Deadly Fallout (Detective Zoe Finch Book 6)

by Rachel McLean

  Ian felt his chest tighten. Alison would be in the public gallery, watching him. Her fucking mother might even be there too. The press were here, he’d heard the commotion when he’d arrived in the police van. And his colleagues…

  Could he hold up, with all of them watching him? Could he lie?

  He caught movement in front of him. The barrister’s hand was outstretched, waiting to be shaken. Ian took it, knowing his handshake was damp and weak.

  “Thanks,” he whispered.

  Chapter Six

  Zoe sat in her car, tugging at the sleeve of her jacket. She wore a grey blazer and black trousers, not her usual jeans and leather jacket. The blazer was too big and the trousers too tight. She shuffled in the seat, uncomfortable. She had to blank out how uneasy she felt in this get-up. If she fidgeted in the witness stand, it might make the jury distrust her.

  It would give Ian’s barrister an opportunity to suggest she was shifty, at the very least.

  Her first entanglement with a barrister had been twelve years ago, when she was two years into CID. An armed robbery case. She’d been the first officer on the scene, had made the first arrests. The scumbags who’d done the robbery had managed to get a not guilty verdict thanks to their barrister’s methodical dismantling of her application of arrest procedure.

  She’d been alone when she’d made the arrests, which meant it was her word against the suspects. She’d been an idiot, should have waited a few more moments for Mo to arrive at the scene.

  This was worse. There’d been plenty of people at the airport after the bomb that had detonated on Pakistan Airways flight 546, that was certain. But she’d been the only person paying attention to Ian. He shouldn’t even have been there; she still didn’t know who’d told him to cut short his day off and his family shopping trip and hurry to the airport. She had a good idea though: Detective Superintendent David Randle.

  She needed to get moving. She flipped down the visor and checked her face in the mirror. She’d put on a bit of mascara and blusher this morning, it made her face feel heavy. But she was pale, her skin grey through lack of sleep, and she wanted to look alert for the trial.

  Zoe pushed the door open and got out of the car in one swift movement. The court was two streets away, and her parking would be up in three hours. She’d have to come back at lunchtime, either move her Mini or feed the meter.

  The street was busy, office workers hurrying to their desks to start the week. She wove through the crowds, her gaze straight ahead. When she turned the corner into Newton Street where the Crown Court was, she felt her stomach clench.

  The court loomed ahead of her, a slab-like modern building nothing like the rose-brick splendour of the Gothic Magistrate’s Court a couple of streets away. People milled around the front steps. Lawyers on the phone, journalists preparing for the day. Witnesses and their families shuffling uneasily, unsure whether to go inside yet.

  Get a grip, Zoe told herself. All she had to do is tell them what she’d seen.

  But she wasn’t entirely sure what she’d seen. And she wasn’t entirely sure she’d mentioned all of it when she’d been interviewed by Carl’s colleague. She’d been protecting Ian to some extent; the evidence was slim and he was still her DS. And she was worried they thought she was working with him. Keeping to the barest of the facts seemed like the best option.

  Randle was at the bottom of the steps, talking on his mobile. He wore a blue suit that made him look taller and slimmer than usual. Her eyes narrowed in recognition of her boss. Should she acknowledge him, say something, or pretend she hadn’t seen him?

  He shoved his phone into his pocket then turned to take the steps two at a time. The steep steps were like a funnel, wide at the bottom and narrowing into a covered area at the top, pulling people into the building. Zoe watched as Randle slid past a group of people and disappeared inside. She hung back, knowing he would be in condescending mode today. He already treated her like a child half the time, despite having played a part in her promotion. She couldn’t face speaking to him, not today, knowing what she did about him. Knowing that he probably knew that she knew.

  Go on, she told herself. You can’t wait all day. She took a long breath and followed him inside.

  Chapter Seven

  Zoe needn’t have waited. As she passed through the security checks, Randle was right ahead of her. Acting DCI Frank Dawson was with him, the man who had been appointed as her temporary boss after DCI Lesley Clarke had been given ill-health leave.

  She sighed and pushed her shoulders back, determined not to let them rattle her.

  Dawson turned to her as she grabbed her keys and phone off the conveyor. An insecure smile spread across his face. “Zoe. The woman of the hour.”

  “Frank.”

  His face darkened; he didn’t like the way she refused to call him boss. He was still the same rank as her, so she didn’t see why she should. She’d spent years as his DS, tolerating his jibes and casual sexism. She wasn’t about to revisit that now.

  “All ready?” he asked.

  “As I’ll ever be.”

  “They probably won’t call you today,” Randle said, his gaze skimming over her. She felt an urge to tug her sleeve. Her skin tingled.

  “Still, I have to be here, just in case. Do you think you’ll be called today?”

  “No chance,” Randle replied. “I don’t even know if they’ll need me.” He gave her an oily smile. “But I thought I’d show my face, give my officers some support.”

  She nodded. “Thank you.”

  “Pleasure. Ian Osman was a blight on our unit, and it’s important that the truth about him is told.”

  Zoe stared at him, her palms damp. She couldn’t believe the nerve of the man. Ian Osman had been working for Randle, she was sure of it. And Randle had been photographed with Alina Popescu, the woman who’d detonated the second bomb that day.

  She wondered if he’d been made aware of the photo. If her colleague Sheila Griffin in Organised Crime had questioned him yet.

  Probably not. You didn’t talk to a man like Detective Superintendent David Randle about something like that until you had all the pieces of the jigsaw slotted into place.

  “You sticking around, Frank?” she asked, turning to him and wishing Randle would leave them.

  “Like the Superintendent, I’m here to show support, Zoe.” He cleared his throat. “If a member of my team is giving evidence in a case like this, I want to show her she’s not alone.”

  Oh, but I am, thought Zoe. No one else would be standing in that witness box, telling what truth she could remember about the man who’d been her colleague.

  “I’ll be fine,” she said. “Done this plenty of times.”

  Randle was eying her, his gaze calculating. She wanted to swat him away like a wasp.

  “I know you will, Zoe,” Dawson said. He lifted a hand, about to put it on her shoulder, then dropped it.

  “Thanks, Frank. But I’m sure they need you more back at the office.”

  Her phone rang. She gave Dawson a look, glanced towards the court rooms, then answered it.

  “DI Finch.”

  “Zo, it’s Mo.”

  “I’m about to go into court. Can it wait?”

  “There’s a body. Found in a deserted house in Sutton Coldfield. Should be the North Birmingham branch of Force CID attending, but their DI is on leave. Adi needs you at the scene.”

  Adi Hanson was head of the Forensic Scene Investigation unit, and an old friend of Zoe’s.

  “Look, can you head over there without me?” she said. “I’ll check the roster here, probably find out they won’t be calling me till tomorrow, and join you. I’m a bit closer than you are.”

  “I’m already on my way, but they need you to open the case. I’ve already spoken to the CPS solicitor, she’s told the court.”

  Zoe glanced at Frank. “What about Dawson?”

  “He’s acting up, Zo,” Mo replied. “Not on operational duty.”

  Daws
on frowned at her. His left eyebrow was raised in a question. She put a hand over her phone.

  “There’s been a body found in Sutton Coldfield. Erdington can’t take it as DI Finks is on leave. They need me there.”

  He pursed his lips. “Go. You won’t be on today and if you are, we can get you put back. I’ll speak to the solicitor.”

  “Mo already has.”

  “He has, has he? OK, good to see him using some bloody initiative, I suppose. OK, bugger off and do your job.”

  Zoe moved her hand away from the phone. “Did you hear that?”

  “I’ll see you there in twenty minutes,” Mo replied.

  “Yeah.” Zoe plunged her phone into her pocket and sped towards the doors, wishing she hadn’t worn these damn trousers.

  Chapter Eight

  Zoe parked her car at the mouth of the cul de sac. Two squad cars were in front of the address she’d been given, along with three other cars: pathologist and FSIs, most likely.

  She grabbed her gloves and overshoes from the boot and walked towards the house, taking in the surroundings. The straight section of the road, leading to the bulb, was flanked by high fences at its entrance, behind which lay the sides of the gardens from the neighbouring street. Only as the road started to widen out did it become populated. The houses faced in random directions, either for privacy or aesthetics. The house with the squad cars outside had a tall hedge in front, and none of the other houses’ windows overlooked it.

  Invisible, she thought to herself. The perfect place to kill someone. An alleyway ran alongside the house, making it even more convenient. A means to escape the scene, to go undetected.

  Either all that was a coincidence, or this crime had been planned.

  Zoe approached the front door to the house. A uniformed constable stood by the bay window at the front, taking names. She gave him her details and passed inside.

  The house was clearly unoccupied. Through the open door to the front room, she could see cardboard boxes piled up next to a dusty blue sofa. The low unit in one corner that should have held a TV was bare.

  “Hello?” she called. Voices came from the door up ahead, which was glazed with bevelled glass that looked like it had been fitted at least thirty years ago. The whole house felt tired and dated, as if it hadn’t been loved for quite some time.

  Zoe wondered how long it had been empty.

  She opened the door, entering an old-fashioned kitchen that was even more grubby than her own. Heavy wooden cupboards lined the walls and the worktop was tiled. Ugly, but good for preserving prints and any other forensics.

  A lighting rig had been set up, pointing into what looked like an under-stairs cupboard. She squeezed past it. The voices came from down a narrow flight of stairs.

  She bent down. “Adi? You down there?”

  “Zoe! Come on down.”

  “It’s OK to walk on these steps?”

  “I’ve put tape on the spots you can tread on.”

  She looked down. “I see.”

  She descended slowly, careful not to touch the walls. The smell of decay grew stronger with each step. Finally she emerged into a low cellar. Adi was crouched in a corner, the pathologist behind him, next to the body.

  “Adana,” Zoe said. “We must stop meeting like this.”

  Dr Adebayo turned and smiled at Zoe with her eyes, her mouth covered by a mask. “I’m glad they tracked you down.”

  “I’m supposed to be in court. You’ve all done me a massive favour.”

  Adi stood up, stooping. “I aim to please.” A shadow crossed his face. He’d asked her out a few weeks ago, not understanding that her relationship with Carl, however fragile at that time, wasn’t over. She hoped he’d return to his normal relaxed self soon.

  “I’ll only have to go back tomorrow,” she said, feeling her skin tighten. She would much rather be here, even with that godawful smell, than cooped up in the Crown Court. “What have we got?”

  “Caucasian male, forty to fifty years old I’d say,” replied Adana. “Multiple stab wounds to the chest and abdomen. Face has been half chewed off by the local wildlife. He’s been here about a week.”

  “Hence the smell.”

  “It could be worse,” said Adi. “It’s dry down here. The heating’s turned off and the electricity’s erratic to say the least.”

  Zoe nodded. “Any idea who the owners are?”

  “Not yet,” said Adi. “Mo’s looking into it.”

  Zoe stood abruptly, hitting her head on the ceiling. Dust clouded in front of her eyes.

  “Shit. Sorry,” she said.

  Adi frowned. “Be careful. He’s in the back garden. Go out via the lounge, we’re still dusting the kitchen.”

  “No problem. I’ll be back in a minute.”

  Zoe retreated up the stairs, struggling to turn in the tight space, and felt relief as she entered the kitchen and was able to breathe again. One of Adi’s team, a guy called Rav who Connie had worked with on a previous case, was in the doorway. He gave her a nod and went back to his work.

  Zoe opened the first door on the left and entered a spacious living room. It had a deep, full-height bay constructed from wood. She could smell the wood along with a tinge of damp. To one side of the bay, a door was open.

  She stepped out. The door gave out onto a high deck, which explained the cellar. Mo was below her standing on the lawn, sorely in need of cutting.

  “Mo,” she called.

  Mo turned and waved for her to come down. He was on his phone. She joined him as he hung up.

  “What news?” she asked him.

  “Thanks for coming. Was Dawson OK?”

  “He was fine. Even offered to speak to the CPS.”

  “Wow. He’s trying to be nice.”

  “Let’s make the most of it while it lasts.” She gestured at Mo’s phone. “So?”

  “I’ve tracked down the estate agent. She’s on her way here. Says the house has been on the market for four months, doesn’t get that much interest. One of her team found the body, he’s gone home.”

  “Must have been a shock,” said Zoe.

  “Yeah.” Mo grimaced.

  She looked up at the house. “No wonder it doesn’t get any interest, given the state of it.”

  “You’d be surprised. Anyway, the owners have moved to Germany. So it’s unlikely our victim lived here.”

  Zoe raised an eyebrow. “He could have come home, check on the house?”

  “Estate agent says not. We’ll check it out, of course. We’ll need to speak to them. But it looks like someone has taken advantage of the fact there’s an empty house here.”

  Zoe glanced back at the house. A small window sat below the decking, giving into the cellar. “Someone who knew the layout of the place.”

  “Yup.”

  “So this isn’t a domestic,” she said. “That guy in there was either brought here to die, or someone killed him and then dumped him here.”

  Mo nodded. “Someone who knew how to pick their spot.”

  Chapter Nine

  Zoe climbed the wooden steps up to the deck and went back into the lounge. A few pictures hung on the walls, flanked by bare spots where others had gone with the owners. This room had another sofa, brown leather, with scratches that made her wonder if the owners had a cat. In the far corner was an easy chair that looked like it might disintegrate if she touched it.

  She went into the kitchen. Rav was dusting the back door.

  “Any prints?” she asked.

  He turned, looking surprised. “A few. Not recent, but not four months old.”

  “Probably the estate agent.”

  “Yeah.” He frowned as he leaned further into his work.

  “We’ll get prints from everyone who’s had access to the place,” Zoe said. “For elimination.”

  He turned to her. “Staff at the agent’s would have known there was an empty house.”

  Even if one of them wasn’t the killer, they might have tipped the killer off, if inadv
ertently. “You’re right. We’ll need their prints, either way. And we’ll be asking who they talked to about this house.”

  He shrugged. “It’ll be on Rightmove, anyone would have known.”

  Zoe sighed; he was right. People never considered that the photos they put on listings sites not only told the world their house was possibly empty, but also showcased all the lovely nickable belongings they had inside.

  “There’s marks on this door,” Rav said. “Recent, very recent I’d say.”

  “Prints?”

  He bent over. “Scratches, on the bottom sill. Looks like someone’s forced this door open.”

  “Was it open when you arrived?”

  “Nope. Closed and locked. You’d never spot it if you weren’t looking.”

  “You think the killer might have come in that way?”

  “It’s a possibility.”

  “But you said they were recent. The body didn’t get here recently.”

  “Victim could have been killed elsewhere, then brought here afterwards,” said Adi. Zoe turned to see him standing in the doorway to the cellar.

  “Adana will be able to tell us if it looks like he was moved,” she replied.

  “To be honest, I’d say not. There’s evidence of someone going down those steps in the last few days, shoe prints in the dust. But the only disturbance to the dust around the body seems to be the rats’ activity.”

  “Can you get a match for the shoe prints?”

  “They’re blank. Whatever our killer was wearing, they weren’t trainers or work boots.”

  “Any theories?”

  “We’ve taken an impression of the prints. I’ll be able to tell you more when we’ve analysed them.”

  “OK. Is Adana close to done?”

  Adi shrugged. “You’ll have to ask her yourself.”