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

by Lisa Hartley

  She said it lightly enough, but Knight caught her frown. Being proved right gave him no satisfaction.

  ‘Have they confirmed the blood is Anna’s?’

  ‘Not yet. There are no fingerprints on it, though. We’ve applied for Jasmine’s mobile phone records, and Danny Marshall’s. Should have the data later today. John McKinley didn’t have a phone, as far as we know. When we have Marshall at the station, I want Thomas Bishop to come and have a look at him. We’ll take a mugshot around to the other people who were robbed too.’

  Knight gazed out of the car window as they headed back towards the city centre.

  ‘Why would Marshall turn to robbery, though? He doesn’t have a drug habit to fund.’

  ‘As far as we know. We’ll have a nosey into his financial records too, if we can. I doubt he’s well paid. He could have a gambling addiction, be a compulsive shopper.’ Dolan glanced at Knight as she negotiated a roundabout. ‘You don’t think it’s him, do you.’ It wasn’t a question.

  ‘He needs to explain why Jasmine visited his house. We have to follow the evidence.’

  Dolan’s expression was grim. ‘Which is pointing to Danny Marshall.’

  *

  Marshall looked bewildered when he was lead into the interview room. His blonde hair was uncombed, his cheeks shadowed with stubble. As an unsmiling constable offered water as Marshall sat and gazed around. The interview room had grey walls, hard chairs. It wasn’t the worst, but it could never have been described as welcoming either. Warily, Marshall’s eyes passed over the recording equipment, the video camera perched high on the wall. In the observation room next door, Dolan watched him.

  ‘I’d like you and Adil to question him, Jonathan. DS Rafferty’s at his house while the search takes place. The search team are there now, and Isla will feed back anything we should raise in the interview.’ She set her hands on her hips. ‘He’s said he doesn’t want a solicitor.’

  Knight followed Zaman into the interview room. Once Zaman had readied the recording equipment, taken his place in the chair beside Knight’s and introduced them, Marshall asked, ‘Why is there a van load of people searching my house? What do you think I’ve done?’ His voice was plaintive, like a confused child. He slumped in his chair, his elbows resting on the table between him and Zaman and Knight.

  ‘You should have received an explanation from the search team,’ Knight told him. ‘Were you shown the search warrant?’

  ‘Yeah. They even gave me a copy. I still don’t understand.’

  ‘Let’s see if we can help you out,’ Zaman said with a smile. ‘Jasmine Lloyd is a resident at Phoenix House, the homeless shelter where you’re employed as a counsellor, correct?’

  ‘You know it is.’

  ‘We have a witness who saw Jasmine Lloyd visit your home at twenty-four Merry Road the day before yesterday, at around three-thirty in the afternoon. Can you explain why she came to see you?’

  Knight watched Marshall’s face as he absorbed Zaman’s words. He appeared genuinely bemused.

  ‘Jasmine came to my house? How does she even know where I live?’

  ‘We were hoping you’d be able to tell us, Mr Marshall. What’s the relationship between you and Ms Lloyd?’ Zaman raised his eyebrows.

  ‘Relationship?’ Marshall swallowed. ‘There isn’t one. I talk to her about her drug use, try to help her. I’m not sure how much she takes in, if I’m honest.’

  Zaman made a note. ‘You’re her counsellor. There’s no more to it?’

  Marshall blushed. ‘What are you implying?’

  ‘Nothing, Sir. But since she visited your home, it seems unlikely your association was purely professional, wouldn’t you say?’ Zaman tapped his pen on his notepad. Marshall gritted his teeth, his expression thunderous.

  ‘I don’t know who’s been feeding you this rubbish. Jasmine’s never been to my house, I promise you. I wasn’t even at home that afternoon.’

  ‘Where were you?’

  ‘I went to the supermarket, the big Tesco on Wragby Road.’ Marshall glanced at the video camera. ‘You’ll be able to check, won’t you?’

  ‘Did someone go with you?’ Zaman asked. ‘Did you speak to anyone who might remember seeing you?’

  ‘Only the woman who served me, but why would she remember? Won’t there be CCTV footage? I didn’t keep the receipt, I paid in cash.’

  Zaman ignored him. ‘What time did you arrive at the supermarket, Mr Marshall?’

  ‘I don’t know exactly. How do you expect me to remember?’

  ‘It’s less than forty-eight hours ago,’ Knight said.

  Marshall glared at him. ‘I didn’t make a note of the time. How was I to know you’d drag me in here and interrogate me about it?’

  ‘It’s hardly an interrogation.’

  ‘There are people searching my house – what do you expect me to call it?’ Marshall flung himself back in his chair.

  Knight placed his hands on the table. ‘Danny, you may not have heard.’

  Marshall looked from Knight to Zaman and back again. ‘Heard what?’

  ‘Jasmine Lloyd was found dead last night.’ Knight was deliberately blunt. Marshall’s mouth gaped as his eyes widened. A sound emerged from his throat, a strangled yelp of pain. ‘Danny?’ Knight said. ‘Can I get you some water?’

  Marshall had his hands over his face. ‘You’re lying.’ His voice was thick with tears.

  ‘It’s true, I’m afraid.’ Knight folded his arms.

  ‘What do you mean, she’s dead? How? An overdose?’ As Marshall struggled to control himself, Zaman pounced on his question.

  ‘Why would you say that, Danny? We know you spoke to Jasmine about her drug use.’

  ‘She told me she was clean. I believed her. She was turning her life around.’

  ‘Was she?’ Zaman smirked.

  Marshall glared.

  ‘She meant it. What do you know?’

  ‘I know if you’re lying to us and Jasmine was in your house, we’ll find proof.’

  ‘You won’t because she was never there. Wait a minute, all this is because Jasmine’s dead? But … Fuck, someone killed her, didn’t they? Like Mackie.’ Marshall raised a hand to his face, covering his mouth, his eyes bulging. ‘And I’m a suspect.’ He laughed, though tears were flooding his cheeks. ‘I want a solicitor,’ he managed to choke out. Zaman’s face was grim as he announced the suspension of the interview for the recording.

  *

  Dolan had her phone pressed to her ear. She turned away as Zaman and Knight appeared. Zaman headed for the water dispenser, handing a plastic cup to Knight before filling one for himself.

  ‘Cheers. Your impressions?’ Knight asked him.

  ‘He didn’t know Jasmine was dead. If he did, he should be on stage. How about you?’

  ‘I agree. He had no idea.’

  ‘Marshall didn’t like the idea of his house being searched though. Not sure what they’re hoping turns up.’

  Dolan approached, grinning widely.

  ‘They’ve found plenty already, as it happens. When Marshall’s solicitor arrives, we’re going to have an interesting chat.’

  42

  Isla Rafferty drove a bland silver car, spotless on the outside and unnervingly tidy inside. Catherine, still in her Phoenix House clothes, hoped her trainers were clean as she climbed in. Rafferty, smart in black trousers and cardigan with a shimmering silvery top underneath, turned to look at Catherine fastening her seatbelt.

  ‘Where do you live?’

  ‘Northolme.’

  Rafferty clicked her tongue. ‘I need your address.’ She pointed towards the built-in sat nav. ‘Type it in there.’

  Catherine leant forward to obey. ‘Why are we going to my house?’

  Rafferty pulled away from the kerb. ‘To get your warrant card. And you can have a shower, change your clothes. You’ve finished at Phoenix House.’

  ‘Have I?’

  Catherine was surprised to find herself saddened. Though she
hadn’t spent long in her undercover role, the people she met had made an impression. She would have liked to have said goodbye, to Ghislaine especially.

  ‘The DCI has an urgent action for us,’ Rafferty said.

  ‘Both of us?’

  ‘Apparently.’

  Rafferty’s voice was cool, as if disappointed Mary Dolan wanted Catherine back in the fold. Catherine smiled to herself. If Rafferty wanted to take umbrage, let her.

  ‘Is there a problem?’ she asked.

  ‘Not at all.’

  Catherine stretched her legs, forgetting her worries about the cleanliness of her shoes. If she was going to be trapped in Rafferty’s car for the next half an hour, she may as well be comfortable.

  ‘Is this about Jasmine’s death?’

  Saying the name made her throat tighten. When Catherine had woken, alone in the bed, there was no sign of Ghislaine. Carl Baker said she’d left early, not mentioning where she was going. After all that had happened, Catherine was uneasy. Still, where Ghislaine went and what she did was her business. Catherine had to get on with her job. Nevertheless, she pulled out her phone and sent her a text. No harm in being friendly. How Ghislaine would react when she realised Catherine was a police officer remained to be seen. Catherine swallowed, hoping she would understand.

  ‘Not about Jasmine’s death, no. McKinley’s,’ Rafferty said. Succinctly, she told Catherine about the information given to Knight and Dolan earlier by Pat Kemp. ‘We need to find out who this woman is, and speak to her.’

  Catherine blinked. ‘There’s a chance the Assistant Chief Constable could have killed McKinley? Or Chief Constable himself? I don’t know. It’s difficult to believe.’

  Rafferty shrugged. ‘They’re people like anyone else, capable of who knows what, same as the rest of us.’

  There was a silence, Catherine wishing Dolan sent Zaman to partner her. Jonathan Knight, even Dolan herself, would have been preferable. Instead, she was stuck with Rafferty, with no idea how she was going to keep conversation going for the next twenty-five minutes. She smothered a groan, realising she would have to invite Rafferty into her home, offer her a drink when they arrived. She knew Thomas wouldn’t have been spending much time in the house, but she hoped he’d left it tidy. Not, she reflected as she turned back to the window, watching as the sun tried to muscle its way from behind a cloud, that she cared what Rafferty thought.

  ‘What about the investigation into Anna’s stabbing?’ Dolan had already spoken to Catherine about it, of course, but it was a way to allow Rafferty to fill the silence.

  She should have known better. After mentioning Marshall had been brought in for interview and telling Catherine about the search still ongoing at his property, Rafferty fell silent. Catherine was racking her brain for another topic when eventually Rafferty said,

  ‘You won’t have heard about the knife? DCI Dolan phoned as I was leaving Danny Marshall’s house.’

  Catherine turned. ‘The knife?’

  ‘No fingerprints, but the blood on the blade is A-, the same as Anna Varcoe’s. It’ll take a while longer to confirm it’s definitely her blood.’

  ‘Where was it found?’ Rafferty took her eyes off the road for a second, glancing at Catherine, who then knew for certain. ‘You’re saying Jasmine had it?’

  ‘In her rucksack.’

  ‘Shit. I knew I should have tried to look inside it.’

  ‘Could you have done?

  ‘I suppose not. She had it in bed with her, even took it to the bathroom.’

  ‘You brother’s seen Danny Marshall, heard him speak – he doesn’t recognise him.’

  ‘But we’re still questioning Marshall, searching his home?’

  ‘Jasmine was there. He hasn’t explained why. It feels as though we’re going in circles, I must admit.’

  ‘DCI Dolan does seem worried.’

  Rafferty came immediately to her boss’ defence. ‘Mary’s under some pressure.’

  ‘She’s SIO, there’s always pressure.’ Catherine was dismissive. The humiliation of being forced to stand in front of a crowd of her colleagues and admitting her undercover investigations hadn’t borne any fruit still rankled.

  Rafferty glanced over again. ‘She shouldn’t have dragged you out to the front like she did. I’m sure she had her reasons though.’

  ‘She was pissed off, frustrated. I was an easy target.’

  ‘Yeah, well, you’re not any more, are you?’ Rafferty pointed out. ‘Information you provided led us to Marshall, as Mary knows.’

  She said it casually, as if it were no big deal. Catherine felt a blush stain her cheeks.

  ‘You’d have had to speak to him again eventually.’

  ‘Maybe. Maybe not.’ Rafferty cleared her throat. ‘Mary’s the best DCI I’ve worked with though. I’m sure she would have soon made the connection.’

  And all at once, Catherine understood. She watched the scenery rush by through the window, seeing none of it as she considered the implications of what she now believed she knew.

  As they stopped outside Catherine’s house, Rafferty gave an approving nod.

  ‘Do you own it?’

  ‘Had to buy my ex out, but yeah, I do now. Pay the mortgage, anyway.’

  ‘I … We looked at new builds. Didn’t find the right one. Still renting.’

  Catherine released her seatbelt. ‘It’s okay. You can hear your neighbour three doors away closing their kitchen cupboards or having a wee, but …’

  Rafferty gave the now familiar quirk of her lips that indicated amusement or acquiescence. ‘I’ll keep it in mind.’

  Inside, the house smelled stale, but was clean and reasonably tidy. Catherine sat Rafferty in the living room with a cup of tea and the TV remote before rushing upstairs. As she shampooed her hair, relishing being in her own bathroom, she remembered Ghislaine. There had been no reply to the text she had sent. Where was she? More importantly, was she safe?

  Catherine dressed quickly, pulling on a pair of dark trousers and a sweater. She dried her hair, pulled it back into a ponytail, and hurried downstairs. Rafferty hadn’t turned on the TV, preferring to sit and stare at her phone instead. She looked at Catherine as she entered the room.

  ‘Welcome back,’ she said.

  Catherine laughed. ‘It’s only been a few days.’

  Getting to her feet, Rafferty said, ‘Let’s get back to Lincoln. We need to find our mystery woman. By the way, DI Knight and Adil are resuming the interview with Danny Marshall. Some interesting items have been found in his house.’

  43

  Now accompanied by his solicitor, Marshall was pale and obviously nervous, shuffling in his chair as the police officers came in. The solicitor, a sharp-suited man already drumming his fingers on the table in impatience, looked at his watch.

  ‘Can we get on with it, officers?’ he asked. ‘My client has already been here over three hours.’

  ‘Plenty of time left before we need to charge him,’ Zaman smiled.

  The solicitor ignored the comment, but Marshall’s face was panicked.

  ‘Charge me?’

  The solicitor shook his head at Marshall, attempting to calm him as Zaman ran through the formalities.

  ‘We all know why we’re here,’ Knight said. ‘Mr Marshall, we’d like to talk about certain items recovered during the search of your house earlier.’

  Marshall hesitated. ‘No comment.’

  ‘Scales were found, quantities of tin foil, plastic bags. Do you want to explain why those items were in your home?’

  ‘It’s not a crime to have scales in your house, is it?’

  Marshall was openly terrified now, his eyes shifting from side to side, the metal leg of the table clinking as his foot repeatedly tapped against it. Knight smiled at him.

  ‘Usually, no. The issue is what those scales were being used for. They’ll be forensically examined now, you know. Traces of any substance which has been in contact with them will be found. Anyone who’s touched them will h
ave left fingerprints. Our forensics people will find them.’

  The solicitor stretched his back. ‘This is extremely interesting, Inspector, but …’

  ‘I’ve never touched them,’ Marshall said quickly.

  ‘We’ll have to wait and see, won’t we? If you’ve never touched them, how did they get into your house?’

  ‘They’re … They’re not mine. They were in the house when I moved in.’

  Zaman snorted. ‘Yeah?’

  ‘I swear they were. Load of stuff was left in the kitchen cupboards.’

  You realise how this looks?’ Knight demanded. ‘We have two victims: John McKinley and Jasmine Lloyd. Both of whom you knew, both displaying evidence of heroin injection. And we find scales in your house.’

  ‘I’ve told you …’

  ‘Doesn’t look good for you, does it? No one better placed to supply them with drugs than the man who knew all the juicy details of their habits. Pretending to help them, when in truth you were feeding their addiction for your own financial gain.’ Knight forced himself to stay calm. He wanted the truth from Marshall, but losing his temper wasn’t going to help.

  Lazily, the solicitor said, ‘Do you have any actual questions to ask my client, Inspector, or are you going to entertain us with baseless supposition all day?’

  Knight watched Marshall’s eyes roam the room. ‘Who lives with you, Danny?’ he asked suddenly.

  Marshall stared. ‘Lives with me? No one. I live alone.’

  Knight shook his head, tutting. ‘Not what I hear. Our search team found plenty of evidence of another person. A sleeping bag, a toothbrush. We’ve seized them, of course. Lots more DNA evidence to collect.’

  ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ Marshall muttered.

  ‘Who are you protecting? Was it Jasmine?’

  His solicitor was frowning now. Marshall clearly hadn’t been entirely honest with his legal advisor about who lived in his house.