Cut Short (3 page)

  Desks for the three inspectors attached to the case had been set up in one corner, there being no accommodation in the small station for them to have their own offices. The room was packed and people were still arriving, milling about in the cramped space. As she made her way over to the inspectors' corner Geraldine recognised Ted Carter, a grey haired man with classic good looks who'd been her mentor during her year as acting DI when she'd been completing her training for the rank. He'd always treated her with gentle courtesy and she was pleased to see his familiar leathery face as she made her way over to the corner. Carter nodded and stood up to greet her, his long legs wedged awkwardly behind his desk.

  'Small world,' she grinned. His brown eyes wrinkled in an answering smile.

  Carter half turned and introduced the other DI on the case. 'This is Tom Merton, Geraldine Steel.' They shook hands. Merton's grip felt chilly after the young sergeant's energetic handshake. Soft wisps of ginger hair hovered like improbable candyfloss around his unpleasantly flushed pink face. Unlike Carter, Merton didn't return her smile as he enquired in a reedy drawl if she knew DCI Gordon. Geraldine shook her head. The other two inspectors on the case had both worked with the detective chief inspector before, and she hoped she wouldn't be at a disadvantage as the new girl on the team.

  'The name sounds familiar,' she said uncertainly. With a nod, Merton retired behind his desk. Geraldine had the impression Carter was about to say something else, when a hush fell over the room.

  'Speak to you later,' Carter whispered, 'DCI's here.' Geraldine made her way over to her own desk. She thought she caught Merton giving Carter a malevolent look as she turned to face the woman standing beside the Incident Board.

  A jacket hung loosely on Kathryn Gordon's spare frame. Pale skin stretched tightly across her face but hung slack beneath her chin, and her eyes burned with determination. She wore no make up and her greying hair was cut in a severe bob along her jaw line. Her pallor contrasted with two red blotches on her cheeks, giving her a clown-like look, but there was nothing cheerful about her expression. Geraldine glanced round the room. All eyes were fixed on Kathryn Gordon.

  'Now that I have everyone's attention,' the DCI said, 'let's begin. I'm your Senior Investigating Officer, DCI Kathryn Gordon.' She didn't speak again immediately. Instead, she turned to the Incident Board to look at a bruised face staring blankly into the room.

  'We're here to find out who murdered this young woman yesterday. So far, her killer's not giving anything away.' Kathryn Gordon tapped at the photo with a rapid flick of her wrist and turned back to look round at the expectant team. On the periphery of her vision Geraldine was aware of officers straightening up and pulling their shoulders back. 'Her name's Angela Waters,' Kathryn Gordon went on. Apart from the rasp of her voice, the room was completely still. Only the hum of computer monitors could be heard. 'Also known as Angie or Ange. Twenty-two years old, slim, blonde, address 14a Marsh Crescent. She was killed about twenty-four hours before her body was discovered in Lyceum Park this morning by a young child playing in the bushes. There's been a lot of disturbance. The child trampled on any evidence that might have been left on the ground, and her au pair went crashing in after her. In addition, the mud's been disturbed by animals: foxes, rats, squirrels, possibly a dog. Some kind of animal was there over night, tampering with what little evidence there might have been, before the child arrived on the scene to foul things up completely. She was probably killed in the bushes where the body was discovered but SOCOs haven't been able to identify individual footprints or movements with any certainty, due to all the mess at the scene.' She grimaced. 'The victim was strangled so we're not looking for a weapon but uniform are making a thorough search of the surrounding area. At the end of this briefing some of you will be joining them.'

  The DCI paused and glanced back at the picture on the Incident Board before continuing. 'The victim's wrists were held together over her coat sleeves so it's impossible to say what was used to secure them. She was very thin so her assailant might have held her wrists with one hand just long enough to force her to the ground. We won't know more until we get a full forensic report but it seems nothing's been left at the scene to help us identify the killer. Any threads have probably been brushed off in the leaves, mud and animal faeces. From the pattern of bruising on the neck we believe the killer was wearing leather gloves, but there's no other trace, no blood from the victim or the killer, no saliva, no dandruff, no blood or skin under her fingernails. A fingertip search of the immediate area has revealed nothing so far. Hopefully we'll have more to go on after the full post mortem report tomorrow but so far there's no sign of any defence injuries.'

  The DCI looked around. 'We need a swift result,' she said. 'We'll interview all the usual suspects, and anyone who may have known the victim: boyfriend, family, acquaintances, anyone who knew her. We need to chat up the neighbours, check out the local shops and pub. Angela lived with a man, John Drew. Drew works in …' she glanced down for corroboration, 'car sales. The Honda showroom on the Hinckley roundabout. We need to check out the work place. Let's do it this morning, while he's not there. He went home, after we told him about Angela's death. See what you can dig up about him from his colleagues while he's out of the way and don't be too gentle. We're also looking for anyone with a history of violent assault. I want all the local hostels checked, and a thorough grilling of anyone recently released or out on parole. Whatever there is, find it.' Glancing round, Geraldine caught DS Peterson's eye and he grinned at her.

  'Right, get your schedules from the duty manager. DC Mellor, can you get on to Rotherhithe where Angela Waters comes from? Ask them to speak to the mother, interview Angela's brother, and find out if there was a father around.' Sarah Mellor looked up from her notepad and nodded, her smile a welcome surprise among the tense faces.

  Geraldine, sent to interview the child and the au pair, was pleased to find she was working with DS Peterson.

As the team dispersed, Kathryn Gordon stood for a moment gazing at the victim's face. It wasn't the image of death that worried her, but the prospect of a lucky killer. So far wildlife and a small child had obliterated any evidence. She glanced round the quiet Incident Room before slipping into her office. Closing the door firmly, she opened a filing cabinet and drew out a bottle of whiskey.

5

Gerta

There were two people in the porch. The man was broad shouldered, towering over the woman who stood very still and upright, her dark hair pulled back neatly from her face. Judi knew who they were straight away but she checked their ID carefully all the same. As police officers, she was sure they'd appreciate her responsible caution.

  The woman's voice was low and soothing, well trained in calming nerves and situations. 'Mrs Judith Brightley? You spoke to Detective Constable Mellor this morning. I'm Detective Inspector Steel and this is Detective Sergeant Peterson. We've come to question your au pair, Gerta Hersch. I understand she can speak without an interpreter.'

  'Yes, that's right. Do come in, Inspector Steel and … er …'

  'Sergeant Peterson.'

  'Yes. This way. Can I offer you anything? Tea? Coffee?'

  She left them in the lounge and called from the bottom of the wide staircase. 'Gerta! Can you come down please?' For such a shrimp of a woman, she had a surprisingly loud voice, Geraldine thought. Glancing round, she smiled at the sergeant's grunt of appreciation as he sunk his bulk onto a large chintz sofa.

  Gerta's eyes were bloodshot and puffy from crying as she came into the room, sniffing noisily. She sat down and began to sob quietly, twisting a handkerchief in her small fingers.

  'Miss Hersch, did you know the dead woman? Was she a friend of yours?' Peterson asked brusquely. Geraldine noted with surprise that the sight of a woman in tears seemed to irritate him. A brief memory flickered into her mind, a snatch of conversation overheard at the station; Peterson was having problems with his girlfriend. Geraldine gave the au pair a sympathetic smile.

  'No.' The sobbing stopped and she blew her nose noisily.

  'Thank you. Now, perhaps, we can make a start. Please tell us exactly what happened this morning, Miss Hersch.' The DS had his notebook ready.

  'Ja. I am in the park with my little girl Sophie, James and Otto also.'

  'James and Otto …?'

  Judi entered softly with a tray of tea and luxury biscuits, a small child in tow. She handed the visitors their cups, offered the biscuits, and sat down with the third cup. No tea for Gerta. The small girl, aged about four, stared at Geraldine with huge blue eyes.

  'Jamie is my next-door neighbour's son,' Judi explained. 'Otto's his friend.' The child burst into a curious wail. 'Oh dear.' Judi set her cup down. 'What is it, my precious?' Geraldine almost choked on her tea at seeing how seriously Sophie's mother took the child's tantrum. Peterson coughed to cover a smile or a grimace, it was difficult to tell which. He put down his pencil and took a quick gulp of his tea. The china cup looked like part of a doll's tea set in his hand.

  'Jamie's
my
friend!' the child blubbered. Geraldine saw the child dart a calculating glance from behind her fingers at her mother, who was clearly taken in by her show of grief.

  'Yes, yes,' she crooned, 'Jamie's your friend. No one said he wasn't.'

  'Perhaps you could take Sophie out so that we can talk to Miss Hersch?' Was that a touch of sharpness in Peterson's voice, Geraldine wondered? He was shaping up well, affable but very quick on the uptake, and not afraid to speak his mind.

  'Horrid, horrid Gerta!' Sophie shrieked, directing a look of such alarming gall at the au pair that Geraldine was intrigued.

  'Why?' she asked, and noticed Peterson sit back, relieved. Doubtless she could rely on him to intimidate an intransigent villain, but a four-year-old girl was unfamiliar territory, and this four-year-old was plainly used to getting her own way. Geraldine sank to her knees and whispered confidentially to the child. 'Tell me about Gerta.' The tears vanished in a twinkle.

  'Jamie's
my
friend. We play nicely. Mummy said so.' The nature of Gerta's offence soon became clear: she'd allowed Otto to play with Jamie. Geraldine took a deep breath. She had no special training in interviewing children, but she could be patient. 'Gerta's horrid and silly. She made Jamie play with Otto and she made me go under the leaves with a stick.' She glanced up at her mother. 'I played with a stick. A big stick. Gerta made me. And Gerta made me touch the hand. It got bigger and bigger until it was huge and I cried and cried because …' she paused to check that she had their attention, '… it was the wicked witch!' She plopped her thumb into her mouth and reached out to her mother for reassurance.

  'So, Miss Hersch,' Geraldine resumed as she rose from her knees and returned to her seat, 'the children,' she avoided mentioning their names, 'were playing and …'

  'Sophie is playing.' The au pair threw a fearful glance at her employer. 'She is hiding in the bushes. She knows she must not go in the bushes. It is not permitted to go in the bushes. I am telling her this.' Mrs Brightley sniffed. Geraldine wondered if this domestic drama would end in a dismissal and a call to the agency for a replacement. Or perhaps the cowed Gerta would be more amenable now she'd slipped up and allowed Sophie to run off, unsupervised.

  'I am seeing at once she is gone,' Gerta continued. 'Quickly I look and I find her in the bushes.' She shuddered, back in the moment. 'And I am seeing something in the bushes. Under the leafs I am seeing the hand. It is the hand of the woman. I bring Sophie away from the leafs at once. I am cleaning her and I call at once Mrs Brightley and she is telling me go to the home. I bring Sophie to the home at once. And the little boys also. And Mrs Brightley is calling the policeman on the telephone.'

  Peterson was scribbling furiously. Gerta slumped in her chair gazing disconsolately at Sophie who scowled back at her. A single tear flickered down the au pair's cheek and Geraldine thought how young she looked – eighteen, nineteen – to be so far from home, hemmed in by a foreign tragedy. She'd probably been looking forward to coming to England. Poor kid.

  'Thank you very much, Miss Hersch. You've been most helpful.' With a polite nod at Mrs Brightley, she stood up.

  'Thank you for the tea,' Peterson added as he rose to follow.

  'We're looking at a quick, efficient murder, not a bungled assault,' Geraldine said, as they drove back to the station. 'What does that tell us?'

  Peterson glanced across at her. 'Someone wanted to make sure she was dead?'

  She paused. 'There's no sign of any struggle.'

  'Perhaps she knew her killer,' the DS replied, 'and wasn't expecting an attack. But we know he approached her from behind,' he added, 'so it could have been a complete stranger, taking her by surprise.'

  'It doesn't look like a frenzied attack,' Geraldine said, 'more a deliberate killing. Almost clinical. Was it planned? Did her killer just want her out of the way, for some reason?'

  'Which would mean he knew her.' Peterson pulled up at a red light and turned to look at her.

  'Does it point to that? That the killer hated her, enough to want to kill her?' She pondered. 'It was relatively quick. Hopefully she didn't even have time to realise what was happening. He came up behind her, grabbed her arms, pulled them behind her back, maybe tied them, just enough to immobilise them, although I don't know if he'd have had time for that, turned her round to face him – I wonder why? – and strangled her. He's a strong bastard. It was all over pretty quickly. But then, he had to be quick. He must've been afraid of being disturbed.'