Beneath the Ashes

by Jane Isaac

  “Anderson, sir. Nick Anderson,” Jackman said. He made a play of looking at his watch. “He should be arriving for interview at any moment. He’ll be crucial in deciding how to take this forward.”

  Janus frowned at Jackman, but her superior surveyed him a moment over the top of his glasses before he spoke to the room. “Yes, I can see that. Let’s see how we get on with Anderson. I don’t want anything released in the media about the discovery at Upton Grange Farm until we know how far reaching the ramifications are. We’ll put it all together as a new PR package, the introduction to our crack-down on Warwickshire’s drug crime.” It seemed nobody apart from Jackman recognised the pun, and if they did they certainly didn’t show it. “Make sure you put your best officers on this one,” he said to Jackman. “When did you say he was due to be interviewed?”

  “He’s due at the station any time now. If you don’t mind, sir, I’d really like to get down there to keep an eye on things.”

  “Of course. Keep us updated.”

  Jackman didn’t dare glance at Janus, battling to keep his composure, as he rose and left the room. As soon as he closed the door behind him he raced along the corridor and down the stairs.

  The first person Jackman saw as he entered the incident room was Keane. “How did the interview go?” he asked.

  “You didn’t miss much. He’s gone no comment throughout. Won’t talk about his links to Nancy or Nick Anderson.”

  Jackman swiped a hand across his forehead. “Which solicitor does he have?”

  “Miranda Holmes.”

  “She must think he’s pretty damned if she’s not even allowing him to give an alibi.”

  “The tattoo links him to Nancy. Russell has been through the town centre CCTV footage from the supermarket and we’ve found him on there, accosting her on Thursday. Can’t link him to the video yet, but our techies are going through his phone. Even if he deleted it, it should still show.”

  “Good.”

  “There’s more,” Keane said. “We got the fingerprints back on the headlight assembly from the car used in Eamonn Benwell’s hit-and-run. Since they’re on the inside, they weren’t damaged. It’s a direct match with Denton’s. And his phone pinged the signals in Stratford town centre between 10.18 and 10.37 last night. What with that and the photofit and possible ID from Amanda Grayson, we’re pretty close to a charge for Eamonn Benwell’s murder as well.”

  “Excellent. Get him arrested for the murder too, so that we are prepared. What about links to Garrett and Anderson?”

  “Nothing more there yet, but Anderson’s back and with his solicitor.”

  Jackman felt a presence behind him and turned to find Davies hovering. “Sir, I think there’s something you might want to see.”

  They made their way down the stairs and into the back office of police reception. Jackman peered around the corner into the waiting area. An attractive blonde was sat, with a young girl beside her who shared the same blue eyes and was plaiting strands of her mother’s hair. A boy was knelt on the floor, fiddling with his phone. He recognised them as the Anderson family from Mike Clarke’s slides. “How long has she been here?” he asked Davies.

  “Since the troops descended on her home to search. Refused to let them in at first. She seemed to know that her husband was being brought here, refuses to leave without him.”

  “She might have a long wait then,” Jackman said as he withdrew his head. He thought for a moment. “She looks vaguely familiar – any record?”

  Davies shook her head. “Nothing on her. Anderson’s been cautioned for possession of cannabis, but apart from intelligence as long as your arm connected to drugs supply, he remains pretty clean himself. Probably gets someone else to do his dirty work.”

  Jackman thought about the tracker from the drugs squad placing his car at the farmhouse last Sunday. It must have been something important to take him out there himself. “Anything from the searches?”

  “Nothing as yet. Not surprising, really. Whatever involvement he’ll have had, he’s bound to have covered his tracks well. He’d never have come home otherwise.”

  “Check with the electoral role, will you? See if there are any other properties registered under his name. We’re searching the obvious – his house, the businesses. It’s a long shot, but got to be worth a try. Those guns have to be somewhere.”

  She nodded.

  “What did he have on him when he was arrested?”

  “Just his phone really. We’ve sent it off to be examined, requested call records. Nothing significant in the rest of his luggage.”

  “See if you can get his phone sited for last Sunday evening too.”

  ***

  “Have you ever heard the name Luke Denton?” A line of sunlight streamed through the window of the flat, giving the appearance of a white sash across the detective’s dark shirt.

  Becca reached across, grabbed hold of Nancy’s hand as she shook her head.

  “We believe he was the man who sent the note, the video footage, and waited for you outside your flat,” Russell said.

  Nancy swallowed. “Who is he?”

  “He’s a local man, works in security. Mostly watches doors at the town’s clubs. Occasionally he also enforces unofficial debts.”

  Nancy slid her eyes to Becca. “I don’t understand.”

  “Our investigation is still ongoing,” Russell said. “We are looking into everything, including any possible links with Upton Grange Farm.”

  Nancy screwed up her forehead. “You mean Evan?”

  “We’re not sure at this stage.”

  “But the note said that debts passed to next of kin.

  “Next of kin, in their eyes, may mean anybody close to the debtor. Including girlfriends.”

  “What happens now?” Becca asked.

  “Mr Denton has been charged with demanding money with menaces which he denied. He’ll be kept at the station over the weekend and appear at the magistrate’s court on Monday. We are also looking at him for some other offences. In view of the nature of the charge, there’s a good chance he’ll be remanded in custody.”

  “Thank goodness.” The relief in Becca’s voice was palpable.

  Nancy stared at the detective, bewildered. “Are you saying that Evan borrowed money?”

  “No. I’m saying that we have to look into every possibility to establish exactly what happened. We are not ruling anything out at the moment.”

  Nancy pushed her back into the sofa. She wasn’t sure how many more surprises she could handle.

  The detective stood. “Anyway, I wanted to let you know that we have somebody in custody.”

  “We’re really thankful. Aren’t we, Nancy?”

  Nancy looked up at them both and gave a feeble smile.

  Becca went downstairs to see her mother after the detective left, leaving Nancy on the sofa, picking through the detective’s words.

  Perhaps Evan was struggling for money. She knew the farm didn’t pay well, he’d mentioned it a couple of times. The detective had been cagey, careful not to share more details. But six thousand pounds seemed a hefty amount to borrow. And for what? Surely he would have told her?

  Although… Evan wasn’t completely truthful. He’d lied about who he was.

  Her mind raced. What did the real Evan Baker even look like anyway? Did he know that somebody was using the same identity as him? Was that even possible?

  The newspaper article about the rape trial pushed into her mind. Her meeting with Audrey.

  Her life was like a tangled ball of wool, and she couldn’t work out how she was ever going to unravel it.

  She grabbed her phone. She needed to get out of there.

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Jackman switched off the screen in front of him. After spending the last hour watching Keane carry out the initial interview with Nick Anderson, he felt tired and worn. Anderson knew the score, even better than the smug solicitor he had beside him. They had nothing, no evidence to link him with the mur
der apart from that they knew he was in the area, and a few fingerprints at the barn to link him to the cannabis cultivation. No proof whatsoever.

  Jackman rubbed the heels of his hands into his eyes and inadvertently caught sight of the clock out of the corner of his eye: 7.30pm. He sighed, grabbed his mobile and called home. Celia answered almost immediately. “Hi, Dad.”

  “Hey. How was your day?”

  “I gave Adrian his first taste of Stratford. We were proper tourists – went to Mary Arden’s Farm and Anne Hathaway’s Cottage. He even wanted to see if we could get late tickets to the theatre, but luckily there were none left.”

  Jackman laughed. Celia certainly didn’t share her mother’s love of Shakespeare.

  “What time are you back?” she asked. “We were just thinking about dinner.”

  “I’m not sure, could be late. We’ve a suspect in custody. House searches.” The line went quiet. “You still there?”

  “Yes. It’s just… I was hoping to see a bit more of you.”

  “I’m sorry, love. I’ll make it up to you both tomorrow evening, I promise. We’ll all go out for dinner somewhere together. My treat.”

  “Okay,” she said. Her voice was laced with disappointment. “Better make it somewhere really good, it’s my last night.”

  For some time after she’d rang off, Jackman pondered her reaction. Clearly it was important to her that he spend more time at home because Adrian was here. She must be very keen on him, Jackman thought. He scratched the back of his neck uncomfortably.

  Russell knocked on his door. He beckoned her in. “I hope you’ve got some good news for me,” he said. “Or failing that, a takeaway. I’m starving.”

  She laughed. “Nothing from any of the search teams, I’m afraid. They’re both calling it a night. And no other properties registered to Anderson, apart from his wife’s business. The phone companies can’t get us call records until the morning, but his mobile phone pinged the masts in the vicinity of the farmhouse on Sunday night, which places him there at between 10.51 and 11.06pm.

  “Thank goodness,” Jackman said. “At least that gives us a reason to keep him. Tell Keane to let his solicitor know.” She turned to go as another thought nudged him. “Is Mrs Anderson still here?” he asked.

  “As far as I know. It seems she’s staging a sit-in.”

  Jackman took the stairs down to reception two at a time. He could hear Davies’ heavy breaths behind him, labouring to keep up. “Why do you want to speak to her?” she asked.

  “I’m not sure exactly,” Jackman said.

  She rolled her eyes at him as they reached the bottom, but said nothing.

  The reception area was almost empty as Jackman opened the back entrance. The woman immediately looked up. Jackman strode across the tiled flooring, introduced himself and Davies.

  “When are you going to let my husband go?” she asked. She tilted her head towards the kids. “It’s already past their bedtime.”

  “He’s just helping us with some enquiries,” Jackman said. “You should go home. He’ll be in touch soon.”

  “I’m not budging.”

  “I want to go to the toilet.” The young girl was pulling on her mother’s forearm.

  Mrs Anderson sighed. “All right.” She looked across at her son. “Come on, Kyle.”

  He didn’t look up. “I’m not going in the girl’s toilets.”

  “Oh, for Christ’s sake!”

  “I’ll stay here with him,” Jackman said. “Until you get back.”

  She eyed him warily, looked back at her son. “Come and sit down on a chair and wait for us, Kyle. We’ll only be a few minutes.”

  The boy moved across, took the chair next to Jackman, gave him a quick glance from beneath his fringe and continued to play a game on his phone. He looked no more than nine years old. Motorbikes raced around the screen.

  “You like bikes?” Jackman asked.

  The boy nodded, but didn’t look up.

  “Me too,” Jackman continued. “I used to have a Ducati.”

  “What colour?”

  “Red.”

  The boy looked up at him, his eyes wide. “My dad’s got a yellow one.”

  “Has he? Nice. You ever been on it?”

  The boy nodded warily, glanced back at the toilets before he spoke. “Only outside the garage. He’s got a Harley Davidson too.”

  “Wow!” Jackman said. He exchanged a quick glance with Davies. There’d been no mention of motorbikes by the search teams. “Have you been on that?”

  He nodded. His eyes were like saucers. “It goes really fast.”

  “Does it? You did well to get the speed up on your driveway.”

  “Not on our driveway.”

  “Oh?”

  Another quick glance at the toilets. “In the blue garages behind the big road. Dad’s got two.” He nodded, as if he was sharing a special secret. “Mummy doesn’t know about them.”

  The door to the toilets banged against the wall as it opened. Mrs Anderson was dragging her daughter by the hand, clearly agitated. “When are you going to let my husband out?” she said. “She’s wet herself, she’s so upset.”

  “I needed the toilet!” the girl said, but her pleading words were ignored.

  “I really can’t say,” Jackman said. “He’s with his solicitor now. Can we get you anything?”

  Mrs Anderson huffed, her face taut.

  “Look, why don’t you go home?” Davies said. “We’ll call you as soon as he is able to be released.”

  A wail rose in the background. “He pinched me,” cried the girl.

  Carly Anderson reddened as the girl threw herself on her mother. Davies put on her gentlest tone, worked on her some more and finally Carly Anderson agreed and walked out into the night, flatly refusing the offer of transport home.

  As soon as the door was closed, Jackman hiked up the stairs, closely followed by Davies. They approached the map in the incident room, worked their way through possible locations. “Anyone know where there are banks of garages in town, with blue doors, close to a main road?” Jackman asked the room.

  “I keep my camper in one off the Birmingham Road,” Keane said. “Not ideal because it’s tucked away and the kids ride their motorbikes up and down, but they’re council owned and the rent is low. All the doors are blue.”

  “Find out if any of them are rented by either Anderson or his wife. Try her maiden name too.” He grabbed his mobile. “I’ll get another search team to stand by.”

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Nancy wandered underneath the arrangement of clock faces that decorated the entrance to The Fish public house, through the restaurant and into the bar area. This was the first time she’d been here since losing Evan. The familiarity of the surroundings made her uneasy.

  Ryan had sounded relieved to hear from her earlier. He was pleased that the police had apprehended a man for harassing her, keen to go out for a drink somewhere ‘to celebrate’. He’d hesitated when she’d suggested The Fish, although hadn’t argued against it. ‘If it makes you feel better,’ was all he’d said.

  The bartender gave a smile as Nancy approached. “We were so sorry to hear the news, Nancy,” she said. “How are you?”

  It struck Nancy that she didn’t know the bartender’s name. She’d been so wrapped up with Evan, she’d never taken the trouble to find out. “I’m okay, thanks.”

  “What can I get you?”

  “I’ll have a vodka and coke,” Nancy said. She looked back at Ryan.

  “Lager top, please,” he said.

  Nancy allowed herself a furtive glance along the bar. Her eyes rested on Evan’s seat at the end. Part of her expected to see him there, supping at his drink. Her eyes dropped to the scrapes on the tiles beneath where she used to pull the next stool across so they sat together, enveloped in their own little world.

  “You all right, Nance?”

  The sound of Ryan’s voice snapped her back to the present. “Sure.” He passed her a drink,
stepped back to move away. “Wait.” She grabbed his forearm. “Let’s sit beside the bar. We can see what’s going on from here.”

  Ryan turned his head to view the pub. In contrast to the tables in the restaurant around the other side, teeming with families enjoying a meal together, the bar area was sleepy for a Friday evening: a table of lads sat in the far corner, a couple on a round table at the side, an older couple leant against the old fireplace. When he looked back at her he was frowning. “There’s not much going on in here tonight,” he said.

  Nancy ignored him and seated herself on the nearest bar stool, clearing the condensation on her glass.

  Ryan hovered awkwardly next to her. “How are you feeling now?”

  “I’m all right.” She didn’t look up. “Thanks for… you know. Looking out for me.”

  “I did it for my own peace of mind. Would have followed you myself if I could have got away from work. Must be good to put it behind you though,” Ryan said. “To feel safe again.” They sipped their drinks a moment. Nancy was suddenly aware of music playing in the background. She recognised Katy Perry’s voice, although couldn’t place the song. It blurred into the background, swimming around her head with the rest of the events of the last week.

  “Explains one thing though,” Ryan said, placing his glass down.

  “What’s that?”

  “Why Cheryl was so upset. Maybe she was telling the truth.”

  Nancy pondered this a moment. She hadn’t properly spoken with her mum since accusing her of drinking again. Perhaps she should call her. She reached down for her bag, moved her hand inside for her phone. Although… She couldn’t be absolutely sure the man harassing her wasn’t connected to Cheryl. The detective said they were still looking into things, trying to establish what had happened. And it wouldn’t be the first time Cheryl had reneged on her promises. She let go of her phone and pulled back.

  Nancy glugged the vodka back, banged the glass on the bar. It was loud, too loud.

  “Nance, you okay?” Ryan said.