Killing a Stranger (3 page)

‘Do we know whose?' We. She still included herself in the equation even after nearly four years being off the force since an accident took her sight. She didn't correct herself though, knowing Alec would understand.

‘Rob … claimed he had killed a man.'

‘What?'

‘According to Clara he was distressed and scared. She got him into the kitchen and he insisted she called the police. He kept telling her that he'd killed someone and … a body was found at three o'clock this morning. According to preliminary reports, the blood is a match. We're waiting on DNA confirmation, of course, but there seems little doubt.'

‘So you've arrested Rob?' How the hell was she going to tell Patrick?

‘No, no, we don't know where he is either. His mother went into the hall to call us and he ran out the back. She tried to follow but he was gone by the time she reached the gate. The paramedics found her there in a state of collapse. At first, seeing the blood on her clothes, they thought she'd been attacked, but she's not hurt, just …'

‘Horrified,' Naomi finished. ‘She must be horrified. Did Rob have any sort of record?'

‘Nothing and he's doing fine at school, straight A student, expected to take the Oxbridge entrance exam. His head teacher is almost as shocked as his mother, I think.'

‘God, Patrick will be … Do you know who the dead man is? What's the motive, do you know that yet?'

‘The man is called Adam Hensel, he lives in Pinsent, so we don't know what he was doing here.' Pinsent was a half dozen miles up the coast. ‘He was stabbed, single wound, but the knife had been twisted, as though the assailant tried to get it out. He bled out fast. The assailant, and for the moment Rob is our most likely suspect, must have got in close because there were no obvious defence wounds. Of course, we're waiting on the post mortem for confirmation of that. The knife was found close by; it was just a folding pocket knife, three-inch blade, nothing spectacular, but it did the job.'

‘Was it Rob's?'

Alec shook his head. Naomi, leaning close, felt the slight movement. ‘Clara Beresford says he owned a pen knife, but we found it in his bedroom. It's possible the weapon belonged to the victim, there were initials engraved on a little brass plaque on the handle. E.H. It should make it easier to identify.'

‘E, not A?'

‘No, but the knife wasn't new, it could have been owned by another Hensel. We don't know yet.'

‘So, at least he didn't go equipped.' That was of fractional comfort. ‘Can I tell Patrick any of this?'

‘Not yet, no. We need to find Rob.'

‘They claim he left the party around ten and they haven't seen him since. I see no reason not to believe that.'

‘No, knowing Patrick, neither do I, though, obviously, I don't know his friends. What was your impression?'

‘That they told me the truth about last night. That's not to say they told me everything. They were dancing around the fact that Rob hadn't been himself for the past few weeks.'

‘And? They give any reason?'

‘Nothing very specific. They seemed to think that Rob had been looking for his father. Apparently, Clara Beresford is a single parent and Dad was not in evidence at all.'

‘But nothing more specific?'

‘Um, something about him finding a letter that might have given him a clue, but no, nothing beyond that. Alec, I'd hate them to feel I was breaking confidences. Apart from anything else, it might stop them from coming back to me and I've the feeling they're not going to get much sympathy anywhere else.'

‘Harry will understand,' Alec said, of Patrick's father.

‘Harry will do his best, but after that incident in the summer, Harry's been having a hard time letting Patrick out of his sight. Something like this will just confirm all his fears.'

‘I can understand how he feels,' Alec told her. That ‘incident' Naomi referred to had seen them caught up in an armed robbery that had gone wrong. Naomi, Harry and Patrick had found themselves numbered among the hostages in a bank siege. Naomi still had bad dreams in which it was her and not her captor that had taken that final plunge from the roof.

Harry had been badly affected, feeling, quite rightly, that he had come close to losing his son. Patrick himself had gained a measure of street-cred among his peers, but it had left him scarred. He'd grown up, suddenly and too fast, withdrawn from them all. Naomi had suggested counselling and Harry had reluctantly agreed. Patrick duly spent an hour
not
talking about it every week while Harry paid for the privilege.

Now this.

‘I've asked Clara to make a list of Rob's friends,' Alec said. ‘They will be getting a visit, but,' he promised, ‘I'll make sure the information about Rob's father came from somewhere else.'

‘T
ake your time, Mrs Beresford. I know how difficult this is.'

‘Do you? Do you really?'

Alec forced himself to meet the intense gaze fixed on his own face. Clara Beresford was examining him as though looking for a particular truth; some kind of explanation. Alec couldn't help her; reasons were something he didn't have.

She pulled away, straightened her shoulders to match an already rigid back. ‘I'm ready,' she told him.

How, Alec thought, could anyone ever be ready to identify the body of their son?

She studied the boy's face for so long that Alec was confused. He had attended so many of these pathetic dramas and usually, they followed a pattern. The relative steeled themselves as Clara had done, then looked at the face of the lost one for the briefest time possible, as though speed made reality less real. Occasionally, they wanted to touch, to be sure, not believing the evidence of their own eyes. Only rarely did they stare with the intensity of Clara Beresford, examine in such detail the lines and contours of the face. She reached out, not touching, but her fingers hovering uncertainly above Rob's lips.

Did she think he might still be breathing? Alec didn't know. Gently, he touched her arm. She flinched, jumped, as though he'd shocked her, her entire body registering his touch.

‘What?'

‘It's all right, Clara, I'm sorry; I didn't mean to startle you.'

‘All right? How can anything ever be all right?'

Alec didn't know. ‘Would you like a cup of tea? There must be things you want to ask me.'

She nodded, but didn't move. ‘That's what I thought that night. Make tea, find biscuits, talk about it.' She laughed. ‘Pathetic,' she almost spat the word. ‘So bloody pathetic.'

She was not, he thought, a woman given to swearing. The mild expletive sounded odd coming from her lips. Who, he wondered, or what, was pathetic? Her wanting to make tea? Alec's offering it now? Or the body of her son lying in the viewing room.

‘Clara.' He opened the door and this time she moved, following obediently as he left the room and took her back down the corridor to the reception area where he knew they would have the promised refreshment.

He sat her down on one of the padded chairs, pulled up a plastic one so he could sit opposite. He resisted asking her, again, if she was all right.

‘Where exactly did you find him?'

‘There's a bridge that crosses the road at Temple Street, just before you reach the canal basin. We think he must have gone into the water from the bridge. He was caught up in weeds just a few yards further down.'

‘Gone in,' she echoed. ‘Did he jump?'

‘We don't know.'

‘Did someone push him? How could he have fallen? I know that bridge, it has a railing. How could he have fallen?'

Hazel eyes, Alec thought. She had hazel eyes, light brown flecked with an intense green. They bored into him, searching once more for those answers he was unable to give.

‘I just want to go home. Can I go home?'

Alec nodded. SOCO had finished, the officer on watch been returned to regular duty. No one had denied the neighbour's assumption that their presence had been due to a burglary. He didn't know what Clara would tell them.

‘Your sister …'

‘The blood. There was so much blood.'

‘I know, Clara. I asked your sister to come here, just in case you needed someone. I hope I did the right thing?'

She nodded vaguely.

‘We thought … we thought it might be better if you go home with her for a few days. She's packed a bag for you.'

He saw first resentment and then relief flicker across her face, the eyes harden and then blank, then grow soft as though she thought of something else, something Alec could not share.

‘What happened that night,' she asked finally. ‘Did he kill that man?'

Alec hesitated. ‘It's too early to be sure, Clara. You're certain Rob never mentioned Adam Hensel. There's nothing you can recall. Nothing at all?'

She shook her head. ‘I'd remember that name,' she said. ‘It's not a usual name. Rob … Rob said nothing to me about an Adam Hensel.' She took a deep breath. ‘When can I have the body?'

‘There'll have to be a post mortem. That has been explained to you?'

She nodded. ‘Yes. Will that take long?' She bit her lip hard to stop herself from crying. ‘I can't bear to think of him being here, you know?'

‘I know. Clara, as soon as I discover anything, I'll tell you.'

‘Find out what happened,' she demanded with sudden energy. ‘Why would my son kill anyone? Why would he kill someone he didn't even know? Rob was a good kid, an ordinary kid. My son isn't a killer. He isn't …' She could no longer hold back the tears. They poured out of her, convulsing her. Childlike, she pulled her legs up on to the chair, wrapped herself into a little ball of pain, venting a grief and torment that could no longer find its release in words.

I
t wasn't the first time Ingham Comprehensive had played host to DI Alec Friedman and his team, but this was different. Last time Alec had conducted mass interviews it had been to collect witness statements in regard to a wanted criminal who'd been seen close to the school. This time, the focus was a dead teenager and a murdered man.

Alec had been given use of the hall and the sixth form students assembled expectantly. He'd had the chairs arranged in a rough horseshoe and seated himself in a low upholstered chair at the open end. There were one hundred and eighty-two students in the two sixth form years, apparently – years eleven and twelve as they were now officially known.

One hundred and eighty-one, now, Alec thought. Rob wouldn't be coming back.

He saw Patrick sitting two rows back between a ginger haired boy and a girl with long dark curls. Patrick was stony faced, trying not to meet Alec's gaze, perhaps not wanting to be singled out. Alec didn't think so. Patrick was open about his friendship with Naomi and Alec and it wouldn't bother him that anyone might be suspicious of his association with a police officer. No, Alec thought. Patrick was trying not to break down. The ginger haired boy next to him was staring fixedly at the corner where the ceiling met the wall in an elaborate moulding. The girl – he'd already been told her name was Rebecca Price and that she was Rob's girlfriend – was chewing on her lower lip, cheeks flushed with the effort not to cry.

Alec glanced across at the head teacher, Eileen Mathers. She nodded that everyone was here and Alec began, speaking quietly, calmly. He had already agreed with the head teacher that it would be better to give as much correct information now than have the rumours build and circulate. He had no plan to mention Adam Hensel.

‘Most of you knew Rob Beresford,' he said. ‘Or, at least, you knew who he was.'

Silence, a slight shifting of chairs, but nothing more.

‘Rob was found dead in the canal yesterday morning at eight fifteen.' He heard someone gasp in shock, but he had also agreed there was no easy way to wrap this up. Better to say it and then let the staff and counsellors deal with the aftermath.

‘We don't yet know for sure if Rob drowned, or if he died in some other way. What seems fairly certain is that he went into the water from the Temple Street Bridge, just below the canal basin. Most of you will know it; there are boats moored there now, below the weir where the factory buildings are being demolished?'

He paused again. This time a quiet murmur of agreement and recognition broke the silence.

‘We know that a number of you were at a birthday party that Rob attended on the Friday night. I have a guest list from Charlie's parents and I've added a few names that Charlie tells me he invited at the last minute, but we all know what parties are like. People turn up at the last minute, tag along with friends. No one will be in trouble for that and, frankly, it's none of my concern just now, if some of you were drinking under age. This was a private function, and, to be frank, I've far more important concerns. What I do need to know is, if any of you saw Rob that night. If you spoke to him, or if any of you heard him say anything, saw him do anything, either on the Friday night or in the past few days and weeks that struck you as unusual.'

He watched again, aware that glances were exchanged, feet were shuffled; Becky Price began to cry. ‘There are members of staff on hand to talk to, counsellors, should you want to talk about any of this and Mrs Mathers has agreed that should you want your parents or another adult present while you chat to myself or one of my officers, then we'll arrange that. But we do need you to talk; Rob is dead, his mother had to identify the body yesterday. She needs to know how and why her son died and …' He hesitated. ‘As things stand, there are three possibilities we have to bear in mind. One is that Rob fell, maybe he'd been drinking, maybe taking drugs. The other possibility is that someone pushed him, either by accident or maybe as a joke that went wrong; maybe even deliberately. The third possibility is that Rob …' He hesitated, wondering why suicide was the hardest option to talk about. ‘That Rob jumped from the bridge. That he intended to kill himself and, that tragically, he succeeded in doing just that.'