Binary Witness (The Amy Lane Mysteries) (13 page)

Chapter Twenty-Nine: Blood and Water

When Jason held up the handkerchief stained with Dan Anderson’s blood, Bryn could’ve kissed him.

“Looks like I was wrong about you, son,” he said and watched the boy grin back, looking to Amy for approval. But she was in one of her “genius recluse” moods today and barely grunted from the computer, flicking through what looked like a catalogue of high-tech machinery.

Jason looked hurt by her disinterest and Bryn was surprised at how much he wanted to reassure the lad, tell him it was nothing personal. Amy wasn’t interested in anything unless it had committed a crime or had a keyboard.

“The machine is the key,” she was saying, and Bryn thought that summed up her attitude to life pretty well. “If we find the source of the alarm, we find the woman in the hospital.”

“But if we nail Dan for this, we don’t need her.” Jason had folded his arms across his chest and was staring intently over her shoulder at whatever was absorbing her attention on her monitor.

“I want to know who she is. Voice analysis confirms that she isn’t any of the victims so far.”

Bryn winced. He hated the way she had no regard for superstition, tempting Fate like that. She was too damn logical sometimes.

“I’m running voice analysis on their known friends and associates but I’m not hopeful of a match.”

Amy would make a good detective, Bryn thought—she always wanted answers, needed everything to fit in. Of course, she could barely talk to people and she didn’t leave the house, so that part of detecting went a bit awry. But between her and her errand boy, they made a pretty good copper.

“How are you doing that?” Jason asked, interested despite himself. “You can’t go around recording all those voices, can you?”

Amy shot him a bemused look, as if that method hadn’t even occurred to her. “Interrogating voicemail. The default recording is an irritating obstacle, but I have a telesales interface I use as a contingency.”

Jason frowned. “So, let me get this straight: you pretend to be a telemarketer to get samples of people’s voices to analyse?”

Amy cracked her knuckles. “It’s entirely automated but, essentially, yes.”

The boy was having difficulty grasping this idea, Bryn noted with amusement.

“But what if they actually want to buy what you’re selling? What do you do then?”

Amy’s lips twitched. “I’ve never had that problem.”

Bryn’s phone buzzed in his pocket and he fished it out, grimacing. Rob Pritchard. “Rob, what can I do you for?”

“I have some preliminary information from Miss Fox’s autopsy.”

Bryn set the phone on the edge of Amy’s desk and put it on loudspeaker. “Go on, Rob.”

“C.O.D. was a massive subarachnoid haemorrhage, as predicted. He must’ve hit her pretty hard.”

Owain was making notes on his phone. Bryn, not trusting that thing as far as he could throw it, flipped open his notebook.

“But she put up a hell of a fight: bruising over both arms and knuckles, and she definitely scratched him—blood and epithelials under the nails.”

“We have a reference for that,” Bryn said, nodding to Jason, who grinned like it was his birthday. “Owain will bring it over today.”

“There’s also a muddy footprint in the bathroom,” Rob said, continuing as if he hadn’t heard. “Preliminary analysis suggests sediment and calcium carbonate, so I’d place it in the Valleys by a lake or reservoir. Potential dump site, maybe?”

“I knew it had to be a lake,” Jason muttered, and Bryn grinned. Maybe he was more a three-quarter detective.

“Am I on loudspeaker? Where are you, Hesketh? Are you in that girl’s house again?” Rob sounded scandalised at the idea that his findings were being broadcast for an audience. Owain rolled his eyes.

“You’re just upset they like me more than you,” Amy said, typing Rob’s findings into a text file for future reference. Jason peered over her shoulder to read her notes, hand resting on her upper arm. Bryn had never casually touched Amy, thought she’d be the type to flinch and back away, but she seemed easy with Jason in a way he’d never seen before.

“If you find the lake,” Rob said sulkily, “I can match it with eighty-five percent accuracy. We need a soil reference database.”

“We need people to stop dumping things in lakes.” Why did criminals decide the Valleys were an ideal spot for their dodgy dealings? The underworld used them as a dumping ground for everything from stolen TVs to drug cookers. It was worse than the London gangs and the Thames. “Anything else, Rob?”

“I’ll keep you informed. You, Hesketh—not her.” The line clicked off. Amy didn’t look like she’d lose any sleep over Rob’s refusal to play nice, and Bryn was glad he could see them on opposite sides of town. Imagining them working in the same building was the stuff of nightmares.

“If I were going to dump a body,” Amy mused, a map of South Wales open on her monitor, “I would drive up this road here—” she gestured with the end of her pencil, “—until I got to this big lake.” She made a lazy circle around the lake in question: Llwyn-on Reservoir. Bryn frowned.

“Bit obvious, isn’t it? Someone would see you. Maybe he’s into rambling and knows one of the smaller lakes, out of the way like.” Owain was obviously pleased with this theory. Over his shoulder, Bryn could see some kind of OS map on his phone screen.

“He’s a fan of a punk pop band and active on their fan forum. How much of an outdoorsman can he be?” Amy shook her head. “He’s a nerd. Anyone who can hide their IP address from me is extremely computer literate, bordering on otaku. You don’t get that kinda knowledge prancing around in fields.”

“It’s not far out of town either.” Jason peered at the map. “An hour, tops. At night, probably more like half an hour. The lanes are easier with your lights on.”

“We’ll do a grid search,” Owain said, with the air of an intellectual amongst morons. “A systematic approach will ensure accurate results.”

Amy turned her head towards Jason, who smiled. What were those two up to now? At least in the middle of the Valleys, Jason was unlikely to resort to impersonating a police officer. Bryn might have turned a blind eye once but if the boy made it a habit, he’d have to come down on him hard. Just because he liked the boy didn’t mean he’d forgotten his dubious past.

Jason’s phone started blaring something that sounded like Queen; he looked at the number, ducked his head and hung up. Suspicious that. Jason hurriedly stuffed the phone back in his pocket and looked back at the map, as if it consumed his interest entirely, steadfastly ignoring the look Amy was sending him. The same suspicious look Bryn was sure had crossed his face moments before.

“So, you’ve got the lakes, Owain, and I’ll get this handkerchief over to forensics.” Bryn fixed Jason in his sights. “Do you need something to keep you out of trouble?” he said lightly, amused at Jason’s “Who, me?” expression and Amy’s snort of laughter.

A blush crept over Jason’s face. The boy had the pale Celtic skin that showed even the slightest hint of mortification—or rage.

“I’m sure Amy will keep me busy,” he said cryptically, and the look of gratitude Amy gave him was beautiful, until she hastily looked away.

Bryn nodded, accepting that while Amy worked for him, Jason decidedly worked for Amy, and the pair of them would do whatever they felt needed doing without wasting time telling him about it. As long as he didn’t have to rescue Jason from the cells, he was fine with that.

“I’ll let you get on with it then,” he said and, taking the golden bloodied handkerchief with him, left his unorthodox detective to work.

* * *

What had started as a good idea was rapidly turning into a nightmare.

Jason needed to keep in with Teresa. She was easy on the eye, could hold a decent conversation, and she kissed well even while drunk. These were all fine attributes in a woman, and Teresa was a woman worth holding on to.

He also needed to go to this reservoir to collect evidence and soil samples for Amy, so that she could rub their findings in the face of Owain’s “systematic approach.” Therefore, genius Carr thought, why not combine the two and take Teresa down to the water?

It had started well. He’d packed some food—crisps and chocolate and stuff—and another half-decent bottle of wine, with glasses and everything. He’d picked Teresa up at her new place after he left Amy’s, when the light was dimming but it was still reasonable to be outside and not freeze to death.

Then, they’d got to the reservoir and, even by dusk, it was pretty stunning. The hills rose up around it and the clear waters spread before them with barely a ripple. The trees across the water were showing their autumn colours, except for the pines standing tall and silent, like sentinels. The grass was starting to crisp and crackle with an evening frost, but Jason spread an old tartan blanket over it only a few feet from the water’s edge. Apart from the road behind them, there were no signs of civilisation—they were alone with only the wine and each other for company.

It was dead romantic and Jason was pretty chuffed with his choice of date. The wine went down well and Teresa even picked appreciatively at the box of chocolates.

Which was when he surreptitiously tried to collect a sample of mud.

“What are you doing?” She laughed as she caught him digging a spoon into the half-frozen mud between the glittering blades of grass.

“Just messing around.” He carefully filled a plastic cup to the brim with sediment, moving a little closer to the reservoir to find some softer soil.

“You’re like a child at the beach,” she said, shaking her head so that her curls bounced around her chin. She was gorgeous and he liked her, and really, couldn’t all this soil and murder business wait a bit? He leaned forward and captured her lips with his, kissing across the picnic blanket.

Jason raised his other hand to her cheek—and knocked over the bottle of wine. Teresa giggled and tried to rescue it, as wine flowed in a stream to join the mighty lake and the bottle rolled away down the bank. She chased it, her skirt flapping around her knees, and he leaned back and enjoyed the view.

Teresa screamed.

Instantly, he was on his feet, running after her down the bank. She was standing at the water’s edge, the wine bottle floating in the water. And reaching up as if to grasp it was a woman’s hand.

Jason pulled Teresa back from the edge and stared. Beneath the surface of the water, the bloated face of Melody Frank stared up at the sky, the dying sun reflected in her eyes. Jason tried to pull Teresa close to comfort her, but she staggered away from him, terror on her face.

“Y-you brought me here,” she said, backing away as he tried to follow her. “You found me on our street. All you wanted to t-talk about was Mel.”

Jason held up his hands. “It’s not like that, Teresa.”

But she was distraught, frightened, and she ran back to his car, tugging on the door handles, desperately battering the window.

He walked up to her, trying to stay calm and look nonthreatening, but she tore off her shoe and held it like a weapon. “Stay back!”

Jason did as she asked, watching as she fished out her phone and held it up, looking for reception while keeping her shoe raised in self-defence. “Teresa, I don’t want to hurt you.”

“You brought me to the place where y-you dumped her!” Tears were streaming down her face now, and Jason’s heart broke for her.

“Teresa, let me explain—”

“Explain what? How you killed her? How you lured me here? I’m such an idiot! John told me it was dodgy, but I wouldn’t listen.” She was rambling to herself now, shoulders shaking with her sobs.

Jason racked his brains on how he could possibly explain to her that he wasn’t a murderer. He decided the only way was to come clean. “Teresa, I didn’t kill Melody. And I’m not going to hurt you. But...it’s not coincidence that we’re here.”

She froze, as if she was expecting him to continue denying it and this new revelation had thrown everything out of whack again.

Jason took a step forward. “I haven’t been entirely honest with you. I didn’t just happen by your house the other day. I was coming to find you—to ask you questions about Melody.”

Teresa cautiously lowered the shoe. “Are you the police?”

Jason grimaced. “No.” The shoe started to move. “But I’m working with them to catch Melody’s killer. And...I thought you’d have information to help us.”

Teresa’s face shifted from fear to anger in the blink of an eye. “You used me?”

Jason held his hands out, coming forward to placate her. “Teresa, it wasn’t like that. I like you! It started out that way, but that wasn’t why we...y’know...”

But she shook her head, face hard and eyes cold. “Keep the fuck away from me.” She stalked off to stand by the road, her back to him, defiant.

Jason sighed and plucked his phone from his pocket. Time to call in the cavalry.

Chapter Thirty: Prime Suspect

Within half an hour, the reservoir was cordoned off and swarming with police and SOCOs. Teresa, wrapped in a blanket, leaned on the bonnet of a police car, giving her statement to a uniform copper and glaring daggers at Jason. For his part, Jason just stood by his car, trying to explain to Bryn exactly how he’d managed to take a girl on a date to a body dump.

“I was trying to find dirt, not a dead body!” he said, scowling and stuffing his freezing hands in his pockets. The sun had truly set now, the moon casting an eerie light over the water as a dredge looked for Kate Thomas’s body. Melody was already in the back of a van, Rob prodding at her prior to transfer. He’d already had a go at Jason for contaminating his crime scene with a wine bottle.

“I imagine your girlfriend was less than impressed,” Bryn said, glower fixed firmly in place. “And am I right in thinking the young lady in question is—”

“Melody’s housemate, Teresa.”

Owain just shook his head and walked off. Jason had no idea what he had to be smug about when his stupid system was a complete failure, but he could gloat about that later. Right now, he had to explain to the detective how he’d ended up dating the friend of their murder victim.

“Have you completely lost your mind? I guess you didn’t tell her what you were doing. How else would you have got in there?”

“I thought I had it under control,” he said, which was clearly bloody naïve. “I like her.”

“This isn’t the bloody playground! She’s a person of interest, a witness. You’re on Amy’s team, which means you’re on my team. And if you want to continue to play the game, you can’t go around sleeping with the witnesses!”

Jason winced. “Is there any chance you won’t tell Amy?”

Bryn gave him a look of pity. “Is there any chance she doesn’t already know?”

* * *

Amy knew. Oh boy, did Amy ever know.

“I see you found the bodies,” she said. “Too bad your girlfriend was there. Teresa Danvers, former housemate of Melody Frank. Now lives in Roath. In a house you left on the same morning you were late coming to me. Strange coincidence.”

Jason wisely kept his mouth shut and let the passive-aggressive tirade continue.

“I hear she thought you were the murderer. I suppose it was because you lied to her and then took her to a place with dead bodies in the water. I think that’s a turn-off.”

Continuing his dedicated scrubbing of the kitchen floor, Jason resisted the urge to point out, for the hundredth time, that he did not take her to a place with dead bodies. The fact that dead bodies happened to be there was neither here nor there—it was his intention that was important. And his intention was that no one got hurt. Unfortunately, the road to hell was paved with the good intentions of men like Jason Carr, who meant well but were clearly inept and should just go back to stealing cars. He’d been good at stealing cars. Until he got caught and sent to prison. Maybe he was just useless and should hide in his mother’s basement until someone invented a cure for that.

Things were also going south with Derek. Everyone and their dog knew about how Jason Carr had found the bodies in the lake, how he was a hardened criminal with priors for assault for which he’d served time. Of course, Derek knew he had a criminal record, but he was having difficulty squaring it with his clients when today’s headlines read Ex-Con Lures Melody Friend to Watery Grave with Jason’s picture on the front page.

His mother hadn’t been best pleased about it either.

“She’s not even that pretty,” Amy muttered and Jason raised his eyes heavenward. She was never letting this go. He was doomed to hear about how he’d slept with Teresa Danvers from here to eternity. That was if he still had a job by the end of the day.

“It was a stupid mistake,” he said, suddenly snapping and taking up his own defence. “I shouldn’t have done it and I’m sorry. What more do you want from me?”

Amy huffed and sank further into her chair. But she did finally click off Teresa’s Facebook page and return to her new crime scene photographs of the lake, taken by a reluctant Owain. “Cup of tea would be nice.”

Jason smiled to himself and went to fetch the tea. At least some things never changed.

* * *

“It’s not a bloody match!”

Amy looked up from the keyboard as Bryn marched into the living room, waving a piece of paper.

Jason stirred on the sofa, where he’d caught a few hours’ rest following his night by the lake, the seam of the cushion imprinted on his right cheek. “Doesn’t match what?” he said, voice woolly with sleep.

“Dan Anderson’s DNA is not a fucking match.”

Amy stared at her monitor. Jason had been so sure. She had been sure.

Jason sat up, completely awake now. “But...it has to match. He’s the one who killed them!” He scrubbed his hand over his face and Amy read the bitter disappointment in his eyes. They were back to having no suspects, and all the media’s attention was now on that terrible man who assaulted the police officer and just happened to find the bodies.

Bryn looked defeated, weary. “Not the blood under her nails or the rape kit. I liked him for this, son, but he’s not our man.”

Jason slumped back on the sofa, bleary-eyed and miserable. Amy struggled to think of something to say that would make him smile, but she didn’t know how. She didn’t know how to handle people. She didn’t know how to make them happy.

“What do we do now?” Jason said finally.

Bryn looked uncomfortable, shifting from foot to foot, and she suspected that what he was going to say wouldn’t make Jason happy either. “I think you should lie low for a while. Just until this thing blows over. You can’t help while everyone’s pointing fingers.”

Amy expected Jason to shout, to rant and rave and insist that he could help them. But instead he bowed his head, crumpling forward like wet paper. “Alright then,” he said. “I won’t be no bother to you, Detective.”

“I still need you.” She wasn’t losing her assistant just because Bryn had decided it was a good idea. But Bryn was still looking uneasy and Amy had a feeling he was going to try and disrupt her life all the same.

“Maybe it’s best if Jason doesn’t come here for a while,” Bryn said and Amy clenched her jaw, preparing for a fight. But Bryn held up a hand to forestall her. “If you’re working with us, Amy, and everyone with a newspaper is liking Jason for this, what are they going to think when they find out he’s here every day? They’re gonna cry foul and I’ll have to pull you out of this investigation too.” His eyes were pleading with her. “I need you to catch this guy.”

So, it came down to a choice, then. She could see Jason, her cleaner, her assistant, or she could help the police hunt down a serial killer. She hesitated, inexplicably torn. A few weeks ago, the choice would’ve been easy, immediate, but now it seemed the hardest thing she’d ever done.

In the end, Jason saved her the agony. He stood up from the sofa and shouldered his bag. Without looking at either of them, he headed for the door. “See you around, Amy.”

The silence was unforgiving. Amy struggled to remember how to breathe, felt the room going dark. A warm hand squeezed her shoulder and she contained the panic, the rising feeling that she was lost and couldn’t handle anything anymore.

“You did the right thing,” she heard Bryn say distantly, and her head nodded forward. The right thing. Of course.

Then why did she feel so terrible?

* * *

They’d found the lake.

He’d been at work when he’d heard and he swallowed down his scream, calmly walked to the bathroom and hid in the cubicle until the shaking stopped.

It was bad enough that he’d left the last one. He’d been so stupid, giving in like that, but she was so beautiful. He was meant to be having an affair, so why not have one? But by the time he’d fucked that tight warm hole, losing himself in the scent of her hair and the faint tinge of iron from her blood on the sheets, he’d been discovered. Careless. He’d almost lost everything. He couldn’t have his freebird if he was behind bars.

He’d have to lie low for a while. Wait until things calmed down. Then, he’d make his move. No more wasting time with this jealousy game. No more making time with other girls. It was time he took the prize. He’d be with his freebird forever.