‘Do you have a lady friend, Mr Tomas?’
‘Thank you for the micro SD card.’ It was his turn to change the subject.
‘One last thing. Do you own a car?’
‘Used to when mother was alive. Took her on trips, shopping, and I used it for work. It’s unnecessary now.’
As she left and walked down the short drive, she felt again as though she were being watched. Approaching her car, she turned. Now the curtains in both houses had taken on a pulse of their own and twitched almost in harmony.
Craufurd’s inquisitorial expression made him look angry. Red blotches had appeared on parts of his neck. ‘What did you say about Carla and me?’
Taylor laughed out loud. ‘That’s what this is about. That’s why you’re so hot under the collar. I told them what I saw, I told them about seeing you both in the restaurant in Formby. Was that wrong of me?’
‘It’s what else you’ve told them that causes me distress.’
‘I mentioned nothing. That, sir, will remain between the two of us. Let’s say we had a gentleman’s agreement. I wouldn’t tell, if I didn’t pay the rest of the rent. It was as simple as that. Am I in danger of losing my life in a carpark in Liverpool, Craufurd? Did you kill them?’
The transparent beads of sweat mimicked the gloss on the picture, reflecting both natural and artificial light as Gaskell leaned against the car. ‘No,’ he turned to Taylor. ‘I didn’t.’
‘I know that’s the truth. Now, shall we do business? You know your sordid secret’s safe with me. How much?’
Chapter 20
‘Bloody hell. What do they say? Takes all kinds to make a world. He’s definitely one mixed up young man. My mother would say spoiled rotten but …’ Skeeter grumbled as she leaned on the door frame to April’s office.
April looked up from the files she had been studying whilst cross-referencing the facts she had on screen. ‘And who’s that?’ She placed both elbows on the table whilst resting her chin on her hands.
‘Trevor Thomas, our drone pilot from the Jennings’s case. Something had been nagging at me since hearing that noise whilst standing at the Sharpe crime scene. I know you heard it but then Mason didn’t, and I began to doubt my own hearing. What with this damage!’ She pointed to the cauliflower ear. ‘To me Mason was too much in a bloody flap to hear anything. The farmer had heard it before we arrived. He thought it was a drone too. “A winged goddess flying over the battlefield … the Nike caps.”’ Skeeter spread her arms and moved further into the room as if gliding and brought a depth to her voice as she replied.
‘Very dramatic but no Oscar on this occasion. Why risk being caught? It’s pushing your luck if you were seen at the murder site of two people. Coincidence would fly straight out of the window and no pun was intended.’
‘There are plenty of cases where the killer keeps returning to the scene of their crimes, a bit like the butcher bird – hangs its prey on thorns within hedgerows to return later to gorge itself. As you say, using that analogy, then maybe he’s going back as a winged god over his battlefield.’
Skeeter moved further into the office, folded her arms and stared at April. One part of her thought the likelihood somewhat remote, whereas another seemed strongly convinced he had a role to play.
April tapped the keys on her computer and instantaneously the printer to the side of her desk spewed out a sheet of paper. ‘You might want to look at that seeing you’ve mentioned your goddess, Nike.’
Skeeter leaned over and collected the page. In bold, black letters the following words were printed:
Destroy to Create
She read it a couple of times before turning it round. ‘Qu’est-ce que c’est?’
‘It’s something Michael trawled up. A number of years ago the Nike company ran a campaign. It concerned special jackets they made, or had made, in the past, he thinks, and that was the slogan. If you check the web, you’ll see some of the videos. Destruction for the sake of it really but if you feel there’s a relevance with the swoosh and the logo then that should have a place within your thought processes.’
April stood and stretched whilst tagging her hands into the small of her back. ‘So, Thomas?’
‘From what I see, he has lived alone since the death of his mother. Checking the details, he no longer works but we knew that so I’ve requested information from his last employer. The neighbour mentioned mental health issues brought on by his mother’s sudden death. Heart attack, allegedly. Depression, the neighbour thought, and considering the radar system she has at her property, she knows a good deal. As we are aware, he was into drones in a big way. But from the room I was in it’s obvious he’s fascinated by all things aeronautical. Plastic planes were suspended from the ceiling of what might well have once been the lounge. I’m not talking of one or two either. All beautifully made, dusty but accurate.’
‘Is he our killer?’ April asked as she returned to her seat.
‘Good looking chap who’s just gone off the tracks. To think of it, history is littered with people like him, and yet only a minute percentage are proven criminals let alone killers. They’re just sad.’ Skeeter chuckled to herself. ‘I really did freak out a little when I saw the craft knife on his desk. A box of new blades too. It was only when I saw what he was doing did I relax; it was the right equipment for the job. They were the straight blades too! Had they been the curved type I’d have been out of there like a shot.’
‘I can see it’s caused you some degree of upset.’
Skeeter was about to leave. ‘Not upset, no. Confusion, great confusion. You’ve felt it yourself I’m sure when some things seem like one thing but then they’re not what you originally thought. Can I keep this?’ She waved the recently printed sheet.
‘No problem. There’s one on the boards in the Incident Room alongside the cap images and the advertising quotation. Before you go, there’s something else. We’ve identified twenty or so photographs taken from the cloud, linked to the three missing phones as well as those from Debbie Sutch and Bill Rodgers. You can see that each photograph depicts the collective of friends – those within the group apart from the one taking the photograph.’ She looked up as Skeeter now perched on the edge of her desk. ‘Checking those people caught in the background we see the same face three times. On each occasion he’s staring directly at the group.’
‘Photo bombing?’
‘Too far away. Facial recognition has confirmed it’s one and the same person but as yet we don’t have an identity. They’re going to enhance it magically so we can get it out to the public.’
‘Carlos and Nicola received those spurious contacts from Carla’s phone. Did Rodgers?’
‘If he did, he hasn’t reported it. Maybe he deleted her from his contacts straight after he was interviewed, and therefore it wouldn’t show under an image or her name, it would only show as a call.’
‘It would show a number,’ Skeeter fired back.
‘Did he know her number? We rely now on just seeing the name. I ring you. What’s my mobile number?’
‘I’d have to look.’
‘I rest my case. Still wouldn’t trust him as far as. What about Smith?’
‘We know he had her number.’
April flicked through a file and telephoned Smith.
‘Smith!’ His answer was direct.
‘Mr Smith, DI Decent. A number of your old friends are receiving spurious calls from a cloned phone. They’re shown to be coming from Carla Sharpe’s mobile. Have you experienced this?’
‘Twice. Put it down to nuisance as one of your colleagues advised. Deleted all contacts relating to her. Social media too.’
‘And who was that colleague?’
‘I think his name was Michael, called me the other evening. Surprised at the late call to be honest. Advised I delete the contacts and explained. Is that okay?’
‘Yes, just checking. We’ve had a few more calls made since.’
‘Why not just close down her phone and then t
he cloned one will cease to be of value?’
‘It’s not as simple as that, Mr Smith. Thanks for your co-operation.’
Skeeter held up her hand and signalled she wanted to speak to him.
‘Just a minute my sergeant needs a quick word.’ She handed the phone to her.
‘DS Warlock. Thanks. You held a number of parties when you were at the apartment on Lord Street. Do you have any photographs of these or know of those who attended who might have? We all have friends who don’t live in the moment. They spend their time behind a screen capturing it for posterity but then never look at it beyond a couple of times?’
‘Yes, I have some. I can send them on if you give me an email address. I’ll add the names and numbers of those people you rightly mention. Give me an hour. My photographs are on a hard drive at home and not entirely filed in order.’
Skeeter gave him her work’s contact email, thanked him and turned to April. ‘Your spectre at the feast might just have attended one or two parties.’
April nodded and smiled. ‘How very true. Well done you!’
The forensic results had confirmed the soil sample taken from the shoe found on Jennings was a match for the soil type where Sharpe was found. It was clear that the killer intended to and had successfully linked the two deaths. The reason, however, would remain unknown. There was always the possibility that the killer wanted it to look as though Jennings killed Sharpe but then it was unlikely that he cut his own throat, particularly in light of the pathology results. The details were logged in the hope some further evidence might show a more positive link.
‘So, what do we do about Trevor? How strong is your instinct on that? Is he a potential wrong one – a killer?’ April’s attention turned back to the misgivings Skeeter had harboured in the first instance.
‘When I asked about Midge Mill Lane he clammed up, did the dance, the shifting of feet you often see when a question surprises someone, takes the wind from their sails. There’s something there, but enough to justify a search?’ Skeeter was conscious of resources and could not justify a full warranted search when all they were dealing with was a man with an unstable mental condition. She shook her head. ‘At present, no.’
‘Suggestion. Take the officer you’ve been chatting to about drones with you. Make the excuse you thought Trevor might be interested in the police technology in that developing field of work. He could take one with him and get him chatting. It’s non-confrontational and he might just open up. It’s a slowly, slowly approach and would take an hour, but might answer the nag you clearly feel.’
Skeeter rubbed her chin considering the idea, and her head began to nod in agreement. ‘I’ll organise it.’ Waving the sheet, she left. ‘Thanks. That’s why you’re the boss.’
The decal had been created, a large transfer in blue copperplate script. It was loosely rolled and Nicola’s partner, Jim, carried it under his arm as he called at the salon. It was quickly unrolled before spreading it along the floor.
‘The things a man does for his woman,’ he muttered as he leaned over and kissed her cheek. ‘Was that what you wanted?’
Carlos and Nicola stood motionless and looked at the offering, before silent tears appeared to both their eyes.
‘Bloody Hell! You told me it was a positive mantra: “Life is for living – just live it!” Here you both are blubbering. Am I putting it up or not?’ He looked at Carlos and then at Nicola.
She moved back to him and gave him a hug. ‘When it’s in place it will be. We need to live with it for a while don’t we Carlos?’
Carlos entered the treatment room and the two men began to move the couch and the side tables. Nicola went to make a drink.
Once the horizontal chalk line had been levelled across the wall, Jim carefully unrolled the decal. He smoothed the surface with a squeegee to remove the air bubbles trapped beneath. Working steadily, he removed the backing so the adhesive made contact with the wall. Carlos sat on the floor and watched. It was then he noticed the small, red notebook attached with tape to the underside of the chest of drawers that normally sat next to the treatment couch. He had used the drawers on many occasions, he had even cleaned the chest, but he had never noticed the notebook. Moving across, he took hold of it, pulled it off and flicked through a couple of pages.
‘Carlos, I need a hand to roll this along. What have you found?’
Thinking quickly, he stuffed it into his back pocket as he stood to take hold of the remaining roll. ‘I’ve been looking for that for ages, a notebook. Must have been trapped between the drawers. I’d looked there too. Must have been a man look!’ he giggled.
Fifteen minutes later they were sitting with a coffee and admiring the mural.
‘You can’t get more positive than that,’ announced Jim as he drank the last dregs from his mug. ‘Come on. I need a beer. It’s been a long day. Coming?’ He turned to Carlos.
‘No, no thanks, I’ll just close up here. You go. I’ll spend ten minutes or so here just to finish rearranging my new and now positive treatment room.’ His smile was genuine.
‘Don’t you stay late.’ Nicola moved across and kissed him. ‘Don’t forget the alarm too.’
Once they had left, he slipped his hand to his back pocket and retrieved the notebook. Opening it, he found it contained a series of doodles. Clearly, they were Carla’s, sets of initials and a series of numbers and dates. One set seemed to be crossed through. He thought he knew what the book was for and a cold uncertainty crept through him.
Chapter 21
There had been no contact from the general public to identify the image posted of the face identified on three of the group photographs. Smith had forwarded images and the names of his contacts. They were evidence of the number of people who attended the parties held at the apartment on Lord Street. The team was now not interested in the individuals they had identified, more those that were unfamiliar. In particular, they hoped the face seen on the group images could be spotted here. The photographs had been dated, and that helped in separating the varying parties and possibly the different guests. Lynda, from Facial Recognition, was given the task of searching the faces. She relished the thought of finding the proverbial needle in the haystack – a face in a crowd. It took her less than an hour before the results were coming in and new faces were identified. They had contacted Callum Smith and any unknown faces were sent to him for possible identification. Those that he could not identify were sent to the other guests Smith had named. It was going to be a process of elimination. It was soon clear that the identification of a few would prove difficult.
Debbie Sutch was contacted, and so too Bill Rodgers. The final roll of the dice, should they need, would be to seek the co-operation of Gaskell, Briggs and Taylor, all of whom were known to have attended or had been seen at one party or another.
Having the names, and then locating addresses, was solid police craft, now helped and made quicker, more accurate and easier by computers. What would have taken days and many man hours in the past, could now be done quickly and efficiently. They ended up with four unknowns. Each face was also run through facial recognition software to identify any link with past crimes. The human face was fast becoming as accurate a forensic tool as the fingerprint.
Carlos flicked through the thin red book. The initials were clear, CJ, FL, CG, BR and PW. The only names that came to him from the initials were those of Cameron Jennings and possibly Bill Rodgers. He checked the dates next to the names and he recalled seeing both men on dates near their names. One of the other sets of initials must have been the person whose face he saw briefly but failed to recognise when at the police station. FL could well have been the one, as he appeared to have only the one date to his page. A line had been struck through the initials and an indecipherable comment and a zero marked beneath the date. The others seemed to have either 7, 4, 6 or 10 against their visits. This was undeniably Carla’s record of the clients who had called for treatment after hours – her little red book. The dilemma for Carl
os Briggs now was, what to do with it.
Skeeter and Steve walked down the drive. She had called the neighbour to check Thomas was in. She received the thumbs up from a hand protruding from behind the curtain before it quickly vanished. Steve carried a hard, grey case. She knocked on the door and looked through the windows like last time. When Trevor saw her, he recognised her immediately. Even so, he opened the door on the security chain.
‘Trevor, this is Steve. He works with the police and he flies the police drone. I thought you might like to see it and have a chat as we were in the area.’
There was an immediate change in demeanour as the door was quickly closed and then opened. They were welcomed inside. The first thirty minutes fascinated both Trevor and Skeeter as Steve went through the drone’s capabilities. It was the latest version and one that the police were trialling. Steve had decided to come around to talking about aerial filming once a rapport had been established. He looked at Trevor’s drone, suggesting ways to improve the image quality using the settings mode on the handset. It was during this conversation that Trevor let his wish slip about having a better zoom facility on his camera. He talked about the incident near the farm he had accidentally witnessed before showing Steve some of the still images.
‘Was that near Downholland, Trevor?’
‘I was there early just flying around. I like to cycle out to different places. I go early to catch the good light. It’s quiet.’ He turned to Skeeter. ‘That’s how I got mixed up with finding that body. Here you see the tractor in the distance. For some reason some emergency services arrived. You can see the flashing blue lights. I was curious but kept the drone away as it’s unlawful to fly near such a situation. I thought someone had had an accident. I brought the drone back and waited. I could see from where I was and within an hour or so, a number of others arrived. I sent the drone out again to photograph and video but when I tried to enlarge the images, they pixilated. If it had been a 4K camera it would have been better and if I’d had that, wow!’
Syn (The Merseyside Crime Series Book 2) Page 15
