‘DS Turner, comms. With regards to log 897 of today, we’ve made an arrest at this location. Could you send me a van, please? Also notify SOCO that we might need them for the house search.’
The response from comms was inaudible, but Spence had heard enough. SOCO had been requested, which made him think of Maya. Did she know anything about this, is that why she hadn’t replied to his text? She had told him she was off work today on a rest day, so at least there was no chance of running the risk of her turning up. That would be devastating. But what the hell was going on, was it some sort of set-up or sick joke? He didn’t even know anyone called David McCluskey and God knows he certainly wasn’t the type of person to assault anyone.
He was in turmoil as he tried to gather his thoughts. How had he gone from an evening of sheer bliss with Maya, to living this nightmare and being arrested again for the second time since he had returned to England? He felt sick to his stomach and had to admit, he was scared. Very scared.
54
Naylor was pacing his cell expectantly as he strained to listen to Nowak’s side of the telephone conversation. Nowak was grunting encouragingly as he listened to the caller, nodding every now and then. It was the most animated Naylor had seen him since he had been dumped by Markita.
At first Nowak had been enraged, but then once the realisation hit him that there was nothing he could do while he was locked up, he had slumped into a depression. He had barely spoken to Naylor since, choosing instead to lay prostrate on his bunk and feigning sleep.
Nowak’s face suddenly erupted in a huge grin. ‘Well, cheers for all of that, mate. I’ll see you soon, very soon by the sounds of it. In a bit.’ He turned the mobile phone off and returned it to its hiding place, oblivious to Naylor’s building impatience.
‘Well,’ Naylor said as he squared up to Nowak, ‘what happened?’
Nowak placed his palm on Naylor’s chest and firmly pushed him away, a warning look in his eye. ‘Attitude, mate, attitude. It’s done. Message delivered loud and clear.’
Nowak laughed callously as he sat at the table and concentrated on making a roll-up.
‘What did she say?’
‘Nothing. My bloke did what he was told and then he left straight away as instructed. The last thing we wanted was her screaming blue murder, him getting locked up and it coming back on us.’
‘Yeah…’ Naylor nodded carefully, deep in thought. ‘I wonder if she’ll tell that bitch of a mother of hers. Fucking Dominique. She always thought she was something better than she was. And speaking of which, I think it’s time I planned my next little message, don’t you?’
His raucous cackle flooded the cell, as he tossed his head back in laughter, revealing an uneven set of yellowing teeth. Cheered, Naylor reached for the tobacco pouch and cigarette papers and began to roll his own smoke. ‘So, what else did your mate have to say. Any good news?’
‘Yep, looks like you’re going to be getting a new cellmate very soon. Your daughter’s friend. The one who is going to be taking the rap for me has been arrested. They’ll be doing the house search as we speak and will find the bloodstained knife and hopefully other items that we’ve planted there. Then once I’m out of here, I’m going to be having a very serious fucking conversation with Markita and I’ll be finding out exactly what the hell she thinks she’s playing at.’
‘Fucking women,’ Naylor sneered. ‘Told you they’re more trouble than they’re worth. You’re not going to get back with her surely?’
‘Not now. There was a time I would have considered it, but now she’s fucking humiliated me there’s no chance. Aiden’s already paid her a visit but that’s nothing compared to what I’ve got in mind. Nobody will be able to stomach looking at her by the time I’ve finished.’ He stubbed out his roll-up angrily and returned to his bunk, turning his back on Naylor, making it clear the conversation was over.
Naylor didn’t mind. He welcomed the peace and quiet. He had a lot of thinking and planning to do.
55
Being the master of manipulation that he was, Andy had orchestrated events to ensure he was tasked with examining Spence’s sister’s house. Bloody Elaine had interfered as always and insisted she go. He had argued the toss, fully aware that his sudden insistence of volunteering for a job was out of character. At one point they were both clutching hold of the job sheet in an almost comical tug-of-war until Kym had stormed out of her office and split the pair of them up. Furious, she had ordered Elaine to do a stock check on the vans and told Andy to go straight to the scene, annoyed that the argument meant the detectives had been kept waiting.
As Andy pulled up outside the house, Turner stormed down the driveway towards him, tapping his watch.
‘Why’s it taken you so bloody long? We’re on the custody clock you know?’
‘Elaine and I had a misunderstanding and I…’
Turner silenced him with a raised palm. ‘The suspect’s room is at the back of the house. We started searching and found a knife wrapped in a bloodstained cloth at the back of the wardrobe. Obviously, we’ve not searched any further until you’ve forensically recovered it.’
Andy nodded as he wrestled himself into a scene suit. Donnelly had already told him that Lurch had previously entered the address and hidden the knife. That way, on the off-chance that Andy had not been able to ensure he attended the scene, the most crucial evidence would have been discovered anyway. Now he was here, Andy could proceed with planting additional evidence, ensuring Spence was even more culpable.
‘How long will you be?’ Turner made no effort to keep the impatience from his voice as he and Malone followed Andy up the stairs.
‘It shouldn’t take too long.’ Andy glanced at his camera bag on the landing floor next to Reynold’s feet, anxiously aware that it contained dried, bloodstained items which had been passed to him by Donnelly. ‘I’ll be as quick as I can,’ he added, horrified to realise that neither of the detectives were intending on leaving him to it. They appeared to be resolute in remaining on the landing whilst watching him work.
‘Crack on then,’ Turner said as he nestled against the banister rail.
Sweat snaked down Andy’s back, his face growing red as Malone reached down for the camera bag and handed it to Andy. ‘Can I do anything to help speed things along?’ he said, his fingers twitching at the zip.
‘No!’ Andy was aware of the high-pitched squeak that emanated from him as he grabbed at the bag. ‘No offence, gents, but I work quicker on my own. If you stand and watch me, I’ll be all fingers and thumbs. Why don’t you two carry on downstairs and I’ll let you know when I’m done.’
Turner eyed him suspiciously before grunting something inaudible. He tapped his finger against his watch again before sauntering downstairs with Malone at his heels. Andy’s heart was pounding against his chest as he hurriedly opened his camera bag. He took a few frantic photographs before removing the dried, bloodstained items from Nowak, including tissues he had used to wipe his hands on after the attack.
Andy planned to dampen the items using the vial of sterile water he carried, then rub them against Spence’s trainers. He could then photograph the bloodstaining and take swabs which would put McCluskey’s blood on Spence’s footwear. He would do the same with the hem of a pair of jeans.
He would make suggestions on his scene notes that it appeared to him that the jeans had been washed, and he had detected traces of blood in the stitching. Plausible enough if the clothing had been washed at low temperature using non-biological soap powder. Andy would also comment on his scene notes that the trainers appeared to have been wiped. This would explain the lack of blood spatter, which would ordinarily be evident on trainers worn by somebody present during a bloodied assault.
Any self-respecting forensic scientist would be able to ascertain that the location of the staining had not been distributed at the scene of the assault, but Andy hoped the investigation wouldn’t be taken that far. He was relying on current financial restraints dictating that
it would not be cost effective to submit the trainers and clothing for further forensic analysis. After all, this was a Section 18 assault, which despite being serious, did not carry the same budget as a murder investigation. His observations alone would hopefully satisfy the detectives and the CPS. He was confident he could convince them that it would be futile to submit the items for further analysis.
Hurriedly, Andy began to dampen the tissue and rubbed the bloodstaining against Spence’s trainer. Beads of sweat were streaming down his forehead and he cursed under his breath as the fragile tissue began to shred and break up. The blood wasn’t spreading as easily as he’d assumed. Fragments of tissue fibre littered the dark-coloured carpet. They were glaringly obvious, like snow on coal. Andy was horrified to hear footsteps ascending the stairs. Wide-eyed, he frantically plucked at the fragments of tissue, the gloves making the process awkward.
‘How’re you getting on?’ Turner called as he reached the top step. Andy kicked the partially bloodstained trainer across the room and sat himself on the floor to cover the carpet.
‘What are you doing?’
‘Just making some notes.’
‘Comfy, are we? Why don’t you just get on the bed?’
‘Not being funny, but I’d be a lot quicker if you gave me some space. I’m sweating like a bastard as it is.’
Turner rolled his eyes before heading back down the stairs. Andy heard him mutter the word ‘cock’ under his breath but didn’t care. Once he was satisfied the detective was out of the way, he carried on with a speed he did not know he was capable of. The relief was immense as he eventually secreted the items belonging to Nowak back into his camera bag. He peeled his scene suit off and gathered his things together. The sweet breeze that carried through the front door was like nectar.
He allowed himself a smile as he took one final glance around the bedroom. His work here was done. He had enough evidence to set Spencer James up for McCluskey’s stabbing. There had been no CCTV in the area to capture the assault and none of the witnesses, including McCluskey, were willing to provide a description of the attacker. Nowak was in the clear and Spence had a lot of explaining to do. Donnelly would be happy. At least that would be one less person on his back. For now.
56
Maya arrived at work without her usual enthusiasm. She was a tired, nervous wreck. She had even thought about phoning in sick but couldn’t face the thought of staying at home despite the fact she had arranged to have new locks and bolts fitted. Irrationally, she’d changed her bedding twice and cleaned like a woman possessed to remove any traces of the burglar. She had barely eaten; her head was slamming, and the hot weather was making her feel nauseous.
She exchanged pleasantries before hiding herself away in the corner of the office, so she could avoid any further interaction. She didn’t feel like talking and was looking forward to the others finishing so she could be alone in the office for her afternoon shift.
‘Hey, what’s up?’ Chris called. ‘You’ve not been talking to dead people and journalists, again, have you?’ He laughed, pleased with himself, as Maya flipped him the middle finger.
Amanda scowled at Chris. ‘Are you okay, Maya?’
Maya nodded weakly. ‘I’m fine thanks. Just a bit hung-over.’ It was all she could think to say to deflect any further questioning. Just as the words left her mouth, Kym emerged. Her lips pursed at Maya’s comment and she shook her head disapprovingly. Normally Maya would have been mortified at such a reaction from Kym, but right now she really couldn’t care less.
Amanda smiled apologetically. ‘Sorry to jump on you, but a job has just come in. There’s a body in the canal near Bridge Street. We’ve been asked to attend. Are you going to be okay with it?’
Maya felt like all eyes were on her, waiting for her response. As much as she had been longing for more experience, the last thing she needed today was to see a cadaver being hauled out of the canal. It took every ounce of her flailing energy to smile convincingly. ‘Yes, of course. I’ll just read through the log and make my way.’
Maya was desperate not to cry as her nausea grew with every line of the log she read. Surely this day couldn’t get any worse. She couldn’t think straight, and her mind certainly wasn’t on work. But she had no choice other than to focus on the circumstances surrounding the body in the canal. The anxiety was starting to build in her chest, her heart rate quickening as a panic attack threatened to consume her.
She concentrated on taking steady measured breaths in an attempt to stay calm. She closed her eyes and imagined herself anywhere but work. She was so focused that it took a moment to realise that someone had said her name. She opened her eyes and sat up. Amanda and Elaine were looking at her, concerned. Jack Dwyer was stood in the doorway, looking hesitant and decidedly uncomfortable and she realised he must have asked to speak to her.
‘Sorry, Jack, I was miles away. Do you want me?’
‘Erm, yes please. Could I have a quick word?’ He indicated the corridor, making it clear he needed to speak to her in private.
Maya followed him out of the office somewhat impatiently, the last thing she bloody well needed was to listen to any of his flannel.
‘Look, Maya, this is a bit awkward, but I thought I should give you the heads-up. We’ve got a bloke in the traps for a Section 18. Spencer James.’
She felt her face grow hot as she willed herself to remain impassive. ‘And?’ She managed to shrug non-committally.
‘DS Turner has just finished interviewing him. He wants to have a word with you.’
‘Why me? A body has just come in. I need to go.’ She felt the all too familiar fist-clenching sensation stirring in her stomach. What now?
‘He says he has an alibi for the night of the assault on David McCluskey. He’s given your name. Says he was drinking in The Brown Cow with you and your friends. Turner is going to want to interview you for confirmation and obviously get a statement. I just thought I’d let you know.’ He gave her a wan smile and returned to his office, leaving Maya to slump against the wall in the corridor.
Fuck’s sake. She had been wrong. There was still time for this day to get worse. Much worse.
I dreamt of Louisa again last night. She had felt so real, so alive. The craving for her was intense. A physical, gnawing ache. I clung to her. I clung to the feeling of her warm, lithe limbs encircling mine. The intensity of her embrace. The softness of her skin. The tickling sensation of her hair against my cheek as she rested her head on my chest. It was the familiarity of her voice and the easy way we chatted to each other. We talked about nothing – and everything. I wanted the moment to last forever. There was nothing else in space or time that I needed more than the feeling of her. Of being with her.
As the dream faded, I fought to stay asleep, but consciousness roused. Reluctantly, I conceded she hadn’t been real. I took great comfort in the fact that such a realistic memory of her was enough to satiate me. She was my drug. If dreams were all I had left, that would be enough. Something was better than nothing, but why did they have to end? If death meant I could be reunited with her, back with the other half of me, I would happily take it. I found myself choking back tears as I lay awake. The memory of her perfume still lingered in my bed. The pain of the emptiness she had left behind was unbearable. There was only one thing I could do to ease it. There was one other person I needed to kill. And this one was going to feel the same pain I was in. I would make them suffer just as much. If not more…
57
Maya and DI Redford arrived at Bridge Street at the same time as the Underwater Search Team. The railway bridge, which hung over the section of the canal like a frown, gave the area its insalubrious appeal. Here, everything scowled in the shadows, even on the brightest day. Overgrown shrubbery and shallow alcoves provided a level of murky privacy craved by the local smack rats. Discarded needles, used condoms and stolen wallets (long-since emptied) littered the grubby pathway.
The bridge provided a natural shelter for the investiga
tors, so a scene tent wasn’t required. The sheer presence of the police kept those who would normally frequent the location well away. As a result, the deceased would have the privacy he deserved. Maya photographed the towpath and took a series of pictures of the floating corpse. He was face down in the water, the top of his head visible. The lightweight waterproof jacket he wore had gathered some air since the body had submerged and puffed out like an ironic sail.
Maya watched as the divers secured the body to the orange plastic scoop and hauled him onto the towpath. The smell of stagnant water made her want to gag. She could hardly even bring herself to look at the sopping body. The shock of the previous evening was still proving too much to handle. The panic attack which had threatened to consume her earlier, was burgeoning again. She took a couple of calming breaths before focusing on the body. If she could just concentrate on the scene and block everything else out, she would be fine.
DI Redford knelt towards the body, scrutinising him carefully. ‘Curly, come over here will you, mate?’ He called to the bald police officer who was minding the cordon. Curly had worked on section for years and knew all the local criminals and regular missing persons. He was renowned for never forgetting a face. ‘D’ya recognise him, pal?’ Redford asked as he straightened up, allowing Curly to peruse the corpse. He paused momentarily, studying the face carefully, a slight frown puckering his brow.
‘Could be Mark Posner, boss. He looks nothing like he used to when he was dealing. He went into prison looking like the lead from a boy band and came out looking like that.’ Curly straightened up. He nodded confirmation of his identification.
Maya frowned. ‘What was he inside for?’
‘Drug dealing. He was one of the main players years ago, although you wouldn’t know it to look at him now. Wanker.’ He muttered more disparaging comments towards the corpse as he returned to the cordon, ignoring Redford’s tut.
Definitely Dead Page 22
