Dark Truths

by A. J. Cross

  ‘Yes. I told them, no until further notice.’

  Leaving the chief’s office, he got a call from Chong. ‘How’s your new colleague?’ she asked.

  ‘Self-contained and cool about covers it.’

  ‘Sounds a little austere.’

  ‘That as well. Where are you?’

  ‘At the scene and, boy is it hot!’

  The noise in the squad room stopped as Watts finished his call and came inside. The floor-standing fans he’d requested to support the flagging air con were up and working, books, lunchboxes and other belongings keeping papers desk-bound. His eyes moved over the assembled officers. Judd was in her usual corner seat. Traynor was also here.

  ‘OK. Let’s get on with it. First, you’ll have noticed a new presence.’ He raised his hand. ‘Dr William Traynor, criminologist from Central University. If you’re unsure what a criminologist does, ask him, but only one of you. He doesn’t need asking fifteen-plus times.’ He glanced at his notes. ‘We’ve got a potential development on the Roberts homicide. Dr Chong has finished the post-mortem.’ The room was silent, all eyes fixed on him. ‘The cause of death we already know: six stab wounds to the chest. Indications are that initial control over the victim was achieved by the killer standing behind her and placing his arm around her neck. We know that because it left a bruise. According to Dr Chong, a likely cause is the metal bracelet of a watch. She’s also located fibres on the back of the victim’s vest which supports the theory that she was held from behind. Forensics have both the vest and the fibres, but it’ll take a while before they’re fully examined, given all else they’re doing. Dr Chong has now confirmed zero evidence of sexual assault.’ He picked up muted groans. ‘I know. It doesn’t look like we’ll have a DNA “gotcha” from semen, but it’s not all bad news. She’s also found four sections of head hair on the remains. There are no roots, so she’s sending them for expert analysis, which is going to take a while.’ He looked at the rows of faces, most already frustrated. ‘More potential good news: a partial handprint.’ Seeing glances being exchanged, he pointed at his own upper chest. ‘It’s in this area of Roberts’ body, just above her vest top. A partial palm-heel combination. Dr Chong’s theory is that the killer steadied the body with his left hand, prior to removing her head. It confirms a right-handed killer which isn’t much help but we’ve got the print so we’ll be looking for a match.’ He looked around the silent room. ‘Where are you, Jones?’

  ‘Over here, Sarge!’

  ‘You like a rummage in IDENT1. Let Dr Chong know that you’ll be needing that partial. Let me know the minute you find what looks like a match.’ Watts’ eyes moved over the whole room. ‘You know that forensics have found shoeprints on an area of high ground overlooking the Works Only compound. They suggest that Roberts’ killer parked his vehicle at that compound and walked up to it sometime prior to Roberts being killed. Forensics are looking for a match but we’re talking trainers here so it could take a while and not yield anything useful. As soon as I know more, so will you.’ He took another glance at his list. ‘You’ve all been to the crime scene so you know how close it is to the M42. I’ve requested CCTV footage for the relevant date. I’m hoping for identification of a likely vehicle travelling along the motorway and possibly leaving it at the junction a quarter of a mile further on, or even better, going up the Works Only approach road just prior to it. We’re expecting that footage any time. When it arrives, it’ll be another “rummage” opportunity for you, Jones. Who else would you like on it with you?’

  Jones pointed. ‘Kumar, sir.’

  ‘That suit you, Kumar?’

  ‘Yes, Sarge!’

  ‘I’ll let you know as soon as it’s available.’ Watts scanned the officers. ‘Results of the witness appeal indicate a lot of local keenness, although they’re poor in terms of usefulness but it’s early days. Where’s Connors?’ A hand rose. ‘You and Anson stick with the phones for the next forty-eight hours. Any general questions or comments from anybody about what I’ve said, or anything else?’ He waited out the short silence. ‘Next item: I want a records check against a name.’ Several hands shot up, one belonging to a mature female PC. Watts looked at her. Here was somebody who might guide and nurture Judd who was restlessly eyeing her watch. ‘Thanks, Miller. The name’s Gerry or Gerald Williams. Age range: thirty to forty-five, possibly from the Bristol area. Employment associated with but not confined to motorway repair and/or security. I want to know ASAP if you find anything. While you’re at it, do a search against Christian Roberts, our victim’s estranged husband, a lawyer, in his forties. Oh, and if I ask any one of you to talk to individuals associated with Zoe Roberts, I want you to make a point of establishing with each of them what they knew about her running routine, how familiar they were with it, but be subtle.’ He watched as they wrote. ‘That’s it. If you’re out there, stay well-watered. I don’t want notes from your mothers complaining about sunstroke.’

  Watts pulled his papers together, his peripheral vision on Traynor talking to a couple of officers. Any sign, no matter how small, that he was starting to integrate was welcome. Seeing Traynor raise a hand to him, he waited.

  ‘There looks to be progress,’ Traynor said.

  Watts nodded. ‘Some. Better than nothing.’

  ‘You’re focusing on the Roberts’ homicide?’

  ‘Yes, until Barlow’s father has been spoken to.’ He looked at Traynor. ‘How about you go and see him?’ He tapped his phone. ‘I’ve sent you his address.’

  Traynor nodded, walked away as Watts’ phone rang. It was Chong again. He listened to her brief words. ‘I’m on my way.’ Ending the call, keeping his face neutral, he turned, almost knocking down Judd immediately behind him.

  ‘What about me? What do you want me to do, Sarge?’

  On the move, he opened his file, searched sheets, extracted one and handed it to her. ‘Here. Location details for the city centre wine shop Annette Barlow managed, prior to her disappearance. It’s still there. Current manager, a Harry Josephs. He’s worked there for over ten years and he’s expecting somebody today. You OK going on your own?’

  She took the details, giving him a sideways look. ‘Not a problem.’

  ‘Josephs worked with Barlow so he should be a good source of information about her if you pitch your questions right.’

  ‘How about I go with Dr Traynor first, to see Annette Barlow’s father?’ She watched him head down the stairs. ‘Where are you going?’

  ‘Off my bloody head, if you keep on. Get over to that wine shop. Now.’

  She followed him out of headquarters and over to her car.

  Watts walked the field, passing officers intent on their tasks, getting none of the usual hand-raises or acknowledgements. The atmosphere had changed. Watts knew why. His eyes fixed on the incline, he headed towards it. Jake Petrie, the geoscientist, was back, in what looked to be deep discussion with Adam. Reaching them, he looked at the drone sitting on the grass, close to a rectangle of bare, dry earth, a shallow depression at its centre.

  Chong came to him. ‘You’re not going to like it but you need to see it.’

  He followed her to a deep plastic container, something shadowy inside. She removed the lid and they crouched either side. He looked down at a dome-shaped bone, looked up at her, opened his mouth, managing the few words at his third attempt. ‘I’m inside my own nightmare.’

  Chong reached inside the box, lifted out the item, voice subdued. ‘Skull number two. Carefully placed, like the first and sufficiently shallow-buried to be accessible to the elements, animals, birds and insects, hence the lack of tissue and hair.’

  Watts eyed it, looked away, letting his eyes roam over the incline. When Zoe Roberts came here, she’d had no idea that she was running through a killing field. He found his voice. ‘A sick bastard with some kind of grudge against women has turned this place into his own personal graveyard.’ He looked up at Chong. ‘How long’s this one been here?’

  ‘Adam and I
are agreed on an estimate of around a decade. For anything more specific we’ll be relying on identification.’ She paused. ‘There’s a surprise element.’ Watts recalled Judd’s comment about not liking surprises. Chong held the skull closer to him and pointed. ‘See the brow ridge here? It’s more pronounced than that of the Barlow skull.’ She turned it on its side, pointing at the jawbone. ‘And this curve to the mandible? That’s further confirmation.’

  ‘Of what?’

  She met his gaze. ‘It’s male.’

  He stared at her in disbelief, then at the skull. She returned it to its box. ‘Sorry if this is messing up any investigative theories you have.’

  Watts looked down at it. ‘It’s a total broadside to the only one we’ve got: a homicidal psycho on the loose, with a thing against women.’

  ‘Better now than later.’

  Watts looked at Petrie. ‘You found it?’ Petrie pointed at the drone straddling the grass. Watts eyed it. ‘It’s been over this whole area?’

  Petrie shook his head. ‘No. I sent it up once and it located what you’ve got there almost immediately.’

  Watts took out his phone, tapped a number, waited for the deep-voiced response. ‘News for you, Traynor. I’m at the incline. There’s a second skull here and it’s male.’

  ‘I see.’

  ‘Where does that leave us if this isn’t some sex type with a grudge against females?’

  Traynor’s voice flowed into his ear. ‘Not necessarily rejecting the theory of sexual homicide. Victims of both genders does not preclude a sexual motivation. Neither does the absence of evidence of sexual activity. We’ll talk more about that, but what it does suggest is a seriously aberrant individual. What I said about warning residents of a high risk still stands.’

  Watts gazed at open countryside shrouded in heat haze. ‘I hear you.’ He didn’t add that it was even more unlikely now that Brophy would agree a warning.

  TEN

  Thursday 18 August. Ten fifteen a.m.

  Judd pushed open the door of the city centre wine shop and went inside. It looked deserted. Glad to be out of the heat, she walked slowly along a shelf of bottles, eyes drifting over coloured labels. Wine was something she rarely drank and knew nothing about. One bottle on a low shelf, a flash of blue on its label got her attention. She crouched, reached for it, touched its smooth coldness.

  ‘Can I help you?’ Her hand jerked, causing the bottle to teeter on its shelf. Flustered, she steadied it, looked up in the direction of the voice to a man who had appeared from nowhere. ‘Sorry, I’ve got it.’ He smiled down at her. He was tall, looked to be in his early thirties with a full beard, heavy-framed glasses, his hair styled and swept back from his face. ‘My fault entirely. I startled you. Do you need some help?’

  She straightened. ‘Yes, but not with wine. I’m Police Constable Chloe Judd. Hang on.’ She dug into a pocket, pulled out identification. ‘I’m here to speak with Mr Josephs, the manager.’

  He nodded, smiled again. ‘That’s me, apparently not conveying the gravitas I thought I was.’

  ‘Mr Josephs, is there somewhere we can talk?’

  He looked around the empty shop. ‘It’s always like this in the morning. How about we go over to the counter?’ He reached down for the bottle Judd had almost upended and led the way across the shop to the polished wood counter. She stopped as he went behind it, indicating two high stools. ‘Come on. Have a seat. You might as well be comfortable while you’re here. If customers come in, we’ll stop while I deal with them.’

  She joined him behind the counter, took the stool he was pushing towards her and sat, pleased that her first solo contact in this case was with somebody who was pleasant and might have useful information about their second victim. ‘Thank you. Mr Josephs, I’m here to talk to you about a colleague of yours from around a decade ago. Annette Barlow.’

  He stared at her, saying nothing.

  Judd returned his gaze. ‘She was the manager here prior to her disappearance?’

  Josephs ran a hand through his hair. It rippled back into place. ‘Yes … Sorry, PC Judd, I did get a call from an officer wanting to talk to me but I didn’t link that call with you. I do apologize.’

  ‘No problem.’ She waited as he took a couple of deep breaths.

  ‘Actually, it was a bit of a shock when you mentioned Annette’s name. How can I help?’

  ‘Did you know Ms Barlow well?’

  He paused, giving the question some thought. ‘It depends what you mean by “well”, I suppose. On balance, I’d say, pretty well, given the disparity in our ages back then.’

  ‘When did you start work here?’

  ‘Around twelve years ago. I was nineteen. I’d dropped out of university and I knew less than nothing about wine, but I answered an advertisement for a trainee.’ He smiled at her. ‘This is a nationwide company so when Annette took me on, I was really grateful.’

  Judd nodded, writing quickly. ‘You must have impressed her.’

  ‘I don’t know about that, but she gave me my start, sent me on courses and to wine shows.’ His gaze moved to the shop windows and the street beyond. ‘We worked here together until she disappeared, which was about two years later.’ He looked at her. ‘Why are the police interested now?’

  She sidestepped his question. ‘Back then, you were working full time here?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘So, long enough to get to know Annette as a colleague?’

  He shrugged. ‘I suppose so. Like I said, the difference in our ages meant we weren’t exactly friends. Not that I’m saying there was a problem,’ he said, quickly. ‘If there had been, Annette wouldn’t have given the company such good reports about me. I stepped in as acting manager after she disappeared and a year later, they made me manager. The youngest they had at the time.’ He looked at her. ‘You’re writing all of this down?’

  ‘Yes. Is that all right?’ She cursed herself. If it wasn’t all right, she would still have to do it.

  He shrugged again. ‘I suppose so.’

  ‘So, Mr Josephs—’

  ‘Harry.’

  ‘Harry. You were working here on the day Ms Barlow disappeared?’

  ‘Yes, I was.’

  ‘I need you to tell me as much as you can about that day. I understand from information obtained at the time that Miss Barlow left work late that Saturday afternoon.’

  ‘Yes. Around six o’clock, as far as I recall. She usually left at about four on a Saturday.’

  Judd quickly wrote, anticipating that he would move smoothly into an account of that day. She looked up. He was waiting, his eyes on her. ‘Why was she late leaving that Saturday?’ she prompted.

  ‘She stayed on because it was really busy here and there was a late delivery.’

  ‘Where was she going when she finally left at six p.m.?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  Judd looked up at him. ‘She didn’t say?’

  ‘No.’ Judd searched the questions she’d brought with her. ‘I want you to talk me through that Saturday, from when you arrived at work …’

  Josephs shrugged. ‘I’m not sure what I can tell you about it. It was just an ordinary day, like any other. I got here at about eight thirty. I would have sorted out the post, checked the shelves for spaces, all the things I usually do, ready to open at ten o’clock.’

  Judd nodded. ‘What time did Ms Barlow arrive that morning?’

  Josephs gave this some thought. ‘I’m not sure. Fifteen minutes after I’d opened?’

  ‘You’ve described the shop as busy later that day. Tell me about it.’

  Josephs frowned. ‘I’m not sure what you mean.’

  ‘Well, did anything happen that was unexpected or unusual?’

  His face cleared. ‘Oh. I see. No. It was a normal Saturday. A lot of customers. The delivery I mentioned.’

  ‘Did Miss Barlow mention to you in passing that she had plans for that evening?’

  Josephs looked doubtful. ‘Ten years is a
long time. I’ll need to think about it. I need to get it right, don’t I?’

  Judd waited. Surely the police who spoke to him at the time had asked him the same question? But he was right. It was a long time ago. She looked up at him. His eyes moved to a point beyond her right shoulder.

  ‘Let’s see … Annette had a phone call that morning. At around ten thirty I think. I don’t know who it was from, she didn’t say, but afterwards she seemed excited – no, not “excited”. Her mood improved. Maybe she did have plans.’

  Judd looked up at him. ‘Are you saying that Ms Barlow’s mood was low, prior to that call?’

  He smiled at her. ‘You’re good at picking up nuances, aren’t you? I wouldn’t say low, exactly. I probably thought she’d fixed up a date or something with whoever called her, but she didn’t actually tell me that. I suppose like most kids of my age back then, I was pretty clueless, but I don’t think she was very happy, you know.’

  Judd looked up at him. ‘Oh? Was there a reason that you were aware of?’ She watched him chose his words.

  ‘She was in her late twenties and I don’t think she liked being single.’

  ‘Did she actually tell you that?’

  ‘Not in so many words, but she’d joined a couple of dating agencies.’

  ‘How do you know?’

  He smiled. ‘There you go again with the nuances.’ He raised both arms, linking his hands behind his head. ‘She just mentioned in passing that she’d registered with them and that she’d been to a speed-dating evening run by one. I think it was a new thing, back then. She didn’t tell me anything about it, just that she’d been.’

  ‘Did Miss Barlow tell you anything else about her private life?’

  ‘Not really, but there were times when she had a lot of phone calls. I assumed they were from contacts she’d made through the agencies I mentioned.’