He laughed.
Baxter actually laughed.
A short sharp bark of a laugh, but a laugh none the same.
What the hell?
I picked up a pen from the top of a pile of files on my desk. I desperately wanted to throw it at him. Instead I flicked it on the desktop. In a rigid hard rhythm. And stared at him. ‘Something you care to share, Sir?’
He cleared his throat. ‘I’m sorry. That wasn’t very professional.’
Understatement.
‘It’s just the comment about him performing to the same ability as he was previously.’
I flicked the pen again. It cracked in the silence between us.
‘Before he had his heart attack, Aaron was not performing well at all. Not in my estimation, Hannah. He was at risk of being moved sideways. You know that, we had the discussion. Then he went and had a heart attack before we could action it.’
We? I flicked again.
‘And now, here you are informing me that DS Stone is performing at the very same level that he was before his heart attack. Knowing his performance was under review. So, for that I thank you. I’ll need to speak to him obviously, but you might just have supported a move out of the unit for DS Aaron Stone.’
I flicked the pen again and the lid flew off.
46.
I wasn’t certain how to describe my mood when I opened up the briefing. There was one sure-fire way I could defend Aaron, but he had argued against it. The only reason Baxter had taken against him was not because of Aaron’s work but because of a personality clash. And it was a personality he didn’t understand. If he knew about the Asperger’s then he could accept Aaron’s quirks, like his need to wear earphones when the office became a little too loud and boisterous for him. His sometime blunt responses. Though these, they were no different to what I encountered from anyone above the rank of DCI. Shit, even some sergeants got an attitude as soon as they received their stripes. Rank and perceived power did that to people.
‘Okay, quiet down, people,’ I shouted above the din.
The smell of grease permeated the incident room. Everyone was in early. It was seven a.m. and the team were here and raring to go. It was Sunday but not one single person complained. This was what they did. A job came in, they came up to the line and worked. If it was a weekend, they did it with breakfast sandwiches. For the second day running. It was surprising that our waistlines weren’t twice the size they were. Martin had texted everyone before he came in, got orders and stopped at an early doors greasy spoon and collected the food. Everyone was chowing down on fried food.
He’d brought me a bacon sandwich, but I was so furious I couldn’t touch it.
That was one word for it, furious. But, it didn’t do it justice.
Martin gave me a look when I left the cob on the desk at the side of me. It wasn’t like me to leave food uneaten. He didn’t say anything though. His forte was tact.
‘Are we going to have some quiet today?’ I bellowed again as the noise continued.
Eventually the racket died down. Mouths were wiped with the backs of hands and napkins. The remains were shoved in and chewed down and pens were picked up.
‘Thanks, guys. We have a lot of work to do and I’m not sure if you’re aware, but one of our witnesses made our job a whole lot more difficult late last night.’
‘Yeah, I saw that,’ piped up Ross. I’d forgotten he was a social media user.
‘Me too,’ Pasha said.
‘Anyone else?’ I asked, feeling, not for the first time in this investigation, older than I was.
A couple of others in the team nodded, but I was grateful to see I wasn’t the only one to not use social media, though I supposed some of them might have just not been on since last night. After all, it was on late and we were up early. Maybe they hadn’t had a chance to see it.
‘It feels as though we don’t have a particularly strong grip on this case and that needs to change,’ I said. ‘DCI Baxter has Twitter on board and they are keeping on top of the image situation now. But the fact is, it’s out there. And even if it wasn’t, people know more than we want them to know. The usual case of keeping facts back for interviews of possible offenders becomes difficult when everyone has seen the murder scene.’
I paused as a thought crossed my mind.
It crossed everyone else’s at the same time.
‘You think that’s why he’s doing it, Ma’am, leaving the bodies in places they’ll get found and photographed? So the murder scene is public property. So the nuts can admit to it?’ asked Pasha.
‘Not that I’m a fan of the word nuts, Pasha.’ A blush crept up her face. ‘But, yes, I think it’s something we have to consider. That the reason they are left in such public places…’ I paused, thought about it some more, ‘Though Lacey’s scene wasn’t particularly public we do have to bear that hypothesis in mind due to the location of the first, of Sebastian Wade.’
There was a few head shakes as people wrapped their minds around how prepared a killer would have to be to think about a scene this way. If it was true, if they did want their dump site or murder site to be public property so any subsequent investigation or trial was skewed, then they were not only intelligent, but this was also premeditated and extremely well thought out, making him a very cold-blooded killer.
‘There’s an awful lot of work to do. The second boy from last night is coming in first thing this morning and needs interviewing. Many of you still have actions from the Sebastian Wade inquiry. DCI Baxter has authorised more staff. So expect them to be arriving throughout the day. No doubt we’ll be using seconded uniform officers as usual. Make use of them. Apparently a young woman called in last night and said she was probably the last person to see Lacey alive as they did some photography shots on the river. She’s coming in later so one of you needs to see her and take her statement. Be thorough.’
‘And Aaron, Ma’am, he’ll be back tomorrow I take it?’ It was Martin. Where everyone else was scribbling notes in their Major Incident notepads, Martin was relaxed in his chair listening to the briefing rather than writing anything down. He was not known for being up-to-date on his paperwork. He was particularly good with people, however.
I looked to Baxter who was standing at the rear of the room. Silent. Watching.
He shrugged. Unhelpful.
‘DS Stone is due back to work tomorrow, yes,’ I replied. And I needed to try to make time to speak to him some time before Baxter got to him.
My phone vibrated in my pocket. As I was still in the middle of briefing and Baxter was here I ignored it. If it was urgent and was job-related they would call the office next.
‘Theresa will hand out the actions for today, but we’re going to be needing the usual, house-to-house, CCTV collecting, a search for witnesses.’ I looked at Evie who was tucked away in a corner. ‘We obviously have another online link. I’m going to speak to Evie and the forensic team to see how they can help with.’ She nodded.
Baxter gave a short cough and stepped forward. ‘We’re also going to do a press conference today.’
We were? Shit. I hated press conferences. At least Ethan wouldn’t be in the press, sitting in front of me. Ethan, a reporter who had been with the Nottingham Today paper but was now working for one of the Nationals in London, and with whom I had been in, I’m not sure what kind of relationship I would call it, but yes, it was a relationship of sorts.
‘Will you be taking that, Sir?’ I asked. Hopeful.
He preened in front of me. ‘I could do.’ He flicked away a piece of non-existent lint from his jacket lapel. ‘It’s been a while since I put on my TV face, but I’m sure I still have it.’ He smiled.
Some people lapped up that kind of attention. Me? I hated it. Hated the camera and hated the questions that came with it. I think he was forgetting about that part.
‘And what will we be focusing on, with the press conference?’ I asked. ‘Because, obviously, we need a plan. I’ll get Claire to come and see you in
your office, shall I?’ Claire was our media liaison. Nothing went out unless it went through her.
‘Yes, please do. We need to appeal for witnesses to come forward. It’s all well and good for them to chat away online with each other and total strangers but we want them to come to us and tell us what they saw, and as far as I can see we’re not getting that?’ It was posed as a question.
‘No, no we’re not,’ I admitted.
‘Good. This might spur them on then. Remind them of their civic duty.’ He turned to leave.
‘And that extra staff?’ I prompted.
He didn’t even bother turning back to face me. ‘Yes, yes.’ He lifted a hand into the air. ‘I’ll get right on it.’ And he pushed his way through the incident room doors.
‘I’ll contact the morgue and see what time the PM is. You all have something to be getting on with.’ A gradual hum rose again as the briefing came to a close.
As I strode out of the office I remembered that I had missed a call on my phone. It must be personal as the office phone hadn’t rung. I pulled it out of my pocket. It was a missed call from my dad. At this time in the morning. There was a voicemail. I dialled the service as I walked to my office. As I pushed the door open I saw that the clock on the wall read eight five a.m. and my desk phone was ringing.
My dad’s voice clicked into my thoughts. Panic lifted the tone. ‘Hannah, it’s Dad. Oh, oh, I really wish you had picked up. Oh, you must be, oh erm busy. It’s just. Oh, Hannah. She’s left the house. I couldn’t stop her. I thought I would tell you. I thought you would want to know.’
There was the briefest of pauses as he inhaled. ‘Oh, Hannah. It’s such a difficult situation. I didn’t know if you would want to know or what I should do. I’m sorry, love.’
The call ended.
I was puzzled. Why would he call me to tell me Zoe had left the house? Was he worried she had gone out to score? Was she in trouble? Shit, I would kill her. He really didn’t need this in his life. He had waited patiently for her release. It had kept him going after Mum had died. And now she was doing this to him. Wait until I got my hands on her.
I snatched up the phone on my desk before it rang off.
‘DI Robbins.’
‘Ma’am, it’s PC Mitchell.’
‘What can I do for you this early on a Sunday, PC Mitchell?’
‘I was just walking into the station when a young woman outside said she wanted to talk to you, says she’s your sister.’
47.
I yanked her by her arm and pulled her towards the door. She let out a small yelp as my fingers dug into her arm. My eyes shot towards PC Mitchell who was still hovering. She dropped her head and looked down as soon as I turned.
‘Come with me,’ I hissed then paused. Where should I take her? Into the corridor where any of my colleagues, from anywhere in the station, not just my office, could overhear us? Or outside where a member of the public could hear us?
It was a Sunday. The station was quiet. There was only uniformed staff about as the majority of civilian staff only worked Monday to Friday. Better to risk a colleague or two than a member of the public.
Again I tugged on her arm and made for the internal door. This time she moved with me.
With my free hand I unlocked the door, pushed my way through it, pulled Zoe through then let go of her as the door slammed closed behind us.
‘What the hell?’ I turned on her.
She stood in front of me with a puzzled look on her face.
‘I wanted to talk to you. You wouldn’t talk to me the other night so I thought this would be the only way to make you hear me. Why are you so mad?’ she asked.
Seriously. ‘You need to ask?’ I whispered at her, my voice a hoarse snarl.
‘I told you. I’ve changed.’
I looked around me. At the narrow corridor we were in. No one was about. The walls were freshly painted from the repair job that downstairs had needed after it had been damaged in a fire. It all smelt fresh and new and here was Zoe trying to tell me she was fresh and new.
I looked at her. She had put on a little weight. No longer the rakish drug-addled women I had housed before her arrest. Her jeans fitted her and a scarlet polo neck jumper clung to her frame giving her a healthy glow. Her hair was washed and hung gently around her shoulders.
‘You know Dad phoned me to warn me you were coming.’
She looked shocked. ‘Why would he do that?’
‘Because he understands, Zoe. He understands my job and what it means to me. What is it about you that makes you unable to grasp the situation?’
She ran a hand through her hair. A move I also made when I was getting stressed.
‘I came because I need you to see that I’ve changed, Hannah. I need you to believe me and I need my sister back. I can’t take back what I did but I am sorry. It wasn’t me.’
I glared at her.
‘It… it was me. What I mean is that the drugs, they had control. I needed to get that control back.’ She took a step closer. ‘And I have.’
Voices came from behind me. I shook my head at her. I wouldn’t do this with an audience.
‘You won’t forgive me?’ The colour drained out of her face.
‘I’m saying wait a minute, you idiot. Someone is coming.’ I shook my head and she looked past me, lifted her chin in acknowledgement and kept her mouth shut.
‘And when he’s in custody we’ll do a Section 18 straight away. See what we have before we go into interview.’ Two officers moved past us with barely a pause as they discussed an offender they had locked up.
Once they’d rounded the corner and were out of earshot again I turned to Zoe. ‘Why should I believe you this time, Zoe? I believed you last time and look what happened.’ I gritted my teeth at the memory of the search team going through my apartment. Fellow officers searching my home. A senior officer attempting to soothe the situation for me, but nothing could have calmed my rage that day. My space was being violated and it was all Zoe’s fault.
Her eyes teared up. She swallowed hard. ‘Do you really think I would come here,’ she waved her arm around at the surroundings, the corridor we were standing in, ‘to a police station, if I was still in that life? Do you think I would risk it?’
I paused.
‘Do you think I would be that brazen?’
Ah, there was a question. She’d had me doubting the sincerity of her words until she said that. I looked her up and down. She stayed still and took it.
‘I’m clean, Hannah.’
‘What do you want?’ I didn’t get it. Why was she so desperate to talk to me, to resolve this? So much so that she would come here while I was working. And on this particular case. Was that it, was she interested in the case? No, she had made moves before Sebastian had been found.
‘I just want a chance.’
I pursed my lips at her.
‘Okay, I want a second chance. Because I want my sister back.’ She paused. Thought about her next words.
I looked behind me, checked for anyone else who might come down this way. It was clear.
‘Dad would be over the moon, you know.’
‘That’s a low blow, Zoe,’ I said. ‘Using Dad that way. You know I’d do anything for him.’
She smiled.
‘Fuck, Zoe.’
She smiled again. It wasn’t smug. It was small. Cautious. Hopeful.
‘I have work to do. You have to go,’ I said to her.
The smile slipped.
‘I suppose we can talk again.’
Her face lit up.
‘I’m not promising anything, Zoe. You need to be aware just what happened after you were arrested. What happened for me. How your actions impacted on me. You can’t just sail through life, having Dad pick up the pieces for you.’
‘You think prison is sailing through…’ She stopped. I glared at her. ‘Okay. Thank you.’
I let her out of the door.
‘Don’t let me down again, Zoe.’
&nbs
p; She put her hand on my arm. ‘Hannah, you mean the world to me. It broke my heart when Dad told me something was going on for you at work after I was arrested. That was when I hit rock bottom. When I knew it wasn’t just my life I had screwed up. I want to make this better.’ Her hand slipped away and I closed the door behind her.
48.
This was the second press conference I had been a part of this year. Luckily, Baxter had agreed to take the lead. I felt so exposed when I led a press conference.
This time the national press was here as well as the local press. This case had garnered interest because of how Sebastian had been found. We hadn’t yet made a definitive link between the two cases but we believed it was the same killer and so did the media.
As did the people on social media who played by their own unique rules.
We held the briefing at Headquarters, because we needed the space, and the room was rammed. We had been upstairs to see the Chief Constable before heading down to this melee and he hadn’t been happy. This I had already been aware of, but coming face to face with him was a different matter. Luckily, I was shielded by Baxter who, as senior officer, took most of the flak. He was even less happy than the Chief by the time we were excused from his office.
‘I want this man caught,’ he said to me as we walked down the stairs.
‘We’re doing everything in our power,’ I replied, two steps behind him.
‘Do more,’ was his curt response.
I ignored it. There was nothing I could say.
I looked out at the room from my spot at the side, behind a couple of stands. It was heaving with people carrying cameras and microphones, notepads and pens. Items with which they would be able to scold us with later today.
Baxter looked down at himself. Picked at something I couldn’t see on his suit jacket and brushed downwards. ‘Are we ready?’ he asked.
I really didn’t want to be. This was torture. ‘Yes. Into the devil’s den,’ I answered.
He stepped forward, leading me into the fray. The cameras flashed immediately. It stops you being able to see the people behind them. Dehumanises them. Not that they need help in this regard. Their social skills at one of these things seem to take a hike as they push each other in an attempt to get their question answered before time runs out.
The Twisted Web (Detective Hannah Robbins Crime Series book 4) Page 16
