don’t think they’ll be much of a trial once a half-decent barrister gets hold of all of this.’

‘I agree, that’s all bang out of order, but there are ways to do these things. At least check in first. Please. Will? Will?’

Will walked away and started packing the equipment. Matt collapsed the boom mike and placed it back in the helicopter. ‘We’re going. We’re going to find the body and get some more answers from this amateur cop. It’s up to you whether you come with us, but just remember who leads this team. Now are you in?’

‘I’m calling the gaffer.’ Alan pulled out his phone and Will snatched it off him.

‘You’re not calling anyone. I’m in charge here, I lead the team. Since when has any of this been up for debate? We’re going to this address and we’re going to do our job, report things the people have a right to know. The boss will find out when the rest of the world does.’

Dales started in the lounge. Drawers had been yanked out and flung across the room. Cabinet doors had been opened so hard they hung on one hinge. He’d covered Sunbury for years and hadn’t heard the name of the town even mentioned in the office. A burglary, in a low-crime town, in the middle of a murder investigation, was far too much of a coincidence.

The kitchen hadn’t been searched and the rear door was intact. Chances were, the offender had entered through the front door and, given as there were no signs of damage to it, Sally had either left it open or let the person in. Sarah kept the journals in the larder. Not wanting to use the handle, he reached up to the corner of the larder door, using the tips of his fingers to get a grip and swing it open. He flicked on his small, pen-sized MagLite and walked down the rickety steps. Using the light switch would have been easier, but he risked wiping off any fingerprints.

So much information was available about forensic evidence, both the evidence-gathering techniques and how to get away without a trace, that it was a wonder scientific techniques caught any criminals at all. The professionals knew what they were doing, of course. Organised criminal gangs and the old-timers worked it all out years ago, and some were taking to cleaning rooms from top to bottom before making their escape. However, most crimes weren’t committed by professionals; they were passionate, unprepared emotional responses to the confusing, difficult world we inhabit. A burglar’s need for heroin money, a lover’s jealous rage or a dysfunctional and uncontrollable sexual urge.

The torchlight caught stacks of cardboard boxes, a couple of old bicycles and a range of other knickknacks Sally couldn’t bring herself to throw away. Thick wooden shelves lined the walls where foodstuffs and oils were once kept, now replaced with tat, old and unused kitchenware and piles of photo albums. It was dustier than Louise’s cafe, but he wasn’t about to break out a broom and make it sparkle. The green lockbox had gone. He covered every inch of the room before he gave up looking for it. He knew who he was bringing in for this.

A helicopter slowed down overhead. He went back to the bedroom.

‘They’re just landing.’

‘Oh, thank god. They’re here, Mother. They’ll check you over and make sure you’re alright.’ Sarah was relieved they had arrived so soon, both so her mother could be seen to and so she could start looking for whoever had done this.

‘How is she?’

‘She’s not complaining of any pain, breathing is fine and she’s talking coherently. She mentioned a man being in the house, but can’t give any more details.’

‘Did you let anyone in, Sally? Did anyone come to the front door that you recognised?’ asked Dales.

‘I remember opening the door. But, I can’t tell you who was there. It was a man. How very strange.’ Sally looked perplexed.

‘Try not to worry yourself about it now. The paramedics will be here in a minute.’ Dales left to meet them at the door.

A few minutes later, a greying paramedic opened the bedroom door with a blonde lady behind him, putting on a pair of blue latex gloves. ‘I’m Fred, this is Steph. Hello there, what’s your name, my love?’ They went straight to work, asking Sally lots of questions and testing for pain. Sarah and Dales stepped outside.

‘The books are gone.’

‘Damn. It’s my fucking fault for keeping them here. I put Mum in danger.’

‘You didn’t have much of a choice.’ He knew how difficult this was for her. It was every police officer’s fear that one day work would follow them home. One day, someone would make it personal.

‘Sarge? Sorry to interrupt.’ Fred popped his head out of the bedroom door. ‘We’ll be taking her to St Anthony’s. She hit her head; it’s quite a nasty gash. We’ll need to suture it. She said there was a man in the house? Did she mention that to you?’

‘Yes, she’s been burgled,’ said Dales. ‘If you remove her clothing, could you make sure it’s preserved and unwashed.’

‘I’m her daughter. Do you think it’s serious?’

‘It’s hard to tell. We’ll know more once we get back to the hospital. At her age, any injury has to be treated seriously. We’re going to put her on the stretcher to carry her out. It’s nothing to be alarmed about in itself, it’s just the less she moves the better. Some people panic when they see their loved ones all strapped in like that.’

They went downstairs to give the paramedics enough space to come through. Old cottages weren’t designed with practicality in mind and the paramedics struggled to turn at the right angle of the tight staircase.

‘Now behave yourself for these nice people, Mum. I’ll see you soon.’

‘Oh, they’re causing all this fuss for nothing.’ They all smiled and Sarah’s eyes watered.

‘We both know who did this. I should get the call in the next half an hour or so, we’ll meet the arrest team and go and round John up.’ He wasn’t sure if she was in the right state of mind to come along. She had worries about her career, her family at home and her mother was being flown to a hospital for scans for a head injury. He wanted to suggest she board the helicopter when it arrived, head home, see her family and get a good night’s sleep, but the look in her eyes told him she wouldn’t entertain the idea for a second. She already had the car keys in her hand.

‘Half an hour, my arse.’

SEVENTEEN

The door banged open.

‘Hello. What? Shit.’ John’s voice came from the kitchen. He fled into the garden as Sarah ran into the room, stumbling as he leapt for the wall. She grabbed his leg a split second before he managed to clamber to the top.

‘Fuck off! Get the fuck off me.’ He stank of booze. His boot slammed into her face, the grips grazing her cheeks, but she held on, holding one leg tight and reaching out for the other. She sank her weight down, knowing he didn’t have the strength to pull himself over a wall with her whole body pulling against him. He deliberately fell onto her, his other knee plummeting into her stomach. She let go in pain; he ran for the house. She stretched her hand out, knocking his foot and causing him to fall forward and land face first on the stone slabs. The grazes on his hands drew blood, and although his quick reactions had prevented his head from hitting the stone slabs, he was too exhausted to stand up.

Sarah’s jaw ached, but she managed to say, ‘You’re under –’

‘You’re under arrest on suspicion of burglary and murder.’ Dales gave him the police caution and looked at Sarah’s jaw. ‘That’ll swell up nicely. You okay?’

‘Fine. Didn’t think you knew me well enough to be finishing my sentences.’ She dusted off her trousers as she stood up.

‘I didn’t think the kick had left any teeth in there. Right you, on your feet.’

John rolled on the ground breathing hard, too winded to be of any threat. Dales cuffed him and walked him inside.

Empty cans of air freshener and of beer littered the kitchen. It stank of a foul combination of rot, cheap daffodil-scented spray and Newky Brown ale. Dales stood John next to one of the armchairs in the lounge. He pulled the chair away from the wall, searched around it and under the cushions, before pushing John down onto it. Sarah looked around the kitchen. It was more of a state than the last time she was here. It appeared he’d stopped bothering to use a bin, choosing instead to pile everything up on the worktops. Food-stained plates, empty cans and numerous beer bottles covered the sideboards, window sills and floor. Something caught her eye in the hallway.

‘Murder? I didn’t murder Father Michael.’ John caught his breath and his words came out as spluttered whimper. ‘You can’t arrest me for murder. I’ve helped you all the way.’

‘Listen mate, you’ve been nicked. You’ll be taken to the nearest police station and more will be explained then.’ Dales checked his watch. The arrest team would be landing any minute. He popped his head into the corridor and saw Sarah on her knees looking through a dark blue duffel bag.

‘Found something?’ He kept one eye on John through the crack in the door. He sat perfectly still with his chin on his chest, whimpering to himself.

‘Looks like he was planning on going away,’ she said, holding up a wash kit and a handful of clothes.

‘He wouldn’t have gotten too far. Never mind searching it properly now, we’ll give the place a good going over once the team get here. Could you watch him for a couple of minutes? I’m going to call the boys and try and guide them in.’ Dales took out his mobile.

‘Sure.’ She put the items back. ‘Has he said anything?’

‘Denied the murder. Not said a word about the burglary. Give me two minutes.’ Dales scrolled through his contacts as he walked upstairs to make the call.

John raised his head as Sarah walked in. He was covered in sweat and his striped blue shirt clung to his thin body. He squirmed in the seat trying to find a comfortable position to sit in, one in which the cuffs didn’t burn into his wrists. She wanted to punch him in the face. Punch him in the face so hard it splattered on the back wall. He sat, cuffed and vulnerable, accused of murder, burglary and the serious assault of her mother.

‘Could you loosen these cuffs a little?’

‘No.’

‘Jesus. You don’t think I murdered him, too, do you? I helped you out. I kept my friend’s dead body in my own house to help you out. If you’d thought I’d killed him, why’d you ask me to do that?’ He was pissed off, but not aggressive, possibly because he was exhausted, cuffed and knew it was futile, or possibly because he was telling the truth.