Her Final Hour

by Rachel Amphlett

  ‘And you didn’t find that strange?’

  ‘No, why would I? Me and Will hadn’t been going out with each other for ages by then.’

  ‘When you last worked with Jessica, did she seem concerned about anything?’

  ‘Not that I can remember.’

  ‘Was she worried about anyone, or did she mention being intimidated by anyone in the pub?’

  ‘I can assure you, my regulars aren’t the sort of people to go around attacking young women,’ said Collins. He dropped his hands to his sides as he approached the table. ‘And if Jessica was having any issues, she’d have come and talked to me.’

  Bethany smiled up at him, then turned to Jan and Turpin. ‘Noah keeps a look out for all of us, don’t you? No, I don’t remember her saying anything about any trouble here, but––’

  Her face fell.

  ‘What is it?’ said Turpin, straightening in his chair.

  ‘It could be nothing.’ The young woman shrugged. ‘But Jess did mention that when she was working at the petrol station a couple of weeks ago she saw someone hovering about near the cold drinks cabinet while she and the bloke she works with there were serving other customers. I got the impression it worried her.’

  ‘Did she say who it was, Bethany?’

  ‘No – it got busy then, and when I started to ask her, she said it didn’t matter and that she probably shouldn’t have said anything.’

  ‘Bethany, when was that? Can you remember the day she said she saw this man?’

  ‘It was the Thursday before I went to Wales. Like I said, we were working together the Friday night here before I left, because it was busy.’

  Jan swivelled in her seat to face Turpin, who wore a determined expression. He gestured to her to put away her notebook, then turned to Bethany and handed her a business card.

  ‘Thank you, you’ve been very helpful. Please call me if you think of anything else that could help us.’

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  ‘Who do you think he was?’ said Jan as they hurried back to the car.

  Mark waited until she’d started the engine, then ran his eyes over her notes from the interview. ‘I don’t know, but he obviously made some sort of impression on Jessica because she felt the need to tell Bethany about it. It’s like when you’re trying to process a thought, isn’t it, and the only way you can do that is to talk about it to someone else.’

  He pulled out his mobile phone and scrolled through his contacts list, then hit the call button.

  It was answered after the second ring.

  ‘Caroline? Can you let me have the phone number for Isaac Fisher, Jessica’s supervisor from the petrol station?’ He scrawled the number on a clean page. ‘Does he work Sundays? No? All right, no problem. Got an address for him? I’ll call him on our way.’

  He ended the call after thanking the detective constable, and then dialled the number she’d given him.

  Jan slowed the car as they approached the junction to the main road and pulled over, waiting as the dial tone began.

  Mark stuck his thumb up as the call went through. ‘Mr Fisher? Detective Sergeant Mark Turpin with Thames Valley Police. You spoke with two of my colleagues last week regarding Jessica Marley… Yes, that’s right. We have some further questions that I’d like to discuss with you, and I wondered if we could drop by your house… Now would be perfect. Thank you.’

  ‘Where?’ said Jan, her hand on the gearstick.

  ‘North of Abingdon. Cut around the ring road and head for Oxford. He’s expecting us.’

  Half an hour later, Jan slowed the car to a standstill outside a modest semi-detached house that had been rendered off-white and extended to the right of the front door.

  The driveway looked new, and as Mark led the way to the door, he noticed a pile of empty cement bags pegged under four house bricks, the edges flapping in the wind that tugged at Jan’s hair.

  She fastened it into a bun, then stabbed the doorbell with her forefinger.

  When the door opened, Mark was surprised by the size of the man who stood on the threshold.

  In his late forties, with a rotund protruding stomach and spiky greying brown hair, Isaac Fisher wore a harried expression that did nothing for the frown lines that criss-crossed his forehead.

  ‘Are you Detective Turpin?’ he said.

  ‘Yes, and this is my colleague, Detective Constable Jan West. Is it okay if we come in?’

  ‘Sure. We’ll use the kitchen – the wife’s catching up with her soap operas at the moment.’

  Mark followed Fisher past an open door through which a cascade of broad Australian accents bemoaned their latest lot in life, and then stepped into a bright kitchen that wrapped around the back of the house.

  Skylights had been punctured into the ceiling at the far end, and Fisher led them into a space that Mark realised took up the back half of the new extension. Three sofas surrounded a low square table, and patio doors faced an expertly terraced garden.

  ‘You’ve been busy. I saw the cement bags outside,’ he said.

  Fisher straightened, his smile broad. ‘Finally got it finished three weeks ago. Julie – that’s my wife – loves it. I can’t wait until the summer when we can have those open. We’ve finally got the perfect space to have parties.’

  His expression softened as he gestured to them to take a seat. ‘I couldn’t believe it when I heard about Jess. Have you caught anyone yet?’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ said Mark. ‘We can’t comment about an ongoing investigation. Do you have a moment to answer a few more questions about Jessica and her work at the petrol station?’

  ‘Of course.’ Fisher lowered his considerable weight onto the sofa opposite and rested his elbows on his knees. ‘What do you need to know?’

  ‘We have reason to believe that Jessica might have been concerned about a customer who came into the petrol station on Thursday afternoon – the week before her death. She told a friend that a man came in and hovered by the cold drinks cabinet while you both worked, as if he was watching her. She was uncomfortable about it enough to tell her friend that evening. Did she mention anything to you?’

  Fisher leaned back on the sofa and rubbed his chin, the frame groaning. ‘She never said anything. I always thought she knew she could talk to me about anything.’

  ‘Are your customers mostly regulars?’

  ‘Pretty much. We see the same faces each week – probably because we’re part of the supermarket chain and right next door to it. People do their shopping and then fill up on the way out. We’re not near a main road – it’s what Annie calls a “destination shop” – but we do get a few people each day dropping by to top up the tank if the price is cheaper than the bigger petrol station up near the dual carriageway.’

  ‘And you didn’t notice anything peculiar about anyone that Thursday?’

  ‘Can’t say I do. We had a regular stream of customers coming by, but it wasn’t overly busy. We had time to restock the shelves in between serving everyone. The only time it got congested on the forecourt was just after three o’clock – we always get a flurry of customers once the school pick-up’s been done and the parents are driving home. Jess left at four o’clock so she could get home in time to do her shift over at the Farriers.’

  ‘How did she get there?’ said Jan.

  ‘By bus, same as she always did, unless her mum or dad happened to be passing by.’

  Mark peered across at the notes Jan had taken, and then rose to his feet. ‘Thanks for your time, Mr Fisher. We’ll need to see CCTV film from the petrol station for that week. What’s the best way to get it?’

  Fisher pulled a mobile phone from his back pocket. ‘I’ll phone Annie now. She’ll have to clear it with head office, but if we do that today, then she might be able to let you have it by, say, Tuesday. Would that be all right?’

  ‘That’d be perfect, thank you.’

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Kennedy wasted no time in calling a briefing the following morn
ing, corralling his bleary-eyed team around the whiteboard as soon as the last person walked into the incident room.

  ‘For those of you who worked the weekend, thank you. We’re a lot further forward than we were a week ago, so let’s get on with it. Tom – what’s happening about the camera footage from the bus company and the list of drivers?’

  The police sergeant stepped forward, his tall frame towering over his colleagues. ‘I spoke with the depot again on Saturday afternoon but according to the woman who answered the phone, there were no supervisors available. They can’t hand over the recordings until they’ve had the paperwork signed off by two managers. I’m going to give them another call after this briefing.’

  ‘Put them onto me if you don’t get any joy,’ said Kennedy. ‘Someone needs to light a firework under their arses. What about the drivers?’

  ‘I’ve been given two names,’ said Tom. ‘Leonard Smith and Michael Brockman. The HR manager I spoke to on Friday afternoon says they can’t attend without a union representative so he was going to phone me back today to confirm when they can be here. I’m pushing to get them both in tomorrow morning.’

  ‘Good man. Keep on top of that. Alex – what has Jasper and his team of CSIs managed to glean from the lane where the broken streetlight was found?’

  ‘We’ve had a breakthrough with that,’ said the detective constable. He flipped the cover from a report he held in his right hand. ‘Jasper found a minuscule amount of blood spatter on some stones that were found on the grass verge a couple of metres away from the streetlight. A crisp packet had blown over the top of them, protecting them from the rain shower we had last week.’

  An excited murmur filled the room.

  Kennedy held up his hand for silence. ‘Is it confirmed as Jessica’s?’

  ‘Not yet, guv. He’s sent samples over to the specialist laboratory for a comparative analysis. Hopefully it won’t turn out to be from a rabbit instead, so we can definitely place Jessica at that location when she was attacked.’

  ‘Any sign of the murder weapon?’

  ‘Sorry, guv. No.’

  ‘Never mind. We keep looking then.’ Kennedy rapped his knuckles on two photographs on the board. ‘Paul Hitchens and Nigel White were interviewed on Saturday and each confirms their movements and Brennan’s on Monday night and Tuesday morning. So far, we still have no motive for Jessica’s murder, though, so I’m leaving them up here until we find out otherwise. Jan – when are you two planning to interview Dominic Millar?’

  ‘Tomorrow, guv.’

  ‘Bring that forward to today. I want everyone who has access to the gallops where Jessica’s body was discovered interviewed by close of business. If Millar’s setup is as small as MacKenzie Adams would have us believe, then you and Mark should be able to do that with the help of uniform this afternoon.’

  ‘Yes, guv.’

  ‘All right, next. Mark and Jan interviewed Bethany Myers yesterday – she’s the lass who Jessica was helping out because it was a busy shift the Friday before she died. Bethany’s informed us that Jessica was worried about a customer she’d seen the previous day while working at the petrol station with Isaac Fisher who might have been monitoring her movements. Mark – how are the CCTV images from the garage coming along?’

  ‘I spoke with Fisher this morning,’ he said. ‘Annie Hartman, his manager, has requested the relevant permissions from their head office to access the files in order to get them sent across to our digital forensics team. I’ve asked Fisher to make sure we get all the footage from the forecourt and the shop for the week leading up to Jessica’s death.’

  ‘Good, thank you. Caroline – speaking of digital forensics, how are you and Tracy getting on with the two mobile phones?’

  Caroline pushed forward until she stood near the front of the room and raised her voice so everyone could hear her. ‘Brennan’s phone checks out, with calls to Jessica exactly as he said in his statement when Mark and Jan interviewed him. There are no calls or texts from his phone to Jessica or anyone else after eleven oh-five on Monday night.’

  Kennedy paced in front of the whiteboard as he listened. ‘And Jessica’s?’

  ‘This is where it gets interesting, guv. We got lucky and managed to guess Jessica’s passcode – it’s Brennan’s date of birth. We checked her phone and at twelve thirty-five last Monday night she made two phone calls. Each only lasted for a few seconds, so at the moment I’m guessing that whoever she called didn’t answer and it went through to voicemail both times. Given the timeframe, she couldn’t have had time to leave a message. She must’ve dialled one, got no answer then hung up and tried the other. Again, the second call only lasted a few seconds.’

  ‘So, she was on the phone while she was walking home from the pub?’ said Kennedy.

  ‘Looks that way, guv.’

  ‘And neither of those calls were made to Will Brennan?’

  ‘No.’

  The detective inspector wrote an update on the board, and then turned back to the team, tapping the end of the pen against the back of his hand. ‘If Jessica had the phone to her ear while she was walking up the lane, then she might not have heard her attacker approaching.’

  Jan hissed through her teeth as the fine hairs on the back of her neck stood on end. ‘And if either of those calls had been answered, she might’ve been able to get help.’

  The room fell silent.

  ‘Bloody hell,’ said Alex. ‘There but for the grace…’

  Kennedy pointed at Caroline. ‘Try to find out who those numbers belong to––’

  ‘I’ve already done that, guv,’ she said. ‘I ran the first one through HOLMES2 just before the briefing. It’s Bethany Myers’ number.’

  ‘She said she didn’t have a mobile phone signal where she was staying in Wales,’ said Jan.

  ‘Hence why Jessica hung up and tried someone else,’ said Kennedy. ‘Any luck with that one?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Caroline. ‘We’ve traced it to Wayne Brooks. Jessica’s tutor at college.’

  ‘Hang on,’ said Jan. ‘When you tried to speak to him last week, where was he?’

  ‘According to his wife, he was visiting his father in the Wye Valley,’ said Alex.

  Jan twisted in her seat until she could see Turpin towards the back of the group.

  He raised an eyebrow in response. ‘Are you thinking what I’m thinking?’

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Jan flicked through the social media profile for Jessica Marley as Mark drove them towards the agricultural college, her thumb tapping the screen to scroll through the photographs the young woman had uploaded over the past year.

  ‘Anything?’ he said.

  ‘Not yet.’

  After the briefing had ended, Kennedy had tasked them with interviewing Wayne Brooks.

  ‘And find out what the hell he was up to last week,’ he’d said as they’d hurried from his office. ‘I want some bloody answers.’

  After fighting his way through rush-hour traffic for twenty minutes, Mark turned into the car park for the college, driving into a space that gave them a clear view of the campus.

  He peered through the windscreen as a group of students hurried across the concrete apron of the college carrying an array of backpacks and sports bags.

  By the way they shouldered their loads, he estimated each bag weighed several kilos, bringing back memories of his own commute to school and then university.

  Jan put away her phone and reached into her bag for two cereal bars, handing one to him.

  ‘Thanks. How are your two getting on at school?’ he said.

  ‘All good,’ she said between mouthfuls. ‘They’re actually playing in tune these days. There’s hope yet.’

  He coughed, spluttering into the napkin before glaring at her.

  ‘Serves you right,’ she said, and winked. ‘We put in the application for the boys’ school yesterday.’

  ‘With a year to go?’

  ‘There’s a waiting list. Better to get
it in early.’

  Mark swallowed the last of the cereal bar and wiped his fingers, then sat up straighter as a man in his late thirties jogged up the three steps leading into the college and disappeared through the double doors.

  ‘That’s our man. Come on. With any luck, we’ll catch him before class starts.’

  They walked across the car park, Jan brushing crumbs from her suit trousers before tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.

  Entering the building, Mark was struck by the dated decor. Although he knew from the college’s website that construction had been completed in the late 1970s, he was surprised to see many of the original fittings in situ, including a wide wooden stair bannister that guided them from the reception hall up towards a room signposted for the administration department.

  ‘Takes me back to my secondary school days,’ said Jan. She tapped him on the arm as she peered past his shoulder.

  Turning, he met the harried stare of an older woman with greying blonde hair who was glaring at them from behind a desk.

  ‘Can I help you?’ she said as she rose from a battered chair.

  They pulled out their warrant cards, which were inspected in turn and handed back.

  ‘Is this about Jessica Marley?’

  ‘Yes – and you are?’

  ‘Angela Spetcroft.’ The woman tugged at the hem of her grey jacket before fastening the two buttons. ‘You’ll be wanting to speak to her form tutor, then?’

  ‘Wayne Brooks? Yes, please,’ said Mark.

  Spetcroft turned her wrist outwards and looked down her nose at her watch. ‘He’s due to begin class in fifteen minutes.’

  ‘Well,’ said Jan, ‘if you could point us in the right direction, he might make it on time.’

  The woman huffed, then waved them away. ‘Next floor up, third door on the right.’