by Lloyd Otis
Breck turned around. ‘Does the name ring a bell?’
‘Janet said that one of the employees at her workplace kept recommending a woman named Ceinwen. It was to fill one of the high-profile roles that had become vacant. She planned to look at her CV and if she liked what she saw, call her in for an interview.’
Breck padded over towards Benjamin. ‘Who kept recommending her?’
‘Someone called, er…hmm.’ Benjamin closed his eyes for a moment as he tried to recall the name. Then he reopened them. ‘Sorry, can’t remember.’
Breck’s fixed smile hid his true frustration. He moved across the room, opened the door and allowed the officer outside to escort Benjamin to a holding cell. He had been careful not to antagonise his interviewee because he thought he’d be able to offer something significant which had so far proved wrong.
The officer arrived and applied the handcuffs while Breck remained rooted at the doorway, thinking about the best lead to pursuit next. The officer led Benjamin out but before the door closed they stopped and it grabbed Breck’s attention. He wasted no time in joining them.
‘I think I remember the name,’ Benjamin said.
‘Go on,’ Breck began to burst with anticipation.
‘The person that recommended her was a man. Someone called… Troy. Yes, definitely Troy.’
FIFTEEN
The Investigation Board had been set up and photos of Janet Maskell, both Troys, as well as Benjamin Genta, were attached and linked together by coloured yarn – under the case heading of Operation Nettle. The investigation room belonged to the SCU so it was used by them alone and this week appeared to be a good one. Maskell’s case took up most of the board sidelining others, including Ray Riley’s armed robbery investigation.
Forensics had now confirmed that fingerprints from both Troys were found on the credit card which made sense, but the dilemma for Breck remained: one owned it and the other stole it but which one?
A list of Peter Clarke’s clients had been obtained and waited for him in the post room, and as he finished off a conversation with Lizzie Daniels, Kearns entered, popping a Murray Mint into her mouth.
‘Was she helpful then?’
‘Yes she was. Lizzie went through a few of Janet’s notes and confirmed Troy had been trying to get a job for his girlfriend at Van Bruen.’
‘The position?’
‘An associate director investment role. So from that we can guess Ceinwen has some financial experience that qualifies her?’
‘Yes, but I want to know the real reason for Troy wanting her in there. I know Benjamin said Janet planned to look at her CV but what if he was wrong? Janet might have told Troy she wasn’t interested, which would have created some animosity on Troy’s part. Let’s try to find her by checking the employee records of all the professional service firms in the city.’
‘It will take some time. We might have to get Beatrice to manage that. I’ll look into it then visit The Cambas to check out Troy’s alibi.’
‘Fine by me. We’ll catch up later.’
Breck left to collect his envelope from the post room, while Kearns locked up and went in search of Beatrice. It wasn’t a conversation she looked forward to, especially after slotting her in for the post-mortem visit, but the fact remained the department continued to be short-staffed and new faces weren’t on the priority list at the moment for Bashir. Everyone had to muck in.
Kearns popped to the canteen to grab something to nibble. Just as she was about to leave she spotted Beatrice. Good timing.
‘May I join you?’
Beatrice glanced up from the pages of the book she was reading. ‘It’s a free country. Sit if you want.’
‘You not feeling too good?’
‘What can I help you with, Pat?’
Kearns picked up her fork and jabbed it into the slice of cake she had picked up. ‘I don’t hate you. I’m not saying we’ll ever be best friends but I don’t hate you.’
‘Nice to know. Where’s your complicated partner?’
Kearns popped a bit of the cake into her mouth. The sweet taste being just what she needed to combat Beatrice’s sour attitude. ‘He has a girlfriend.’
‘I’ve no idea why you’re telling me that.’
‘Come on, you can’t fool me.’ Kearns understood the magnitude of her next set of words before she even said them. ‘This job brings a lot of people together. The hours we work and the stresses can make certain things happen. I’ve seen it and could name at least four other people within the SCU that have already become close over the past year.’
‘What are you getting at Pat?’
‘You’re a pretty distraction for him but that’s all.’
Beatrice closed her book then folded her arms, with an expressionless stare fired straight towards Kearns, knowing deep down that there was some truth to her words.
‘I’m sure that you didn’t come over to talk to me just about this, did you?’
‘No I haven’t, but if you’re smart, which I know you are, you won’t ignore what I’ve said. Now, back to SCU work. You’re slotted in for Janet Maskell’s post-mortem, and we need you to comb through the employee lists of professional services companies within the city of London.’
‘Employee lists?’
‘Yes we need to locate a female named Ceinwen. Troy’s girlfriend.’
‘Last name?’
‘None at present.’
Beatrice sucked her teeth. ‘That could take me ages.’
‘I know but it’s what needs to be done.’ Kearns rose from her seat.
‘OK, if I must.’
With a wry smile, Kearns left the canteen, unconcerned about Beatrice’s upset and was more interested in planning what she had to do next. She needed to find the quickest route to The Cambas to check out Troy’s lunchtime alibi. With the Allegro being borrowed and the other police cars out of action, the journey would have to be made by public transport. Patricia Kearns didn’t have any time to waste.
*
Kearns jumped off the bus and stood across from The Cambas. She crossed the road and already had a good idea of what she’d be told by the pub landlord, but understood the need go through the process and follow the normal lines of enquiry.
As soon as she stepped inside she hit a wall of smoke and the fragrant smell of beer hung in the air. She cast an eye over the customers. There were a few working-class lads, arty types, two or three couples, and wannabes that wanted to be anything. Then she spotted a man behind the bar fixing a rum and coke for a punter. She waited until he had finished. Kearns caught his attention by flashing her badge and the sight of it took the wind out of him. It made her wonder whether or not he had any dark secrets.
‘Hello, officer, how can I help?’
‘Are you Mr Phil Kenzie, the landlord?’
‘Yes that’s me, is there anything wrong?’
‘I need information.’ Kearns slid onto a stool, unsure of how long the conversation would take. ‘Would you say that you know all your punters?’
‘The regular ones, yes.’
Kearns opened her handbag and pulled out a mugshot of Alexander Troy. She rested it on the bar top then turned it around so that Phil Kenzie had a clear view.
‘Does this man look familiar?’ He dug his fingers into the top pocket of his short-sleeved shirt and pulled out his spectacles. While he adjusted them onto his face a few more thirsty customers appeared. ‘No barmaid?’
‘Susie’s running late so it’s just me and the cook at the moment. Bloody nightmare it is.’
He had Kearns’ sympathies. Phil lifted up the photograph and kept his eyes pinned to it. ‘This man in the photo doesn’t look familiar. He’s not one of my regulars.’
‘Do you recall seeing him in here yesterday lunchtime?’
‘Sorry no.’
Phil Kenzie handed back the photograph to Kearns and expected her to leave. Instead, she opened her purse and pulled out two one-pound notes.
‘Let me have a
glass of white wine please and a packet of crisps.’ He seemed surprised. ‘It’s my lunch hour now. Do you think that coppers don’t need to have a break?’
Before he could respond a young girl with a beehive hairdo scurried past and smiled at a few customers, then positioned herself behind the bar. Susie.
‘Right, who’s next?’ she asked.
Her presence relieved a stressed Phil Kenzie and after he served Kearns, he watched her slide off the stool to find an unoccupied table. She waited there and checked the time on her watch. She had an off-the-record meeting and would be exaggerating the length of her visit to The Cambas because of it.
As the minutes ticked by she thought that it might not happen until a shadow appeared and Kearns raised her head to see the person she had been waiting for. Mary Tellow stood over her, late 50s, well dressed with a bit of steel in her eyes.
‘Nice to see you Patricia.’ She took off her coat and rested her handbag on the back of the chair.
‘Hello Mrs Tellow, thanks for coming.’ Both women hugged.
‘You look well.’
Kearns smiled. ‘Can I get you something to eat?’
‘No, I already ordered something at the bar when I came in.’
Mary Tellow’s daughter Louise was one of Kearns’ best friends. At school they were inseparable. Known as the little schemers, they gave boys the run around playing kiss chase and got up to all sorts. But by the time their school years ended, they found that they wanted to do different things. Kearns had a yearning to be involved with law enforcement and Louise wanted to run her own hair salon.
For the next few years the girls were busy getting on with their lives but Louise’s penchant for having a good time extended to gaining a collection of bad boyfriends. After a while they lost touch until they were reunited again. Although, not in the way Kearns would ever have wished.
Susie bought over a plate for Mary. ‘Here you are,’ she said then left, in a rush to serve the other hungry customers. Mary bit into her prawn and mayonnaise sandwich and gave it her approval.
‘I hope you don’t mind me inviting you here.’ Kearns said. ‘It’s just that when I found out you had travelled up to London to visit your sister, I thought it’d be good to catch up.’
‘That’s sweet and it’s nice to see you again. How’s everything going?’
‘I’ve split with Mick.’
‘Yes, I heard about that, sorry. How’s your daughter?’
‘Kim’s taken his side so she’s not speaking to me at the moment. They’re up in Glasgow together.’
‘Take my advice, fight tooth and nail to get your daughter back. Once she’s gone forever you’ll regret it.’
‘Work keeps me busy. There’s lots to do but it sounds much more glamorous than it is most times.’
Mary Tellow frowned. ‘In my day, we got married and looked after our husbands. We raised a family. Now, women are having careers.’
Kearns couldn’t be sure if Mary had aimed that dig at her or if it happened to be just a general observation. Either way she let it slide, finished her crisps and left the empty packet on the table.
There had been enough side stepping so Kearns braced herself to ask her question. ‘How are things going with you Mrs Tellow?’
Mary paused and the life appeared to drain from her while she held the sandwich above her plate. Her eyes became lost, wondering where to look.
‘Birthdays are difficult to deal with, Christmas time too. I’m just glad Louise’s dad wasn’t alive to see what happened to her.’ Kearns reached over and placed a comforting hand on Mary’s arm but Mary Tellow dropped the sandwich into the plate and removed it. She couldn’t hold her anger at bay anymore and it became evident as she said, ‘Although it’s nice to see you again Patricia, I hope that by bringing me here you’re going to tell me what I want to hear. You’re going to tell me that you’ve caught the man that murdered my daughter and made up for your terrible mistake.’
SIXTEEN
West Yorkshire September, 1975
Some moments are etched in history. Even WPC Kearns knew that as she walked a regular route with her colleague Chris Muller, an officer with dreamy drama school looks. It sparked off without any warning when he rushed out of the newsagents with the adrenaline overpowering him.
‘Did you catch that on the radio, a domestic at the end of this street?’
Kearns hadn’t, her husband Mick was on her mind. She had a sneaky look and found she’d muted the radio by accident. A silly mistake that she wouldn’t be admitting to.
Kearns followed Muller’s rapid footsteps and in a matter of minutes they arrived at the address. It was around the corner in fact, an average-sized house with a garden full of fresh flowers and a newly painted wooden fence. It took a third knock before the lock shifted and the door creaked open.
A man with darkness in his eyes stood in front of Muller and Kearns. His chest drummed under a white V-neck. Dirt and grime lined his jeans. He seemed surprised to see them.
‘Hello.’
‘We’ve had a report of a disturbance here.’
The man added a smile. ‘Really? No disturbance here, officers.’
Muller glanced at Kearns then back at the man. ‘May we come in?’
His face changed into a scowl. ‘Did that bitch next door call you lot?’ Kearns remembered him asking. ‘The bitch should keep her nose out of my business!’ His excuse was ready. ‘I had a slanging match with the girlfriend that’s all. She’s stormed off and won’t be back till she cools down. I’m watching a bit of telly now pal.’
Muller cleared his throat. ‘What’s her name?’
Looking back, the man took too long to think but at the time Kearns thought nothing of it. She watched him rub the rugged strips of hair on either side of his jaw.
‘Rhianna. Rhianna Thomas.’
‘When do you expect her back then?’ He shrugged. ‘Mind if we take a look around? Of course you don’t.’
The two police constables entered the house leaving the man bubbling with plenty of hatred but he knew it’d be better to get their intrusion over with. He watched them from a distance until Kearns returned the favour. The white V-neck overstretched on the left side. The roots of his brown hair darkened with sweat. Both images failed to correspond with a man just involved in a simple slanging match with his partner, who’d then chosen to sit down to watch television.
With Muller elsewhere, the man walked past Kearns then stopped. When she moved toward the kitchen he obstructed her path. He feigned a stumble and placed a heavy hand on her shoulder. Kearns pushed it away but he placed it back, began to squeeze, keeping a sadistic grin fixed to his face for good measure too, trying to intimidate her.
‘What are you doing? I’m a police officer.’
His grin widened like he didn’t give a shit. ‘We’re the same we are, except you wear a uniform and I don’t.’
‘You’re obstructing an officer of the law. What’s your name?’
He whispered it to her as if it were a special secret to be shared between them, while Kearns strained to peel back his strong fingers. She felt the sweat threaten to trickle down her forehead yet, she became determined that his attempt to scare her wouldn’t be successful.
‘We’re nothing alike. Now let go or I’ll make you wish that you had.’
He moved in slow motion and Kearns wanted to deck him there and then, imagining the scum spitting out teeth and spraying the place with a red mist. However, she wouldn’t want to give him the satisfaction of getting any compensation.
When Muller reappeared the man stepped away, innocence personified, and Kearns bowled forward knowing it would be a waste of time reporting the scumbag for what he had done.
She proceeded into the kitchen where the bin overflowed with rubbish and dried spaghetti strands caked the outside but spotted a purse on top of the fridge. Red acrylic with a leather decoration. She sensed something was wrong without being able to say what and scanned the kitchen again but d
rew a blank. While the man spoke with Muller a frustrated Kearns glanced around for the next thing to search – the cupboard underneath the staircase. She moved towards it and pulled the handle but Muller appeared and stopped her.
‘Let’s get going. We’re done here for today.’
‘This needs checking.’
‘Come on,’ he said with a subtle wink. ‘Leave it for another time.’
The two officers left the premises with Muller warning the man to keep the noise down but it left Kearns feeling uneasy, and with good reason. He waited until they were out of sight then went to retrieve ‘Rhianna.’
The girl was already battered and bruised enough to offer no resistance. Just the way he liked it. He released the wire from around her wrists, took the sock out of her mouth and raised her head. One of her bruised eyes were sealed shut.
‘After the noise you made, the old cow next door called the police. Why do you get me so angry? Why do you make me do this to you?’
The girl wanted to cry because she didn’t make him do anything and she spoke but he couldn’t hear. He leaned closer, then closer still. She spat into his face and it shocked him. He reeled back and saw it as proof that he had failed to instil enough discipline into her. Wiping away the spittle, he yanked the girl’s head up by the roots of her hair, produced a knife from his pocket and drew the serrated blade’s sharpest point across the soft flesh of her throat. She jerked back and forth and he struggled to contain her. The more the blood drained, the more difficult it became and he sought a quick way to end it.
He looked over his shoulder and spotted a Dorma artichoke ornament resting on the shelf. He grabbed it with one hand still gripping her hair and slammed the ornament into the bridge of her nose, breaking it instantly.
Meanwhile the two constables had now emerged onto the main road but Kearns found that she couldn’t hold back.
‘Why are we leaving?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘I don’t believe she stormed out, his girlfriend I mean. What woman leaves the house without her purse?’
