‘Hey, where’s my goodbye kiss?’
Scarlett turned to face Alex. His mouth was puckered in exaggerated fashion. She laughed and leaned in to plant a kiss on his lips. He grabbed the back of her neck, pulling her closer and began exploring her mouth with his tongue. She could feel the roughness of his unshaven stubble prickling her chin and felt herself being turned on. Right now though was not the time or place for these feelings, she told herself. She put a hand on his chest and slowly but forcibly pushed him back. ‘Whoa tiger,’ she said. ‘I’ve got work to go to. I’m late enough as it is.’ She opened the door. ‘I’ll ring you later,’ and swinging out a leg she added, ‘And thanks for the lift. I really appreciate it.’
‘You’re welcome.’
‘Catch up at the weekend?’ She explored his face, remembering the flux of their relationship and also recollecting it had been her idea to cool things between them. When Alex answered, ‘Yeah that would be good,’ she felt overwhelmed with joy. She blew him a kiss, closed the door, and with a spring in her step made her way into the station.
Twenty-nine
Still breathless from her run up the stairs, Scarlett walked into the Homicide Department doing her best to appear business-like, but as she let the door close behind her the sight of everyone seated around the conference table caused a moment of angst: Morning briefing was still in session. And, DI Taylor-Butler was taking it. Fuck!
Faces lifted her way and the DI’s head turned. He said, ‘DS Macey, so glad you can join us.’ He pointedly looked at his watch.
‘Fuck off prick,’ Scarlett muttered beneath her breath so no one could hear. Then, putting on a flustered look, she moved to the table and said, ‘I’m so sorry, crisis at home! The shower went on the blink. Couldn’t get it to shut off. Thankfully a neighbour, who’s a plumber, sorted it.’ Alex had given her the excuse during their journey in. She'd told him she wouldn’t need it, now she was grateful he had.
‘All right DS Macey, don’t bore us with the details. I’ll expect you to make your time up.’
As she took up her seat she spotted Ella across the table. Her friend rolled her eyes and she gave a quick flick of her chin. The look said, ‘ignore him.’ Scarlett returned a half-smile and set her bag down on the floor.
DI Taylor-Butler continued with briefing and Scarlett realised they were discussing the aftermath of George and Ella’s domestic murder; George's voice had an edge of frustration as he revealed the husband was on bail for an assault on his wife six weeks previously. The officers who had dealt with him had requested he be remanded, but magistrates had deemed him not to be a danger and released him on bail.
Sadly, Scarlett had heard this all too often.
The DI did a round-robin, confirming that there were no other enquiries pending, shut up his daily journal, and finished with, ‘Okay everyone, so except for some mopping up to do with the takeaway stabbings across in Streatham the decks are clear, yes?’ He watched several nodding heads. ‘Right, good job everyone. Unless there’s anything else to discuss I’ll close briefing.’
Scarlett gave a sharp cough which attracted everyone's attention. Turning to the DI she said, ‘I’d like to discuss James Green.’
Taylor-Butler’s face hardened. ‘What about James Green?’
‘Now we haven’t got anything on I’d like to target him.’
‘Haven’t we already discussed this?’ There was a harsh note in his voice.
‘We have, but he’s stalking me.’
The DI’s eyes narrowed. ‘What do you mean stalking you?’
‘He followed me to the supermarket on Saturday and stood outside waving at me. And I think he was outside Kerrie Tornese’s flat the other day photographing me on his phone.’ She didn’t mention the hooded jogger she’d seen during her run: she hadn’t seen the person’s face.
‘James Green was outside the supermarket waving at you?’ His tone was mocking. ‘And you think you saw him on the Winstanley Estate?’
‘Yes.’ She could feel her hackles rising. ‘I’m sure it was him. He was in the crowd outside Kerrie Tornese’s flat and he ducked when I spotted him.’
‘You can definitely identify him?’
She thought a moment, ‘Not definitely. No. It’s a gut feeling.’
‘A gut feeling!’
The DI pulled at the collar of his shirt, something she knew he always did when he was getting wound up. ‘The fact that he was at the supermarket waving at me makes me think it was him.’
‘But you can’t be definite?’ What about CCTV at the scene?’
‘It looks out over the car park.’
‘You have no concrete evidence it was him on the Winstanley Estate.’ His cheeks reddened. ‘So, based on evidence that he waved at you at the supermarket on Saturday, you say he’s stalking you?’
‘Look, I know its flimsy but...’
Taylor-Butler held up a hand, ‘...There’s no but at all DS Macey. It is flimsy. Full stop. The fact that James Green happened to be outside a supermarket where you were shopping is not what I would define as stalking. And let’s not lose sight of the fact that Professional Standards are still investigating the suicide of Claudette Jackson. I think given that, the last thing we want to be doing is targeting James Green at this time for something we cannot prove.’ He pushed himself up from the table and picked up his journal. ‘Unless James Green commits an offence, you will not go near him. And even then I will be assigning another team. Do I make myself clear?’
She didn’t respond, but studied his face. He was beetroot.
‘Do I make myself clear?’
Biting her tongue, she answered, ‘Very clear.’
‘Good. That is the last I want to hear on this matter.’ With that, he stomped out.
After the DI left and the squad broke away from the conference table to return to their desks, Scarlett remained seated. Her chest was tight and inside she was seething. She was telling herself to stay calm, and without making it obvious she was taking deep breaths, fighting hard to keep it together and maintain a professional veneer. Finally, she glanced up to see Tarn looking her way. He didn’t look his usual self; he was unshaven and his hair wasn’t waxed. Seeing him like that broke across her thoughts. Picking up her bag, she headed to him, ‘Thank you for covering for me at briefing. How did it go? I’m guessing you filled him in about Kerrie Tornese?’
Tarn nodded. ‘Yeah, he said we’d done a good job.’
‘Some praise then?’
He broke into a grin, ‘You could say that.’
On a softer note she said, ‘How did this weekend go with Trish? Dare I ask?’
The grin disappeared. ‘Not good. In fact, bloody awful. It became one big rowing match in the end. I ended up walking out before I did something stupid. She texted me to tell me not to come back. I’ve slept in a B&B for the past two nights.’
‘Oh gosh Tarn, I’m so sorry. Look you don’t need to stay in a B&B, I’ve got a spare room at my place. Rose’ll not mind, she only stays once in a blue moon anyway. You know what she’s like - she prefers living in squats with her mates.’
‘Thanks Scarlett, but I’ve spoken to mum and dad. They say I can have my old room back. It means a fair run into work, but I’m taking up the offer until I can get myself sorted. But I won’t be able to pick you up for a while.’
‘Don’t worry about that. I’ve got the train and my bike. You just get yourself sorted, and if you need any time off just let me know.’
‘Thanks, I will.’ Turning he said, ‘I’m just going for a coffee, want one?’
‘Love one. I haven’t had time for my fix yet this morning.’
She watched her partner as he headed for the door. He was walking like a wounded animal. She’d never seem him like this. She vowed to keep an eye on him.
As Tarn left the room she reached her desk, planted her bag down, slipped off her jacket and switched her gaze to other matters. Ella Bloom was on the phone, working her computer as she talked. Scarlett s
trolled across and Ella lifted her head. Scarlett expected her to be a vision of happiness but her face showed no emotion and as she sought out Ella’s left hand she saw there was no ring on her finger. Suddenly, she felt awkward.
Ella finished her call and said, ‘I see TB gave you a hard time again. I don’t know how you put up with it Scarlett.’
She wanted to respond with, ‘He resents me because I’m brighter than he is, and he’s a sexist, bigoted, bullying prick.’ Wanted to, but that wasn’t her style. She would deal with him in her way, and in her own time, like she had done before; finding his DNA on bedding at a crime scene last year – a BDSM brothel – had been a coup, and she’d already hit him once with it: It was still in her armoury. Smiling inwardly she said, ‘Oh well, you know what he’s like. He’ll grow up one day.’ She gave a narrow smile. ‘I’m sure James Green will come again and then I can always say “ ‘I told you so’’.’ Taking a deep breath, she continued, ‘Anyway, what about you?’ She pointed to Ella’s left hand, and leaning in and speaking in a near-whisper said, ‘I was going to ask you how you got on this weekend. Ryan didn’t propose then?’
Her poker-face broke, lighting up, ‘Yes, he did.’
‘But no ring?’
Ella nodded vigorously, and quickly looking around, put a finger to her lips and softly answered, ‘I’ve taken it off. For now. Ryan’s asked me not to wear it until next weekend. We’re having a big get together with our families to make it official.’ Indicating the detectives in the room she added, ‘I’m keeping it low-key until next weekend, so keep it to yourself for now.’
Scarlett gave her two-thumbs up, and whispered, ‘Congratulations Ella. That’s wonderful.’ Then, making a zipping motion across her mouth added, ‘I promise I’ll not say anything. I’m so happy for you.’
‘Thank you. You only need to keep it quiet until Friday. I’m telling everyone then. I’m having a cocktails night in town. You’ve nothing on, have you?’
Scarlett so much wanted to tell her about Alex, but she still wasn’t sure if there was anything permanent again about their relationship, and so instead she answered, ‘Wouldn’t miss it for the world. Its ages since I’ve had a cocktail night.’
Thirty
Guiltily, Scarlett removed the batch of folders and envelopes from her work bag and dropped them onto the kitchen work surface, letting out sigh. She had surreptitiously removed documents and photographs from folders relating to the James Green case, secreting them first into her desk drawer, and then, when she was sure no one was looking, hiding them away in her bag to bring home. She would have preferred not to be so secretive but DI Taylor-Butler’s intransigence over Green had left her no option. She had told no one. Not even Tarn. If there were to be consequences for her actions then she had to take them alone.
For a moment she stared at the small stack. She didn’t know what she was going to gain from gathering it but she couldn’t just do nothing; James Green needed to be bought to account for what he’d done to those girls.
After making a coffee she changed out of her work clothes, slipped on joggers and a T-shirt and returned to the kitchen. She prepared a tuna salad, then picked up the folders, tucked them under an arm, and juggling them with her plate of food went through to the lounge and set them down on the coffee table. Bent forward on the sofa she picked at her salad with a fork while emptying out the contents of the folders and envelopes. Most of what she had brought home was what was referred to as ‘unused material’; information which didn’t help with the prosecution case and hadn’t been submitted as evidence for court. There were statements from officers who had searched James Green’s flat, detailing what had been recovered, together with CSI photographs of the interior of his house. It was the stuff she’d not really concentrated on when she’d put together the case file because it wasn’t relevant to the prosecution. Now she wanted to go back through it all to see if she’d missed anything.
Pushing aside her empty plate, Scarlett fanned out the photos and began studying them in detail. For the best part of an hour she picked up each image individually, drifted her eyes over the picture, and then set it to one side and picked up another. CSI had photographed each room in Green’s flat before it had been searched. In some cases, half a dozen shots had been taken of a room. They formed a good catalogue of his home life. As she finished looking at them, Scarlett leaned back against the sofa cushions. Something was off but she couldn’t put her finger on it, so she decided to go through a couple of the searching officer’s statements. Maybe one of those would trigger what was playing on her mind.
After the third statement, she stretched and closed her eyes, mentally reacquainting herself with James Green: He was twenty-six, had no known family and no girlfriend that they knew of, and lived alone in a flat in Twickenham. When she had checked him out, Scarlett was surprised he had not come to the attention of the police until his arrest four months ago. Difficult to believe, knowing what he’d done, and so she’d dug around beyond the Police Intelligence Unit, speaking to colleagues in probation and social services, but still there was nothing. She had even gone back in to the archives, looking for any unsolved sex crimes that matched his description. Nothing. And yet the nature and circumstances of the offences were not random: Last year over a three-month period he had attacked and raped a number of girls at knifepoint in the grounds of Richmond University, using the guise of a racing cyclist passing through – that had earned him the nickname of ‘The Lycra Rapist’. When they had finally caught him and searched his place they had found nothing of evidential value. They’d found none of the cycle clothing that the witnesses and victims had described, although they learned he’d had a small bonfire in a rusted oil drum beneath the flats days before he’d been arrested, and neither had they found a mobile or personal computer that might have helped place or link him to the scene. It had been a frustrating result, and although Scarlett firmly believed Green’s attacks had been targeted – that he had carefully selected his victims by stalking them first, as implied by Claudette Jackson when they had interviewed her – they had not been able to prove it.
Scarlett’s eyes snapped open. There has to be something in this lot that I’ve missed. She picked up another couple of officer’s statements. The first one only took five minutes to read and she skim-read the second. And, there she found it – second paragraph – an item the constable had recovered; a phone charger. A phone charger, but no phone. Her eyes were drawn back to the photographs. As she revisited the images of each of the rooms in James Green’s flat things were falling into place, but she needed someone else’s opinion to reinforce her beliefs.
***
Alex sat beside Scarlett on the sofa, studying the photographs spread out over the table.
‘Thanks for coming over Alex, I really appreciate it. Have a look through these and tell me what you see.’ Scarlett had already confessed to surreptitiously obtaining the photographs that day and explained her reason for doing so, and why they had been originally snapped by CSI officers during the search of James Green’s home. She had phoned Alex because he'd viewed thousands of evidential photographs in his time as an officer in Military Intelligence, and although this was different, his skill for observation was what she needed right now.
He studied them for several minutes. ‘You say these are all shots taken of the same flat?’
Scarlett nodded ‘Yes.’
‘Well the first thing I see is order.’ He glanced sideways. ‘Has this guy got OCD?’
‘I can remember thinking how tidy the place was when I first saw it but I didn’t conduct the search. I left that to a specialist search team.’
‘Well this is the tidiest, neatest places I have ever seen that is lived in by a bloke. I’m reasonably tidy because of my army training but this guy is ultra-tidy to a state of obsession. Most guys I know leave their stuff all over the place.’
Alex’s comment triggered the memory of the mess in the police car, left there by two male colleagues
. She nodded.
‘It’s almost as if he knew you were coming and got someone to come in and spring-clean the place.’ He smiled at his own joke as he picked up a couple of photos of the kitchen. ‘Take these for instance. The kitchen is the most usual place in the house to find things left out, especially tea and sugar containers etcetera, or a few dirty pots to be left lying around. In these, there are none of those things. His worktops are immaculate.’ He looked at Scarlett. ‘Did you look inside the cupboards?’
She shook her head. ‘As I say I didn’t do the search. It was all done by a search team. But I would have thought they’d have made a comment if something didn’t look right.’
‘Okay.’ He laid down the kitchen images and picked up a couple of the lounge. ‘In these I see someone who looks as though they can just afford the basics. All we have here is a room containing a small sofa, an armchair, an old television and a small sideboard, plus a couple of cheap prints on the wall. It looks more like a scene from an amateur dramatic stage production. This lounge serves its purpose but it doesn’t really look as though it’s lived in.’
Scarlett slapped him on the shoulder. ‘Bingo. You’ve said the magic words ‘‘not lived in’’.’
‘But you told me these were the photos of James Green’s house you searched?’
‘They are. And that what’s been niggling me. I sussed it just before I rang you. I read a statement where an officer had recovered a phone charger but no phone. And that’s what triggered it. He wasn’t carrying a phone and we never found one. We didn’t find a personal computer either, which although not a rarity, I would expect to have done with someone of his intellect. And when I looked over these photos again what hit me in the face was how sterile his house looked. Nowhere on display are any personal items. Like you say, it looked like something you’d expect to see in an amateur stage production. Also, when I’ve gone back through the statements from the search team, very little personal property was recovered; a couple of sports shirts and a pair of trainers, but that’s it.’ She met Alex’s eyes. ‘Tell me if I’m way off mark here, but what I think is that this may be a place where James Green gets his head down from time to time, but this isn’t where he actually lives.’
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