Death Walks Behind You

by Scott Hunter

  Charlie sighed. “I got in from my shift. Made coffee. I went to my room. I was tired. I went straight to bed.”

  “You didn’t think to check on Banner?”

  “No.”

  “Why not? You said yourself that you were concerned that he hadn’t turned up for duty.” Maggs spoke slowly, almost lackadaisically.

  “I was tired,” Charlie repeated. “I had no reason to think there was any problem.”

  “But Banner’s no-show was unusual.” Wilder jutted her chin. Her make-up, Charlie noticed, was understated but perfectly applied.

  “Yes.”

  “Then surely a quick check, a knock on his door at the very least?”

  “I went nowhere near his room until the afternoon.”

  “After you’d woken up?” Maggs scratched his stubble and took a swig of water from a plastic cup.

  “Correct.”

  “You heard nothing? You didn’t hear your flat mate, G, downstairs in the morning?”

  “I was asleep,” Charlie said. Already her patience was evaporating. “I heard nothing.”

  Maggs leaned forward. “I understand from your medical report that you’ve been using sleeping tablets.”

  “Yes.”

  “And there have been occasions,” Maggs continued, “where you found yourself sleepwalking?” The DS consulted some papers on the table. “In fact, it says here you woke up once in front of the bathroom mirror. No recollection of how you made that trip from your bed to the bathroom.”

  There was little point denying it. The medical report was thorough. A condition of her return to work had been regular meetings with the medics. Dr Keefe, the shrink…

  “I know where you’re taking this,” Charlie said. “That was a one-off. It hasn’t happened since. I’ve been off the knock-out drops for a month now. It was just a side effect.”

  “But it may have reoccurred without your knowledge, DI Pepper,” Wilder said. “How can you be sure it hasn’t?”

  “I’d know,” Charlie said. God, how weak it sounds. “I’d just know.”

  “Tell me about your relationship with Stephen Banner. When did you realise the full extent of your dislike of the late officer?” Wilder folded her arms.

  “Now, hold on.” Charlie tried not to raise her voice. “If I’d hated Ban– Stephen that much, do you think I’d have moved in with him? Into his parents’ house, for God’s sake?”

  Maggs shrugged. “Maybe. Depends what you were intending.”

  “I wasn’t intending anything. I was frightened of living on my own, OK? Do you get that? Someone tried to kill me and I wanted to have people around, people I could trust. I felt vulnerable, Maggs. Is that so hard to understand?”

  “You’re a tough lady,” Maggs sniffed. “You certainly proved that you can look after yourself.”

  “If you are referring to the incident at my flat when a man attempted to break in and murder me–”

  “Who you killed with a piece of glass, I understand?” Wilder interrupted.

  “He smashed his way into my flat. He broke the glass. I had to fight for my life. Why don’t you get that?”

  “I get that perfectly well,” Wilder said. “We are simply trying to establish the level of your aggression.”

  “I am not aggressive. It was self-defence. You’d have done the same.”

  “But you killed him,” Maggs said.

  “I didn’t intend to kill him. It was over so quickly. I though I was going to be killed.” This was harder than she’d imagined. She was beginning to realise how much she’d been suppressing. Just like Dr Keefe said…

  “Your prints are all over this. Explain.” Wilder tossed a plastic wallet onto the table.

  “I can’t explain it. Whoever set me up got my prints somehow.”

  “Wouldn’t you know if someone borrowed your fingers for a while?” Maggs was picking his teeth with a match.

  “Funny.” Charlie grimaced, but felt a sudden chill. That’s exactly it. Someone was in my room. While I was asleep…

  “What’s the matter, DI Pepper?” Wilder widened her eyes a fraction. “Remembered something?”

  “No. There’s nothing to remember.”

  Maggs gave up with the match, tossed it towards the bin and missed. “The thing is, DI Pepper, there aren’t any other suspects. Both flatmates have an alibi. They were nowhere near the house at the official time of death. You were the only one there.”

  “I’ve told you. I was asleep. I didn’t hear anything.”

  “Explain this.” Another wallet hit the table.

  Charlie peered at it. It was empty. No, wait…

  A hair.

  “Well?” Wilder drummed on the table. “It’s yours. We had it checked.”

  “When I found the body, maybe–”

  Maggs made a negative gesture with his finger. “No. It was under the body.”

  “So. Were you two an item?” Wilder asked.

  “Are you crazy?” Charlie’s heart was thumping. Someone had gone to a lot of trouble.

  “Well? Were you, DI Pepper? All this ‘couldn’t stand him’ stuff is just a cover, isn’t it? What happened? Lovers’ tiff? Temper get the better of you? Again?”

  “Do you honestly think I could overpower someone like Stephen Banner and throttle him on my own?” Charlie sat on her hands. She wouldn’t let them see how rattled she was. “Are you charging me? Seriously?”

  “What would you do?”

  It was rhetorical. Charlie chewed her lip. This was as bad as it got. “I want to call a lawyer.”

  Wilder and Maggs exchanged satisfied glances.

  “No problem,” Wilder said. “DS Maggs will arrange a telephone for you. Interview suspended at 11.01am.”

  Chapter 24

  “Message from Bola, boss. Plates are dodgy.” Toby’s head poked round Moran’s office door. Tess looked up and felt a brief wash of elation. “Right. Thanks.”

  “And I can’t get the guv on his mobile.” Toby came in. “So I rang the pub.”

  “And?”

  “Landlord reckons the guv’s left town.”

  “Well, that’s something.” She tapped the screen with her knuckle. It showed the motorbike image, frozen at the Whitley Street pedestrian crossing. “See this?”

  “See what?”

  “Look. The boots.”

  “What about them?” Toby squinted.

  “Look carefully.”

  “Black. Single strap. Cuban heel.”

  “What about the size?”

  Light dawned on Toby’s face. The eyes behind his round rimless specs brightened. “A girl.”

  “I reckon.”

  “Yeah, now you mention it. Body size. Could be a small bloke, though.”

  “With that footwear? They’re ladies’ boots, Toby.”

  Toby brought his face closer to the screen. “Right. So, maybe the polsky girl’s lying.”

  Tess shook her head. “I don’t think so. G doesn’t look like a biker to me. And if she is, then why would she even mention a bike? It would only draw us to her if she was spinning us one.”

  “True.”

  “Toby, how does Wilder come over to you?”

  Toby scratched his chin. “Efficient. Ambitious. Focused.”

  “Right. Focused. Entirely on Charlie. If it were me I’d be doing all I could to prove that Charlie had nothing to do with it.”

  “And you think Wilder’s doing the opposite?”

  “Don’t you?”

  “I must admit she does seem to have pounced with alacrity.”

  “Good. We’re agreed then. So, I want you and Bola to make a few enquiries in Bristol. Discreetly.”

  “Is that wise? I mean–”

  “Like I said, discreet. Apart from her professional reputation as a grafting high flyer, nobody seems to know much about her. See if you can get to the person underneath. I mean, she must have some friends.”

  “Plenty of enemies, I’d say.”

  Tess shrugged. �
��It’s all information. Whatever it takes to get a quick profile.” She consulted her mobile. “It’s only eleven. You could be there by lunchtime.”

  “If we can get out of the building,” Toby said.

  “That bad?”

  “Siege conditions at the front door. The DCS is banged up somewhere with the Chief.”

  “Trying to figure out what statement they can make without being eaten alive,” Tess muttered. Once the press smelled blood, that was it – and this news would go up the seniority ladder like an Apollo launch. Another policeman killed. Chief suspect: a senior officer. How much worse could it get?

  “Rumour has it the Home Secretary is on her way,” Toby added morosely. “They’ll probably shut us down.”

  “Let’s leave that to the CC. Close the door after you, Toby. I can’t concentrate with all that jabber going on out there. And keep me posted, OK?”

  Tess sat quietly for a few minutes, thinking hard. Finally she roused herself and went out into the open plan. Heads looked up. Conversation faded.

  “George?”

  George followed her into the office along with a buzz of resumed conversation.

  Tess stood at the window with her finger between one of the blind’s vanes. Outside she could see a gaggle of press and four uniforms doing their best to maintain a clear path to the front door. Traffic crawled up to the roundabout, motorists slowing to look. Horns blared. “George, how many bike shops in the immediate area?”

  George furrowed his brow. “Three, maybe four. But we don’t even know if the rider is Reading-based.”

  “I know. But we have to try. We know the bike’s dodgy. Ask around. There’s the buckhorns, and the boots. Go with that.”

  George sighed. “You’re the boss.”

  Tess watched George leave with a concerned expression. She liked him. He was a hard-working, solid copper, but Tess had been brought up in the same household as an alcoholic – her father. She knew the signs. She’d had plenty of opportunity to study them. Maybe no one else had noticed the slight tremors in George’s hands, but she had. Should she say something? She knew George’s reputation; everyone did. Life and soul. But at what price?

  Tess forced it to the back of her mind. Right now she needed a chat with the CSM – before Wilder and Maggs finished with Charlie and came looking for her. They’d have plenty of mundane procedures ready to keep her occupied, out of the way and too busy to ask questions.

  What a nasty, suspicious mind you have, Tess Martin. But that’s why you’re a damn good detective.

  Tess found Dom Jensen, the CSM, doing what he did best: managing the scene. She’d worked with Jensen before and they’d always got on, but he also liked to follow the rules and Tess wasn’t sure he’d be willing to go along with her request.

  Jensen met Tess outside the house, shrugged back the hood of his coverall and, in his usual brisk, businesslike fashion, came straight to the point. “Couldn’t this wait, Tess? I’m up to here.” He waved a gloved hand over his head.

  “Sorry, Dom. I know. But I need to find out where you’re at. Wilder’s going to book Charlie.”

  “Not surprised,” Jensen said. “Given what we’ve found so far,” he added.

  “Charlie is innocent, Dom.” Tess stepped aside to allow a member of the forensic team by. “How much more do you have to do?”

  Jenson peeled off his rubber gloves and scratched his nose. “We’ve still got to finish the bedroom carpets. After that I’ll be collating our findings. It takes as long as it takes.”

  “Any objection if I suit up and give you a hand?”

  “You’ve cleared it with Wilder?”

  “She’ll be fine. More hands on deck and so on.”

  Dom gave Tess a knowing look. “You’ve got something.”

  “Maybe. I don’t know, Dom. There was a motorbike nearby at the time, that’s all. Could be relevant.”

  “And Wilder is aware?”

  Tess made a non-committal gesture. “Sure. So, traces from footwear? Oil? What’s likely if our biker entered the premises?”

  “Depends how careful they were.”

  “Every contact leaves a–”

  “–Granny, eggs, suck. If there’s anything to find we’ll find it.”

  “So that’s a yes? I’m acting DI by the way, until DCI Moran’s back.”

  Jensen shook his head. “I don’t know, Tess. I have four officers in there already.”

  “Come on, Dom. I’ll tread lightly.”

  Jensen groaned. “I thought you were borderline pushy before.”

  “I’ve had lots of practice.”

  Jensen’s face split into a grin of resignation. “Go on then. You’ll find a suit in the back of the van. Just be careful.”

  Tess had attended murder scenes before but that didn’t mean she was comfortable standing in the place where someone’s life had been brutally terminated. Jensen’s team had finished in here, the primary site. What they’d collected from the bed was what they’d use to charge Charlie: a hair. Tess hadn’t known Banner or Charlie very long, but she knew the difference between light friction and outright hostility. Charlie was a professional. She had dealt with Banner fairly and pleasantly, and Banner hadn’t been easy; always a not-so-well-disguised streak of chauvinism and male superiority in his manner. He’d tried it on with her, of course, but she’d been warned and anyway she was used to deflecting unwanted advances without repercussions.

  Tess stood at the foot of the four-poster and tried to imagine what had happened. Banner, asleep. The intruder, the garrotte around Banner’s neck before he knew what was going on. And once that wire was firmly in place... He’d managed to slide a finger under the wire but the digit had been almost severed by the relentless pressure of the garrotte.

  Tess moved to the head of the bed. Dried blood on the wall, on the woodwork. And something else: a mark above the bed on the wall. She leaned in closer. A slight dent? Yes. A depression in the paintwork, a hairline crack. Banner’s head, banging against the wall in his death throes? Or something harder?

  Like a motorcycle helmet.

  Tess left the room and went into Charlie’s. Jensen had ticked it off but she wanted to check for herself. The bed was as Charlie had left it when she’d got up that afternoon, duvet thrown back, pillow indented. The bedside cabinet was bare except for a lamp and an empty glass. Beside the oval coaster a few droplets of water still adhered to the polished wood like a scattering of tiny pearls. Tess took a clean handkerchief from her pocket, picked up the glass and sniffed. Nothing.

  She went looking for Jensen but before she could locate him her mobile bleeped.

  “Tess Martin.”

  “It’s George. Guess what?”

  “I’m all ears.”

  “Traffic’s just been to see me. Heard we were interested in the bike. So are they. It was the subject of a high-speed pursuit on the M4, Wednesday evening.”

  “And?”

  “They found the bike dumped near the council tip. It’s garaged here if we want a look.”

  “Tell them no touch, no move. Dare I ask about the rider?”

  George clucked. “Nah. No sign.”

  “OK. I’ll be right over.”

  Tess stripped off her suit, and only pausing to tell one of the SOCOs to get Jensen to call her, raced to her car for some high-speed driving of her own.

  Chapter 25

  In the silence something scraped. A foot against stone, or the movement of some small animal? With a jolt Moran realised he’d been out again; whatever they’d pumped into him wasn’t going to be shaken off easily. His head throbbed and his limbs were ice. The sound came again, this time closer and accompanied by an exhalation of breath. Human breath.

  “Brendan? Are you here?”

  Celine? He opened his mouth and managed a groan.

  He felt her beside him. She rattled the lock once, twice, pulled impotently at the cage and banged the bars in frustration. “Oh God. I’m so sorry. I should have warned you.”<
br />
  “Just get me out.”

  “I haven’t much time. They’ll be back.”

  Moran turned his head and wished he hadn’t. Lights danced before him, sparkly, painful lights. Eventually they faded and he could see Celine’s face pressed anxiously against the iron struts of his prison.

  “Is there anything you can use as a crowbar? Have a look.”

  “I already have. There’s nothing.”

  “I thought they’d taken you.” Moran made a full-body turn so that he was facing out.

  “I need to tell you something.”

  “Save it for later, maybe?”

  “You know, don’t you? They’ve told you about Rufus, and what happened?”

  “Yes.”

  “You need to know, so you understand. The girl – the girl he killed.”

  “Which one?” Moran stretched his legs as far as they would go. It wasn’t far enough and he could feel his muscles beginning to stiffen and contract.

  “The young girl. Her name was Rachel O’Neill.”

  “You knew her? How–”

  “Of course I knew her. That’s why I came here. That’s what I want you to understand.”

  “Understand what, exactly?”

  “She was my sister, Brendan. My big sister.”

  Moran took a moment to digest this. “But if you knew–”

  “–Why didn’t I go to the police? Because I needed proof. I had no proof at all. I still have no proof. I came here because this was the last place Rachel visited. I knew something terrible had happened to her, but I had to be careful. Over time I built up a picture, about the de Courcys, about how things were here. People knew what had happened, I could tell, but they wouldn’t say anything, wouldn’t put themselves at risk.”

  “And that’s why you started the affair with Richard de Courcy?”

  “Yes. And that’s when I found out about Matt.”

  “What about Matt?” Moran shifted again, massaging his leg. His Charnford leg, as he called it.

  “Matt is my sister’s child, Brendan. But he’s under the control of the de Courcys. They… They use him.”