An Unfamiliar Murder (14 page)

Her rucksack was like a
tardis
, swallowing her
belongings. When she was satisfied that she had enough clothes, she threw some
of her favorite books in and started looking around for her address book and
iPod. She checked the bedside drawer, the bookshelf, even looked under her bed.
They were nowhere to be found. Had the police taken them? She was mulling this
over when a noise came from outside.

Anna peered around the curtain edge. The group of journalists and
cameramen had doubled in size, covering the width of the street, their desire
for news fuelled by her presence. A car was trying to navigate through the
middle of the assemblage and they were rapidly clearing a passage.

Anna stood and watched them for a moment, concealed behind the fabric, as
the car finally disappeared down the street and they regained their original
position, like vultures descending on their prey. She wondered what possessed
people to become reporters. How could they go through school, university, in
pursuit of good grades with the idealistic attitude that they would be
performing a public duty, keeping people informed; only to be reduced to badgering
and harassing the good people of this world into supplying that special
picture, or that all important trashy, gossipy news story?

And were people really interested in such trash? Realization kicked her
in the stomach. Even at the mere suggestion that she
might
have been a knife wielding murderess, then sadly they were.
What a coup, what a good story this would make. If they got one odd line of a
quote to put in their miserable story, a picture of her peering guiltily around
the edge of the curtain, it would make their day worthwhile. The thought made
her jolt her body away, so suddenly that she lost her footing, slipped and fell
back onto the bed, catching an empty vase on her bedside table with her hand.

She heard footsteps through the small passage and managed to sit up, just
before the door opened. “Is everything alright?” PC
Cartland
asked, a look of concern upon his face.

“Fine thanks,” she replied, stumbling as she stood, looking up with ashen
cheeks. “Just an accident.”

“Are you hurt?”

“No, I’m fine, thank you.”

He looked at the broken glass. “Want some help to clear that up?”

“That would be great. There’s a dustpan and brush under the sink.” He
disappeared and she stared at the floor, cursing her clumsy inclination.

As he returned, and started to sweep the shards of glass out of the thin
pile carpet, she fastened her backpack and shot another look at the window. “They’re
getting restless,” she said.

“Let them,” he replied firmly. He stood up and looked across at her. “Is
there a back way out of this place?”

“Yeah, but you have to garden hop a bit. I’ve done it a couple of times
for a joke when I’ve been drunk. Never done it in daylight though.”

“Is it visible from the road?”

“No, you eventually reach a gate in the last garden which leads to the
pathway.” She looked back at the window again. “They won’t have worked it out.”

“Think you can do it with a rucksack on your back?”

“I’ll give it a try. Give me ten minutes.” She hauled the pack over her
shoulders and made for the door.

*
* *

Fifteen
minutes later, the men and women of the press rushed forward as PC
Cartland
re-emerged from the gap between the houses to join
his colleague who was keeping the crowd at bay. He held his hands up. “You all
might as well go home, there’s nothing to see here.”

Numerous necks craned, peering over his shoulder, perplexed when Anna
didn’t materialize behind him.

“What’s going on?” shouted a gruff voice from the side. “Hey, where’s
Anna Cottrell?” called out another. The policeman just shrugged, sidestepped
the bodies and walked down to his car, which was parked at the end of the
street. He could still hear the distant cries of disbelief and disappointment
as he started his engine and drove slowly away.

*
* *

In all of the
commotion nobody seemed to notice the tall, blond man with the receding hair
line, standing at the back of the crowd. His pale, blue eyes bore holes through
the crowd as he stood perfectly still, a rapt smile on his face. When he had
seen her entering the flat earlier, adrenalin flooded his veins - just as it
had the very first time he’d laid his eyes on her photograph. He took a deep
breath, held it and exhaled slowly. She was even more beautiful in the flesh.
Beauty that would be preserved in death like an alluring painting.

He wasn’t surprised she had crept out the back, through the gardens. He
patted his pocket gently. No matter. He had all the information he needed, for
the moment.

*
* *

The call came
in just before twelve. DS Pemberton’s voice bounced with excitement.

“Ma’am? A checkout assistant in the Weston One Stop Shop saw a stranger
with Jim
McCafferty
on the day of the murder. He knew
Jim, he came in weekly, but he’d never seen this man with him before.”

“Excellent.” Helen smiled and closed her eyes. “Did you get a good
description?”

“Not great, but they also have CCTV. We’re bringing the tape back to the
station now.”

“Well done,
Sergeant!”
Finally
. . . thought
Helen.

Chapter Twelve

Helen watched
the CCTV footage over again, trying to convince herself that she would see something
different. Like when you watch a great film for the second time and you notice
new backdrops, images, characters in the background. The truth of the matter
was that the shop was using the same tired old tapes and re-recording over
them, time and time again. The images were blurred, scratchy. She could barely
make out Jim
McCafferty
, let alone his acquaintance.
Frustrated, she switched it off, allowing her mind to wander.

DC Rosa Dark had researched
Rab’s
prison
record. He was right, he certainly kept himself clean, lived by the rules, a
model prisoner by all accounts. Perhaps the press conference later would reveal
something? Helen had principally arranged the press conference to give them a
story.
Rab
could sit on their front page for the next
couple of days, appealing for witnesses, reassuring the public that it was an
isolated incident. Get them off her back, for the moment, at least. But it also
served another purpose.

She would be sitting right next to
Rab
and his
every move, word, mannerism would be recorded, not only by the media, but also
by themselves. Afterwards, she would watch the recording back, focusing on his
body language, again looking for any signs that he was not being completely
truthful. If unsure, an expert on non verbal communication would be brought in
to view the tape. Convinced that the key to solving this murder lay close to
the family, she needed to utilize every opportunity to watch them all very
carefully. He may have an alibi but that didn’t mean that he wasn’t involved in
some way.

 
Helen also knew that some killers
felt compelled to return to the scene of the crime. Much has been written about
the reasons for this: sometimes through general curiosity, sometimes it makes
them feel more powerful and in control, sometimes they sensed a close bond with
the victim . . . For this reason, she planted undercover police officers,
alongside those guarding the crime scene, at the flat this morning to watch
Anna’s return. She knew Anna had an alibi and was practically convinced that
she had nothing to do with the murder. But, it happened in her flat . . . What
were the words Charles had used?
‘He
intended on creating quite a show.’
Was the murderer directing the kill at
her?
Maybe he wanted to get her attention?
And he may return to be close to her.

With SOCO finished with the crime scene, and the residence secure, the
press would be pulling back from

Helen sucked her lips and grabbed her pad. She wrote down all the family
names that were swimming around her head. Kathleen, Edward, Jim,
Rab
. Then in the middle she wrote Anna in capital letters.
She was the link between them all.
What
am I missing here?
An idea crept into her mind. Anna. She looked at her
watch and dialed her number.

 
“Anna?”

“Oh. Hi.” She sounded surprised, as if she were expecting someone else.

 
“I heard that you called the
incident room last night. Just wondered if everything was OK?”

A slight hesitation followed. “Umm . . . Yeah fine, thanks.”

Helen creased her forehead.
She
didn’t sound very sure.
“Did you get everything you needed from the flat
this morning?”

“Yes, thank you . . . Um Detective . . .” Another hesitation.

 
“Helen.”

“Sorry?”

“Call me Helen.”

“Oh. Right . . . Helen, did you know that I have a brother? I mean Jim
McCafferty
has a son?”

So that was it.
Helen narrowed
her eyes. “We have discovered that, yes,” she answered slowly. “When did you
find out?”

“My father told me yesterday.”

“
Ahhhh
.”

“Have you spoken to him?”

“Your brother? Yes, he came down to the station to make a statement.” A
picture of
Rab
McCafferty’s
face appeared in Helen’s mind. Chestnut hair tumbling over deep, dark eyes. “What
do you know about him?”

 
“Not much. Only what Dad has told
me . . . I heard he’s been in prison.”

She’s fishing.
Helen cleared
her throat, said nothing. She didn’t want to give anything away.

“Is he a suspect?”

“No. Anna, what is all this about?”

“He’s asked me to meet him.”

That explained her hesitation. “I see.”

“Do you think I should go?”

Helen was taken aback. A momentary silence followed as she gathered her
thoughts. “Well, that is up to you, Anna, but it might be prudent to take
somebody with you, or at least tell someone where you are going.”

“You don’t think he’s safe?”

“I didn’t say that. But, I’m sure you wouldn’t usually go to meet a
complete stranger on your own, without telling someone where you were going.”

 
“Thanks. I’ll bear that in mind.”
She sighed out loud, as if she was trying to decide what to do.

Helen decided to change tactic. “How are things going with your parents?”

“I’ve moved out.”

More changes. “Oh?”

“I just needed a few days to think. Because of the whole adoption thing.
I’m staying at Ross’.”

“Your boyfriend, Ross?”

“Yes. Sorry, I guess I should have told you. It all happened so quickly.”

“Right. I’ll make a note.” An awkward silence followed. Helen jotted
herself a note to update the system. She glanced at her pad.
All lines lead to Anna.
“Look, would
you like to meet up for a coffee later? There are a couple of things I would
like to go over with you.”

“I’m a bit busy this afternoon.”

“Meeting your brother?” She tucked a stray strand of hair behind her left
ear.

“Yes.” The line crackled.

“What about this evening then?”

“That should be okay.”

“Good. Do you know Hayes on the High Street?” Helen loved Hayes, a
privately owned coffee house she occasionally visited for a quiet coffee on her
own, when she had a day off in the week. It gave her time to think.

“Yes.”

“Shall we meet there? At, say seven o’clock?”

“Okay.”

“Fine, see you then. Anna?”

“Yes?”

“You have my card. You can call me whenever you like.”

“Thanks. Bye.”

Helen replaced the receiver and stared again at the notes on her pad.
What was she missing?

*
* *

Anna slipped
her phone back into her pocket. The Detective Chief Inspector wasn’t giving
much away. Was she deliberately refusing to divulge any information regarding
his prison record, or was she bound by some confidential code? She sighed. It
seemed that everyone was set on treating her like a child.

Perhaps he wasn’t a suspect but he was connected to the murder in some way?
Hadn’t she read somewhere that most people are killed by a member of their
family or a close friend?

The quiet in Ross’ house had become deafening. Since her return from the
flat, she’d unpacked her rucksack, leaving her clothes and belongings in neat
piles on the bedroom floor and fixed herself a cheese sandwich for lunch. Now
redundant, she shifted around on the sofa, restlessly flicking through the
endless house renovation programs, chat and game shows that swamped daytime TV.
Finally, she switched it off and glanced around the room, her eyes finally
resting on the dresser at the far end. The floor around it was littered with
bicycle parts, but it wasn’t these that caught her eye. Right on the edge of
the dresser, wire and plug sitting on top, was Ross’ laptop.

She leapt up and grabbed it, plugging in the leads beside the sofa and
turning it on. As soon as it fired up she clicked onto the internet and logged
onto Facebook. A search revealed several Robert
McCaffertys
,
most of whom had no location listed, apart from a few in the States. She looked
at the photographs. A heavily, bearded man with shaggy, brown hair stared back
at her, another with long, blond hair and blue eyes. Could any of these be her
brother? She sucked in a deep, frustrated breath as she remembered her father’s
words – “The last we heard he was detained at Her Majesty’s pleasure.” This was
hopeless. How long had he been out of prison? Would he even know what Facebook
was? The plain truth was that any one, or none, of these could be him.

She looked up

Anna crossed into the bathroom, washed her hands and raised her head to
look at herself in Ross’ circular shaving mirror. She let her hair loose from
its band, shaking it down her back. It still felt damp underneath and there
were kinks in it where the tie had been. She stared at her face in the mirror.
Should she put on some make up? Make a bit of an effort? What does one usually
do when they meet their brother for the first time? The first time in memory,
at least.

Eventually, she reached for the hairbrush and ran it through her hair
before tying it back, resolving to go for minimal make up – just a touch of
mascara and blusher that would cover the pale patches, the toll the last few
days had left on her usually clear complexion. For some reason she wanted to
make a good impression on Robert
McCafferty
. Even if
she decided she didn’t like him, it was important that he liked her, although
she had no idea why.

As she was leaving the house she grabbed her phone and turned it off.
Maybe it was irresponsible but, in spite of all of the good natured advice
bestowed upon her, she felt that for the first time in her life she had to face
this alone. Whatever happened this afternoon,
she
would deal with it.

It was one of those misty November afternoons, when it never really feels
like it’s going to get light. Droplets of dew clung to the bare branches of
trees. People made their way mostly by car, those brave enough to travel by
foot all wrapped up, their shoulders hunched in an effort to shut out the cold.
Nobody, except the most hardened cyclists took to their bikes in this weather,
but Anna loved the feeling of the fresh air flowing into her lungs. She didn’t
even mind the cold chill today, nipping her face. The sheer freedom of the
great outdoors made her feel vital, alive.

She glanced down at the bike as she slowly braked on the approach to the
junction marking the end of Ross’ road. It was a treat to ride such a high
spec. bike, the Brookes saddle felt so comfortable.

 
“Hey!” shouted a man’s voice suddenly,
causing her to look up and brake hard. She had almost plunged straight into a
pedestrian in the road, just a few meters in from the junction. Wolf-like eyes
glared at her from beneath a pulled-up hood. He seemed to appear from nowhere.

 
“Sorry! Are you OK?” she called in
a shaky voice, over her shoulder as he rushed past her. He put a hand up and
continued to march up the road. “I’m so sorry,” she called loudly after him, “I
didn’t see you.” But it was too late. He had disappeared in the distance.
He can’t be hurt
, she thought and
shrugged it off, placing her feet back on the peddles. But the encounter
niggled away at her, an unresolved puzzle, as she cycled across town. It seemed
such odd behavior to rush off so quickly like that. What was the hurry?

*
* *

Just before
three o’clock, Anna passed the sign for Weston. Known for its less salubrious
neighborhoods, Anna was surprised when she rode through the main shopping area
and spotted a designer boutique flanked by a launderette, and a French
delicatessen.

As a child she recalled forging a friendship with a little girl at ballet
class who lived in Weston. She remembered being invited to her house to play.
And every time her mother had flatly refused to go to ‘that side of town’. It
was as if something bad would happen to her if she crossed the boundaries. Anna
was forced to wait until her father was free to drive her at weekends. Despite
noticing the odd run down shop or boarded up house, her attention fuelled by
her mother’s dislike of the area, she had enjoyed these visits immensely. But
the place had certainly changed now, the opposite of its former self.

Finally, she reached the coffee house on