A Deathly Silence

by Isaac, Jane;

  ‘Do you feel up to giving us a list of her friends, associates? I realise how you must be feeling. The sooner we get started. Well… you know.’ She was being kind. Taking it gently.

  He nodded. ‘I don’t want a family liaison officer.’ It wasn’t a request, it was a statement.

  He didn’t miss the look that flickered across the DCI’s face. He was the closest person to Sinead; it didn’t take long for the suspicion to kick in. But he was unmoved. The last thing he wanted was another cop in his home, near his children, observing them in their hours of grief. They needed stability not strangers.

  ‘Okay, we’ll respect your wishes for now. We will need to send officers around to ask questions and take a statement though. And there may be a search required, of your family address. We’ll be as discreet as we can.’

  He retrieved a ring of keys from his pocket. The metal chinked together as he detached one and handed it over. ‘That’s my front door key. Mum has a spare. I’ll keep the children at her house for now.’

  ‘One last question, did Sinead have a particular close friend? Someone she maybe confided in? Or family nearby?’

  ‘Her mum was her closest confidante before she became too ill. The rest of her extended family are back in Dublin. Sinead has lots of other friends though, she’s always messaging someone.’

  The seat creaked as she thanked him, slid out and crossed the tarmac to her colleague. Whisperings of ‘a first account’ and ‘make sure he’s not alone tonight’ floated over. Blane’s gut clenched. He looked back at the factory where his dead wife lay and rubbed the mole on the side of his temple. Things were never going to be the same again.

  CHAPTER 5

  A round of applause started as Helen entered the room, gathering momentum as she strode to the front. The warmth of the welcome prompted an inadvertent smile.

  Helen faced the detectives sprawled in front of her, some in chairs, others perched on the edge of desks, a few stragglers standing at back. ‘Thanks for the welcome, everyone. It’s good to be back, I just wish it was in better circumstances.’

  She glanced at the empty noticeboard beside her. Photos of the victim had been taken, a map prepared of Billings’ layout and its location on Keys Trading Estate, along with anything else of any significance, but for the moment she’d asked for the board to be left empty. Over the years, these officers had dealt with more than their fair share of death in all its shocking configurations, and every body was saddled with its own dose of sadness. But the familiarity of this being a colleague, someone they might have shared room space with, someone they may have known, made the loss more traumatic and she needed to prepare them for the task they were about to undertake.

  ‘At 8.50 p.m., uniform discovered a woman’s body at Billings, a disused factory unit on Keys Trading Estate. The body was that of Sinead O’Donnell. Many of you will already know Sinead was one of us.’

  The low drone of a passing lorry outside was the only sound to fill the room.

  ‘This is going to be a difficult enquiry,’ Helen continued. ‘Some of you in here will have known Sinead, perhaps you worked with her at some stage. I must ask you to detach yourselves. I need people who can remain impartial, independent. We won’t catch whoever did this, we won’t get justice for Sinead, if our emotions get in the way. So, I’m offering you an out. If there’s anyone in here who doesn’t think they can work the case, either because you knew Sinead or know her husband, Blane, personally or for another reason, then please either leave now or come and see me afterwards. I won’t think any less of you.’

  A sea of eyes stared back at her, unmoved.

  ‘Okay, if anyone feels uncomfortable or compromised at any time during the investigation, again I need you to come and see me straight away.’ She waited until she was sure the request had hit home before she carried on.

  ‘Billings factory unit has been empty for some months, much like the others down that road,’ she continued. ‘One of those earmarked for the new housing development. Let’s find out who has had access to the keys, like property developers, former owners. We’ll also need to get a list of all the staff who previously worked there. We know the lock on one of the fire doors was broken. It may have been faulty for a while and the staff knew about it.

  ‘I’ve had a brief look around the perimeter and it looks to be contained by fencing. CSIs are going to double-check at first light to ensure there were no breaks in the fence and no sign of any other access points. We can’t rely on CCTV on the estate for this one, we’ll need to check the nearby roundabout for any cameras.’

  ‘Is it true she was tortured?’

  Helen followed the voice to Steve Spencer, a spindly officer with salt-and-pepper hair, perched on the side of a desk at the back. One of the longest-serving officers on the homicide squad, Spencer could always be relied upon to ask the awkward questions.

  ‘Sinead suffered multiple injuries. We won’t know the full extent of them until the autopsy tomorrow morning, but we do know the tips of her fingers were removed on one hand and she was badly beaten.’

  ‘Could this be linked to Operation Aspen?’ Spencer asked.

  The atmosphere in the room thickened.

  He was referring to their last case, where they’d apprehended Stephen ‘Chilli’ Franks, a local gang leader. An investigation also sparked by the violent murder of a young woman who’d been tortured before her death.

  Flashbacks of a dark cellar crept into Helen’s mind. Of lying in a pool of blood beneath her dead colleague.

  She shuddered inwardly, forcing the memory aside. ‘Chilli Franks is behind bars, on remand,’ she said. ‘Doubtless, someone will have filled his shoes and be rebuilding the organised crime network we took down and we’ll look into that. If there is a link, we will find it. In the meantime, we treat this as a fresh inquiry.’ She paused and scanned the room. ‘There’s nothing wrong with taking precautions though. Let’s be extra vigilant when out on inquiries and keep our phones with us at all times, on and off duty.’

  ‘Could be a copycat,’ Spencer said.

  With similar circumstances, it was natural to jump to conclusions. She’d considered it herself. But she needed to calm things down here, prevent preconceived ideas from an old case colouring their judgement.

  ‘Okay, yes, while there are similarities, there are also marked differences. Both victims were relatively young women, tortured before they were killed. The first was shot dead, the second had her throat cut. The victim in our last case was killed in her own home, Sinead was taken to a deserted factory. Our last victim was involved in criminality, Sinead was a cop. We need to keep an open mind and follow the evidence.’

  The ensuing silence was heavy.

  ‘Sinead worked on incident response,’ Helen continued. ‘Let’s examine her work record, look at the notes of every call she’s attended recently and speak to her family, friends and associates. We need to build up a picture of her life over the days and weeks leading up to the murder.

  ‘She was supposed to be on a yoga retreat in Derbyshire. Blane waved her off from home with their children at 10 a.m. today. Why didn’t she get there and where has she been since? Her Fiesta, handbag, keys and mobile phone are missing. Let’s check police cameras in the area for sightings of her car and request her phone records. We’ll start with the last twenty-four hours, then track back.’

  A hand rose from the side of the room, a young woman with spiky raven-coloured hair. Helen smiled at Rosa Dark. In her mid-twenties, she was the youngest detective on her team, a tenacious investigator whose enthusiasm outweighed her experience in abundance. ‘Could this be a robbery gone wrong?’ Dark asked. ‘Maybe they pinched her handbag and wanted her pin numbers?’

  Helen thought back to the scene of the crime, Sinead’s battered body propped up against a radiator. ‘It doesn’t explain the factory location, or the level of violence. Most robberies occur on the street, where the offender can make off quickly. We’ll check her bank accounts and c
redit cards for any sudden withdrawals, but I’ve a feeling there’s a lot more to this.’

  ‘What do we know about the informant?’ Dark asked.

  ‘Graham Kirby, forty years old,’ Pemberton piped up from the back of the room. ‘Lives on the housing estate nearby. Claims he was walking his dog down the Bracken Way when he saw two kids run out of the back of the factory and down towards the road. Thought they were up to no good and reported it. I doubt he expected it to turn into a murder inquiry.’

  ‘Has he given a description of the kids?’

  ‘Black jeans and dark hoodies pulled over their heads. One was about 5 ft, the other smaller.’

  ‘That’s it?’

  ‘He only saw them from a distance.’

  ‘There was a used syringe and needle found at the factory,’ Helen said. ‘Forensics are checking it for prints and DNA. We’ll do a public appeal for any sightings of the kids or anyone else near there today. The family are staying at Blane’s mother’s house for the moment, so let’s get a team out to search the O’Donnell’s family home and start door-to-door nearby, to see if anybody’s seen anything suspicious recently.

  ‘Okay, everyone. Thanks for your support. I’m not going to pretend this is going to be easy. It never is. Let’s work together and nail this bastard.’

  The officers gathered their notes and made off. Helen flipped open a buff file on the table beside her and stared at Sinead’s beaten body. Her head was lolling forwards, tangled curls falling over her face. That morning she’d been heading out of Hampton, ready for a holiday. Within twelve hours, her bloody body was abandoned in a derelict factory. What had happened in between?

  She felt a presence beside her and looked up to find Pemberton peering over her shoulder at the photo. ‘Why that location?’ she said to him.

  ‘It’s remote, deserted. People wouldn’t have heard her screams.’

  ‘Why leave her there?’

  ‘Perhaps they planned to return, clean up and dispose of the body after dark.’

  She chewed the side of her mouth. ‘Can we trace the source of the handcuffs?’

  ‘We can try. But without markings it’ll be like looking for a needle in a haystack. They’re readily available and cheap to buy online.’

  ***

  Helen’s phone was ringing as she made her way into her makeshift office in the far corner of the incident room. In years gone by, they’d have set up a mobile incident room, close to the murder scene, but, with advances in technology, current policy was to keep staff ensconced in the homicide suite at headquarters, where whiteboards, screens and phone lines were already established. She slid past her window, with the view of the car park below, and felt a twinge of sadness. She missed those days. There was something about a close presence to the crime scene that sharpened the senses.

  The ringing stopped.

  She fished her phone out of her bag and checked the screen; two missed calls from Superintendent Jenkins. She took a breath and redialled.

  ‘Helen?’

  ‘Hello, sir.’

  ‘I’ve heard the news. It seems we’ve got you back early.’

  ‘It seems so.’

  ‘What can you tell me?’

  Sharp, perfunctory. Jenkins certainly hadn’t improved his social graces in her absence.

  She gave him a brief overview of the case. ‘Forensics are working on the scene. The pathologist is examining the victim in situ for the moment.’

  ‘I hear she was badly beaten. Do we think she’d been compromised?’

  ‘We don’t know yet. It’s a line of inquiry we’ll have to follow up. I’ve raised it as a critical incident, locked down Sinead’s computer account and requested a change to all entrance access codes force-wide, in case there’s a security breach.’

  ‘Okay. Keep me informed. How are the troops dealing with the news?’

  ‘As well as can be expected.’

  ‘I’m told there was an altercation at the scene with Blane O’Donnell.’

  ‘It was nothing. He was just a bit upset. Perfectly understandable given the circumstances.’

  ‘Hmm. Yes, I heard about the leak. Where’s the constable now?’

  ‘He’s been sent home.’

  The line quietened. They both knew the officer would be questioned, possibly even disciplined. The reputation of the whole force depended on discretion. Jeopardise that and the ability to maintain integrity, do their job and keep the public safe, failed.

  ‘Okay. I’m on my way to see Blane, then I’m coming into the office. Pull the press officer in. The chief constable wants a press conference organised pronto. It won’t be long before the media jump on this one.’

  ‘Will do.’

  ‘And Helen?’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘Make sure you take it easy and use your team. I don’t want you taking any risks.’

  Helen sank into her seat and changed the subject. ‘Any news on the new inspector?’

  Her team had been down an inspector for some months. Pemberton was substituting and not interested in applying to the board to become permanent and, with a live enquiry running, she could do with all the staff she could get.

  ‘Ah. Yes, we’ve got a transferee from Leicester. Ivan Newton. He’s joining us on Monday. I’ll see if I can get you any extra help in the meantime.’

  ‘Okay, thanks.’

  She ended the call, swivelled her chair and stared out of the window. Ivan Newton. For some reason, the name rang a bell. But thoughts of him were drowned out by another of Jenkins’ remarks. Use your team. Images of a dark cellar tripped into her mind. Grazes stinging her calves, a sharp pain in her head. The last time she’d wanted to use her team, he’d complained about his budget and given the case to another unit to wrap up, refusing to support her. A move that forced her to follow her instinct and go out on a limb. And she’d been right.

  She shivered. She’d almost died in that dank cellar. The detached retina behind her left eye, which was just starting to settle down, had taken several weeks to mend. Weeks in which she’d been laid up, off work.

  She’d made her reports. He’d made his. The file was prepared, the case awaiting a court hearing. Yet he’d never mentioned her actions, never discussed them with her, instead holding shallow conversations about work-related subjects when he’d visited her to discuss her return to work. But the incident stretched between them.

  A single knock at the door. Helen turned as Pemberton entered. ‘We’ve found Sinead’s car.’

  CHAPTER 6

  The wind had picked up, brushing the rain clouds aside. A full moon lit up the surrounding countryside. Sinead’s car was in Ashdown Lane, a country road on the fringe of the Hampton border, situated close to the motorway junction. Pemberton turned off the main drag and steered the pool car down the lane, slowing to avoid the potholes. They were nearly a quarter of a mile in when they spotted the police cars, the beam of their headlights fixed on a red Fiesta surrounded by blue and white police tape.

  The sound of an owl calling to its mate punctuated the distant thrum of motorway traffic as Helen climbed out of the car. Ashdown Lane was an old road, its usage long since usurped by the nearby A road, and was mainly accessed by the local farmers these days, feeding cattle in the nearby fields. Although a few locals trundled down on occasion to enjoy the views over open countryside or cut the corner towards the motorway junction when the surrounding roads were congested.

  ‘Odd place to leave a car,’ Helen said. There were no houses nearby. The nearest dwelling was Ashdown farmhouse, another quarter of a mile up the road. She couldn’t see any walkways or bridleways close by either.

  ‘That’s what the officer thought when he found it,’ Pemberton said.

  They greeted the uniformed officers at the vehicles, wandered over to the cordon. Having attended the murder scene, neither Helen nor Pemberton could risk getting close to the car before the CSIs examined it, in case they unwittingly transferred hairs or fibres belonging to the k
iller. But it was worth the trip to get a feel for the location, the setting where Sinead disappeared, even if they had to stay on the wrong side of the police tape.

  The Fiesta was parked at the side of the road. All the doors closed, it looked like somebody had left it there to take a walk.

  ‘Is this exactly how it was left?’ Helen asked one of officers.

  He nodded. ‘The nearside tyre’s as flat as a pancake.’

  She eyed his body-worn camera. ‘You discovered the car, right?’

  He nodded.

  ‘Can you play the footage back for me?’

  He removed the camera from the holder on his chest, pressed a button to rewind, then clicked another to replay.

  The edge of a car door swung open. The lens bobbed up and down as the officer climbed out. A flashlight illuminated the tarmac in a tunnel of light, the beam rising to the Fiesta and drawing closer as it circulated the vehicle. He flicked the light inside the windows to check the interior. A gloved hand reached out and gripped the driver door handle. It flipped up, but the door stayed firm.

  ‘Doesn’t look like she was surprised,’ Helen said. ‘She took time to park up and lock the car before she left.’

  The camera moved back around the car, zooming in on the flat tyre while the officer inspected it.

  ‘It appears she was on her way to the motorway, took this road as a shortcut and got caught out,’ Pemberton said. The sound of his phone ringing filled the air. He checked the screen. ‘It’s the office,’ he said and moved away to take the call.

  ‘We’re missing her bag and phone,’ Helen said to the officer. ‘I don’t suppose you noticed anything obvious inside the vehicle?’

  He shook his head. ‘It looked to be empty. Do you want us to break into the boot and check?’

  ‘No, thank you. We’ll get forensics to lift it as it is.’

  She looked back at the footage. The torchlight was still concentrated on the flat tyre, examining it, inch by inch. She imagined the officer crouching down, flattening himself against the ground to get a closer look. The road was unkempt and littered with potholes, it wouldn’t have been difficult to puncture a tyre down there if you didn’t drive carefully. She was pondering this when something glinted, catching her eye. The lens zoomed in on the head of a silver screw protruding from the tyre.