An Eye for an Eye (Detective Kate Young)

by Carol Wyer

  ‘I need a minute to wash my face. I look a mess.’

  ‘I want a quick word with Sam, so I’ll wait for you outside.’

  Lisa’s friend was leaning against her car, arms folded, a lit cigarette in her hand. ‘Stupid cow. Why on earth did she make up all that shit? I believed her, and now I feel so . . . rubbish.’

  ‘Panic can make people behave in irrational ways.’ Kate’s words belied the ire that smouldered in the pit of her stomach. Not only had Lisa wasted time in a serious investigation, she’d not cared about the consequences of her accusation – the damage to her boss’s reputation and the effect on his family – nor had she given a second thought to those real victims of rape, some of whom could never live normal lives again. Kate’s nostrils quivered, but she didn’t voice her thoughts.

  Sam flicked ash from her cigarette testily. ‘I’m not sure I trust her enough any more. She’s a total screwball. Anyway, why did you ask me to stay behind?’

  ‘To ask for your discretion. Will you please keep everything you’ve heard to yourself? If anything gets out, it might compromise our investigation.’

  ‘I understand. I won’t say a word.’

  ‘Thank you. Lisa’s coming with me to make a statement.’

  ‘Right.’

  On cue, Lisa plodded down the path towards them. She drew level with Sam and placed a hand on her friend’s arm. Sam shrugged it off angrily.

  ‘I’m so sorry, babe. I’ve been a fucking idiot. It all . . . got out of hand. I never meant for it to, and I shouldn’t have lied to you – not you. Whatever you think of me, I had absolutely nothing to do with Alex’s death.’

  Sam tossed the cigarette on to the pavement and ground her heel into it.

  ‘I loved Alex so much it messed with my head. But I love you too, Sam. You’re my best friend. Don’t give up on me.’

  As they pulled away, Kate reflected that they now had a second witness who’d spotted the white Mini. Bradley Chapman had better come up with some answers if he didn’t want to find himself behind bars.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  SATURDAY, 5 JUNE – LATE AFTERNOON

  ‘Lisa spotted a Mini outside Alex’s house on Thursday morning,’ said Kate.

  Morgan looked up. ‘And we’ve come across this.’

  Kate tossed her car keys on to her desk and went to look over his shoulder. Morgan brought up a website, the Cindi Kaufer Escort Agency, and pointed out a photograph.

  ‘I haven’t been able to get hold of him yet, but the Corbys’ gardener, Rory Winters, is also a part-time male escort.’

  Kate leant in to read the biography. ‘Ok-ay. Speaks Russian and French and likes art and literature. Who’s this Cindi Kaufer that runs the agency?’

  ‘Not sure yet, guv, but we’re looking into it.’

  ‘Good. Got anything else for me?’

  Emma lifted her notepad. ‘I have. I spoke to the Corbys’ cleaner, Kelly Innes. She recalls overhearing Fiona and Alex arguing the Thursday before half-term. More importantly, Kelly is sure Fiona Corby is having an affair. Apparently, Fiona was behaving furtively – hushed phone calls, text messages that made her blush, dressing “provocatively” to go out shopping, and there were several deliveries of flowers.’

  ‘None of that points at her actually having an affair. Could all have been from Alex.’

  ‘Kelly was certain. She said Fiona hid the cards that came with the flowers.’

  ‘Still not watertight, but we’ll keep that in mind. Lisa’s in interview room B, waiting to make a statement. Which one of you feels like taking it?’

  ‘I’ll do it.’ Morgan leapt up.

  ‘Cheers, Morgan. You’ll need to arrange for somebody to run her back to her house afterwards.’

  ‘She not a suspect any more?’

  ‘She’s changed her story so many times, I’m not completely ruling her out, but in light of what she told me I want to interview Bradley again. I’m also wondering if we shouldn’t question Fiona as well. Establish if she is having an affair and, if so, with whom.’ She tapped a forefinger against her chin, trying to decide which way to turn. ‘We’ll interview Bradley first. If he persists in remaining silent, we’ll charge him.’

  ‘What with?’

  ‘Being a pain in the arse,’ Kate replied.

  The door opened and DCI William Chase stood in the doorway. ‘I thought I saw you in the corridor, Kate. I’m afraid the news about Alex has leaked. Dickson’s asked me to speak to the press. I thought I’d give you fair warning that we’re making an announcement in an hour.’

  ‘Oh, shit! What are you planning on telling them?’

  ‘That Alex Corby was found dead on Thursday afternoon in suspicious circumstances, and we’re currently investigating his death. I’ll keep it as brief and ambiguous as possible. It was only to be expected. Anybody passing his house will have spotted the forensic unit vans outside.’

  ‘He lives at the end of a lane. Nobody would go past.’

  William gave a light shrug.

  ‘And we could do with more time without being put under the spotlight.’

  ‘You made any progress?’

  ‘Bradley’s car was spotted turning into Lea Lane at eleven thirty, and a quarter of an hour later another witness saw it parked outside the house. But he’s not talking and I don’t think, at this stage, we have enough evidence to charge him.’

  ‘Okay. I’ll leave you to it.’ William turned to leave.

  Her voice stopped him in his tracks. ‘William, keep my name out of the statement to the press.’

  ‘You know I will.’

  No sooner had he shut the door than Kate’s hands began to shake. Although she’d expected the media to become involved, the realisation they’d now be following the investigation rattled her. She clenched her fists, fingernails digging deep into her palms.

  ‘Everything okay, boss?’ Morgan asked, cautiously.

  ‘Fine. I’m just pissed off about this getting out. Let’s crack on. Morgan, go on and take Lisa’s statement. Emma and I will interview Bradley again.’

  She hightailed it towards the door, hoping to make it down the corridor without anyone talking to her. She needed those valuable minutes to calm down and work out what to say to Bradley. She thrust her hands into her pockets and rubbed the foil pack of tablets. In spite of the temptation, she didn’t take any. She needed her wits about her, and not purely for this investigation. She had to work out what John Dickson was up to. If he was deliberately trying to sabotage her, it could only be for one reason – the incident in January.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  SATURDAY, 5 JUNE – LATE AFTERNOON

  Bradley Chapman stared straight ahead, eyes focused on a spot above Kate’s head. His lawyer, a sturdy man in his early fifties, combed fingers through his silver-grey hair, then unhurriedly unclipped the lid from a jet-black fountain pen in readiness and, only after clearing his throat, began to speak in a droning voice.

  ‘My client wishes it to be made clear he did not visit Alex Corby at any point on Thursday the third of June.’

  Kate replied with, ‘We have a witness who filmed Mr Chapman’s car as it turned into Lea Lane at 11.30 a.m., and another who claims to have seen a white Mini parked outside Alex Corby’s house at approximately 11.45 a.m.’

  ‘Mr Chapman denies being at the Corby residence at those times, and I would like to point out that the Mini is a popular make of car.’

  ‘I am aware of that fact. However, this car had a unique red, white and blue flash along the side panels, exactly like those on Mr Chapman’s driving-school Mini.’

  The lawyer replied, ‘Unique? That’s debatable.’

  ‘Mr Chapman, I would like to ask you, rather than your lawyer, the question. Was your car parked outside Alex Corby’s house on Thursday morning?’

  Bradley didn’t reply, and his lawyer blinked lazily before asking, ‘Did either of your witnesses recall or note the registration of the vehicle?’

  ‘No.’ Ka
te balled her fists tightly. She had a feeling she knew where he was heading with this.

  ‘Did either of your witnesses observe Mr Chapman driving, or even getting out of the car?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Then I don’t think we need to pursue this line of enquiry any further.’

  Kate held his gaze. ‘There is insufficient proof Mr Chapman headed to Lichfield along the B5014, as he claimed. His car did not pass the safety camera along the route at any time between eleven and twelve on Thursday morning.’

  ‘Then maybe the camera is or was faulty. Have you checked to see if it was operating correctly?’

  ‘We have no reason to believe it is faulty. Furthermore, nobody at Brown’s Café recalls seeing him during the period he claims he was there. Given that information and the fact Mr Chapman can’t recall where he parked, thus further preventing us from determining whether his car was actually in Lichfield at the time he says, we have to consider the possibility he did not drive to Lichfield but instead drove from Yeatsall Road in Abbots Bromley to his daughter and son-in-law’s house on Lea Lane.’

  The lawyer rested his pen on a pad and lifted the photograph. He grunted in agreement before continuing, ‘These photographs show a vehicle turning into Lea Lane. You say the markings are unique, but decal stickers identical to these can be purchased from any auto-parts store, or online, and attached to vehicles. There’s no photograph of the actual number plate or any proof my client was driving this car, therefore you have no grounds to charge him and little reason to question him further.’

  Kate caught the fierce glare that Emma directed at the man, who didn’t appear fazed by it.

  ‘Have you anything other than conjecture? Have you any forensic evidence to place Mr Chapman at the scene of the crime?’ He took her silence for the answer he expected. ‘In which case, DI Young, I request this interview be terminated. Mr Chapman’s wife, daughter and grandchildren need his moral support during this difficult and distressing time.’

  ‘We could retain Mr Chapman for further questioning or charge him with perverting the course of justice,’ Kate replied. She hated smug lawyers, and they didn’t come much smugger than this one.

  ‘I don’t think so, DI Young. Mr Chapman has been open with you and told you everything he knows. He wasn’t at the scene of the crime.’

  Kate couldn’t argue any more. The confounded lawyer would drag up some obscure section of the law and insist on his client being allowed to leave the station. It would be better to release him and concentrate on the facts again. Facts and evidence would lead her to the killer, and if it turned out to be Bradley, no lawyer on this planet would get him off, not by the time Kate had finished preparing her case against him.

  She ended the interview and scraped back her chair. ‘Okay. But Mr Chapman, by keeping silent you are assisting whoever killed your son-in-law and, moreover, impeding our investigation.’

  ‘My client understands,’ said the lawyer. He replaced the lid on his pen and, signalling to Bradley they could leave, got to his feet.

  Kate had no time to waste. She’d speak to Fiona. If Alex’s wife was indeed having an extra-marital relationship, there was cause to probe further. With a prenuptial agreement in place denying her any right to Corby International or his fortune in the case of divorce, she had a motive for having her husband murdered.

  Emma followed Kate into the office, a scowl on her face. ‘Slippery bastard.’

  ‘Leave it for now, Emma. We’ll speak to Fiona.’

  ‘I’m going to have the camera on the B5014 checked out. That fucker definitely headed up Lea Lane and not into Lichfield. He went to Alex’s house.’ Emma slammed her paperwork on to the desk with a hefty thud.

  Kate knew how it felt to be so sure of something you wanted it to be right. ‘It might be a long shot, but show Lisa Handsworth a photo of the driving-school Mini and ask her if it was the car she saw on the driveway. Maybe it’ll trigger a memory.’

  Emma looked up briefly. ‘He’s lying, Kate. I’m going to prove it.’

  Kate looked at her watch. It was coming up to four o’clock and William would soon be talking to the press. She needed to slip away before that happened. She stole down the emergency staircase to avoid the reporters who’d gathered outside the building and made the call to Fiona.

  Fiona’s voice was angry. ‘Where’s my father?’

  ‘I believe he’s on his way home.’

  ‘Mum’s having a meltdown. Why did you take him to the station? He hasn’t done anything wrong.’ Her voice reminded Kate of Tilly’s – whiny and high-pitched.

  ‘He was assisting us with our investigation. Fiona, I’d like to talk to you, too. Something has been brought to our attention and we need to discuss it.’

  ‘What? What are you talking about?’

  ‘I need to speak to you in person about it.’

  Fiona sighed. ‘Mum’s in a bad enough state, so it’d be better if you didn’t come here, and I don’t want to come to the station. How about we meet at the Truly Scrumptious Café in Abbots Bromley? Do you know where it is?’

  ‘Yes. I know it. Is half an hour too soon to meet?’

  ‘No, that’s fine. I’ll be there.’

  Kate raced to the Audi and jumped into the driver’s seat without glancing in the direction of William Chase, who was addressing a pack of journalists. She slammed the door shut and gasped. ‘Oh! You surprised me. What are you doing in here?’

  ‘I wanted to see if Dickson would make the statement, but he hasn’t,’ said Chris.

  ‘You think he should be talking to the press instead?’

  ‘Definitely. He couldn’t wait to talk to them about the Euston train incident, could he?’

  A vision of a sombre-faced Dickson in full regalia, offering condolences to families. It was true. He was invariably the representative who faced the cameras.

  ‘He’s left it to his lieutenant to do his dirty work. Pity you can’t lip-read,’ said Chris.

  ‘Dirty work? What are you on about? William’s only giving out bare details.’

  ‘Look closely. For somebody handing out scant details, he’s doing a lot of talking and he’s answering questions.’

  She screwed up her eyes. It looked like he was responding to the eager journalists.

  ‘Bet he mentions you.’

  ‘He wouldn’t.’

  ‘He would if he’d been ordered to.’

  ‘Dickson wouldn’t do that, would he?’

  ‘It’d put pressure on the investigation, hurl you into the spotlight, and if the press discover you are SIO on this, imagine the fallout. We journalists love a juicy story and it would give them an excuse to drag up the Euston train massacre.’

  Kate swallowed hard. It was the last thing she wanted.

  ‘Remind me, Kate, what did you uncover about the incident?’

  ‘You know full well. Nothing.’

  ‘And why not?’

  ‘You know why not.’

  ‘Humour me.’

  ‘Because I was denied access to the investigation and case notes.’

  ‘On whose authority?’

  ‘Dickson’s.’

  She placed cool hands on heated cheeks. Dickson had ensured she wasn’t granted access to any files, even speaking to the investigating officer personally to ensure she would be kept out of the investigation, a fact she’d uncovered thanks to an old colleague working in the same building as the crime unit on the Euston train case.

  ‘Kate, think about what I’m saying. This could be part of Dickson’s plan to keep the pressure on you. If you feel hounded by the press, you’re more likely to crumble or make mistakes.’

  ‘I can’t do this at the moment, Chris. I’ve got to interview a suspect.’

  ‘If Dickson had requested a gag order or a media blackout on this, none of those journalists would be stood there, and you’d have the time you need to investigate Alex Corby’s death.’

  She watched as William shook his head and held up
his hand to signal the end of the brief conference.

  Chris continued talking. ‘Have you considered the possibility that Dickson is involved somehow in Alex’s death and is deliberately steering you in the wrong direction?’

  ‘For crying out loud, Chris! That’s one step too far.’

  ‘Is it, though? As the old saying goes, there’s no smoke without fire. Dickson should be making that statement, not William. He’s distancing himself from the investigation for a reason. Answer me this – has he contacted you directly to ask how you are getting along?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Doesn’t it strike you as odd that a man who specifically requested you lead the investigation is staying in the shadows?’

  ‘Look, I can’t deal with this. I need to go.’

  ‘Do I have to spell this out for you, or can you work it out yourself?’

  Kate ignored him, fixed her eyes ahead and waited for Chris to leave her so she could get on with her job, then drove away without looking back. Chris had gone.

  A bell tinkled merrily over the door of the Truly Scrumptious Café, which was devoid of customers when Kate arrived. She took in the bright room and chalkboard next to the counter announcing the cakes of the day, each with tempting descriptions: salted caramel and fresh cream, pistachio with fresh lemon-yoghurt topping, and banana and butterscotch cream cake. A name was swirled at the bottom of the board – Annette-Hannah – the proud owner of the café.

  A woman in her mid-thirties wearing an apron covered in cartoon cats appeared – no doubt Annette-Hannah herself. Kate ordered a black coffee.

  ‘Can’t tempt you to a piece of today’s special – devilishly chocolate cake? I’ve got one slice left over from lunchtime and it’s extremely moreish.’

  ‘No, thanks.’ Seeing the look of disappointment spread across the woman’s face, Kate realised she might have sounded unfriendly. ‘I’ve not got a sweet tooth. My husband, however, would have definitely chosen it. He’s crazy about chocolate.’ Why had she mentioned Chris?

  ‘Take it then – on the house – for him. It’ll only dry out overnight. Besides, I’m confident he’ll enjoy it so much he’ll send you back for more.’ Annette-Hannah ignored Kate’s protests and bundled the slice into a paper bag before passing it over.