Scared to Death (A Detective Kay Hunter novel)

by Rachel Amphlett

  ‘How did the camera break?’

  Rogers shrugged. ‘Kids I expect. The lens has been smashed.’

  ‘Did you report this to the police?’ Kay asked.

  His gaze fell to the floor. ‘No. I didn’t.’

  ‘I’ll need a copy of the purchase order.’

  Rogers sighed, then picked up the phone. ‘Colin? Could you print off a copy of the purchase order you did for the CCTV parts and bring it to me?’

  He returned the phone to its cradle.

  ‘Who else has access to the place where the keys are kept?’ said Kay.

  Rogers looked at her in bewilderment. ‘No one. Before I got here, the keys used to be left in the sorting area. Now they’re kept in a safe in my office, and I lock that when I leave the depot.’

  Barnes leaned forward. ‘Could anyone have accessed the safe before you left the office?’

  ‘Even if they did go to my office, they don’t know the combination—’ He broke off at a knock on the door. ‘Come in.’

  Kay turned as the door opened, and a stocky man walked in, his face an ugly mess of sores, his entry announced by a strong nicotine and body odour mix that invaded the space the moment he closed the door behind him.

  ‘That purchase order you wanted, Bob,’ he said, and handed over a sheet of paper.

  ‘Thanks, Colin. That’ll be all.’

  The man ran his eyes over Kay as he left the room, and she resisted the urge to shiver.

  ‘Who’s he?’ she asked, as the door swung shut.

  Rogers grimaced. ‘Colin Broadheath. Does all the procurement and maintenance scheduling for the depot.’

  Kay turned in her chair, and looked out at the vans in the car park beyond the window. ‘What about the maintenance?’ she asked. ‘Do you do that on site?’

  ‘No,’ said Rogers. ‘We use a local garage.’

  ‘Which one?

  ‘Phillips Repairs.’

  ‘Can we have a look at the maintenance log please?’

  ‘Of course. Wait here.’

  Rogers left the room, and pulled the door closed. Barnes swivelled in his chair to turn to her.

  ‘What you think?’

  Kay exhaled. ‘I don’t know. At least we know the vehicles here all go to Darren Phillips, but if all the van keys are kept in a secure safe here, and Rogers locks his office at night, and he’s telling the truth about that, then we need to find out if there was another way to get to the vans. Phillips also keeps the keys in a locked box while the vehicles are at his premises, so that rules out anyone getting hold of them there.’

  She held up a finger at the sound of footsteps in the corridor outside, and then the door opened.

  Rogers entered with a large hard-backed book in his hands. He closed the door, and set the book on the table.

  ‘It’s a bit old-fashioned,’ he said, ‘but we still keep the maintenance log in hardcopy as well as on the system.’

  Kay reached into her bag, and pulled out a photograph of the van taken from the CCTV footage at the industrial estate. She slid it across the table to Rogers.

  ‘This was taken just after one-thirty last Thursday night,’ she said.

  Rogers’ eyebrows raised. ‘That’s impossible.’

  ‘Has this van been to the garage recently?’

  Rogers squinted at the registration number, and then began to paw through the pages of the logbook, a frown creasing his brow. He paused, and then ran his index finger down the left-hand page.

  ‘Here,’ he said. ‘Six weeks ago. Needed a new water pump.’

  ‘How long was it at the garage?’

  ‘Three days. They had to order the parts from the supplier. They didn’t have one at the garage as we’d had another vehicle in a couple of days before with the same problem.’

  ‘Which route is this van assigned to? Who’s the current driver?’

  ‘Hang on. I’ll go and check.’

  Kay suppressed a sigh as the man disappeared from the room once more.

  Barnes drummed his fingers on the table surface.

  Kay glared at him.

  ‘Sorry,’ he said, and stopped.

  They both turned in their seats as Rogers returned clutching a printout.

  He held it out to them. ‘Here you go.’

  Kay took the page from him and scanned its contents before handing it to Barnes.

  She waited, and then he lifted his head. Kay met his gaze, then turned back to Bob Rogers, and tapped her finger on the page.

  ‘We’d like a word with Neil Abrahams, please.’

  TWENTY-NINE

  Kay stepped to one side, and let Neil Abrahams into the interview suite ahead of her.

  Sharp rose from one of the chairs at the table, and gestured to the seat opposite.

  ‘If you’d like to sit, Mr Abrahams. I’m Detective Inspector Devon Sharp, and I’ll be leading this interview.’

  Abrahams pulled out the chair, sat, and clasped his hands together on the table, his eyes shifting between Sharp and Kay. He swallowed, an audible sound, and his Adam’s apple bobbed in his throat.

  Sharp leaned across and hit the “record” button on the machine below the frosted pane of the window, and eyed the man sitting opposite.

  ‘Neil Abrahams, I’ll begin this interview by reading you your rights,’ he said. Once finished, he sat back. ‘Please confirm your full name, address, and occupation for the record.’

  ‘Neil Jonathan Abrahams. 14 Bolt Drive, Maidstone. I’m a courier.’ He paused. ‘What’s this about?’

  Kay flipped open the case file, and pushed three large photographs taken from the CCTV images across the table.

  ‘Do you recognise this van?’ asked Sharp.

  Abrahams’ brow creased. ‘Um, yeah – it’s a courier van.’

  ‘Look at the registration number.’

  He plucked one of the photos from the table and held it closer. His face paled. ‘That’s – that’s impossible.’

  ‘Please tell us what you were doing at the Westmead Industrial Estate last Thursday at one-thirty in the morning,’ said Sharp.

  ‘I wasn’t there!’

  Kay watched the man’s eyes flicker over the remaining two photographs, then he jerked his head at Sharp.

  ‘I can’t explain this. That industrial park isn’t even on my route.’ He snorted, a nervous explosion from his lips. ‘And why would I be driving around there at night?’

  ‘We were hoping you could tell us,’ said Sharp.

  Abrahams leaned back in his seat and exhaled. ‘I was out with friends that night,’ he said, pointing at the darkest of the three photos.

  ‘Are you able to supply details of an alibi?’ asked Kay.

  ‘Yes, I can.’

  She slid a sheet of paper and a pen across to him, and waited while he wrote down two names and mobile phone numbers, his hand shaking.

  She took it from him, and rushed from the room, handing over the details to Barnes who was waiting in the corridor. ‘Text me as soon as you’ve got something,’ she said. ‘This is urgent.’

  She returned to the interview room, and took her seat next to Sharp.

  ‘How long have you been a courier?’

  ‘Eight years.’

  ‘And where have you been based?’

  The man shrugged. ‘All over. Most of the villages around here.’

  ‘Have you ever worked outside of the Maidstone area?’

  ‘No.’

  Sharp leaned forward. ‘Neil, would you have any idea as to how someone could be driving your van if the keys to it are kept secure?’

  The courier driver shook his head. ‘No. The depot is fenced, and has security cameras, so if someone did take it, they’d be seen.’

  ‘I understand you enjoyed flirting with Melanie Richards when she helped out on reception at Richards Furnishings,’ said Kay.

  ‘What?’ Abrahams recoiled in his seat. ‘Wait – no way. I didn’t kill her! That was just a bit of fun.’

  ‘You’re,
what, fifteen years older than her?’ she said. ‘And you thought you’d charm her, is that right?’

  ‘Did she lead you on?’ asked Sharp. ‘Was that it? Did she agree to meet up with you, and it went wrong? Did you lose your temper and decide to teach her a lesson?’

  ‘No – no, I never met up with her!’ Abrahams leaned forward, sweat patches appearing under his arms.

  Kay’s phone vibrated, and she checked the message before sliding it to one side.

  ‘DC Barnes spoke to the two people you provided as alibis for Thursday night,’ she said. ‘Neither of them can vouch for you after eleven o’clock.’

  She pointed at the time stamp frozen at the footer of the CCTV photograph. ‘This is your van at one-thirty a.m.’

  Abrahams worked his jaw, but remained silent.

  ‘Unless you can give us the name of a solid alibi for your whereabouts between leaving the pub at eleven and appearing here,’ Sharp tapped the photo, ‘two and a half hours later, Neil, it’s not looking too good, is it?’

  ‘Why were you also at the Westmead Industrial Estate on the mornings of Friday and Saturday?’ he added. ‘What about these two daytime angles?’

  ‘I wasn’t there!’

  ‘Neil, we’ve got two friends of yours who can’t account for your movements after eleven o’clock that night, and evidence of your van being in the same area where Melanie’s body was found,’ said Kay.

  ‘It wasn’t me, I swear.’

  ‘Then where were you between eleven and one-thirty on Thursday night?’ asked Kay.

  ‘I – I can’t say.’

  Kay tapped the van in the photograph. ‘This is you, isn’t it Neil?’

  ‘It’s not me.’

  ‘Then who the hell is it?’ Sharp slammed his hand on the desk, and Abrahams jumped in his seat.

  ‘I have no idea.’

  Sharp leaned over and snatched the folder from under Kay’s elbow. He drew out another photograph, and shoved it in front of Abrahams.

  ‘Are you proud of this?’

  Abrahams’ eyes widened as his gaze fell to the image.

  ‘Oh, my god,’ he whispered, and drew back, horror contorting his features.

  ‘Now, I don’t know what your sick little game is, Neil,’ Sharp snarled, ‘but I do want to know where you disappeared to after eleven o’clock on Thursday, and I want to know why your van was photographed leaving the Westmead estate at one-thirty.’

  Abrahams ran a shaking hand over his mouth, his face pale. He finally tore his eyes away from the image of Melanie’s lifeless body and spoke, his voice little more than a murmur.

  ‘I wasn’t at the Westmead estate that night because I was at a motel near Hollingbourne with someone else,’ he said.

  Kay’s eyes dropped to the ring on Abrahams’ left hand. ‘We’re going to need a name,’ she said.

  ‘I can’t,’ Abrahams pleaded. ‘She’s married, too.’

  ‘Name,’ said Kay, and leaned forward. ‘At the moment, you’re the only suspect in the kidnap and murder of a young girl.’

  ‘Oh, god.’ Abrahams wiped at his eyes, then told her the name, and gave her a mobile number.

  Kay moved to the door, closing it behind her.

  She dialled the number, and looked up as Barnes approached.

  ‘Well?’ he said.

  ‘Got a new alibi.’

  She held up a finger as the call was answered.

  ‘Sandra Clark? Detective Sergeant Kay Hunter from Kent Police. I understand you know Neil Abrahams.’ She paused and listened. ‘Yes, he gave me your number. Frankly, I don’t care about your relationship with Mr Abrahams, Mrs Clark. Can you tell me if he was with you on Thursday night? What time did he arrive?’ She waited. ‘He was? What time did he leave? What about Friday morning and Saturday morning?’

  She nodded at Barnes. ‘Thanks, Mrs Clark. That will be all.’

  She hung up. ‘I’ll meet you back in the incident room,’ she said, and pushed the door to the interview room open.

  ‘Thank you, Mr Abrahams,’ she said. ‘Mrs Clark confirms that you were with her between eleven o’clock and one forty-five on the night in question.’

  ‘Right,’ said Sharp. ‘Now we’ve got that cleared up, does anyone have access to the keys to your van?’

  ‘No,’ said Abrahams. ‘When we finish our shifts, all the keys are handed over, and they’re kept in a safe in the depot manager’s office until we need them again.’

  ‘And you drive the same van every day?’

  Abrahams nodded. ‘Yeah. For the past four months. My route changed, so I got a different van.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘I don’t know. I used to do the circuit around Larkfield, but there was an internal shuffle or whatever, and now I do the one for Harrietsham.’

  Kay tapped the photographs from the CCTV camera. ‘What about here?’

  Abrahams shook his head. ‘Never had a route there, no. In fact, none of us do these days – I think the last business that used to have a collection from there closed down months ago.’

  THIRTY

  Kay leaned against the wall of the corridor and rubbed at her eye.

  She blinked, and watched the retreating figures of Sharp and Abrahams as the courier driver was led out of the interview suites.

  ‘Excuse me, Sarge?’

  She turned at the sound of Gavin’s voice. ‘What’s up?’

  He moved to one side to let one of the office administrators walk past, and lowered his voice. ‘I’ve been checking the CCTV footage from the courier depot. Bob Rogers was right. The camera above the secure parking area was damaged by kids.’

  ‘How?’

  ‘There’s some rough ground with a couple industrial waste bins on the other side of the outer boundary fence. We’ve got footage of a group of four youths clambering up onto one of the bins to get up on the fence. They break the camera by throwing rocks at it, but then seem to lose interest.’ He shrugged. ‘They can be seen on one of the other cameras, leaving the same way they came in after about five minutes.’

  ‘Identities?’

  ‘Already passed on,’ he grinned. He checked his watch. ‘They should be getting picked up in the next fifteen minutes or so. We’ll charge them with criminal damage.’

  ‘Thanks, Gavin.’

  He nodded, and then headed back in the direction of the incident room, leaving Kay to her thoughts.

  If kids, and not the driver of Neil Abrahams’ van broke the camera, then there had to be another explanation for the vehicle being seen at the industrial estate the night of Melanie’s kidnapping.

  Lost in thought, it was a moment before she heard the footsteps behind her.

  ‘Causing trouble again, Hunter?’

  She stopped, closed her eyes for a moment, and then turned.

  DCI Larch stood in the corridor, his wide bulk taking up much of the space either side.

  ‘Sir?’

  His top lip curled in a sneer. ‘I really don’t know why Sharp puts up with you,’ he said, drawing closer. ‘You’re not exactly a team player, are you?’

  Confusion filled her mind. ‘I’m sorry, sir – I don’t understand.’

  ‘Perhaps if you gathered evidence properly regarding this case, we wouldn’t have wasted valuable time bringing in an innocent man for questioning, hmm?’

  ‘But—,’

  ‘DCI Larch, can I help you?’

  Kay almost sighed with relief at the sound of Sharp’s voice.

  DCI Larch spun on his heel. ‘No, Sharp. You can’t.’

  Kay sidestepped as he pushed past her and disappeared up the corridor, the door to his office slamming shut.

  ‘Problem?’

  ‘Seems bringing in the wrong guy for questioning is all my fault.’

  Sharp chuckled. ‘He’s not going to let that failed Professional Standards investigation go easily, is he?’

  ‘Doesn’t seem that way. Seems to have affected his memory, too,’ she said, attempting humour. ‘I
t was his idea to bring in the driver of the van, after all.’

  ‘Hang in there. He’ll find someone else to taunt in time.’

  She managed a thin smile, and then fell into step beside him. ‘What do we do next?’

  Sharp pushed open the door to the incident room, and the rest of the team stopped mid-conversation.

  Sharp checked the door had closed behind Kay, and then tore his tie from his neck. ‘Well, that was a monumental disappointment, wasn’t it?’

  Barnes led the murmur of agreement that bounced off the walls. ‘What next, boss?’

  ‘Team meeting,’ said Sharp. ‘Pub. Ten minutes. First round on me.’

  THIRTY-ONE

  Emma Thomas teetered on her too-high heels and stepped back in shock as the taxi splashed past her, the light on its roof flickering off.

  ‘Dammit.’

  She slicked back her hair from her face and shivered, then hitched her bag back up onto her shoulder, hugged her arms around her chest, and stepped off the kerb.

  She’d managed to slip from the house three hours before, unseen.

  The moment her mother’s voice had become muted, and the bass tones of her stepfather’s response quietened, she counted the minutes until she heard the sound of his steady snoring filter through their closed bedroom door.

  Tanya’s parents were away in Ibiza for a cheap last-minute break, and the girls had planned a night out clubbing in Maidstone.

  ‘It’ll cheer you up,’ insisted Tanya.

  Emma had taken a few seconds to consider the idea, and then agreed. What better way to forget her grief for a while than a dance, a drink, and maybe some harmless flirting?

  Now, she rued her recklessness.

  Tanya had tumbled into a car with a twenty-year-old she’d been having an on-off relationship with for the past three months and some friends of his, thrown Emma a cheery wave over her shoulder as she landed, giggling, on top of him in the back seat, and then the car door had slammed shut and the vehicle took off.

  She’d stood at the top of Gabriel’s Hill trying to avoid the leers from the groups of men who wobbled their way past her before disappearing along the High Street, and then cursed as the first large drops of rain began to pelt the pavement at her feet.