by Rob Ashman
Kray stopped marching about and bent over putting her hands on her knees. Speaking without breathing was an exhausting thing to do.
‘I know Palmer did it. Every time I think of him, these…’ Kray pulled at her shirt exposing the scars on her right shoulder, ‘go into overdrive. I know it was him, but I can’t prove it, and tomorrow, the DNA will come back. Then, it will be all over for Sadie Raynor.’
Kray slumped down onto her haunches, her anger having left her. She leaned forward grasping the top of the stone and rocking back and forth.
‘I’m not sure I’m cut out for this anymore. It cost you your life, nearly took mine and is now going to turn me into a fucking crazy woman.’ She felt the cool breeze touch the back of her neck. ‘Yeah, I know I was always crazy, so how would you know the difference.’
Kray rested her forehead against the cold stone. Tears welled in her eyes. ‘I’m lost without you,’ she whispered.
She heard a voice inside her head.
It was not her husband. It was Palmer. He was spouting off the same words that were recorded in that bloody interview – what the hell was it doing ruining such a moment? Palmer’s words raced around inside her head. She tried to drown them out with Joe’s voice, but it was no good. Palmer got louder and louder. The same interview that played over and over, keeping her awake at night and rousing her early in the morning. His words banging on and on.
Kray wanted to be with Joe. She wanted to hear his voice.
‘Agghh!’ She shoved herself away from the stone. ‘This fucking job!’ she yelled into the night air.
Then, she stopped. Palmer’s words, repeating in a loop.
The scars on her body burned red hot against the chill of the night.
That was it. The voices stopped.
He’s made his first mistake.
45
Kray watched as the first splats of rain hit the windscreen. The orange light from the streetlamps washed the dashboard in a parchment yellow glow. Her long coat was wrapped around her legs to shield them from the cold leeching into the car. Despite having just four hours’ sleep, her mind was sharp as a tack.
Normally, a visit to the graveside would be followed by consuming a bottle of wine and a chocolate bar while soaking under a foot of bubbles in the bath. But not last night. Kray had spent the rest of the evening trawling through online back copies of the Telegraph, seventy-two of them, to be precise. She went to bed sober and had eaten proper food, if a mince-meat and pasta something from the corner shop, warmed up in the microwave, could be considered proper.
She watched the front of Mr Woo’s Takeaway and waited. The digits on the clock told her it was five-thirty am. The wedding ring spun round and round on her finger.
Kray saw a dark shadow appear against the glass in the shop door. The door swung inwards and a figure stepped out into the rain, pulling a hood over his head. The figure let the door close behind him and walked up the street towards Kray. She sank down in her seat. After twenty yards the man turned left, and Kray saw the indicator lights flash orange in the dark. The car pulled away. Palmer had left for work.
Kray looked at her watch. Was it too early?
She picked up her phone and dialled.
‘Roz?’ Tavener croaked.
‘Yes, sorry about the early call. I need you to do something for me.’
‘Are you okay?’
‘Yes, I’m fine. I need you to go to the station and dig out the search warrant we used to gain entry into Palmers flat.’
‘What? Why would you want that?’
‘I don’t have time to explain now. Can you do that for me?’
‘Err, yeah, I suppose so.’
‘Meet me at Palmer’s place as soon as you have it.’
‘But it’s out of date. Why would you–’
‘I’ll explain everything when you get here. Can you do that for me?’
‘Yes, I’ll sort it.’
‘Thanks. Oh, and Duncan? Can we keep this between ourselves for now?’
‘Sure.’
The line went dead. Now all Kray had to do was try not to freeze while she waited.
The passenger door sprung open and Tavener slid into the front seat carrying two coffees in one hand. He gave one to Kray. A blast of cold air followed him into the car, something Kray could well do without. It was still dark and the rain had stopped, the wind had a bitter chill.
‘Sorry it took so long. Quade and Bagley were sniffing around, and I figured you wanted this under the radar.’ He handed over one of the drinks.
‘Bloody hell, they were in early, obviously didn’t drink enough last night. Thanks, I need this.’ Kray cupped both hands around the cup and enjoyed the warmth penetrating into her hands.
‘How long have you been here?’
‘Feels like half my sodding life. I needed to be sure Palmer was out. He left for work around five-thirty.’
‘You’ve been here since–’
‘Don’t, just…don’t.’
‘Do you want to tell me what this is all about?’
‘Yeah, but before I do, I just wanted to say that I was a jerk in the pub last night. And I’ve probably been a jerk on numerous other occasions and not realised it. I know you only have my best interests at heart.’
‘You were a jerk.’
‘Yeah, well…’
‘Was that an apology?’
‘Don’t push it.’
‘Apology accepted.’ Tavener raised his coffee cup and she bumped hers against it. ‘Now, what is this all about?’ He put his free hand into his jacket and brought out the search warrant.
‘Do you remember when we brought Palmer in for interview?’ she said, staring into the middle distance.
‘Yes, I remember.’
‘What he said has been churning around in my head. I’ve had this nagging feeling that something wasn’t right. An inconsistency which I couldn’t put my finger on, it’s been driving me nuts.’
‘And…’
‘You spread the photographs of the victims in front of him and his very words were, “My God, that’s Nigel Chapman and Teresa Franklin. I recognise her hair”.’
Tavener shook his head. ‘I don’t recall what he said, but I do remember he recognised the bodies.’
‘Teresa Franklin had bright yellow hair.’
‘She did.’
‘There is a head and shoulders shot of her at the top of every column she’s written for the Telegraph. I trawled through them all last night. She has red hair, blue hair, silver with purple streaks, but never yellow. How could he say he recognised her hair when he told us he had not seen her after being released from prison?’
‘Maybe he meant the cut, or the fact that it’s a wacky colour.’
‘Maybe or maybe not. I think he knew her hair was yellow because he’d seen her. He made a mistake.’
‘Okay, but you’ve still not told me why we need this?’ He held up the warrant.
‘Because of this…’ Kray pointed at a van pulling up outside the takeaway. A man jumped out and opened up the back. A small woman with grey hair got out of the passenger seat and opened up the shop. The man pulled boxes of vegetables from the back and carried them in.
‘You wanted to be here when the veg was delivered?’
‘No, I wanted to be here when Joseph Woo’s mother opened up the takeaway to get ready for the day. Come on.’
They stepped from the car and headed towards the van. The man came outside and closed the back doors. He got in and drove away.
Kray pushed open the door to the takeaway. ‘Hello,’ Kray chanted. ‘Hello, Mrs Woo.’
A face appeared from the back. ‘No, sorry, we closed.’
‘Mrs Woo, I am Acting DCI Kray.’ She held out her warrant card. ‘We met the other day.’ The old woman’s eyes flashed with recognition. ‘This is my colleague Detective Tavener.’
‘Yes, yes, I remember.’ She came around the counter to meet them. ‘My son is not here.’
‘
We don’t want to talk to your son, Mrs Woo. We want to look at the flat upstairs. We have a search warrant.’
Tavener was cringing. What the hell are you doing?
Mrs Woo took the document. ‘You want to see upstairs?’
‘Yes, if we can, that would be very helpful.’
‘Okay.’ She gestured towards the stairs.
‘We don’t have a key, Mrs Woo. Do you keep a spare key here at the shop?’
‘Yes, yes, we do.’
She turned and walked to the back. Kray glanced at Tavener, whose eyebrows could not get any higher.
Mrs Woo came back with a key in her hand. ‘Give it back to me.’
‘Thank you,’ Kray took it and they went up the flight of stairs to the front door of the flat.
‘I can’t believe you just did that,’ Tavener said under his breath.
‘You can go now, if you like?’ Kray paused with the key in the lock.
Tavener shook his head.
The front door opened and they filed into the lounge.
‘What are we looking for?’ he asked.
‘A way out.’
Tavener tilted his head towards the open door.
‘No, another way out. One that doesn’t take you through the front of the shop. Palmer’s alibis rely on the fact that this place has one way in and one way out. He has eye witnesses that put him at the property at the times of the murders. We need to prove otherwise.’
‘And if we do, it will be totally inadmissible.’
‘I’ll worry about that later.’
The lounge and kitchenette had cream painted walls with cheap pictures and no windows. Kray started by looking into the cupboards and rapping her knuckles against the walls behind them. Tavener took the bedroom. The same paint had been applied to this room with a single bed in the corner and standalone wardrobes. There were no windows or skylights.
‘Is there a hatch leading into the attic?’ Kray asked.
‘No, nothing. It looks solid.’
Kray was on her hands and knees, feeling around the perimeter of the room looking for anything loose.
Tavener emerged from the bedroom and went to the front door. ‘I’ll check he can’t get onto the roof from the first-floor landing.’
Kray got to her feet and pushed open the bathroom door.
The room was cold compared to the rest of the flat. Kray rapped the walls with her knuckles and stamped her heel onto the floor. Everything was solid. She opened up the shower cubical and did the same with the tiled surfaces. She went back to the walls and tapped her way around the room. Nothing. She opened up the wall-mounted medicine cabinet and saw the boxes of tablets sitting on the shelf. The door clicked shut.
She stopped, holding onto the wash basin with both hands and stared at her reflection in the mirror.
‘What the hell are you doing?’ she said under her breath. ‘You don’t even know what you’re looking for.’ She dropped her chin onto her chest.
Kray became aware of a chill on the side of her face. It felt like a draft. She looked up, trying to locate the source. It was coming from the frosted glass window.
She held out her hand and could feel cold air blowing onto her fingertips. It was coming from the beading which ran around the inside of the double-glazing panel. She moved her hand around the glass. At the corner, it was blowing a gale.
Kray turned on the torch on her phone and shone the piercing light onto the window frame. Running along the beaded edges were tiny indentations and scratches. She went into the kitchen and came back with a knife. She then eased the tip of the blade between the beading and the frame. The plastic trim came away. She slid the blade down and the beading separated from the moulding exposing the double-glazed glass panel below.
A grenade went off in her head.
How could I have been so stupid?
Kray and Tavener scurried downstairs, thanked Mrs Woo and handed back the key. They walked along the street and hung a left. The backyards of the properties butted up against one another with a narrow alleyway running between them. They darted up the alley until they reached the back of the takeaway.
‘Well, I couldn’t do it,’ said Tavener.
‘No, but then, you’re built like a brick shit house.’
‘Thanks very much.’
‘You know what I mean.’
‘Palmer is, what? Five feet nine, twelve and a half stones. He could fit through there.’
Kray and Tavener were looking up at Palmer’s bathroom window. Directly below it was a wall that ran along the length of the backyard, separating it from the yard next door.
Tavener put both hands on top of the wall and heaved himself up.
‘There is a back door on either side and a window, but if you weren’t looking up, you probably wouldn’t see.’
‘That’s how he does it. He prises the beading away from the frame and the double-glazing panel comes out. He slips through the gap, drops down onto the wall and he’s away.’
‘After making sure he puts on a good performance downstairs in the takeaway so people know he’s there. Bloody simple.’
‘Bloody genius is what it is,’ Kray said.
‘We need to figure out a way for Bagley to find this. But now he has Raynor in custody, he’s not going to be interested.’
‘Not unless we make it interesting for him.’
46
My head feels like it’s about to explode. One minute, my vision is fuzzy, and then the next, I’m seeing two of everything. Not helped by the fact that my arms and legs keep going numb. I feel like shit.
I didn’t bother to call in sick for work. It’s not as though I’m going back there. I can picture Burke stomping around trying to cover my job, secretly relieved that a member of his team wasn’t going to wind up sprawled on the floor with the line stopped. He’s probably looking forward to me coming back so he can roast my arse and give me another warning. He’s going to have to take out his sadistic frustration on someone else.
I’ve reached the conclusion that my deterioration isn’t due to the mishap with my tablets. I’m getting worse by the hour and struggling to function. They said this might happen.
I collapsed into bed last night and everything went black. It was like somebody flicked a switch and I was out cold. When I woke this morning, I felt hungry which I thought was a good sign, and my every intention was to go to work as normal and complete my shift. But by the time I got out of the shower, the problems of the previous day came flooding back. When I left the house, I could hardly put one foot in front of the other. Every muscle in my body screamed at me to climb back into bed, but I feel time is running short, and I have things to take care of.
Nothing seems to help anymore. I’ve drank strong coffee, eaten a mountain of food from the fridge, but still have no energy. I lost track of the tablets as I popped them from their blister packs and into my mouth. I can barely keep my eyes open. And what the fuck is going on with these tremors that sweep through my body?
I gaze down at the scrunched-up pieces of paper scattered across the table. My thoughts refuse to behave. I cannot construct a sentence without it descending into gibberish. I have written about half a page which is coherent, but the rest is a fucking mess.
I had this great idea of making another video but every time I hit the red button, my mind freezes – I mumble and trip over my words. I’ve lost count of the number of times I’ve pressed play only to stop and delete the damned thing.
I put the pen down, wander into the lounge and collapse on the sofa, the soft cushions swallowing me up. I need to get my act together and sort out the final chapter. Up to now, everything has gone to plan, but the final piece of the jigsaw is proving difficult to manoeuvre into place. Maybe if I have a short nap I’ll be refreshed when I wake. I need to get it done. The police have been slow off the mark but they are gaining ground fast. That Roz Kray is sharp and it’s only a matter of time.
I wonder how my darling ex-wife is doing?
&nbs
p; My eyes close and drift away.
47
Kray and Tavener split up when they reached the station; he went to the canteen while she headed for her office. It was mid-morning.
The incident room sounded like the pub the night before.
‘Having another party?’ she asked a young detective.
‘The DNA results came back on Raynor’s hair. It’s a dead match.’
Kray feigned a delighted smile and went off in search of Bagley. She knew exactly where she would find him.
Sure enough, he was sitting in Quade’s office with a coffee in hand. Kray knocked on the door.
‘Hey, Roz,’ Quade said. ‘Come in, we were just talking about you.’
I fucking bet you were.
‘I heard the good news,’ Kray said.
‘Yes, everything pointed in that direction but it’s good to get positive confirmation.’ Bagley had his usual dog with two dicks look on his face. ‘We were thinking of holding a press conference this afternoon.’
‘Sounds like a good idea,’ said Kray. ‘Though, there is one piece of the jigsaw missing.’
‘Oh, how so?’ asked Quade.
‘Sadie Raynor formulated a highly elaborate plan to frame her ex-husband and we have enough evidence to put her away for a long time. But…’
‘What, what’s missing,’ asked Bagley.
‘Well, several things, actually – the toes.’ Quade and Bagley looked at each other. ‘Raynor went to a lot of trouble to ensure the murders were in line with the nursery rhyme. Even to the extent of forcing Teresa Franklin to eat beef. But we’ve never found the toes.’
‘Maybe she discarded them, threw them away,’ Bagley said.
