by Jack Probyn
‘I’m going to try.’
‘You’re different to them. To those other two. The ones you’re with. You know what they’re like, don’t you? The Crimsons.’ Candice said their name in a hush, as if saying it too loud would send a bolt of lightning from the sky to strike her. ‘You know what you have to do, otherwise you know what will happen if you don’t.’ Her finger pointed at the collar bomb.
Jake took a step back.
‘If you need help, you know who to go to, right?’
Jake said nothing.
‘I heard on the news that there’s one of them in jail, isn’t there? One of The Crimsons. If you need help with what they’re planning next, I’m sure… I’m sure he’ll be able to help.’
‘Freddy?’ Jake whispered to himself, his attention moving away from the conversation.
Before he could say anything loud enough for her to hear, the sound of gravel moving underfoot distracted him. It was Pemberton. She came running back with Bridger beside her.
‘SOCOs are in the building. Nobody else is allowed in or out until they’ve finished their investigations,’ she said. ‘Now, I want you both to go to the golf course. We’ve got to find this other key before EOD get here.’
‘Yes, guv.’
Jake and Bridger sprinted over to Pemberton’s car, Jake opting to hop in the passenger’s side, allowing Bridger to drive.
‘You’re the directions boy,’ Bridger said as he slipped the gearstick into reverse and pulled out of the driveway.
‘Shouldn’t be too hard considering it’s only on the other side of this treeline.’
| EPISODE 2 |
CHAPTER ELEVEN
DUSTING FOR PRINTS
The bedroom was a mess. That much was apparent to Charlotte Gibson, the first of the three SOCOs that had been positioned in the focal points of the mansion: the entrance, the bedroom and the black van stationed outside the house. Meanwhile, the rest of the team continued to set up their apparatus by the crime scene downstairs. Charlotte had been in the job for seven years, and never in her experience had she encountered a critical incident as jaw-dropping as this. The device wrapped around Candice’s neck was unfathomable. But she had accepted the call to say that she would attend – it might have been the most diabolical case she’d worked on, but it was also the most interesting, the one that would put her name in infamy. This case – if she could prove herself during it – would skyrocket her career. Call it narcissism, call it vanity, call it whatever you want. She didn’t care. And if she helped solve it, then no one else would either.
Standing in the door frame of the master bedroom, she gazed about the vast expanse of space, lost for ideas of where to begin. There was too much choice, and the overflowing wardrobe to her left looked like the least appealing option. In her hand Charlotte held her camera and had her side bag full of everything she needed. Spare pair of gloves. Tweezers. Evidence bags. Brush. Powder. Pulling her hood over her hair, and lifting her mask over her mouth, she stepped into the room. When she stopped at the foot of the bed, she noticed the en suite to the right. Perfect. It was smaller and a much more manageable task than the rest of the room.
Upon entering, she surveyed the walls and furniture. It was clean. Too clean. As though it had been industrially cleaned only a few hours ago. Already her mind was beginning to imagine the last tenant, cleaning after themselves, moving about the bathroom, making sure nobody would find out what they’d touched and where exactly they’d touched it. Her old mentor had once told her that evidence was like a lover. Time and care had to be dedicated to it, and that it needed to be championed above everything else. But, more importantly, it needed to be respected.
Charlotte reached inside the bag on her hip, found her zephyr brush and flake powder, and set to work. First, she started with the sink, rubbing the fine animal hairs on the aluminium powder before transferring it onto the surface. A thin dust billowed into the air as it made contact with the porcelain, but she carried on regardless, methodically moving her way around the basin. Then she moved to the cabinet, wiping an extra load of powder on the bottom-left corner and on the shelves.
Within a few seconds, she had something. A thumbprint. Followed by another. And then another.
Charlotte leant closer and inspected the minutiae of the three prints. The bifurcation. The core. The delta. The pore. Smiling, she delicately set the brush aside on the bathroom sink, removed a piece of adhesive tape from her bag and set it on the first of the three prints. Then she peeled the tape free from the surface and smoothed it down onto a piece of Cobex – a thin plastic sheet. She scored the ends of the tape, signed and sealed the evidence in a plastic bag, and then repeated the process for the remaining two.
Within a few minutes, it was done. She pocketed her findings and headed downstairs. She was under strict instructions to notify the crime scene manager as soon as she’d found something of interest.
‘Guv,’ she said, holding the evidence bags in front of his face. His features were concealed behind the white mask. ‘I found this. Fingerprints. From the en suite upstairs.’
‘What’s special about them?’ he replied, deadpan.
‘They’re fresh from the cabinet. The en suite looks like it’s recently been cleaned – especially in the last couple of hours.’
‘Upload them to Ident1,’ he ordered and turned his back on her.
As she started off, he pulled her back by the arm gently. ‘Oh,’ he began, ‘erm… good… excellent work.’
Charlotte said nothing as she headed out of the house. The attempt at making her feel better was acknowledged but not accepted. It was just a shame she couldn’t tell him what she really thought about him. If she could, she was sure she would have lost her job months ago, before everything else between them began.
| EPISODE 2 |
CHAPTER TWELVE
GOLF
Bridger skidded the car to a halt and switched off the engine, killing the sirens overhead. The noise, and their abrupt presence, alerted everyone in the vicinity of Farnham Golf Club’s car park. Heads snapped towards them and some of the would-be golfers retreated a few steps; more to protect themselves from getting hit by the car and kicked-up gravel than anything else.
Jake jumped out, slammed the door behind him and jogged over to the golf club’s entrance. Bridger followed, sliding into the building before the door closed. They were standing in the middle of what looked like an upmarket version of Sports Direct. Golf clubs dangled from the walls, trollies were placed neatly in a row beneath and there were racks of clothes, shirts, gloves and trousers in the centre of the space. At the other end of the building was a reception desk. A sign that said ‘Restaurant This Way’ hung above, pointing to another door in the far-left corner of the room.
‘Can I help, officers?’ a concerned voice came from behind the counter.
Just as Jake was about to open his mouth, Bridger slapped him on the shoulder with the back of his hand and shot him a look that said I’ll do the talking, all right? before advancing forward.
‘Are you the owner?’ Bridger asked, reaching into his trouser pocket.
‘Yes. James Atwood. This is my establishment. Is something wrong?’
Bridger flashed his warrant card. ‘We’re investigating a murder and a robbery in Guildford High Street. Have you seen – or has anyone handed in – a set of keys today? Or anything mysterious that may have been found on the course?’
‘We’ve only been about open an hour. I doubt anyone’s made it all the way round yet.’
‘Is there… is there anybody who will know for certain?’ Jake asked, trying not to sound too condescending.
James’s face contorted.
‘It’s urgent,’ Bridger said, feigning a sincere smile.
James arched his back away from them and twisted his head. ‘Denise, love – has anyone handed in any keys?’ he called down a small corridor to their right.
A second later, a distant voice cried back, ‘Yeah. About half hour
ago. Think I put them in the safe.’
James grunted and then ducked beneath the cash desk. The noise of a six-digit pin being entered into the safe sounded, and within a moment, Atwood reappeared.
‘Is this it?’ he asked. In his hand he held a small key, as brown and rusty as the one Jake had found in Candice’s bathroom.
‘Excellent. Yes. That’s the one.’ Bridger snatched it from Atwood.
‘May we speak with Denise for a moment?’ Jake asked before Bridger got too ahead of himself.
‘I… I don’t see why not.’ James shrugged and called Denise again. A few seconds later, she arrived, drying a dinner plate with a tea towel.
‘Would you be able to describe the person who gave you this key?’ Jake asked.
‘It was a woman. Young. Maybe in her mid-twenties. Said she found it in the car park.’
‘Was she alone?’
Denise nodded.
‘What did she look like? Do you have any CCTV footage?’
‘Yeah.’
‘Do you mind if we take a look?’ Jake’s eyes danced between James and Denise as he waited for an answer.
‘Certainly. Please follow me.’
Denise started back down the corridor she’d just come from and Jake followed. She led him into a cramped office. In the centre was a computer monitor, showing the live feed from the CCTV cameras posted around the clubhouse and car park.
‘Would you be able to go back to when the person entered the shop please?’
Denise did as instructed. As soon as she’d finished, she prodded the return key with an oversized finger and played the footage. Jake crouched so that the screen was at eye level and he rested his elbow on the desk, watching, waiting for the woman to enter.
And then she did.
Jake removed his pocketbook and made a note of the timestamp – 09:55:32. The woman entered the shop, sauntered up to the cash desk, handed over the key and then left, heading back to her car. Her face was hidden behind a baseball cap, and she wore a short skirt, a white shirt and held a gold club in her hand. At the back of her head, poking through the baseball cap, was a brunette ponytail.
Jake continued to watch the woman’s movements. After she was finished with her car, she grabbed a trolley and wheeled it away, disappearing onto the golf green.
‘Can you go back a few minutes please?’ Jake asked.
Denise rewound the video, and Jake told her when to pause it. He leant closer, removed his phone and photographed the still, heavily pixelated image of the woman’s face. He wasn’t sure whether she was a suspect, or whether she was a Good Samaritan, but he was going to make sure he found out.
‘Would you be able to zoom in on the car park?’ Jake said as he adjusted his positioning to staunch the aching in his joints.
‘I can try. The image isn’t very good though.’
‘I’m sure we can work with it.’
Once Denise had gone back to the image of the car park, Jake took another photo. This time of the number plate. He zoomed in on the photograph he’d taken. It was illegible.
‘Do you mind if my colleagues seize this as evidence? I can get someone down here soon. We’re working on a murder investigation.’
At the mention of those final two words, Denise’s eyes bulged. Jake sensed that it was more out of curiosity and excitement than fear that a killer may have set foot on her golf course.
‘Anything we can do to help,’ she said, nodding excitably.
Jake thanked her, pocketed his phone and returned to the cash desk. As he returned to the cash desk, he caught Bridger and Atwood talking with one another. At the sight of Jake, Bridger thanked both James and Denise for their time, and then the two of them left. As they breached into sunlight, a wall of heat knocked him in the stomach, punching the air from his lungs. It was stifling.
Moving across the car park, Jake inspected the cars’ number plates. From the footage, he’d been able to discern the make and model: he was looking for a silver Audi A3. And, in front of him right now, he was faced with a row of black Range Rovers and Volvos.
‘She’s gone,’ Jake said, thinking aloud as Bridger unlocked Pemberton’s car.
‘You what?’
‘The woman who returned the key. Her car’s not here anymore.’
‘Maybe she finished early. Maybe there was an emergency. We’ve got what we came for.’
‘Hmm.’ Jake was reticent. Something wasn’t sitting right with him – something that was niggling at the back of his mind like the letter that was still on the table back home from HMRC telling him that he owed them a substantial amount of money that he didn’t have. ‘I think there are more keys out there.’
‘What are you talking about?’ Bridger slammed the door shut.
‘The note. It said, “roll the dice and find out which one, or three, will be right”.’
‘You cannot be serious.’
‘What if we go back to the house and realise we’ve got the wrong one – that it’s one of the other ones we need?’
Bridger fell silent. His face turned red in frustration, and the sound of his increased breathing reached Jake. Go on, Jake thought, say it – say you think I’m right.
‘OK. I think you’re right, but we can’t be here too long. We’ve got the other clues to find, too.’
‘I haven’t forgotten.’
Bridger was the first to move. He locked the car again, pocketed the keys and rounded the bonnet. ‘I’ll start at the first hole; you start at the last. Then we’ll meet in the middle, yeah? Be quick.’
I don’t need telling, Jake thought as he started off. He headed right, towards the eighteenth hole. The course was mapped out in a circle, and it didn’t take long for Jake to lose sight of his belligerent partner. He sprinted to every course, checking inside the holes and the surrounding area by the flags. He found nothing in the first three. The course was surprisingly empty despite the weather, but for those he did interrupt, he apologised and then flashed his warrant card, silencing them before they could spout their obnoxious babble.
Jake jogged up and down the undulating surfaces, his legs quickly fatiguing as he covered the massive distances between each hole. Despair quickly sank in. He was on the fourteenth hole and he still hadn’t found anything. But he was determined not to give up. Breathless, he slowed his pace to a jog that was more like a walk than a run.
On the fourteenth hole, Jake stopped by the course’s sandbank. He scanned the surroundings, made sure he was alone and that there was no one else in the vicinity, then removed his phone.
‘Danika?’ he said, holding the device close to his ear as he ambled towards the next hole.
‘Jake – are you all right?’
‘I’m fine. What’s going on your end?’
‘It’s busy. Non-stop. Loads of people have disappeared to the crime scene. I sat in the interview with the witnesses but I’m pulling some research together for the team now. Oh! And uniformed officers found Roger Heathcote in the middle of the road, collapsed.’
‘Is he OK?’
‘They found him passed out from exhaustion. He’s been checked over at Royal Surrey Hospital already and they’ve just brought him. His wife has been informed.’ Danika hesitated a beat. ‘What’s it like down where you are?’
‘It’s worse than we thought,’ Jake replied. ‘Much worse. We found Candice Strachan, but she’s got a collar bomb strapped to her neck. The only way to disarm it is by finding four sets of keys. We’re in the middle of sourcing them now.’
‘Jézus.’ Danika’s voice was swamped with deep concern. ‘What about The Crimsons? Where are they?’
‘I was hoping you’d be able to tell me. Have there been any sightings of them?’
‘Not that I’ve heard.’
‘OK,’ Jake said. He hesitated and looked around him one last time, searching for anyone listening nearby, but he was alone. He swallowed before continuing and kept his voice low. ‘Danika – I need to ask you for a couple of favours.’
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‘OK…’
‘Firstly – Farnham Golf Club. We need this morning’s complete CCTV footage. A civilian handed in one of the keys at 09:55. She’s a potential lead in this investigation. Tell DI Murphy. He needs to get someone in the team to find her and question her on what she knows, if anything. I’ve taken a couple of photos as evidence – I’ll send them to you now.’
‘I will see what I can do.’ There was a moment’s pause. ‘And what was the other thing?’
Jake scratched his cheek and started off again. ‘Anything that comes into the office relating to The Crimsons, I’d like to know about it. I mean, we don’t know for sure that it’s them, or if it’s another copycat group—’
‘But I thought you said—’
‘I know what I said. And I hope I’m right. But the way they’ve been behaving, the things they’re doing… if it isn’t them and I’ve convinced everyone it is, then it’s going to be my arse – and reputation – on the line. It’ll be over before it’s even begun.’
On the phone, Jake heard someone in the office approaching Danika and stopping by her side. They asked Danika a question and she replied, quickly placating them and getting rid of them.
‘Who was that?’ Jake asked as he listened to the footsteps disappear in his ear.
‘Just someone I spoke to earlier. It is nothing you need to worry about.’
‘OK. Fine. There’s one more thing.’ Jake was expecting a response from Danika, but when one didn’t come, he continued, ‘You’re in charge of research, right? Good. I want you to find out everything you can about Candice Strachan.’
Jake reached the end of Hole 14 and entered Hole 13.
‘What do you mean?’
‘Something doesn’t seem right. She started talking to me about my watch and the fact that I look like her son, and it just… it seemed odd. I just think it’ll be worth investigating her, so we know she’s kosher.’
