Solid Proof: A dark, disturbing, detective mystery (Sgt Major Crane crime thrillers Book 8)

by Wendy Cartmell

  “Shit.”

  Crane had been hoping that today would be a good day. He’d been sure they’d find lots of evidence tying Zane to the killings and to his infiltration of his brother’s life. But it appeared not. They’d hit yet another brick wall. They were stumped again, confronted with yet more lies and deception.

  As Crane went through every scenario in his mind that he could think of, to get at the truth, Anderson’s phone rang and Crane was vaguely aware of Anderson answering it and carrying on a conversation. Crane stood intending to go outside for a cigarette, but then Anderson started frantically gesticulating. It seemed he wanted Crane to sit back down again.

  Anderson clattered down the telephone receiver and said, “That was DC Saunders.”

  “I take it there’s news. Either that or you’re jiggling up and down because you need the toilet.”

  “Funny,” said Anderson clearly thinking the remark was anything but. “One of the pathologists from the investigation into the dead girls in the river has called. He’s found something. Skin under the nails of one of them. It was buried deep under the side of the nail which is why it wasn’t washed away by the water and it’s a match to the DNA found on Janey Carlton’s body.”

  “Gotcha,” said Crane.

  “Yes, but which twin is it? They’ve both got the same DNA.”

  58

  It had taken some doing, but eventually the Metropolitan Police had been persuaded to do further tests on the DNA taken from Tyler and Zane and that taken from Janey Carlton and from the poor, as yet still unidentified, dead girl from the river. Anderson had explained to Crane that there was a laboratory in Germany that could do further testing on the samples, this time going through the entire DNA strand. In standard DNA tests only a tiny fraction of the code is analysed - enough to differentiate between two average people, but not identical twins. In a test case, the German laboratory had taken samples from a pair of male twins and looked at the entire three-billion-letter sequence, and they’d found a few dozen differences in their DNA. Having analysed the results, they were confident that they could now tell one twin from another. The Met had taken advice from the Department of Public Prosecutions who had agreed that if the testing revealed differences in the DNA of Tyler and Zane and then those differences could be matched successfully to the DNA found on Janey Carlton, then they could confidently proceed with a prosecution on that basis.

  The problem was what to do with the twins during the month that it would take to get the results? Which was the reason Crane and Anderson were sat in the back of a courtroom in London, waiting for Tyler and Zane to be brought in to appear in front of a local Magistrate. Their respective solicitors were pressing for bail while the testing went on, which was fair enough.

  Saunders slipped in next to Crane as the Magistrates entered the courtroom and the case against Tyler Wells was heard. The DPP lawyer argued for remand in custody, but Tyler’s solicitor emphasised that Tyler was not a flight risk. All Tyler wanted to do was to go home and be with his family and there was no way he’d leave them. He’d proven that time and again, especially as he’d helped the police catch his twin brother. After a few minutes of consultation with his two fellow magistrates, it was agreed that Tyler would be granted bail, but his passport had to be handed in and he would have to wear an electronic tag. Tyler was taken back down to the cells, crying with gratitude, to await finalisation of the paperwork.

  Then it was the turn of Zane. He was dressed in a sober suit, looked in complete control of himself and his emotions, unlike his twin, but he also managed to appear contrite, keeping his eyes down, sitting perfectly still, awaiting his fate. Crane frowned at him in dislike and disgust. Then the whole palaver started again. The Magistrates heard the pleas from both sides and came to the same conclusion. Zane could also be released on bail under the same conditions. They’d allowed it for one twin and felt it was only right that the other should be treated the same, as they were both charged with the same offence.

  Crane was flabbergasted and barged through the courtroom doors and out into the hallway.

  “What the hell was that?” he rounded on Saunders. “How can they possibly let that piece of shit out on bail?”

  “I assume you’re talking about Zane,” said Saunders.

  “What? Yes. He seems by far the most likely candidate for the murder.”

  “I totally agree.”

  “So how come you lot let him walk?”

  Saunders grinned. “Just go and wait outside, Crane. I’m sure you need a cigarette by now.”

  Crane scowled again, but followed Anderson out into the open air. After pacing around and smoking two cigarettes he eventually said to Anderson, “Look, I don’t know what the hell we’re waiting for. Can’t we be off now?”

  “This. This is what we’re waiting for,” said Anderson and pointed to Zane as he emerged from the courthouse, grinning and talking animatedly to his solicitor.

  As the two men walked down the stone steps, Saunders approached them from one side and two uniformed policemen from the other. Coming to a halt in front of Zane, Saunders said, “Zane Zwicky I am arresting you on suspicion of the murder of Clarice Walton. You don’t have to say anything…”

  As Saunders’ read Zane his rights, Crane looked as bewildered as the accused himself. “What the fuck?” he hissed at Anderson. “How the hell did Saunders manage that?”

  “Thought you’d enjoy Saunders’ little spectacle, Crane,” Anderson said. “The mystery girl in the river, the one with the DNA under her nail, has been identified as Clarice Walton. The Met had deliberately kept quiet about her, treating her murder as a separate case, so they could re-arrest Zane, just in case he was granted bail today.”

  Crane grinned, “Which he was.”

  “Yes, just as we thought. And now instead of going home, he’ll be going back to prison.”

  “What if he gets bail again for this offence?”

  “Saunders and his bosses are sure that no magistrate will bail him when he’s charged with the murder of four girls. They’re confident he will be held for the month it will take for the DNA results to come through. Not a bad plan, eh?”

  “A right result, Derek, that’s what it is. A right result.”

  59

  Anderson was ready. Well, as ready as he’d ever be. His stomach was fluttering, his palms sweaty and he kept moving, putting his weight first on one foot and then the other, just as though it were mid-winter, not a beautiful, surprisingly warm, spring morning. He was sweating slightly, dressed as he was in his beige raincoat, which he’d come to consider his lucky raincoat. So, just as a precaution, he was wearing it in the hope that nothing would go wrong. He daren’t take it off and jinx the operation.

  Stood on the edge of Hampstead Heath, Anderson’s gaze kept being drawn to the view. The Heath, one of the highest points in London, was a sprawling area of heathland and parkland, offering a range of leisure activities and, of course, the famed panoramic view of the city of London. But he wasn’t there to admire the view. He was there as the team assembled, before their foray into Highgate Village.

  Saunders walked up to him, a broad grin on his face, “Ready, Derek?”

  “Been ready for the past hour,” Anderson replied.

  “I know, still, we’re a go in,” Saunders checked his watch, “five minutes. The spotters have confirmed he’s in-situ and the armed response officers are assembled and ready.”

  “Do you think there’s going to be trouble then?”

  “It never hurts to be prepared, especially not with a collar as important as this.”

  Derek nodded his agreement. The police preparations had been on-going over the past day and night. Everyone in the team had been made to bunk down at the training establishment where the plans were drawn up and finalised. No one was allowed to go home, or call home, not until it was all over. They’d left at 5 am that morning, in order to be in place by 7 am.

  ***

  Crane checked his watc
h for the umpteenth time that morning. He’d left the training establishment with the others at 5am and was now sat in a car with a colleague of DC Saunders, who wasn’t very chatty. In fact, the man hadn’t said a word since Crane had parked up 30 minutes ago. All Crane knew about him was that his name was Tony.

  Looking out of the car window, wistfully wishing for a cigarette that he couldn’t have, Crane watched the street in the early morning light. In past times Crane imagined a milkman would be clanking up and down the street at this time of day, his bottles rattling as he ran from door to door. These days no one used a milk man anymore, preferring to buy their milk at supermarkets which were open 24 hours a day and where the prices were as cheap as chips and the milk treated for longer-than-ever-life.

  He mused on the twins living so close to each other and wondered if it had been a deliberate act on Zane’s part. One living in Hampstead Village and the other in Highgate Village. One twin fully aware of where his sibling lived. The other happily oblivious.

  Crane mused on the differences between the two men. Could it really be a different upbringing that had wrought the changes between them? Or were the differences the lab had found in the DNA strands responsible for one turning out to be a model citizen and the other a psychopathic killer. It was all above his intellectual grade, but an interesting question to ponder for all that.

  At precisely 7 am Crane’s radio crackled into life.

  ***

  Captain Draper was sat in his car, outside the imposing Georgian house in Farnham, dressed in uniform, as he was on official business. His task was to tell Major Cunningham the outcome of the Met’s investigations and the news that the killer had just been arrested. It had been agreed that everything would be done at the same time as a precaution against a leak, either to the criminal, or to the press. That the twin about to be arrested could get wind of what was going on, was too awful a scenario to contemplate. More than that, it would make the army look like a bunch of numpties. Not that it would have been a fair allegation, of course, but when were the press ever fair? When did they ever worry about the truth? Their number one priority was selling newspapers. They were not concerned with the probability that what they printed, under the guise of news, was capable of ruining people’s lives.

  The Major was still suspended and Draper wondered what would happen to the man’s career now. Even though the case was about to be brought to a successful conclusion and the Major had been cleared of any involvement in his wife’s death, he still couldn’t see how the Major could continue in the army. Everyone now knew about his private life. There was nowhere left to hide. It would probably be best for him to quietly retire. Either that or he’d face being tied to an inconspicuous desk job. No soldier wanted that, Draper certainly wouldn’t.

  Looking at his watch, the minute hand clicked over to the top of the hour. 7 am. He’d get a call on his mobile any minute now.

  ***

  Highgate Village was quiet as Anderson followed behind the team who would be going in first. They were armed with automatic rifles and handguns, and their beloved battering ram. As the men ran for the house, police cars drew up at either end of the road, blocking possible escape routes. With an almighty crash the front door was battered in, splinters of wood flying at the heads of men, but falling harmlessly to the floor after hitting the plastic visors of their helmets.

  Voices could be heard calling out, “Armed Police! Come out with your hands up!” over and over again, interspersed with, “Clear,” as each room was searched and then sealed off. Anderson and Saunders stepped past the broken door as the voices continued to assail their ears. The calling was meant to disorientate the man they were after and as far as Anderson was concerned it was doing a good job. The voices echoed through the large house and boots could be heard thundering up the stairs.

  Then Saunders’ radio crackled into life. “Found him. Suspect has been neutralised and secured. Stand down. I repeat, stand down. Mission accomplished.”

  Anderson and Saunders exchanged broad grins as the prisoner was escorted down the stairs and brought to a standstill in front of them.

  ***

  Crane’s mobile buzzed with a message. “All went well, suspect in custody and en-route to New Scotland Yard.”

  Crane allowed himself a grin, before nudging Tony and saying, “We’re on.”

  The two men left the car and walked across to the Victorian terraced house. Crane opened the gate and walked along the original paving and rapped on the stained glass set into the front door. Crane didn’t like having what he thought of as a ‘minder’. Tony followed him around like a shadow, but Saunders had insisted. The twin deserved the courtesy of a visit from the Met as well as from one of the original investigating officers, so Crane kept trying not to think of Tony’s presence as a babysitter.

  The man who answered the door had clearly just got out of bed. His hair was dishevelled, his chest bare. He wore a pair of cotton pyjama bottoms and his bare feet were poking out from underneath them.

  “Sorry to bother you so early in the morning, sir,” said Crane, as a look reminiscent of a startled deer caught in car headlights passed over the man’s face.

  “You!” he managed to say. “What? Why?”

  “Could we come in for a moment please, sir,” said Crane and walked through the door uninvited as the astonished man stood aside.

  ***

  Captain Draper got the same message from Anderson at 7.05 am and walked along the deserted driveway to the front door. All was quiet. There were no lights on inside that he could see, no noise of a television or radio. Ringing the doorbell in three long bursts, Draper then stood back from the step and waited.

  Footsteps could be heard pounding down the stairs and a rather out of breath Major Cunningham threw open the door. He looked puzzled to find Captain Draper standing there. Frowning he glanced around to see if anyone else was with him and then he seemed to recover as he barked, “What the hell do you think you’re doing, Draper? Why are you ringing my doorbell at this time in the morning?”

  Jesus wept, thought Draper, the bloody man never changes, the autocratic and authoritarian bastard. Swallowing his anger Draper said, “I wanted to come and personally give you the good news, Major. Perhaps we could go inside?”

  “Good news?”

  “Yes, sir, good news.”

  “Oh, well, you better come in.”

  As the Major closed the door behind them, he said, “Come into the kitchen, I’ve just made coffee. I expect you could do with one as well?”

  “That would be very kind, sir, thank you.”

  The kitchen was all bleached wood and marble tops, gleaming in the spotlights set underneath the wall cupboards. A distressed table and six chairs sat on the other side of an island and Cunningham placed two cups of coffee on it. Sitting down, Captain Draper said, “I’m here to tell you, sir, that a suspect has just been arrested and charged with the murder of your wife. The Metropolitan Police have taken him into custody and he’s at this very moment on his way to New Scotland Yard.”

  Major Cunningham closed his eyes and exhaled loudly, nodding his head to himself, as if to say, thank God, it’s really over now.

  “Who was it?” asked the Major in a voice that was little more than a whisper.

  60

  DI Anderson and DC Saunders stood in the viewing room, watching the prisoner being interviewed by the chief investigating officer of the team that worked on Janey Cunningham’s murder, of which Saunders had been a vital part.

  “You don’t mind that you’re not doing the interview then?” asked Anderson.

  Saunders shook his head. “Nah, I got to go with the arresting team. That was good enough for me.”

  “It’s been a hairy 24 hours though,” said Derek. “I couldn’t believe it when you rang with the news yesterday that he’d been released on bail.”

  “It came as a shock to us all, I can tell you. The boss nearly had a heart attack. Thank God the laboratory in Germany
were ready to release their results. We needed their DNA analysis to make an arrest. An arrest and charge that would stick this time.”

  “And thank God for the fact that the police detail who followed him from the courtroom yesterday didn’t lose him.”

  “Mmm,” agreed Saunders. “Especially when he went to an address in Highgate that we knew nothing about. He was ready to ship out, you know. We found packed suitcases in the bedroom and in the room he used as an office. I suspect we’ll find details of an airline booking in due course.”

  Anderson laughed, “No doubt he was going to a country that doesn’t have an extradition treaty with the UK.”

  “The only place he’ll be going now is prison, from where he’ll never leave. Not with multiple counts of murder on his record,” said Saunders.

  The two men fell silent and listened to the voices coming through the speakers.

  “On what basis are you arresting my client?” they heard the man’s solicitor ask. “What possible evidence could you have to tie my client to these murders? It looks to me like you’ve got the wrong twin.”

  The CIO smiled, obviously relishing his moment. After a small pause he slid a report across the table.

  “This report confirms that the DNA found on the bodies of Janey Cunningham and Clarice Walton matches exactly the DNA sample given by your client Zane Carlton.” The solicitor went to interrupt, but the CIO held up his hand to stop him. “The DNA samples underwent extensive testing and 10 points of difference were identified between Zane here and his twin Tyler Wells. Therefore, we have irrefutable evidence that Zane Carlton killed the two women.”