An Unfamiliar Murder (11 page)

“What are you going to do now?”

“I don’t know. I need some time to think. It’s too much to digest in one
go.” He nodded and they continued to eat in silence.

“If I can do anything to help . . .”

“Sure, thanks.”

As they were finishing up a thought occurred to Anna. “Ross?”

“Yes?” he said, helping himself to another
poppadom
and dipping into a generous portion of mango chutney.

“Do you think I should tell the Detective Chief Inspector about my
brother? She gave me her card and asked me to call her if I heard anything.”

He thought about this for a moment as he crunched away. “It’s up to you.
They’re bound to have spoken to your parents.” He picked a stray crumb off his
sweater, put it into his mouth. “I guess they’ll work it out sooner or later. That’s
why they’re called detectives.” He smiled, but the joke was wasted on Anna who
started clearing away the empty boxes and bags. Her stomach felt fuller than it
had in days.

As Ross took out the rubbish, she washed the dishes. A waft of cold air
raced into the kitchen as he walked back through the door. She turned suddenly
as it made her jump, too suddenly, just catching the edge of a wine glass on
the drainer. The crash of the glass hitting the floor reverberated throughout
her whole body.

“Miss Cottrell, that’s a record,” Ross said jollily. “We should re-name
you Clumsy Cottrell.” He was giggling now. “That’s three glasses in one month!”
She could hear him chuckling in the background, but froze amongst the splinters
of glass that littered the floor as her eyes blurred, her shoulders began
shaking, letting the tears overflow and race down her cheeks.

Ross, realizing that she wasn’t laughing, rushed to her side, ignoring
the crunch of glass under his shoes, turned her around and pulled her into his
arms. He held her tight as the grief exploded into uncontrollable sobs.

Time stood still. Eventually, as her breathing slowly regulated itself,
he kissed her gently on the head, moved her over to the breakfast bar and sat
her down, whilst he cleared up the shards of broken glass. Anger having abated,
the release felt good, and when the tears finally dried up she sat in silence,
her body numb, watching the slow movement of the brush sweep across the floor.

“Are you OK?” Ross looked over at her tentatively.

“I think so,” she nodded, raising her eyes to look at him. “Why is this
all happening to me?”

“Bad luck I guess,” he shrugged. He finished and made his way over to
her, wrapping his arms around her from behind.

She turned to face him. “Sorry about all this.”

He snorted, caressed the back of her neck tenderly and locked his soft,
brown eyes straight onto hers. “Don’t be silly, it’s not your fault. Just wish
I could do something to help.”

“There’s nothing anyone can do at the moment,” she replied.

“Would it help to talk some more?”

She scrunched up her nose, trying to see through the mist that had
descended in her brain, “No, I don’t think so.”

“What would you like to do?” he asked.

She shook her head. “No idea. Something to take my mind off things.”

“How about bowling?”

“I’d rather do table tennis.”

 
“Come on, I’ll thrash you at table
tennis.” She followed him into the lounge as he set up the TV and games
console. Despite the fact that Ross nearly always won, it felt good to play
ball games for a change. The Wii was much kinder to the uncoordinated than a
real court.

When they exhausted the sports, they switched to some dancing game where
you had to copy the moves, which Anna couldn’t remember the name of. As the
third tune finished, Ross collapsed onto the sofa with laughter. “You really
are the most rubbish dancer I’ve ever been out with.”

She sat down next to him, panting slightly, and smiled. “Beat you at
cycling though, didn’t I?” He grinned back at her, stretching out his arm to
pull her towards him. Anna breathed in deeply. She loved the smell of Ross. His
hair was vanilla and his body a mixture of sporty shower gel and Armani Pour
Homme
after shave. An addictive scent which seeped into his
clothes.

He kissed her on the side of her neck, so gently, tenderly. “You smell
lovely,” he whispered into her ear.
Just
thinking the same
, she thought. Her stomach bounced as his nose brushed
across her cheek. He kissed her gently at first, slipping his tongue in softly.
His left hand hugged her neck, the right moving slowly down her back as he
gradually became hungrier. Anna trembled as she surrendered herself to him.
Ross was the perfect antidote to stress.

 
It was almost eight o’clock when
she untangled herself from his arms. She pulled the throw off the back of the sofa
and stroked his tattoo. For some reason Anna loved the neatness of the small
blue sign of infinity on his upper arm. She leant over, kissed him gently on
the cheek, before covering him over, then pulled his long, fleece sweater over
her head. It reached her thighs and she relished Ross’ scent on her, breathing
in deeply as she walked back into the kitchen. Ross was sleeping soundly, lost
in that satisfied, relaxed sleep that only sex can induce.

As she leant over and flicked the switch on the kettle, she saw the
creased business card she had left on the side, the card the Detective Chief
Inspector handed her earlier. A pang of conscience hit her and she dialed the
number impulsively.

It rang five times and she was just about to hang up when the ring tone
changed, as if it had been diverted, then a male voice answered. “DS Carter?”

“Oh. I’m sorry to bother you. My name is Anna Cottrell. I wondered if I
could have a word with DCI
Lavery
?”

“She’s interviewing at the moment. Can I help you with anything? I’m
working on the same investigation.”

“Well err . . .” Anna hesitated for a moment. She didn’t know DS Carter
and didn’t feel comfortable telling him about her brother, which suddenly
seemed very silly. “I just wanted to know if I could go back to the flat and
get some clothes,” she said weakly. “I’m running out of things to wear.”

“Right,” he said. “I don’t think that’ll be too much of a problem. Let me
make some enquiries and I’ll come back to you.”

“OK.”

“What number can I get you on?”

She gave him
her new mobile number and hung up, a barrage of thoughts entering her mind.
Anna blinked and tried to make some sense of the fuzz in her head. There were
two questions that kept screaming out at her. Who was the DCI interviewing
and
did they have a new suspect?

Chapter Ten

Helen walked
into the interview room and almost jumped when she laid eyes on Robert
McCafferty
for the first time. He was quite striking in
appearance, the kind of man that would send a group of women into a flutter
when he walked into a room, multiple hands checking hair, smoothing clothes,
hoping to impress him into noticing them. But it was the resemblance to Anna
which really made her start. Their facial features – the dark eyes, set against
olive skin and chestnut hair. They could have been twins.

 
She sat down opposite him, resting
her hands on the table between them. “Hello Robert. I’m DCI
Lavery
and this is DS Pemberton.” He nodded in acknowledgment, a dark lock of hair
flopping over his forehead.

“I’m aware that you’ve had quite a shock. “ She needed to tread
carefully. He had only just formally identified his father’s body a short time
beforehand. “First, I’d like to say that I’m very sorry for your loss.” She
watched as he pushed the corners of his mouth down and nodded again in solemn acknowledgement.
“Are you sure you are up to talking to us today?”

“Anything to help.” He pronounced his words strongly and definitively,
but they had a soft, musical edge. She imagined he didn’t spend many nights on
the town without charming some young lady into his clutches.

“Thank you. DS Pemberton here will take some notes while we go along.
Would you like a cup of tea, coffee perhaps?”

“I’ve just had a coffee, thanks.”

“Right. Why don’t you start by telling us about your father?”

“What do you want to know?”

“Anything you can tell us about your father will help us build up a
picture of his life and may, eventually, lead us to his killer. Why don’t we
start with your relationship? Were you close?”

Robert scratched his head and thought for a moment. “Not particularly.”

“What makes you say that?”

“My mother died when I was eight years old. I was fostered out after
that.”

“Did you still see your father?”

“I used to go back to see my dad sometimes, on visits, but they wouldn’t
let me live with him. He was an alcoholic.”

“That must have been hard.”

He shifted in his seat. “We coped.”

 
“Did you love him?”

“What kind of question is that?” He sat back, clearly affronted. “He was
my father. He didn’t abuse me or neglect me, he just drank himself into a stupor
to take away the pain of losing my mother, so he couldn’t take care of me. But
when he was dry he was great. Of course I loved him.” Helen watched his
reaction carefully, focusing on his body language, looking for signs of
animosity, latent resentment. So far there were none.

 
She pulled back. “How did you find
out that your father had been killed?” she asked, softly.

“I’m sure if you don’t already know it, you’ll soon discover that I was
released from prison on Friday . . .”

“What were you convicted for?”

“Armed robbery. It’ll all be on my file.” He gave her a hard stare before
continuing, “As I said, I was released on Friday. I’m staying with friends at
the moment. I tried to call Dad a couple of times on Saturday and then Sunday,
but couldn’t reach him so I went down to his house today.” She nodded,
encouraging him to go on. “The house was covered in blue and white police tape
so I spoke to his neighbor
who told
me about the murder. I couldn’t believe it. I only saw him a month ago.”

“Which neighbor did you speak to?”

He paused to watch the other detective scribbling his notes for a moment.

 
“It’s OK,” Helen said
reassuringly. “We’ll draw it up into a statement and you’ll be able to read it
all through before you sign it.”

He shrugged his right shoulder. “If it helps.”

“So, which neighbor did you speak to?”

“Number 27.” He hesitated, thinking hard. “I think her name is Mrs. Hart.”

 
“What did she say to you?”

“Sorry?”

“How did she tell you about your father?”

“She was surprised that I didn’t already know. Grabbed the paper and
showed me the news report. I haven’t much bothered with the papers this
weekend, what with just coming out of prison and all that.”

“It must have been quite a shock.”

“One hell of a shock.”

“And what time was this?”

“I suppose I got there around ten thirty. There’s no point in going over
there any earlier. He doesn’t get up early in the mornings.” He fidgeted
uncomfortably. “Didn’t.”

“And what did you do then?”

“To tell you the truth I didn’t know what to do. I read the news report and
then I saw the address and couldn’t believe it. I had to go down there to
Little Hampstead to check for myself.”

“Why?”

“What do you mean, why?”

“Why did the address shock you so much?”

He looked at her for a while, appearing to be considering his options
before he continued. “It’s a long story.”

“No problem. We’re not in any hurry.”

“I don’t think it will be relevant.”

“Why don’t you let us be the judge of that? Anything to do with your
father’s life is of interest at the moment.” A short silence followed.

“OK,” he continued, but his reluctance was obvious. “Well. I have a
sister. Her name is Anna. We were separated when our mother died of cancer and
our dad hit the bottle. She was three and I was eight at the time. I haven’t
seen her since. 22a

Helen tilted her head to one side. “How did you know?”

“What?”

“If you haven’t seen her since she was three, how did you know that this
was her address?”

He sighed. “I have tried many times over the years to make contact with
her, you know, through social services. I wrote letters and took them to my
father to send off. When I was old enough I wrote on my own. But Anna was
adopted and her new parents refused all contact. She is now an adult so I found
her myself. I had planned to arrange to meet up with her - all of us meet up -
when I came out of prison.”

“Did your father know her address?”

“Yes, I gave it to him when I saw him last month. But we agreed that I
would make the contact first.” He snorted. “I doubt that she will be interested
now.”

“What makes you say that?”

“Well, would you?”

Helen ignored the question. “Were you and Anna close?”

“When we were younger? Very. When Mum died and Dad crashed out, I
practically looked after her on my own. Until they took her away from me.”

“That must have made you very angry.” He shrugged in response. “What
happened to you?” Helen said.

“As I said, I was fostered out. I had a couple of false starts, I guess I
was a bit of a handful at first, but stayed with the same family from thirteen,
until I got my own place when I was seventeen.”

“How did it make you feel, being separated like that?”

“What do you mean?”

“Did you feel anger or resentment towards your father?”

 
“What?” He screwed his face up
indignantly. “I didn’t kill him if that’s what you’re asking me.” He rolled his
eyes.

“Nice theory,” he continued, “but wrong. I’ve never hated my father. I
hate what he puts through his body. I hate the way it makes him behave. I don’t
want to be like him, I couldn’t be more determined to build a different life
for myself, but I don’t hate him. He’s still my dad. And it wasn’t him that
took Anna away from me. It was social services. And I hate
them
for it.” His nostrils widened as he emphasized the word
them
.

 
“We have to follow every line of
enquiry.” Helen dropped her tone a level to mollify him. “I’m sure you
appreciate that. No one is suggesting that you killed your father, but we do
need to eliminate you from our enquiries. Where were you between two and six
o’clock last Friday afternoon?”

“I didn’t get out of
Ashwell
until late
afternoon. There was some kind of . . .” he hesitated, searching for the right
word, “disorder – that’s what they call it, happens when a few prisoners kick
off. We were on lock down for most of the day. You can check with them
yourselves – the
prison’ll
confirm it. My friends
that I’m staying with collected me around five. It took us well over an hour to
get back here, so I wasn’t back before six.”

“Thank you. Did you see your father much while you were in prison?”

“No, I was placed too far away. Started off in Nottingham, then they
moved me to Leicester. For the last three
months I’ve been at
Ashwell
in Rutland, an open prison, so I could come home
a few weekends. I was supposed to go there sooner, but they didn’t have any
space.”

“You’ve moved around a bit then?”

“Yeah, they do that to you. Don’t like you to get too settled, make too
many criminal associations. Might defer your rehabilitation, if you get my
drift? No problem for me, I just wanted to do my time and get out. I kept my
head down and did as I was told.”

 
“Did you write to each other,
phone maybe?”

“I rang him on his birthday a couple of times, sent him the odd card.” He
pressed his lips together. “He wasn’t really one for letters.”

“But you visited him a month ago?”

“Yeah. I was on weekend leave.”

“How did he seem?”

“Alright. Not exactly dry but at least he was off the wacky
backy
.”

“He used drugs?”

“Only weed.” He allowed himself a wry grin. “Couldn’t be doing with
anything you inject. Far too squeamish. But he seemed to have laid off it
recently. Probably ran out of cash.”

“Did he seem edgy? Worried about anything?”

“No more edgy than usual. He’s always on the edge when he needs another
drink.”

“How long did you stay?”

“About half an hour.”

“What did you talk about?”

“Anna mostly. He was really looking forward to the prospect of meeting
her.” He grew sad.

“How well do you know his friends?”

He shook his head. “Not too well. There’s a couple he’s known since we
were kids that I know, but since he was moved ten years ago, I think he lost
contact with quite a few.”

“What about his supplier?”

Robert raised his hands. “No idea. I don’t touch the stuff. I’ve watched
what has gone through him over the years. It’s enough to put anyone off.”

“Are you aware of anyone who he may have upset, somebody who may have a
grudge against him perhaps, or may wish to hurt him?”

He shook his head. “No idea.”

The room became quiet. Robert was staring at the floor, churning over his
thoughts. Helen sat very still and cast her eyes over Jim
McCafferty’s
only son. She could see nothing in his demeanor, his manner, his words, that
indicated guilt on his part. But she wasn’t going to be fooled by the charming
facade. This man was part of a ruthless gang of armed robbers who, eight years
ago, charged into a bookmakers in the early evening, wearing ski masks. A male
cashier was shot in the tussle that followed. Luckily, the bullet clipped his
arm and he lived, otherwise
Rab
would still be
sitting in a cell right now.

“What about you, Robert?” she asked finally.

“What do you mean?”

“Is there anyone who may have had a grudge against you, anyone you have
upset, in prison maybe?”

He narrowed his eyes, sat back in his chair, “You think this is to do
with me?”

“We have to investigate every area.”

“No, I told you, I kept my head down and did my time.”

She looked him in the eye. “Did you grass anyone up at the trial?”

“Absolutely not.” He jerked his head back and gave her an antagonistic
stare. “Go through everything. You won’t find anything on me.”

“What about the guys you did the job with?”

“We’re still on good terms. It was a job that went wrong.” He shrugged. “I
was only given two years less than them because I wasn’t armed. Just the
driver. The judge made that perfectly clear at the trial.”

“Thank you. That will be all for now. You’ve been most helpful. Can you
please give your present address and contact details to the detective, along
with a list of all associates and friends of your father, and yourself.”

“Why do you need my friends’ details?”

“We need to follow up all lines of enquiry. We can’t rule anything out at
this stage.”

He nodded and sighed, chewing the inside of his lip.

Helen rose to leave the room. Just before she reached the door, she
turned around. “Your dad, does he drink locally?”

 
“No, he usually walks up to The
Black Bull during the week, The Wagon and Horses on a weekend.”

Helen raised her eyebrows. “That’s quite a walk.”

“You’re not wrong. Both must be between two and three miles away from
home, but that was the way he liked it. He was bred a Weston boy – did his food
shopping there, too – what bit he bought. Might be worth a try for you guys?
He’s pretty well known around there.”

“Thank you. We’ll do that. Just one more thing?”

“Yes?”

 
“The tattoo on the top of your
father’s arm. I couldn’t make out what it said inside the heart?” The mortuary
had assured her that this area of the body would be well covered when he
formerly identified it.

Rab
didn’t flinch. “Just our names – Robert and Anna.” He
shrugged. “I’m not surprised you couldn’t read it. It wasn’t a very
professional job when it was done and that was well over twenty years ago.”