Death's Privilege (20 page)

‘So, what does Joel say?’

‘Candy Club? Didn’t see you as the type, Gladstone.’ Dales leant back on the sideboard, smiling a smug little smile. ‘Don’t tell me, it started out as one drink?’

‘Yes. Exactly that. Why did Joel tell you?’

‘He’s a little under the weather. Coming in a little late. Anything else I should know about?’

‘Are you wondering if they have a ladies night? Mrs Dales been squeezing those purse strings again?’ Ignoring the idea Joel may have mentioned their kiss was the best way to go. Ignore it, and it would all go away.

‘She snapped them a long time ago. How’d the exam go?’ He poured a cup of camomile tea.

‘I see that good habit’s lasted.’

‘I see you’ve dropped yours. Coffee and a McMuffin?’

‘There are certain things herbs can’t heal. The exam was horrible. I’m sure I flunked. We’ll just have to wait and see. To change topic completely, guess who I saw at The Candy Club?’

‘Hayward?’ Dales spoke as if it was to be expected.

‘No. That’d hardly be a surprise worth mentioning. Leilani Hayes.’

‘Get out? On stage?’

‘Pick your jaw up, Sarge. She works there. Her sister owns it and she covers a few hours from time to time alongside the Oxlaine.’
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‘I guess money’s tight. Not too unusual these days. Must have been awkward.’

‘A little. She found out I wasn’t a substantive detective. Ouch.’

‘I wouldn’t worry. Her case isn’t going anywhere anyway. I’m surprised you’ve still got time for her.’

‘There might be something in it.’ Procedure dictated that she should tell her sergeant about any developments in her investigations, especially if any of those investigations suddenly involved a family member. He’d suggested not to raise it to a full crime report until Leilani had made a full complaint and was willing to support it with a signed statement. She didn’t agree with fiddling the figures in that way; a crime was a crime. Still, not having to write her husband up as a potential suspect for a fraud and assault was a relief. Mentioning to Dales that she now had some bank details and more lines of enquiry would mean having to disclose exactly where the investigation was leading. She knew it wasn’t the right thing to do, but she wanted to keep it to herself a little while longer until he could ask Mark outright. ‘Sarge, I really need to be off on time today. I’ve got some things that need sorting out at home.’

‘I’m sure we can swing something if it gets busy. Everything okay?’ He gave her the same look he had back at the Oxlaine. She’d been deliberately vague, but she knew Dales could tell something was up.

‘Just trying to juggle everything. You were right the other day.’

‘About what?’

‘Back at the hotel. What you said about losing focus, losing track of what’s important.’

‘Well, you’re not the only one who’s been seeing familiar faces in interesting places.’ Sarah took the hint. He didn’t want to talk about it. ‘I popped in on the drugs, the Proactive Crime Team, the other night to take a look at their surveillance shots. Eric Semples bought cocaine from Dibbles the night before Hargreaves died.’

‘Semples' buying cocaine? Moretti didn’t say where Sheila got the drugs from. As admitting it wouldn’t have benefitted her, I figured she’d been deliberately vague to hide the fact she’d supplied it herself.’

‘That’s still worth betting on. Her nose is far from clean.’

‘Semples had a clear disdain for Sheila. The black sheep of the family. Could he have given her poisoned cocaine? He seems to dote on Valerie, and didn’t think much of her relationship with her niece. But is that enough to want to kill her?’

‘Doesn’t seem the type. Did you manage to question Valerie?’

‘I called, spoke to Semples, he said she was refusing to see anyone.’

Sarah moved to one side and an older DC came into the kitchen, fiddled with the padlock of C Rota’s fridge and took out a carton of milk. Dales shuffled to the right as the DC turned the kettle back on, fiddled with another padlock on C Rota’s cabinet and took out a jar of coffee. He poured a cup and walked back out into the office. Dales tutted as he left.

‘Friend of yours?’ asked Sarah.

‘That’s just typical B Rota that is.’

They walked back into the office.

‘Anyone seen Johnson?’ asked Hayward. Joel was Hayward’s sole responsibility. Without Joel in the office, he’d have to try even harder to look busy.

‘Running a little late.’ Dales took out his notebook and wrote the date at the top of the page. The rest of it was likely to stay blank, but a good habit was a good habit.

‘It’s not on the system.’ Hayward refreshed the duties page.

‘That’s because I’ve not updated the duties team.’

‘He contacted you direct?’

‘This morning on the way in.’

‘Oh. What’s wrong with him?’ Hayward looked a little put out.

‘A little too much good living after the exam.’ Dales made a drinking gesture.

‘Ha. What a soft cock. Wonder why he didn’t call me?’

Neither responded. Sarah felt he’d answered his own question with the tone of the preceding sentence.

Sarah opened the mobile phone report. Moretti had denied knowing the drugs were poisoned. When her calls hadn’t got through, she’d rushed to the Oxlaine to try and stop Sheila taking the drugs. Her account sat well with the evidence so far. The CCTV had captured someone remonstrating with security around the time she said she was there. The phone report may well tell a different story.

Four phones had been seized from 12 Tower Road. Sarah checked the handset number on each and found 07709 382950, the number Moretti had used to contact Sheila. She flicked past the initial pages and scanned the text messages for Sheila’s number. There were pages and pages of texts to various people with little relevance to anything. Some were made up solely of smiley faces and others were offers from pizza restaurants. Sheila’s number appeared for the first time on the eighth page with:

Loved tonight. So unexpected. We should do it again?

Their conversation mirrored the texts on Hargreaves’s phone. Sarah turned back to the call register to see a full page of missed calls to Sheila’s number on the night she died. Working backwards, Sarah came across another familiar number. An outgoing call to 07709 431298 on Thursday 11th September. She ran to the filing cabinet, opened Joel’s drawer and read the front of Enderson’s mobile phone report. 07709 431298. Sally-Anne Moretti had called Scott Enderson the day he was murdered.

The photos were towards the back. The first few pages were selfies. Selfies in her bedroom, selfies in her lounge and selfies of her in various states of undress, reflected in the bathroom mirror. Nights out came next: groups of girls holding garish cocktails in bars and on beaches. Sarah recognised one of the locations as The Candy Club. She expected more pictures of Moretti’s baby, but there was only one. On the very last page, Moretti’s little boy was wrapped in a white blanket, being held by a woman Sarah instantly recognised. A plainly dressed Leilani Hayes held Moretti’s baby in her arms and smiled directly at the camera.

Nineteen

Sarah let Dales know about the connection. MCT were certain to raise her as a person of interest in the Enderson case, but Dales doubted they’d want to take the job on. As the investigation was already under way, he thought it was likely they’d let them run with it whilst being on hand to offer advice and direction.

Manford had collated and sent the file over to MCT and, while they waited for a policy decision, Sarah decided it was best to act as if nothing was going to change. Joel had arrived in the office and was sitting next to Hayward, about to be subjected to another war story from Hayward’s supposed illustrious career. She walked over to drag him away.

‘You got a minute to look through those files together?’

Joel nodded over to Hayward and rolled his eyes. ‘How about we find somewhere a little quieter?’

Sarah and Joel found a spare room just along the corridor from the CID office.

‘Glad you got me out of there. I couldn’t take another war story.’ They sat on opposite sides of the table. The room was small, with a table in the middle, a water machine in the corner and very little else. It was mostly used as somewhere to grab a few minutes and a bite to eat, if they had the time to be away from their desk or were conscious a takeaway would smell out the office. It was the little quirky side rooms like this that would be swallowed up as part of the refit and turned into space for filing cabinets or stationery.

‘You two do seem like an odd couple.’ Sarah opened the Enderson file and laid the paperwork out in piles in front of her. He’d kept photocopies and sent the originals to MCT. Joel scanned the first page of Hargreaves’ mother’s statement.

‘I doubt he chose this post. Chances are he’s annoyed someone and ended up tutoring me. How’s Sergeant Dales?’

‘He’s great. A little rough around the edges, but I’m learning a lot. He’s detective-training me and I’m housetraining him.’

The Enderson file was thin. With few friends, and being an only child, there hadn’t been many people to speak to. Sarah started with the mobile phone report. She laughed over some of the texts, laughter that soon turned to concern. Joel showed her the work he’d done on the words used in the messages. The combinations of words and phrases Scott had received in response to his texts showed clear patterns, clear enough to suggest they were a part of some automated subscription programme. A few threads appeared to be from actual women: Alisha, Sara and Jennifer all started natural-sounding conversations with him that soon tailed off into nothing. The only photos on the handset were selfies.

‘So, what made you sign up?’ Sarah thumbed through the paperwork whilst Joel read through statements.

‘For the fast-track? Or the job in general?’

‘The career as a whole. It’s not the sort of thing people just fall into.’

‘You want the truth?’

‘Generally, yes.’

He put the statement on the table and looked at her like he was preparing to tell her he’d found her puppy splattered on the roadside whilst on patrol. ‘To make a difference.’

‘Very funny.’

Joel laughed. ‘Seriously. This job is like fate in a way.’

‘Fate? Sounds very deep, Mr Johnson.’ Joel clearly wasn’t in a serious mood and she prepared herself for another punchline. From a distance he seemed all business, but the more time they spent together, the more her impression softened.

‘My mother died when I was young. A robbery that went wrong. Stabbed right in front of me.’ Joel spoke about it as if he was reading a list of unfamiliar events rather than reliving one of the most traumatic events imaginable. His eyes wandered, but aside from that, little emotion showed on his face.

His revelation caught Sarah off-guard. She’d gone from half paying attention to a casual conversation to being tuned in to his every word. ‘That’s awful. Sorry you had to go through that.’

‘There was a guy watching who did nothing. Worse in fact, ran away and let it happen. That’s when I knew what I wanted to be.’

‘A cop?’

‘I wanted to be someone who could do something about that kind of thing. Who would step in, rather than step away.’

‘That’s a terrible story.’ She reached out and put her hand on his. ‘But, you being here shows that, in some small way, something good’s come from it.’

‘It’s difficult. I wish she was here to see it all, but I know she’s looking down on me. And you? Hayward filled me in as to why you’re on the fast track. Must admit, I felt a little less pride about my achievement knowing they were doling it out as a punishment.’

‘I’m starting to wonder if anything’s kept quiet around here. Let’s just say it was strongly suggested I take it. This fast-track is some senior officer’s brainchild—a response to flagging numbers signing up for the detective’s exam. No one seems to want the added work and responsibility, all for the same pay. Strange that.’ Sarah didn't like the fact people seemed to know about she'd done at Sunbury before she'd even met them.

‘I guess the staff at the bottom will have to find a way to make it work. The chiefs have to get their promotions somehow.’

‘You’ve let Hayward’s cynicism rub off on you. Complaining makes you age faster, you know.’

‘Age I can handle, it’s the spare tyre round the waist I’d rather avoid.’ Joel put the file down. ‘I’ve been meaning to ask, what was it like? Finding the body?’

Sarah knew from his tone he meant Michael. Attending a dead body was never pleasant, but Sheila’s hadn’t been particularly gruesome. The crime scene at the Oxlaine was something most officers would coldly call run of the mill. Father Michael’s murder, on the other hand, was something Sarah was sure she’d never stop being asked about, and was certain she’d never forget. ‘Difficult. I still think about him now. It wasn’t like the Oxlaine—nice hotel room and no injuries to speak of. He’d been buried for one, albeit crudely, under soaking wet mud. I doubt I’ll ever see injuries like that again.’ She didn’t have to mention them, and Joel squirming his legs together told her he’d already heard the details.

‘Maybe it’s time we get back to this?’ He picked up the statement and continued reading. ‘James Golders mentioned a Jaina Wilde. There’s no Jaina Wilde mentioned on his phone, but it is an online gaming handle, and unlikely to be a real name.’

‘No mention anywhere of Roxy, Sheila or Sally-Anne either.’

‘Enderson wrote a note before he died. We initially thought it was his suicide note, but now we know it’s all a little more sinister, I guess it’s just him trying to get his thoughts down on paper.’ Joel handed her a clear exhibit bag containing a hand-written letter.

Enderson’s note made grim reading. The red ink, a weak substitute for blood perhaps, looked as if it were scrawled by a child. Tearstains could be seen through the exhibit bag and his despair felt through the page. He talked about his loneliness, failure with women and feelings of inadequacy. He’d let his parents down, but had nowhere else to go.