by Adam Croft
‘In which case we’re not looking at serious players, are we?’ Ryan continued. ‘If we were, they would’ve finished the job properly, surely?’
Steve Wing looked askance at Ryan. He was pretty sure he’d heard these words somewhere before.
‘That’s not a bad point,’ Wendy said. ‘Either that or it was nothing to do with any of her investigations.’
‘So what other reason would someone have to try to bludgeon a young mother to death?’ Culverhouse asked.
‘Some sort of affair?’ Frank Vine piped up. ‘Might be the wife of someone she’d been sleeping with. Happens all the time.’
Culverhouse shook his head. ‘I dunno. That doesn’t seem right to me. Women tend to react differently when it comes to revenge. Out and out violence against the person isn’t what I’d expect.’
Ryan raised an eyebrow, though she didn’t say anything.
‘Might explain why the attacker legged it when they saw the daughter, though,’ Frank replied. ‘Mother’s instinct and all that. Maybe she suddenly realised what she’d done.’
‘Still doesn’t quite sit right,’ Culverhouse said, after thinking about it for a moment. ‘We’ll see what we dig up when the techies have gone through her phone, but I wouldn’t expect much on that front either.’
‘I wouldn’t be surprised if it was connected with her work in some way, though, sir,’ Ryan said, picking up a selection of printed papers. ‘I mean, she’s done some pretty decent hatchet jobs in her time. She’s single-handedly ended some pretty prominent careers, by the looks of it. She’s investigated government corruption, misappropriation of charity funds, public finance scandals... All sorts of things. What’s to say someone didn’t get wind that they were being looked into and decided to put a stop to it? If they acted on their own, or if they weren’t big players, it fits the cocked-up MO.’
‘Doesn’t really help us get any closer, though, does it?’ Culverhouse said. ‘Until we know what she was investigating it doesn’t tell us anything.’
‘No, but we might have a bit of a lead on that,’ Ryan replied. ‘Looking through the articles I found on the web, most of them were either published by or originated with the Inquirer. Tanya Henderson worked freelance, but she seemed to have pretty strong links to that paper and it looks like she gave all her big scoops to them first. Might be worth a trip down to their offices to see what they know.’
‘Agreed. I’ll give them a call and we’ll pop down later this afternoon.’
Ryan shifted her weight onto her other foot. ‘Ah. I can’t do this afternoon. I’ve got a doctor’s appointment at five.’
Culverhouse shook his head slightly. ‘And?’
‘And I was going to ask you if I could get off a bit early to get there.’
‘Fine with me,’ Culverhouse replied.
‘But I was just thinking about going to speak to the people at the Inquirer.’
‘What about it?’ Culverhouse said, coldly. ‘I never said you were bloody coming. I’ll take Knight.’
Wendy looked up at him. ‘Guv, I’ve got a long list of things here that I need to—’
‘Sorry, Knight, I don’t remember asking your permission.’
Wendy nodded, knowing from experience that it was best to leave Culverhouse to it when he was in this sort of mood.
‘Steve, what did you get from the door-to-door stuff?’ Culverhouse asked, overlooking Ryan Mackenzie once again.
‘No-one saw or heard anything, guv. The first person to know of anything was the next-door neighbour, Larry Aldridge. The first thing any of the other neighbours saw or heard was the police and ambulance turning up. One house over the road has CCTV on the front of the building, but unfortunately they’re too law abiding for their own good and it doesn’t record anything past the end of their own driveway.’
‘Brilliant,’ Culverhouse said. ‘Just brilliant. Why is it that everyone in this town seems to know everyone else’s business until it comes to finding witnesses, and then Mildenheath turns into the Bermuda fucking Triangle?’
He stared at his team, but no one answered.
17
Debbie Weston was not only a fine Detective Constable, but she was also a trained Family Liaison Officer. She didn’t tend to do much FLO work nowadays, but she was still called on fairly often to speak to witnesses or other people where a certain level of sensitivity was required. When Jack Culverhouse was around, that was more often than not.
Although Steve Wing and Ryan Mackenzie had already been to Larry and Margaret Aldridge’s house, they’d only spoken fairly briefly to them and not at all to Tanya Henderson’s young children. That, for her sins, would be Debbie Weston’s job.
‘What have they been told so far?’ she asked Margaret Aldridge as she watched the woman’s husband making three cups of strong tea. Their father was still at the hospital, keeping a bedside vigil, and hadn’t yet seen his kids.
Margaret shook her head. ‘Not much. What can we tell them? Only that their mummy isn’t well and she’s being looked after by the doctors, and that we need to look after them until Mummy’s better.’
Debbie smiled. ‘That’s good. We tend to find it’s best not to give anyone false hope, but to keep things positive at the same time. It’s a tricky balance.’
‘Oh, I know,’ Margaret replied. ‘It’s been horrendous, not knowing what to say to the poor things. I mean, you just don’t, do you? It’s not something you ever plan for.’
‘No. And thankfully it’s not something that happens to most people, but I have to say you’re doing an admirable job.’ Debbie smiled at her, hoping to relieve at least some of the tension in the room.
‘Is there any more news from the hospital?’ Larry asked, handing Debbie her cup of tea.
‘Nothing yet. They reckon she’s stabilised, though, which is a good sign. She’s not getting any worse, at least.’
‘But she’s not getting any better?’ Larry asked, frowning.
Debbie paused for a moment. ‘Well, we don’t know. There are lots of different markers for improvement, I understand, but I do know that the doctors are keeping a very close eye on her. That’s the whole reason behind the induced coma.’
‘I just can’t stop thinking about it,’ Margaret said. ‘Those poor little blighters. Who on earth would do such a thing?’
‘That’s what me and my colleagues are trying to find out,’ Debbie said. ‘Is it alright if I speak to Archie and Lola now?’
‘Yes, of course.’ Margaret ushered Debbie through to the living room, putting on a rather unconvincing smile as she said, ‘Archie, Lola, this is Debbie. She’s one of the people who are helping your mummy. But she needs to ask you a few questions so that you can help her too, okay?’
The children nodded, smiling slightly. It always struck Debbie how the innocence of childhood seemed to work in situations like this.
‘Lola, do you want to go and help Mrs Aldridge in the kitchen for a couple of minutes? I’ll talk to Archie first, and then I’ll talk to you.’
Margaret took Lola through to the kitchen. She seemed happy enough to go.
‘What are you watching, Archie?’ Debbie asked, pointing to the television.
‘Spongebob Squarepants.’
‘Are you enjoying it?’
‘S’alright.’
Debbie gave it a moment before speaking again. ‘Archie, do you remember last night? Do you remember going to bed at home and then coming over here?’
Archie nodded.
‘What do you remember?’ Debbie asked.
‘Don’t know,’ came the shy reply.
‘Can you tell me about when you went to bed?’
Archie nodded.
‘Who put you to bed?’
‘Mummy.’
‘And did you go to sleep?’
He nodded again.
‘Okay. And do you remember waking up?’
Archie seemed to think about that for a moment. Then he nodded.
‘Where were you wh
en you woke up?’
‘In my bed.’
‘Okay, great. And who was there?’
Archie looked up at Larry, who was sitting in the armchair with his cup of tea. ‘Mr Aldridge.’
Larry looked at Debbie and swallowed.
‘And then what happened, Archie?’ she asked.
‘He said I had to go next door with him because something had happened.’
‘Did he say what had happened?’
Archie shook his head. ‘He said he would tell me later, but we couldn’t stay in the house.’
‘Then what happened?’ Debbie could see Archie’s eyes narrowing. ‘It’s okay,’ she added quickly. ‘You aren’t in any trouble. We just need to find out what happened so we can help your mummy.’
Archie swallowed, then appeared to grow in confidence. ‘Mummy always says not to go with strangers, but Mr Aldridge lives next door so I think he’s okay. And I could tell that it was serious.’
‘That’s very sensible of you, Archie. Your mummy’s right, but you did the right thing. What happened next?’
‘We went downstairs and out the side door to Mr Aldridge’s house.’
‘Okay. Did you wake up at all before Mr Aldridge came in?’
Archie shook his head.
‘Did you hear any noises?’
There was a pause. Then he shook his head again.
Debbie thanked Archie, then got him to swap places with his younger sister. She smiled as she saw Archie walking back into the living room with Lola, holding her hand.
When Archie was gone, Debbie started asking Lola some similar questions. Again, Lola said that her mum had put her to bed earlier that night and that she’d fallen asleep soon after.
‘Do you remember waking up?’ Debbie asked her.
‘Yes,’ Lola said, quietly.
‘Can you tell me about it?’
Lola nodded.
‘It’s okay. Go on.’ Debbie smiled encouragingly.
Lola blinked a few times before speaking. ‘I heard the doorbell. I thought it might be Daddy.’
‘I see. So what did you do?’
‘I got out of bed and went to the stairs to look.’
Debbie steeled herself. ‘Okay. And what did you see?’
‘Mummy was lying on the floor,’ Lola said, matter-of-factly.
‘And did you see anything else?’
She nodded. ‘A person standing near her.’
‘Can you tell me what the person looked like?’ Debbie asked.
Lola shook her head. ‘He was wearing black. On his head and his legs and his... on everywhere,’ she said, gesturing towards her torso.
‘Okay. Did you see him doing anything?’
Lola shook her head again. ‘Just standing. And then he ran off.’
‘Did you see which way he ran?’
Again, a shake of the head.
‘Then what happened?’
Lola started blinking again, quite rapidly. ‘I went downstairs and I could see Mummy was hurt, so I went next door.’
‘That’s very sensible,’ Debbie said. ‘What did you do when you got there?’
‘I knocked on the door and then Mr Aldridge came down and Mrs Aldridge took me inside.’
‘Did you go back to your house at all?’ Debbie asked.
Again, Lola shook her head.
‘Thank you, Lola, you’ve been very helpful.’ Debbie smiled; she never ceased to be amazed at the bravery and innocence of children.
If only all adults were the same, she thought.
18
Although Wendy was happy to have been asked to accompany Culverhouse to the offices of The Inquirer, she did have more pressing matters to attend to. Besides which, she asked herself, did it really need two officers to travel down to London? The team was short-staffed as it was, and while the addition of Ryan Mackenzie might help in the long-run, the time it would take for her to get up to speed with how things worked at Mildenheath CID would effectively make them even more short-staffed in the short-term.
As far as Wendy was concerned, this would be the perfect task to give to Ryan, having her accompany Culverhouse instead. She could shadow him and watch how things were done, even if they weren’t usually the best ways of doing things. But Culverhouse was a stubborn old bugger. If he’d decided he didn’t like Mackenzie, that was it. He’d do all he could to undermine her and show her who was really in charge.
While Wendy wouldn’t have traded places with her in a million years, she quite liked Ryan. She reminded her a lot of herself when she first started out: keen to make a strong impression, and aware that she needed to stand up for herself in this male-dominated environment. But she’d since learnt that there were certain ways to do that — ways that worked and didn’t get people’s backs up. She was sure Ryan would pick that up soon enough — after all, she seemed like a smart girl — but then again, Culverhouse had been knocking around a lot longer, and he still had no idea how to work through a day without getting people’s backs up.
The offices of The Inquirer weren’t half as plush as Wendy had expected. She half thought she might end up walking through a big revolving glass door on Fleet Street, men in suits barging past her on their mobile phones as stories flew in across the news desk, while pictures of the paper’s previous front pages stared down at her from every inch of available wall space. What she actually found was a rather mundane and run-of-the-mill office which might just as well have been that of a telemarketing firm.
Young school leavers sat around either in baggy Aran sweaters or thin t-shirts with the sleeves rolled right up, exposing their tattooed arms. She thought that if she closed her eyes and concentrated, it would probably smell of vinyl records and political pessimism.
They sat down in the waiting area, which was actually just a corner of the office that had three contraptions they called sofas but were actually just slightly padded platforms with no backs.
One of the journalists — a rolled-up-t-shirt one — came over to see if they wanted a drink while they were waiting. ‘Coffee? Tea?’ he asked, without saying hello or introducing himself.
Wendy said she’d have tea, Culverhouse opted for coffee.
‘Americano? Cappuccino? Latte? Macchiato? Espresso?’ came the next question.
‘No, coffee,’ Culverhouse replied.
‘What sort of coffee?’ the journalist asked.
Culverhouse just looked at him. ‘In a mug.’
The journalist raised his eyebrows and walked off in the direction of the kitchen.
‘Shouldn’t have any trouble finding a mug,’ Culverhouse said as the journalist left. ‘There’s a fucking dozen of them sitting out there in stupid jumpers.’ Wendy wanted to laugh, but decided it would be best not to humour him. ‘Says a lot about our national press these days. What’s the betting that they’re just sitting there churning out that “seven ways to tell your partner is cheating on you” bollocks for Twitter?’
‘I think The Inquirer is a little more professional than that,’ Wendy replied. ‘They do serious investigative journalism.’
‘Christ. That’s even worse. Just think what the fucking redtop rags must be like.’
A few moments later the journalist returned with their drinks, and Culverhouse took his minute cup of coffee without saying a word.
Before long, they were met by a woman in her mid to late fifties, who introduced herself as Susan Kellerman. ‘I’m the editor,’ she said. ‘Do you want to come through to my office?’
When the three of them got to Susan Kellerman’s office, she sat them down and perched on the corner of her desk, one leg crossed over the other, her hands planted firmly on one knee.
‘So, how can I help?’
Culverhouse was about to tell her she could start by sitting down on a chair like a normal person, but Wendy saw that coming and got in first.
‘As I mentioned on the phone, we wanted to talk to you a bit more about Tanya Henderson,’ Wendy said. ‘To get an idea about her workin
g practises and to see if something she was investigating might be pertinent to our inquiries into her attack.’
‘Her attempted murder, you mean,’ Susan replied.
‘Well, yes. Do you know what she’d been investigating recently?’
Susan Kellerman looked at them both for a couple of moments before speaking. ‘You do know the Inquirer specialises in investigative journalism, don’t you?’
‘We had worked that much out, yes,’ Culverhouse said. ‘We’re detectives, after all.’
‘Then you’ll be aware that we have to be extraordinarily careful when talking about our ongoing investigations. A lot of the work we do consists of uncovering corruption within the Establishment. That includes the police.’
‘Are you saying that Tanya Henderson was investigating police corruption?’ Wendy asked.
‘I couldn’t possibly say. Anyway, we have a policy of complete non-discussion of investigations in progress unless it is absolutely necessary.’
‘One of your employees has been attacked, Mrs Kellerman,’ Wendy said. ‘And this is a police investigation. I really think it would be in your best interests to cooperate.’
Susan Kellerman crossed her arms. ‘Firstly, Tanya Henderson is not an employee. She’s freelance. Secondly, I can’t tell you anything because I don’t know anything. That policy of non-discussion extends to me, too. She told me nothing. And thirdly,’ she added, crossing her arms, ‘it’s Ms.’
Wendy jumped in again before Culverhouse could put his foot in it. ‘So you’re saying you know nothing about what Tanya Henderson was investigating recently?’
‘That’s what I just said,’ Susan Kellerman replied, without a hint of emotion in her voice. ‘I’m afraid I’ve got just as much of an idea as you have as to why someone would want to attack her.’
With that, she stood up, gesturing at the door. ‘Thank you for coming. You can see yourselves out, can’t you?’
19
