‘So, what did you do?’
‘CSIs and body off for PM. The neighbours weren’t much help in identifying anyone who may have been next of kin for her other than the ex-husband, so I don’t as yet have an official ID sorted.’
‘And the child?’ Aaron asked.
‘Dad’s current wife is picking her up. Social care has her at the moment, but is happy that Dad and wife take her and can’t wait for them to take her off their hands. You know how they are. One less child to find a bed for the night.’
I nodded. It all sounded in order. ‘I take it Dad is coming in here so we can talk to him, get some details?’
‘Yes. I told him we needed to get that done then it was out the way and he could concentrate on his daughter for the rest of the night, that’s why his wife is collecting her.’
‘And is Ross helping you out with it?’
Martin shifted in his seat. ‘He’s busy prepping and stressing about the case he’s got in crown in a couple of weeks. I told him I’d talk to Dad alone.’
‘He’s got nothing to stress about. It’s an open and shut case.’ Aaron spoke. I watched them both for a minute. It had been a hard six months and we were running a team member down.
I looked pointedly at him. ‘Thanks, Martin.’ He took the hint and left the office.
I then directed my gaze to Aaron. ‘Ross seems a bit stressed lately, Aaron. He’s persistently late, where he used to be here at least half an hour before the start of the shift. He’s letting himself go and he seems to be running on a short fuse. He used to be the most laid back person I knew.’ I took a breath, ‘I know we are all still feeling the strain, but I think we need to keep an eye on him. He was close to Sally. He looked up to her on the department and there’s probably some unresolved guilt as he was with her just before her death. He’s still going to the mandatory counselling, right?’
‘We’re all on it, Hannah.’
‘I know, but you’ve not been informed that he isn’t attending?’
‘No.’
‘Okay. And that case he’s got in a couple of weeks, it’s open and shut?’
‘Yes. Shut tight.’
11
Sean Beers was a slim man with a shock of brown hair, which seemed to have a mind of its own. He wore jeans, T-shirt and trainers as though he had dressed in a hurry and thrown on the first thing to hand, but he wore them with a silent confidence. His face was solemn as he seated himself in the witness interview room. I’d been watching him since we introduced ourselves at the front counter. His display of grief was contained for his ex-wife; there were no tears, not one shed for the mother of his daughter. And his worry was verbal for Megan. He wanted to know where she was, who had her and if she had been with her mother when she had died. We reassured him that Megan was safe but left further details for our intended discussion. He had not once called Lianne by her name, but insisted on referring to her as Megan’s mother. Martin left to make him a drink as I continued to watch, all the while monitoring his face and non-verbal communications. He was closed off, legs crossed and facing away from me. Arms tight across his body. His arms toned. A man who took care of himself. Maybe he was self-restrained. Maybe there was something to hide.
Since asking uniform cops to pick him up, we had found out that the school had been informed by Lianne that in case of emergency, she was the only available parent, as he was out of the country, when in fact he was at home with his new wife and baby. Why the dishonesty? He still saw Megan on a semi-regular basis. Beers had some questions to answer but we had to tread lightly at this point. His daughter had lost her mother. We had no cause of death. For all we knew Lianne Beers had died of natural causes, though for someone so young to die so suddenly did give rise to some suspicion so it was better to keep an eye on what was happening than find out too late that there was nothing natural about her death at all. But, who was I to judge marriage and the breakdown of one? I hadn’t been there. I hadn’t felt the poison seep in as the cement holding it all together crumbled around their feet. I could only judge a man with an uncomfortable attitude in a police station and that’s what we had here.
With drinks in place, I sat down. Close to Beers. No table between us. No distractions. I was the concerned DI wanting to reassure him of our best intentions. ‘We have Lianne,’ there was a look from Beers I couldn’t fathom, ‘Megan’s mum, at the mortuary where a post-mortem will be carried out tomorrow. It’s usual in cases like this where the death is sudden and she hasn’t seen her doctor recently.’ He cradled his cup, looking into its hot contents. ‘Megan hasn’t been told.’ His head jerked up like a string had been pulled from his head skywards. ‘We thought it best for her to be taken home by you, be somewhere she is comfortable and with someone she loves.’ The string slackened and his head bounced a couple of times. ‘Can I ask why the school thought you were out of the country?’ Beers straightened his back, shifted slightly in his seat and crossed his legs the opposite way before answering.
‘My wife. My current wife. Janine. She doesn’t like the demands and interruptions Lianne makes on our life.’ He put his drink on the floor and crossed his arms. ‘I mean, made, made on our lives,’ he corrected himself.
‘So, sometimes. Sometimes, we say I’m out of the country on business. It’s feasible and it means Lianne won’t call about anything as she won’t talk to Janine about it, only me. It’s easier on our family that way.’ His arms tightened across his chest.
‘So you weren’t out the country this past two days?’
‘No. No I wasn’t. I’ve been at work. Here. And at home with Janine and Sofia. Our little girl.’ He relaxed, uncrossed his arms, opening them as he explained, ‘She’s eighteen months, a real daddy’s little girl.’
‘Did Lianne have any medical conditions or allergies?’
‘Not that I’m aware of. But we haven’t been together for over two and a half years so anything could have happened.’
‘What about family we can contact and inform? Parents? Siblings? New husband or partner?’
‘No, it was just Lianne and Megan. She pretty much kept to herself. Doted on that child. It’s what drove us apart, if I’m honest. She cared more for her than she did for me.’
‘In that case, we need to ask you to officially identify Lianne for us at the hospital. It won’t take long. You’ll be in a separate room to her and then you can go and take care of your daughter.’ He nodded.
I gave Sean Beers our contact details and that of the coroner’s office. Martin would get the official ID sorted and return Sean to the station to collect his car so he could go and be with his daughter and wife. Sean Beers had the look of a worried man as he left the building, which left me wondering if this was simply due to the shock of the day, the speed of the adjustments he would have to make, or if being here, in the confines of the police station, had made him nervous. If Lianne hadn’t died naturally, Sean had gained by her death and we always looked at the spouse first, even if it was the ex-spouse in this case, the circumstances fitted. Sean Beers was now free from a nagging ex and didn’t have to ask permission to see his daughter. What better motive?
12
1996
As time drifted by, they became a secure and happy family. Secure in who they were and in what they had. Em was everything he could ever want in a child. She was bright and she was beautiful. She shone. And not just when her face lit up as she smiled, but from within. A real genuine spark of pure, clean humanity at its best. He did everything in his power to give her the best start in life, the best experiences he could afford to give her. They travelled to see and to explore. Her mind was sharp, but the constant questions of why that so many parents complained about never got to him. He was happy to share what he knew and find out what he didn’t, so he could let her know later. Emma was so inquisitive. He felt that he was on a journey as much as she was. They weren’t well off; he worked hard for what they had, so being able to visit the museums in London for free was wonderful, for both
him and Connie, financially, and for the joy they brought Em as she could spend a full day in each museum. They’d travel and visit the Natural History Museum, Science Museum and the British Museum. They’d also visited the local Nottinghamshire culture including Nottingham Castle, The Caves, the Galleries of Justice and the D. H. Lawrence Heritage Centre. He adored that curious time of her life.
He and Connie were happy. Connie worked part-time as she wanted to be at home as much as she could for Emma but finances dictated that they both go out to work, so she did it on a part-time basis to suit her. She liked to have dinner on the table when he got home so they could all eat together every night and she and Em baked each weekend. Isaac would be their taste tester, though of course, he was never one to pass a negative comment. Everything passed muster and much delight was had in polishing off each batch of baked goodies.
Life was good.
Until it wasn’t.
13
Ross watched Sean Beers go with Martin and Hannah through to the witness interview room. In that brief instance of seeing him walk past he held an immediate dislike for the man. No reason for it. Something about him, a vibe that said I really don’t give a damn what you think.
Then he went back to the statement he was typing and the fucking blinking cursor, like a silent judgment before he could even get a word out. He put his fingers to the keys and his mind back to the incident.
It was a Friday night. He didn’t know what he had expected other than holy hell in the Bridewell custody suite. Martin had parked the car in the custody yard and they’d walked in through the solid metal rear doors, past the fingerprint and photograph room where a woman with lipstick smeared across her face like a clown was yawping that it wasn’t her fault her neighbour was a twat and couldn’t take a joke when she’d been caught kissing her husband in the pub. He wasn’t worth the hassle anyway, so why was she going to take that shit from her. Of course she was going to lamp her one. Stupid slut.
The smell of alcohol, vomit and cleaning materials was strong that night and Ross thanked his lucky stars he hadn’t gone for promotion and been landed down there day in night out, with no natural light and nothing but complaining prisoners and uptight solicitors. Though if he were working in custody then he wouldn’t be able to let any of his colleagues down again. They might be safer if he was here.
Then they were at the narrow custody booking-in desk area where cops queued with their offenders waiting to be booked in to the system, but at this time on a Friday, the mood wasn’t great and three strapping custody staff dragged a cuffed bloke past them and towards the cells as he screamed he was going to kill them all as soon as his hands were freed. Ross saw saucers where his eyes should have been. A good job there was medical personnel on the premises, he noted when he saw the blue tunic of Sherry the MEDAC nurse behind the high custody desk. He caught her eye from where he and Martin stood after letting the staff pass and he smiled. She grinned back and gestured with her chin that the next floor up might be the place he needed to be. She was right. Robert Pine, thirty-six years old, booked in on suspicion of murder, was currently being held in one of the cells on the first floor of the building. It was moderately quieter here, though waiting times at the desk could be significant.
The custody sergeant had requested Pine be examined by the doctor for fitness to be interviewed and after being signed fit he was interviewed without a solicitor at his own request. During the interview he admitted the knife in his hand was the one that had caused the fatal wound to his wife. The words and images of blades and blood flowed through Ross’s head. The admission was quick. The interview, short. The custody sergeant, John Blake authorised further detention while Ross and Martin continued their enquiries. Pine went back to his cell. By now the custody block had calmed considerably and night-time settled over them like a thick blanket, bringing a stillness and quiet in the windowless, grey block.
Ross leaned back in his chair. He couldn’t believe how much was still being done this close to the court date. Paperwork; he hated it. He stretched back, arms behind his head, fingers intertwined, pulling out all his tensed up muscles. Fucking Christ, he’d be glad when this job was over and he could get back to working with the rest of the team. Ross wanted this case over.
14
After another full day at work, keeping an eye on the sudden death that had come into the office the previous day, that Martin seemed to have a handle on, and organising the necessary media holding statement, I stopped off at the newsagents, on the way home, to pick up some chocolate, a copy of the Nottingham Today and a fresh pint of milk – as I was sure the stuff I’d drank that morning had probably been at least two days out of date.
Home was an apartment at the base of Nottingham castle, which had a great view of the cave entrances, caves that ran underneath a great portion of the city. With the door bolted behind me I kicked off my shoes, leaving them where they landed and padded to the kitchen. The milk and one bar of chocolate went in the fridge and I tore open the wrapper of the second with my teeth as I reached for a glass and poured myself a red wine. The long day had taken its toll on my still healing body so I shoved a couple of painkillers down with the wine. The chocolate was half eaten as I slugged back the deep red liquid. Soothing and relaxing. I turned to the counter and opened up the paper. I found the small article on the death of Lianne Beers that our media liaison, Claire Betts, had released, reporting that police were dealing with an incident at Bramcote, which at this time was being treated as suspicious. Arrangements had been made for a PM etc. However, it was the featured headline I was interested in:
Inquest Opened into murdered Detective Sally Poynter
The byline was Ethan Gale’s.
I shoved the rest of the chocolate into my mouth, grabbed the glass, bottle and the paper and carried them into the living room. Cross-legged on the sofa, I read the article.
Detective Constable Sally Poynter, 32, was murdered in the course of her duty on 4 November 2013. The inquest into her death was opened at Nottingham Coroner’s court yesterday.
The inquest will look at the facts of the case including DC Poynter’s involvement in the homicide investigation that was running at the time, the management of the investigation and staff and the risk assessment that was made of the premises where she was killed prior to a forced and rapid entry.
Her supervisors at the time were Detective Sergeant Aaron Stone and Detective Inspector Hannah Robbins. Neither of whom have been willing to speak to the Today on this matter.
Nottinghamshire police have instigated an IPCC investigation into the murder of DC Poynter and state they will not comment until that investigation is complete.
A colleague who joined Nottinghamshire police on the same intake with Sally Poynter said, ‘Sally was a great cop. She loved her job and was always smiling. I can’t believe this has happened. She will be sorely missed and always remembered.’
DC Sally Poynter leaves behind husband, Tom Poynter.
I slugged back the wine and stared at the article that was now shaking in my hand. Ethan Gale. My ex-lover. A relationship that had been growing and could maybe have gone somewhere, but when everything had blown up in my face that night it had been the start of a very rapid ending. He had, of course, been there for me when he heard of my own injury, the knife wound to my right bicep, which had needed surgery and still gave me problems, but his job conflicted with mine to such an extent it was just untenable. Every time he had wanted to talk I had never known if it was to help and support me or to feed his growing byline portfolio. It had been a high profile case, my emotions were a mess and his career possibilities grew as each day passed and the force tried to pick up the pieces from the incident.
Now, reading his report I felt … hurt. Especially after our meal out, where he had offered support, again. But within this article, was he blaming me for Sally’s death? Subliminally? Was the paper going to cause a public outcry and demand further blood be spilled? I wondered how he felt in the wr
iting of it. Did he need to dull the pain of loss with a glass of wine to write it, just as I did to read it?
I refilled my glass and read it again.
15
The office space we were sitting in with Home Office forensic pathologist Jack Kidner at the Queen’s Medical Centre on Derby Road was neat and clinical and smelled strongly of antiseptic. The sharp clean smell made me want to sneeze and I kept wrinkling up my nose.
Jack worked an on-call system with several of his colleagues over a five-force area that mirrored the EMSOU force structure.
Jack sat behind a desk that had one in-tray on one side and one out-tray on the other, with a laptop sat neatly between. A desk I could only dream of. I picked up my green tea, which Jack brought in especially for my visits and swallowed the soothing drink. DC Martin Thacker sat on my right. I’d asked him to attend Lianne’s post-mortem on a just-in-case basis and now, several days later, as we’d been called in by Jack, I knew it had been the right decision, though at the time he’d had nothing to report from the PM other than a fairly healthy woman with no obvious signs of illness or foul play. Something was obviously amiss.
I put my cup back down on Jack’s desk and looked at him. He cleared his throat and opened a file; the contents I could see upside down contained reports from the PM.
‘So, young Hannah,’ he looked back up at me, ‘this was a difficult one to deal with. Initially this was a negative post-mortem as I’m imagining Martin told you.’
Martin nodded.
‘But with such a young and healthy young woman we couldn’t leave it there. I obtained bloods and a stomach sample for toxicology but they came back with a negative result.’
The DI Hannah Robbins Series: Books 1 - 3 (Boxset) (Detective Hannah Robbins Crime Series) Page 25
