An Unfamiliar Murder (12 page)

Chapter Eleven

“Right
everyone, you’ve all no doubt heard the news that we have traced the victim’s
son.” Helen’s eyes darted around the room as she spoke. “For those of you who
weren’t here, he came down to the station to talk to us yesterday evening.” She
went on to summarize the main points of the interview, listing them
individually on the whiteboard. Some sat and scribbled notes, others leant against
desks, or stood at the back, digesting the new information, all rapt in
silence.

As she finished a voice spoke up from the back of the room, “At least we
now know why house to house in the vicinity is like bleeding a stone,” DI
Townsend said, dejectedly. Echoes of agreement followed, the mutterings growing
louder.

Helen glared at Townsend. She couldn’t read him. His attitude seemed to
change direction like the wind. She addressed the room again. “Listen, if
Robert
McCafferty’s
statement is correct then we need
to set our net wider. Weston is now our focus of attention. This could be our
chance!” She waited until the cacophony of voices abated. All eyes were fixed
on her once again. “I want people down to both pubs to talk to the landlords
this morning. Let’s go back to the beginning. I want to know who Jim
McCafferty’s
friends are, what he does in his spare time,
where he shops – anything you can find.”

“Let’s dig into Robert’s background too,” she went on. “Speak to the
liaison officers at each of the prisons he attended. Who did he share a cell
with? What was his discipline record like? Did he forge any particular
friendships or make any enemies? Who visited him in prison? Look at the medical
records – any history of drugs? Although Robert himself has an alibi we cannot
rule out the possibility of his involvement, however small, at this stage. Did
somebody kill his father to get back at him for something he’d done to upset
them?”

Silence fell in the room. She glanced around. Twelve pairs of ardent eyes
looked back at her. “Right, that’s it. Any questions?” Heads shook. She pulled
back her sleeve and checked her watch. “Let’s get to it then. We’ll try to meet
back here at four o’clock.”

A phone rang in the incident room and she was aware of footsteps behind
her as she walked back into her office.

“Ma’am?”

“Yes, Pemberton?” She turned around to face him.

“Andrew Steiner from the Hampton Herald has just phoned for the second
time this morning and Chris Watts from The Evening Chronicle wants an urgent
interview.” He looked down at his list. “Oh, and Anna Cottrell is going back to
her flat this morning to collect some clothes. Plus, the Super’s just called.
Apparently, he’s already tried your mobile. He wants to speak to you urgently.
Says if we don’t get you to ring within the next five minutes he’s coming down.”

She felt jaded. This was like being at the receiving end of a barrage of
machine gun fire.

Helen thought for a moment. “Get me Jack Coulson in the press office on
the phone, will you?”

Confusion filled his face. “What about the Super?”

“Belt and braces Pemberton. Belt and braces.” He stared at her as if she
had just been admitted to a secure mental unit, and turned on his heels.

*
* *

The chair
that was usually occupied by Superintendent Jenkins’ secretary was empty
outside his office, so Helen approached the door and rapped it vigorously with
her fist.

“Come in!”

“Morning, sir.” He looked taken aback as she walked into his office, his
expression clearly indicating that he was expecting someone else. “I understand
you wanted a word.”

Jenkins’ office was on the top floor of the original building. A large
room, there was a round oak table at one end, surrounded neatly with eight
chairs, and a cabinet stacked with books at the other. His desk was placed in
the middle at an angle, to allow a clear view of the top of the building
opposite out of the large window. The whole room was immaculately tidy. The
papers on his desk were stacked precisely, even the books on the shelf appeared
to be arranged in height order. There were no photographs on his desk and none
on the walls, apart from an abstract painting which looked like odd
splodges
of yellow and orange paint. She pointed at the
empty chair opposite his desk, “May I?”

“This needs to be quick Helen,” he said urgently. “I’ve a meeting with
the Chief Con. in five minutes.”

Helen held her head high, well aware that meeting face to face would
prove somewhat disarming. “Sorry, sir.” She sat down decisively. “I won’t take
up much of your time. Did you get me the email I sent you?”

“Yes I did, but I need to speak to you about the press, Helen,” he said,
quickly. “I’ve had Andrew Steiner, Editor in Chief of the Hampton Herald, on
this morning. Somehow, he’s got hold of my direct line. He seems to think we
have apprehended a suspect and wants to know if we plan to charge them.” He
scratched his head irritably.

Helen narrowed her eyes. The press loved to employ tactics to force their
hand into releasing information. “Where’d he get that from?”

“It doesn’t matter where he got it from,” Jenkins retorted, the tone in
his voice rising. “I take it from your reaction that you are not in a position
to charge on Operation Marlon?”

Helen sighed inwardly at the choice of names allocated to police cases to
distinguish investigations. More red tape.
Marlon.
This wasn’t car crime, an organized drugs group. It was a murder enquiry. “No
we are not. But . . .”

“Helen, in a murder investigation the rule of thumb is to get the press
on your side from the beginning. If you don’t, they’ll go for the
sensationalized angle and whip the public up into a frenzy.”

“Yes, sir, I am well aware . . .”

He shook his head. “Being aware is not enough!” he snapped. He sat back
in his chair and sighed. The dark eyebrows swung back. When he spoke again his
voice was calm. “Perhaps we’ve given you too much for your first murder case?”

Helen could see where this was leading and rushed in quickly, “Certainly
not, sir. Now that we have traced Robert
McCafferty
,
the victim’s son, we have plenty of fresh leads to follow up.”

 
“Have you spoken to DCI Sawford at
all? Ran your ideas past him?”

“With respect, sir, as my superior, I’m running them by you. I have asked
our press office to arrange a press conference later today and Robert will be
present to appeal for witnesses. I’m confident that this new information will
give us the break that we need. We won’t be releasing the removal of the tattoo
at this stage. The last thing we want to do is to give the public the
impression that it was a trophy and there are the makings of a serial killer on
the loose. We need to convince them that this is an isolated incident. But I
didn’t want to arrange a press conference until we had something substantial to
give. Now that we have the son . . .” She went on to give him a laconic update
of the investigation thus far. When she finished he was still glaring at her,
but she could see that his reserve was wavering.

“Why wasn’t I informed about the press conference?”

“I was just about to let you know, sir. I’m sure you appreciate that the
sensitive elements of this case require us to tread carefully.”

“Sensitive?” His face contorted.

“I wanted to discuss it with you first, to make sure you approved of our
strategy. I don’t wish to reveal the adoption angle or Anna’s biological link
with the victim. I’d like to keep that information to ourselves for the moment.
I want to see where the new leads take us first. I feel sure that the killer is
close to the family in some way and keeping that under wraps at present may
draw him in.” He stared at her. “Plus Anna Cottrell is returning to her flat to
collect some things today. I’ve got constables on scene and some undercover
guys there watching . . .”

“That will only add fuel to their fire.”

“Not if we handle it correctly,” she responded succinctly. She stared at
him in the silence that followed. “Would you like to join us at the press
conference?” she said eventually. “It’s at one o’clock.”

He thought for a moment. “No, I have a meeting scheduled, but don’t
forget that we are here to serve the public in general, and we are judged by
what they print in the press – true or not. Are you sure you are up to this?”

 
“Absolutely, sir. I feel that we
are really starting to make some progress.”

He sat in silence and surveyed her. “I can give you until Friday to come
up with something. After that, I feel we need to bring in an experienced SIO to
work alongside you.”

He didn’t miss the flash of anger in her eyes. “This bears no reflection
on your abilities, Helen. Look upon it as a learning curve. Right.” He stood
up, indicating that their meeting was at an end. “I want to be appraised of
every aspect of the investigation as it progresses. Call me when anything
significant crops up. I don’t want to be put in a vulnerable position again.”

“Certainly, sir.”

Helen breathed a sigh of relief as she closed the door to the Super’s
office behind her. She wasn’t under any illusions why he wanted this case
solved swiftly. An Assistant Chief Constable position had just arisen in a
neighboring force and a quick result here would not only raise a positive
public profile but, more importantly, look favorable on his application. Jack
Coulson in the press office had been very informative on that point. Having a
wife that worked in the human resources department meant he was very well
versed on the political motivations of senior officers, as well as handling the
media.

She made her way down the stairs feeling mildly relieved. During his
short time in situ she had seen many officers leave his office licking their
wounds after incurring his ambitious wrath. She couldn’t help feeling she’d got
off lightly this time. But she also knew her victory would be short lived. If a
result wasn’t forthcoming by Friday, then she would become another pawn in his
game, pushed aside for her alleged ineptitude, his latest scapegoat. And she
couldn’t afford to let that happen.

When she reached the car park, her phone buzzed. “DCI
Lavery
.”

“Hi, darling.”

 
“Hi, Mum,” she breathed. It was
good to hear a friendly voice. “How are things?”

“Fine. And you?”

She tilted her head onto one side and leant against the wall. “We traced
the victim’s son. He’s given us loads more information to follow up on. Could
just be the breakthrough that we need.”

“Great. Err . . . You need to speak to Matthew.”

The sudden change in subject caused Helen to jerk forward slightly. Her
heart sunk deep into her chest. “Why what’s happened?”

“He came down last night after you’d gone, looking for you, muttering
something about a party on Saturday.”

“He’s grounded.”

 
“I told him that, too, but he said
he needed to talk to you. When I said you weren’t here he started muttering
under his breath and slamming doors.”

Helen furrowed her brow. It wasn’t like Matthew to be rude to his grandmother.
“What did he say?”

“I couldn’t make out most of it. But he’s definitely not a happy bunny.”

Helen looked up the sky. It was grey, angry. “He wants to become a pilot,”
she said.

“So I understand,” her mother replied.

Helen was taken aback. “You know?”

“He has mentioned it a few times.”

Helen leant back against the wall. “The RAF could be the making of him,”
her mother continued, gently.

The RAF. So he had spoken about
that too.
“Why didn’t you say anything?”

“It’s something that you two need to sort out together. I know how you
feel about the Military.”

Helen rubbed her forehead with her free hand. The line buzzed slightly.

“He told me this morning that he had spoken to you about it yesterday.”

“Oh?” This sounded like a conspiracy. How many other people knew? “Did he
also tell you I said I would support him?”

“Yes, but . . .” Jane
Lavery
hesitated.

“What?”

“He thinks you will support him to become a pilot. He said you didn’t
look very happy when he mentioned the Air Force.”

What does he expect?
Helen
didn’t want to have this conversation, not here, not now, not ever in fact. “I
need to go. Thanks for letting me know about Matthew. I’ll deal with him later.”

“OK. See you later.”

As the line went dead a wave of nausea hit Helen. She had worked full
time since Matthew had been five, studied for her sergeant, then inspector
exams to improve her prospects, salary. She wanted to set her boys an example,
as well as giving them every opportunity. Was she really doing the right thing?
Would he be behaving any different if she’d stayed home all those years? She
sighed to herself deeply and reached into her pocket. What she needed now more
than anything else was a cigarette.

*
* *

“That’s
strange,” Jessica Keen said, moving to examine the fax she was holding from a
distance. Jessica was one of three Detective Support Officers, civilian staff
who provided administration support to the investigation.

“What?” Townsend said.

She jumped, unaware that he had been standing directly behind her. He
gave her the creeps.

“Oh, sorry, sir. It’s just the routine checks on Kathleen Cottrell show
that she was known by another name until the age of seven years.”

“Really. That’s interesting. May I?” He held out his hand and scanned his
eyes across the sheet, before adding, “I’ll need to borrow this Jessica, to
make some more enquiries.”