From the Shadows (Detective Sergeant Catherine Bishop Series Book 3)

by Lisa Hartley

  ‘Thomas, go home. Have a shower, get some sleep. Put on some clean clothes, come back later. You’ll be in hospital yourself if you’re not careful.’ Catherine walked around the bed and took his arm. ‘Go on, go now. Please, Thomas. I’m worried about you.’

  His mouth twisted. ‘Okay. Okay, I’ll go.’ He bent to kiss Anna’s cheek. ‘I’ll see you later, sweetheart.’

  Catherine watched him leave. She sat again, holding Anna’s hand. ‘He’s an idiot. He loves you though.’

  A nurse appeared. He smiled at Catherine as he turned to the monitors.

  ‘How is she?’ Catherine asked. The nurse took a clipboard from the foot of Anna’s bed.

  ‘She’s not responded as well as we’d have liked to the antibiotics, I’m afraid. You’d have to speak to her doctor. Are you family?’

  Catherine explained her relationship to Anna. The nurse was sympathetic, but didn’t say any more. As he moved away, Catherine saw Anna’s parents hurrying back into the ward, and got to her feet. Anna’s mother leant over her daughter and stroked her hair.

  ‘Don’t tell me you’ve persuaded Thomas to go home?’ she asked. ‘We’ve been on at him all morning, but he wouldn’t listen.’

  ‘It wasn’t easy.’ There was an awkward pause. Catherine glanced at Anna. ‘Well, I should be going.’

  ‘They say she’s worse,’ Anna’s father said abruptly.

  Catherine’s throat tightened. ‘Thomas said. I’m sorry.’

  ‘Every time I look at her I expect her to have gone,’ Mr Varcoe whispered. ‘If we leave the ward, I’m waiting for the phone to ring. We can’t eat, don’t sleep. And when the doctor comes around he frowns and shakes his head, says we need to wait and see, but nothing changes. There’s no improvement. Have you caught him yet?’

  Mrs Varcoe put her hand on her husband’s arm. ‘Shh, love. Remember where you are.’

  He gave a harsh laugh. ‘I’m not likely to forget. I take it you don’t know who hurt her?’

  ‘Not yet. I’m sorry,’ Catherine admitted helplessly. Mr Varcoe said no more, but shot her a look filled with contempt. Catherine backed away. ‘See you soon, Anna.’

  It felt like a lie.

  27

  ‘I don’t like this.’ Adil Zaman hadn’t been sure whether to voice his concerns to Rafferty or not, since Dolan had sent them here. He would never disobey an order, but he wished Dolan had thought better of it. ‘If we go in there asking questions, someone’s going to guess DS Bishop isn’t who she’s pretending to be.’

  ‘If we’re careful, it’ll be okay,’ Rafferty told him. ‘What else can we do?’ They were in Zaman’s car, hunting for a place to park. Glancing over her shoulder, Rafferty caught sight of the baby seat. ‘How’s your daughter?’ Zaman glanced at her, surprised. Rafferty rarely mentioned his home life. It was unnerving.

  ‘She’s doing well. She smiled at me when I got home last night,’ Zaman beamed. Though Rafferty was clueless when it came to children, especially babies, this was obviously a milestone.

  ‘Good. Great, Adil.’ She looked again at the baby seat, now rolling around in the footwell. ‘Isn’t it supposed to be attached?’

  Zaman laughed. Rafferty was bemused, not having meant to have made a joke, but pleased all the same.

  ‘Do you want kids, you and your fiancé?’ Zaman asked, spotting a car park at last and turning into it. Rafferty leant forward and pointed to a free space.

  ‘One day. Not yet.’ The lie came easily. She didn’t, not at all. Bringing a child into the mess of her life wouldn’t be fair, but she didn’t want to admit it, especially to a colleague.

  *

  There was room for three chairs in the tiny office of Phoenix House, but it was a squeeze. Adil Zaman rested his cup of coffee on his knee before fumbling with his tablet computer. Maggie Kemp squeezed past him and sat, setting her own drink on her desk.

  ‘I’m surprised to see you again, DC Zaman,’ Kemp said.

  Zaman smiled.

  ‘We have some new lines of enquiry to pursue.’

  Maggie Kemp gave him a hard look. Rafferty was surprised at the flash of steel – she’d not met Mrs Kemp before but from her statements had expected someone meek and reserved. The few minutes since Maggie Kemp had answered the door to them had done nothing to dissuade her from her initial impression. However, Rafferty realised Maggie Kemp would need to have some backbone to deal with clients, staff, the local council, government departments, police and anyone else her job brought her into contact with. It had been naïve to expect her to be a pushover.

  Kemp smoothed the navy corduroy skirt she wore across her thighs. ‘How can I help you?’

  Rafferty glanced around them. ‘How good is your security, Mrs Kemp?’

  ‘Security? What do you mean?’

  ‘If one of the people staying here got cold feet in the night, wanted to disappear, would they be able to get out?’ Rafferty asked.

  ‘Get out? They’re not prisoners, Sergeant.’

  ‘No. We have several people whose alibis for the night John McKinley died hinge on the fact they were here at Phoenix House for twelve hours. If they’re able to easily slip in and out of the place, we need to know.’

  Maggie Kemp shook her head. ‘The outside door’s locked at all times. I have a key, as do our two night workers, Carl and Teresa.’

  ‘Do you need the key to open the lock from the inside?’

  Kemp lowered her eyes. ‘No. There are two bolts, but you don’t need a key to turn the latch.’

  ‘Which means, in effect, the alibis are useless?’ said Rafferty.

  ‘If someone left during the night, they’d be missed in the morning. The bolts would still be unfastened too if they didn’t come back in. One of the night support workers is awake and in the common room all night, completing paperwork or reading. They take it in turns, staying awake every other night. If someone wanted to creep out, they’d have to get past them. There’s no other way to the front door.’

  ‘But presumably they have to use the loo at some point? They might even nod off for a while?’ Zaman asked.

  Kemp pressed her lips together.

  ‘I hope not. You’d have to ask them.’

  ‘I take it there are no CCTV cameras inside the shelter?’ asked Rafferty.

  ‘No. We want it to be as relaxing as possible in here. I know it’s not luxurious, but we do our best.’

  There was a silence. Rafferty flicked a glance at Zaman, who sat forward.

  ‘Why didn’t you tell us your husband was once a police officer, Mrs Kemp?’ Zaman met her gaze as he asked the question, his tone making it more of a demand. Kemp blinked, her eyes confused behind the thick lenses of her glasses.

  ‘Pat? What’s Pat to do with anything?’

  Zaman spread his hands. ‘He’s on the board of Phoenix House, isn’t he? And he spoke to John McKinley shortly before his death?’

  Kemp looked down her nose at the two police officers.

  ‘He talked to Mackie, yes. It was a few weeks before Mackie died though. It’s irrelevant, in any case. Pat spent less than five minutes in here with him. Mackie didn’t want to listen.’

  ‘What did your husband say to Mr McKinley?’ Rafferty asked.

  Kemp lifted her shoulders, let them fall. ‘I wasn’t at their meeting. You’d have to ask Pat.’

  ‘I find it hard to believe you didn’t discuss it.’

  ‘Nevertheless, it’s the truth. As I’ve said, you’d have to ask my husband.’

  ‘We intend to.’

  Rafferty backed up the statement with a hard look of her own. Maggie Kemp was unmoved, sitting with her hands folded in her lap, totally relaxed. Zaman held out the tablet.

  ‘Do you recognise this man, Mrs Kemp?’

  Kemp leaned forward, squinting at the e-fit Thomas Bishop had provided.

  ‘Who is he?’ she asked.

  ‘We’re hoping you can tell us.’ Rafferty was stern.

  ‘It could be anyone. You’re
asking me to recognise a pair of eyes, DC Zaman. I’m afraid I can’t.’

  ‘Have another look,’ Zaman urged. ‘Is it someone who’s stayed at Phoenix House?’

  She took the tablet from him, studied it for a few seconds.

  ‘I’m sorry, I don’t know. I’d love to say yes, I recognise him, especially if it helps you catch the person who killed Mackie. I presume this man is a suspect?’

  Zaman took back the computer, ignoring the question. ‘Mrs Kemp, do you remember a man called Jake staying at the shelter?’

  The reaction was immediate. Maggie Kemp scowled. ‘Jake Pringle? Yes, I do. He stole from us.’

  ‘Money, wasn’t it?’

  ‘A couple of hundred pounds, plus the petty cash tin. Food and toiletries. It wasn’t what he took, it was the fact he did it at all.’ Kemp removed her glasses and rubbed her eyes.

  ‘Could he be the man in the e-fit?’

  ‘I doubt it. As I’ve said, I’d need a better image to be sure.’

  ‘You sound hurt by Jake’s actions?’

  ‘I consider myself a good judge of character, but Jake had me fooled. He had us all fooled.’

  ‘All?’

  Kemp put her glasses back on. ‘Myself, Danny Marshall, the two night support workers – we all hoped Jake had put his past behind him. He’d been caught shoplifting in the past, but he’d kicked his drug habit, had a job in a pub kitchen … We were helping him with a housing application. I understand it’s difficult, but Jake seemed to have done all the hard work.’

  ‘Do you know where he went?’ Rafferty wanted to know, taking the lead again.

  ‘No, Sergeant. If I had, I’d have informed the police.’

  ‘Would you?’

  Kemp lowered her eyes. ‘Perhaps not.’

  ‘Could he still be in Lincoln?’ Rafferty asked.

  ‘I doubt it. One of our residents would have seen him.’

  ‘Not necessarily, not if he was no longer on the streets.’

  ‘Again, I doubt he’s found housing. He’d have no deposit, no references. I’d be surprised.’

  ‘But you said he’d found a job in a pub?’ Zaman pointed out. ‘Some places let staff live in.’

  ‘But if he was stealing from us, Constable, I expect he was stealing from them too. Petty cash, tips, things he could sell – who knows?’

  Kemp sounded philosophical, but Rafferty could see the truth in her eyes again. Jake Pringle’s betrayal had hurt.

  ‘Do you know which pub it was?’

  Kemp named a place on the outskirts of town. ‘Danny helped him get the job, he’s mates with the manager there. He’s never mentioned Jake since he snatched our takings and ran.’

  ‘What happened? Is it true he grabbed the cash from the till?’

  ‘Yes, Sergeant. He waited until one of our volunteers had the till open to serve a customer, then he raced in, barged her out of the way, took the money and sprinted for the door. He already had the petty cash tin. It was found in a car park nearby, smashed open. There’s no doubt it was Jake, I saw the CCTV footage myself.’

  ‘Do you still have it?’ Zaman asked the question before Rafferty could.

  Kemp raised her eyebrows.

  ‘No, it’s recorded over after twenty-four hours.’

  ‘But the footage was evidence of a crime, Mrs Kemp.’ Rafferty’s frustration was evident in her voice.

  She snorted. ‘We’re not technical here, DS Rafferty. By the time a police officer eventually arrived, the footage was gone.’

  ‘But surely …’

  Maggie Kemp held up her hand. ‘I know. I was furious too when I found out, but it’s not something I had any involvement in. We can’t afford a better system. It’s a shame we need CCTV in a charity shop at all, and we decided the money a more sophisticated system would have cost would have been better used buying food or paying our bills.’

  Rafferty made a note, not happy. She looked at Maggie Kemp, noting the other woman’s calm. Dolan had told them to rattle a few cages. Perhaps it was time to try.

  ‘Why did your husband leave the police force, Mrs Kemp?’ she asked.

  Kemp opened her mouth, closed it again. Zaman’s phone was ringing, and he excused himself to answer outside the office.

  ‘Mrs Kemp?’ Rafferty prodded. Kemp sighed.

  ‘You’d have to talk to Pat to understand. He’d joined the force to help people, but he felt constrained.’

  ‘Lucky he’s not on the force now,’ Rafferty told her. ‘More budget cuts than you can imagine.’

  ‘I’m sure, DS Rafferty. We’re not rolling in money here at Phoenix House either, as you know. The main issue Pat had was the recidivism he saw. Arresting the same people repeatedly, seeing them go to prison, eventually come out and carry on offending because they knew no better, or hadn’t had the right opportunities.’

  ‘He gave up a career, a pension, because of a few old lags?’ Rafferty was deliberately provocative. Maggie Kemp lifted her chin.

  ‘And attitudes like yours, Sergeant.’

  Rafferty sneered. ‘Commendable. Noble, you might say. What does your husband do now?’

  ‘When he left the police, Pat went to work for a gardener and tree surgeon. He has his own business now.’

  ‘Mighty oaks from little acorns grow?’ Rafferty got to her feet. ‘I’m sure being on the board of Phoenix House helps satisfy your husband’s need to nurture as well. We’ll be back to talk to the night support workers. Thank you for your time.’

  Maggie Kemp sat back, her expression unchanged.

  In the corridor, Zaman was still on the phone. Rafferty approached him, raising her eyebrows. Zaman held her gaze.

  ‘Okay, Mary. Thank you. Yes, Ma’am, we’ll see you later.’ He put the phone away. ‘The DCI says Pat Kemp left the force a month after John McKinley. No disciplinary, no scandal. He resigned, like McKinley did.’

  Rafferty blinked a few times as she took in the new information. ‘Let’s go and find him.’

  Maggie Kemp had given them her husband’s mobile number without resistance. As Zaman drove, Rafferty ascertained where Kemp was working: a house in a village south east of the city.

  ‘He didn’t sound overjoyed to hear from us,’ Rafferty commented, flicking through her notes.

  ‘His wife knows McKinley was murdered. She must have told him.’

  ‘No doubt. Maggie Kemp stated she was at home with her husband the night John McKinley was killed. They ate together, watched some TV, she had a long bath while he walked the dog, they were both in bed and asleep by eleven. Let’s see if Mr Kemp’s memory is as good as his wife’s.’

  *

  Pat Kemp was pushing a petrol lawnmower across an already immaculate front lawn when Rafferty and Zaman arrived at the address he had given them. Spotting their car, Kemp paused and watched Zaman park it at the side of the road, behind his own pickup truck. He turned off the mower as they approached.

  ‘Morning, officers.’

  ‘Thank you for seeing us, Mr Kemp.’ Rafferty rubbed her hands together. ‘It’s a cold day to be outside working.’

  ‘Keeps me out of mischief. Tea? The owners of the place are at work, but they’ve put a kettle in the shed so I can make myself a drink.’

  They followed him around to the back of the property, where he ushered them into a large, surprisingly comfortable wooden shed. On a plastic garden table stood a kettle, four blue mugs, a box of tea bags, a large bottle of water and a radio. Four matching chairs with thick cushions provided the rest of the furniture. Kemp waved them towards the seats and filled the kettle.

  ‘Have to bring my own milk, but it’s more than most people bother to provide,’ he said, pulling out a chair for himself and settling in it. ‘Now, what can I help you with?’

  ‘Hasn’t your wife called you?’ Rafferty asked. Kemp frowned.

  ‘Maggie? No, why should she? I wouldn’t have heard, in any case, with the mower going. It was only because I’d stopped to empty the grass box I
heard my phone when you rang. A bit of luck.’ His expression suggested he’d sooner have missed the call. Rafferty smiled.

  ‘It was, Mr Kemp. Why did you leave the police?’

  The kettle was wheezing away as it came to the boil, and Kemp cupped his hand around his ear. Both Rafferty and Zaman had seen his eyes widen at Rafferty’s question, however quickly he had tried to hide the involuntary response.

  ‘I’m sorry?’ Rafferty reached out a hand, turning off the kettle. Kemp’s mouth opened and he frowned. ‘Hang on, I was making tea.’

  ‘You can when you’ve answered my question.’ Rafferty’s voice was ice. Kemp blew out his cheeks, ran a hand over the back of his head, leaving his hair sticking out at an angle.

  ‘This a waste of all of our time,’ he told them. ‘You can find out why I left yourselves.’ Kemp heaved himself to his feet.

  ‘Please sit, Mr Kemp.’ Rafferty leant forward and touched his arm. ‘We want to talk to you about John McKinley.’

  Kemp looked at her, tears in his eyes.

  ‘I know,’ he said softly.

  Kemp wrapped his hands around his mug of tea, staring out into the garden.

  ‘He never had much luck - John, I mean. When I first knew him, he loved the job. Loved it. I did too, but in the end … It grinds you down eventually, doesn’t it? You two know what I’m talking about, especially if you’re in CID or whatever they’re calling it these days. Murders, suicides, RTAs – all the blood, the gore and the … the emotion. Dealing with fear, grief and anger – most of it directed at you, when all you want to do is help. It made me hate my job. It isn’t a job, anyway, as you’ll know. It’s a way of life. There’s all the crap within the force itself. Career coppers, walking over anyone in their way to grab onto the next rung of the ladder. Taking the credit for someone else’s work. Abuses of trust, abuses of power.’ He stopped suddenly, as if remembering he wasn’t alone. ‘Sorry. You know all this.’

  Rafferty and Zaman were silent, wanting Kemp to keep talking.

  ‘Anyway, I handed in my resignation. Disillusioned, I suppose. At least now, working outside, getting my hands dirty, I’m my own boss, my own man, not stuck taking orders from people I have no respect for.’