Deadly Deceit

by Hannah, Mari

  ‘No, sorry . . .’ The PC was sweating. ‘Look, she refused to give it to me. I know I should’ve insisted, but I was in a hurry to get back to your crime scene. I was supposed to be guarding it . . .’ He looked at Daniels. ‘That’s how come I was first to respond when the call came on the radio. I was right there, y’know. I did what I could and then let the ambulance crew get on with it.’

  ‘What did the girl look like?’ Daniels asked.

  ‘She was a tart, boss. Short skirt, lots of slap and bling. She had a tattoo of a seahorse on her upper arm, if that’s any use to you. She lives close by, I know that much. She’s been hanging around the crime scene, talking to the press and stuff.’ Dixon came over all apologetic. ‘I wasn’t away from the crime scene long, ma’am.’

  ‘That’s not important.’ Daniels was quiet for a moment. ‘You did the right thing and used your initiative. Making accurate judgements is what being a copper is all about. That’s what I want you to do now. Do you understand?’

  ‘Not sure I do, ma’am.’

  ‘Let me put it another way then. What you do and say in relation to this matter is vitally important to your future in the police force . . .’ Her eyes never left his. ‘Now, do we understand each other?’

  Dixon nodded, his face frozen with fear.

  ‘OK . . .’ Daniels searched for the right words, ones she hoped might elicit the truth. Ones that stopped short of a direct accusation. ‘Did you take possession of anything for safekeeping when you attended George Milburn?’

  ‘I don’t like what you’re implying, ma’am.’

  Gormley intervened. ‘We’re not implying anything.’

  Daniels sighed. Gormley’s timing was off. He’d reacted a little too quickly for her liking. She’d have preferred to let the officer sweat a moment longer. She stared at Dixon, trying to read him. Anxiety and guilt were often difficult to separate when accusations were being made. He certainly looked uncomfortable, but then so would she in similar circumstances. That didn’t mean he’d done anything wrong. The burden of proof was on her.

  ‘It’s a simple enough question,’ she said, finally. ‘One that requires an answer.’

  ‘No, boss.’ Dixon eyeballed her, a flash of anger creeping in. ‘I didn’t take possession of any items for safekeeping, never saw any money and wouldn’t have touched it if I had. I can assure you, I—’

  ‘Thank you,’ Daniels said. ‘You can go.’

  Dixon didn’t move, despite the dismissal.

  ‘That’ll be all,’ Gormley said.

  The constable stared at them both, then turned on his heels and left the room, not bothering to close the door behind him. They watched him walk the length of the incident room, no haste in his step, his head held high. He didn’t look back, just let himself out through the door at the far end.

  Daniels tapped her teeth with her pen. ‘What do you reckon?’

  ‘Hard to say.’ Gormley looked at his watch. ‘Tell me to wind my neck in, but with three murders on the slate, have we got time for this?’

  ‘We’re making time, Hank. I gave my word to Elliot Milburn. If that means working even later than usual, then so be it. There’s something fishy going on here and I’ve got a feeling it’s about more than a few missing pound notes.’

  ‘You telling me the old man’s death wasn’t coincidental?’

  ‘You already theorized that he set the fire—’

  ‘Which you rubbished, as I recall! Look, I changed my mind, OK? Everything Elliot told me about Milburn points to him being a decent old man—’

  ‘What if he saw who set the fire, Hank? What if he was being paid to keep his mouth shut? Elliot thinks the money was his granddad’s life savings, but we’ve only got his word for it. It may not have been.’

  ‘Anything’s possible, I suppose.’

  ‘I entirely accept his death was from natural causes. Stanton’s clear on that score. There was no evidence whatsoever that he was mugged. Assuming for one moment that he did see the arsonist and was paid for his silence, maybe the stress of it all is what killed him. Maybe the arsonist took her money back.’

  ‘The girl with the tat you mean?’

  Daniels just looked at him.

  45

  It had to be said, they weren’t feeling the love. Chantelle Fox had refused them entry at first, until Gormley used his own gentle powers of persuasion, pushing past her into the house while she demanded to see his non-existent search warrant. There was a nauseating smell in the room, an odour Daniels couldn’t easily identify. It was sweet, like baby sick. Surreptitiously, she popped a mint in her mouth to mask the stench.

  Chantelle rounded on them. ‘I called the ambo, yeah. But that’s all!’ The girl’s eyes shifted back and forth between the two detectives and then she restated her innocence. ‘There was no one near him when he went down, I swear! So it was either the copper or the medics that robbed the old bastard. Don’t try pinnin’ it on me! I might be shite but I’m honest shite.’

  ‘Oh yeah?’ Gormley questioned. ‘Like father like daughter, I heard.’

  His comments only served to wind her up. ‘You’ve got the cuffs on me already, haven’t you?’ The girl’s voice grated on her visitors’ ears, like chalk across a blackboard. ‘Well you’re not putting me in the cells. No way, José! If my arsehole of a father taught me one thing it was to be sure you can get out the back when you got a knock at the front door. Only I didn’t run, did I? Know why?’

  ‘Because I stuck my size ten in the door before you slammed it in our faces?’ It was a rhetorical question from Gormley. ‘We could get a warrant, if you insist.’

  ‘No! I didn’t run ’cause I’ve nowt to hide!’

  Daniels ran her eyes over the girl. Not only did she sound like her old man but there was a physical resemblance too. The same pale complexion and gap in her front teeth. The same big mouth, both literally and figuratively. Arthur Fox was a well-known villain, a prolific thief, philanderer, an all-round waste of space she’d locked up on numerous occasions. He died in a fatal car accident when he was forty-nine years old. Tampering was suspected but never proved, because of the poor condition of the car, which had worn tyres and dodgy brakes. He certainly had enemies though.

  Daniels glanced at the seahorse tattoo on Chantelle’s arm.

  ‘Take a good look, why don’t ya?’ The girl stopped chewing the skin around her right thumb and wiped her hand on her tight-fitting dress. She checked her watch. ‘Fuck! I’m going to miss my bus now!’

  ‘They run every ten minutes,’ Gormley said. ‘We’re not finished with you yet.’

  ‘Oh, I get it. I don’t stand a hope in hell, do I? Your lot always close ranks when someone gets caught with their fingers in the till . . .’ Chantelle picked up a thick black patent-leather belt from a side table. Clipping it round her waist, she slipped on shoes to match, a woeful attempt at the ‘wow’ factor. The five-inch heels gave the impression that she’d have to work really hard to avoid toppling over. Keen to hit the party city, she looked in the mirror, checking her appearance, teasing out dull, lifeless hair which she covered in a foul-smelling spray until every last strand was glued to the next. Then she turned to face them. ‘It’s my word against his, right? Yeah, that’ll work. Tell you what, you bring the thieving git here and I’ll get the truth out of him.’

  Daniels tried not to get angry: bent coppers were scum as far as she was concerned. They gave decent officers a bad name and turned the public against them. If Dixon had done wrong, she’d take great pleasure in stripping him of his pristine uniform and putting him before a court of law. No ifs, buts or maybes – he’d get what was coming to him.

  ‘You listening to me?’ Chantelle carped. ‘I’m not having it, OK? So you can fuck off and find yourselves another patsy. Anyway, do I look like I’ve got money?’

  Daniels scanned the room. Despite the odious smell, which she still couldn’t identify, it was a tidy house filled with bright-coloured fabrics and no clutter. Ikea inf
luence, she thought. Apart from the carpet, which was old and worn, everything in the living room looked new, perhaps a little too new. The furniture seemed odd and it took her a moment to figure out why. There was a definite symmetry to it all, as if it had been deliberately staged. Cushions plumped up on a sofa that had never been sat on. Celebrity magazines scattered across a coffee table artificially, as if a tape measure had been used to align them just so – Hello, OK, Grazia and Look among them.

  ‘You are some nosy cow!’ Chantelle bellowed, lifting a sparkly bag off the floor. ‘I know what you’re thinking, but you’re wrong. I won a few quid on the lottery, that’s all.’

  Daniels and Gormley exchanged a look, mention of the lottery worrying them both.

  ‘How much is a few quid?’ Gormley said.

  ‘Two-fifty, not that it’s any business of yours.’

  ‘Thousand?’ Daniels asked.

  ‘Yeah, right!’ Chantelle cracked up. ‘Call yourselves coppers? People round here would kill for less.’

  Gormley glared at her. ‘That’s an unfortunate choice of words.’

  ‘Didn’t mean nothin’ by it,’ the girl said. ‘Hey! What you accusing me of now?’

  ‘Calm down, Chantelle.’ Daniels tucked her hair behind her ear, logging the girl’s anxiety. She would hardly have mentioned the lottery if she’d had anything to do with Ivy’s death. She might be from a long line of wasters but the one thing she wasn’t was stupid. ‘I take it you meant two hundred and fifty?’

  Cocking a sneer at Gormley, Chantelle nodded.

  ‘Any proof?’ he pushed.

  ‘You never give up, do you?’ Chantelle applied her lippy in the mirror, glowering at Gormley’s reflection as she did so. Then she swung round to face him. ‘Ask at the Paki shop, the one on the corner . . .’ She thumbed to the right. ‘It’s their biggest win this year. I’m a bit of a celeb round here, as it happens. Now if you don’t mind, sling your hook!’

  Daniels walked into the hallway, her eyes seizing on a dark baseball cap hanging on a peg near the door. It had no motif and was similar to the one worn by the shy man or woman Maxwell had drawn her attention to, the one buying petrol from a garage nearby. She turned towards Chantelle, sizing her up, wondering if she could have been that figure.

  ‘Where d’you buy your petrol?’ she asked.

  ‘There’s only one place you buy petrol round here. Down the road at the Shell garage.’

  Shell, eh? Daniels opened the front door. ‘Cheers. We might need to see you again.’

  ‘Not if I see you first.’

  Daniels smiled and stepped outside.

  Gormley followed her out, flinching as the door slammed behind them. ‘That was a lowballer,’ he said.

  ‘Just thought I’d throw it in . . .’ Daniels looked across the street where crime-scene tape flapped in the breeze outside Maggie Reid’s house, the windows all boarded up to keep the local kids out. Then she glanced at Chantelle’s front door. ‘She’s hiding something, Hank. I don’t know what it is, but I can spot a liar when I see one. That mark there . . .’ She pointed at a black smudge on the wall. ‘That’s where I got the cigarette butt I sent off for forensic testing.’

  ‘You think she’s the arsonist?’

  Daniels’ expression was impenetrable. ‘I think we need that result.’

  46

  DC Lisa Carmichael knocked at the door and waited. There was music coming from inside the flat, Snow Patrol: ‘Chasing Cars’. Great choice. She had the album herself and liked it a lot. The door was opened by a thin wiry man, mid twenties, dressed casually in combats and a faded T-shirt. His hair was wet and he smelled of good aftershave.

  ‘David Hedley?’ Carmichael showed ID.

  The man nodded. ‘This about the accident?’

  ‘Yes, I need to ask you a few questions, if it’s convenient.’

  ‘OK.’ Hedley opened the door a little wider but not quite wide enough for her to squeeze through. ‘If it’s not a daft question, what’s a murder detective got to do with a car crash?’

  Carmichael was impressed. Not many folks bothered to look closely at police identification, despite repeated warnings in the press to do so. They just saw the shiny badge and assumed it was genuine. Most had never heard of the offence of impersonating a police officer.

  She pointed into the flat. ‘Can we talk inside?’

  Hedley took a step backwards, allowing her in this time, killing his iPod as he followed her into the living room. Carmichael was immediately drawn to the window. She walked towards it and looked down at the A1 trunk road. It was busy in both directions, cars nose to tail on the northbound carriageway, the route to the best beaches in the country in the opinion of anyone who’d ever seen the Northumberland coast. Mile after mile of golden, empty sand, the county’s – possibly even the country’s – best-kept secret.

  Carmichael wished she was joining them.

  On both sides of the road were POLICE ACCIDENT signs, asking witnesses to come forward. More or less routine after a fatal. On the grass verge, there were some wilted bouquets, and on the southern carriageway someone had placed a makeshift cross. It was sticking out of the ground, waiting to impale the next poor motorcyclist unlucky enough to come off their bike there.

  Did people ever stop to think?

  ‘I told the accident investigators everything I could remember,’ Hedley said as he came and stood alongside her, sighing loudly, staring down at the traffic below. ‘What is it you want to know?’

  Carmichael hesitated long enough to put him on edge. ‘Your statement—’

  He glanced sideways. ‘What about it?’

  ‘You were first to arrive at the scene. Is that right?’

  Hedley nodded, his left eye twitching.

  ‘How long did it take for the emergency services to arrive?’

  Staring off into the distance, a sad expression crossed Hedley’s face as he searched for an answer, reliving a memory she suspected he’d rather forget. It took him some time to speak. ‘Five minutes maybe. Felt like hours . . .’ When he looked back at her, his eyes were misted up. ‘It was mayhem on both sides of the road. I didn’t know what to do.’

  ‘I understand,’ Carmichael said gently.

  ‘Do you? I don’t think so. It’s different for you. You’ve had training and stuff.’ He dropped his gaze, fighting to hide his feelings. ‘I felt so helpless. I don’t suppose I’ll ever repeat the experience, but I’ve signed up for a first-aid course in case. I never want to feel like that again.’

  Carmichael allowed him a moment to compose himself.

  ‘What do you do for a living, Mr Hedley?’ she said eventually.

  Hedley pulled himself out of his trance. ‘I work for the local authority Parks Department. Boring administration, but someone has to do it. That’s why I took up astronomy.’ He pointed to a large telescope aimed at the sky through the picture window. ‘There’s nowt new on the box these days and it’s a fascinating subject. Keeps me occupied, anyway. Means getting up in the middle of the night but I don’t mind that. I’ve always been a light sleeper and this recent heat-wave hasn’t helped. There was nowt to see Wednesday night . . .’ He lifted his eyes to the sky. ‘Up there, I mean. I was on my way back to bed when I heard a loud bang. Now I can’t sleep at all.’

  ‘Isn’t it too light here to get a good look at the stars?’ Carmichael asked.

  Hedley suddenly perked up, pleased that his visitor was taking an interest. ‘Are you an enthusiast, yourself?’

  Carmichael shook her head. ‘Not personally, but I do know a little about it.’

  ‘Figures . . .’ For the first time since Carmichael arrived, Hedley managed a smile. ‘The subject bores the pants off most people. When I talk about it to colleagues at work I can see their eyes glazing over. Doesn’t bother me though. They don’t know what they’re missing.’

  Carmichael smiled back. ‘I have an uncle who’s really into it. Has been for years. He lives in the sticks, near Kielder.’<
br />
  ‘Lucky man.’ Hedley paused. ‘Did you know it’s the darkest place in Europe? There’s an observatory up there, open to the public. You should check it out. It’s absolutely magic. Unfortunately I don’t have the means to move and commute fifty miles a day to indulge my hobby. Who does these days?’

  The person who stole an old lady’s lottery ticket might. Carmichael forced another smile. She scanned the living room; a man’s taste, she thought. ‘Do you live here alone?’

  Hedley nodded, his enthusiasm fading.

  ‘No girlfriend round that night?’

  ‘No girlfriend, period.’

  ‘Any recording facilities – for the stargazing, I mean?’

  ‘No, why?’

  ‘No reason . . . I know this must be difficult for you when all you want to do is forget, but I’d like you to cast your mind back. I’m interested in one car in particular: a Honda Jazz with an elderly driver and front-seat passenger. Can you recall seeing that vehicle?’

  Hedley shook his head. ‘Doesn’t ring any bells.’

  ‘Maybe I can help you.’ Carmichael pulled a diagram from her bag. Unravelling it, she took it to Hedley’s dining table and flattened it out, holding the ends down with her car keys and phone. ‘Your flat is here, with a good view of the carriageway obviously.’ She pointed to one particular spot. ‘Front door is here. How did you make your way to the roadside?’

  ‘That way –’ Hedley indicated the north side of the building. ‘Out the front door, across the mound here. I scaled the fence. There’s no other way. It has to be blocked off in case the little kids run on to the road.’

  ‘And that’s when you dialled 999?’ She watched him closely for a reaction.

  ‘No, I did that from here. Soon as I could. Then I grabbed some clothes and legged it. I’m afraid to say I froze when I got there.’

  Hedley’s expression darkened as he relived the nightmare again in all its gory detail: the blood, the despair, the terrible injuries sustained by the casualties. Carmichael knew that some of them had been horrendous, even in the opinion of the most hardened of professionals. It had only been a few days since the accident but she’d heard on the grapevine that one fire officer had gone sick with post-traumatic stress. Emergency services personnel who’d attended the scene were still talking about it. Gormley, on the other hand, wouldn’t. And she couldn’t fathom why.