Cut To The Bone

by Sally Spedding

  “And what kind of knife was used in the attack on Tina Crabtree?” he queried. “Has it been found?”

  “Most likely a sizeable carver,” volunteered Deakins, as if relieved to leave yet another shortcoming. “Swindon haven’t yet said.”

  "Sir,” began Crooker, “If it was a carving knife, then it could have come from Mullion Road. I only saw two small veg knives in the cutlery drawer.” His tone changed. “Jacquie Harper knew alright…"

  A shocked murmur followed.

  "I'm sure Tim here will re-visit all that when he interviews her shortly." Deakins' eyes met his before returning to his whiteboard. “And incredibly, despite the blood loss, only Tina Crabtree and her ex’s prints were at the crime scene. Like the Black Dog Brook murders and Darshan Patel’s killing, this assault and murder was carried out by a careful, right-handed attacker. As was the savaging of two rabbits at North Barton Boys’ School in July 2010, using an older box-cutter.”

  Fraser's queasy stomach became more audible. He craved another sweet coffee.

  “As for why Perelman, who’d passed himself off as one of the Crabtree lad’s school friends, should do such a vile thing to his own mother, may be partly explained by this.” Deakins held up a single sheet of pale blue notepaper. “From a Miss Carole Underwood, biology teacher from North Barton Boys’ School.”

  Having read out the letter, he added, “this gives us valuable insight into our subject’s obsession with the Caesarean procedure and how it related to him. We and Swindon should be grateful for this young woman for her help.”

  “Indeed,” said Fraser.

  “And before liaising further with our Wiltshire counterparts, they want more background on Louis Perelman himself. Perhaps Derek here. can kick off.”

  Jarvis duly reached for his tablet. His wide fingers soon busy.

  “We not only had crucial confirmation of his absences from North Barton Boys’ School when Jez Martin and Malcolm Wheeler were murdered,” he began, “but also from Weymouth Road Comprehensive School in Downside for yesterday morning’s Homework Study tutorial session. Ms Harper claimed not to know where her adopted son had gone on Wednesday afternoon, and so far, let’s be honest, there seems no motive for killing Darshan Patel. If indeed he did it.”

  “Exactly,” said Deakins.

  “Although Mrs Martin is to be congratulated on her powers of observation, it’s beyond frustrating that the CCTV cameras at Zintec weren’t in use. They could have helped establish whether or not Louis Perelman is one and the same as this Pete Brown she swears she saw there and has blamed for so long.”

  “Thank you, Derek.”

  Deakins then addressed his Indexer seated at a nearby computer who passed him two further sheets of paper. "As you all know, the Perelmans relocated to Meadow Hill from Swindon in January 2010. Our colleagues checking local hospital records there, struck lucky at six a.m. this morning." He continued with details of Louis Claus Perelman’s tricky arrival, and the background on his real parents.

  “Any info yet from BIBA?” Fraser queried. The Birth Certificate Information before Adoption had proved useful in previous cases.

  “Still waiting.”

  “And his actual Birth Certificate?”

  “The same, although hopefully Ms Harper can soon enlighten you about that as well.”

  Jarvis added how out of control the boy had seemed at Meadow Hill. Full of puzzling contradictions.

  "His difficult birth may have been a factor," said Fraser, deliberately excluding a possible drugs scenario. “After all,” he paused, “his step-father considered him mentally ill."

  Stifled gasps followed.

  "Mrs Martin told me that too." Jane Truelove not-so subtly point-scoring, which Fraser ignored. "She'd been to see Carla Kennedy, Dr. Perelman's squeeze before he vanished."

  "Why were we kept out of the loop?" Jarvis complained.

  "Confidentiality."

  Sergeant Crooker snorted.

  “And if Louis Perelman isn’t Pete Brown, who is?" Fraser quizzed, finally nuking his fixation with Molloy. “He tried framing Dave Perelman in front of Derek and Jane here, before Christmas. And with what Mrs Fletcher had found at Meadow Hill. Those three indecent photos of Kayleigh Martin had been taken by his Canon camera left at Sunnyview to implicate Toby Lake. Talk about butcher, baker, candlestick maker… Never mind possible dog killer…”

  "Later, Tim, thank you.” Deakins had pinked up. Then, with a chewed fingertip, he pushed his glasses further up his nose and turned again to the whiteboard where alongside the violinist’s suspected crimes, the relevant forensics results glowed blood red

  "Please keep any queries for the end.” He uncapped his red marker pen to tick off each item. “Neither our guys nor Bill Marchant in London could find any blood or fibres on the Walton-on-Sea knife box or its sheathed knife which Tim here took from the Molloys. However, its handle and blade is identical to that recovered from The Loop in Black Dog Brook. As you know, Mrs Martin said there were originally two of these knives which Jez first used for his carvings. It’s highly probable that he and Malcolm Wheeler - who suffered a deep gash to the head - were killed by either one or both blades. We can't gauge the sequence of their deaths because heavily-polluted water and air are great equalisers. But it might explain why Perelman, dressed as a Police Constable at the Tip, was so desperate to reclaim them."

  “She took long enough to tell you they’d existed.” Jane Truelove eyed Fraser. “Even then, you hardly spread the word.”

  Don’t react.

  “I think I can understand why,” said Deakins, while Jarvis stared at his empty cup before crushing it in his big hand and making for the door, muttering about needing fresh air. He returned a minute later, clearly unhappy, as the DS was about to resume his report. However, Fraser had a question.

  "Sir, anything on the weapon used on Darshan Patel?"

  "Possibly a brand new box-cutter not yet recovered and,” Deakins paused, “which almost severed his head. ” He fixed on each of the team in turn. “It was understandable that his family ignored Stechford CID’s advice and involved the media, but from now on – and Swindon have agreed – we keep absolutely stumm until Louis Perelman is apprehended. Understood?”

  *

  With the atmosphere in the Incident Room growing more sombre, Deakins, having again praised Fraser and the Met for their speed, summarised the various graphology results. The first two from yesterday.

  "Convincing similarities were found between the pencilled letters on that envelope for Kayleigh Martin, the warning to unwanted callers etcetera written in black ballpoint removed by Mrs Martin from 315b, Mullion Road last Wednesday, and the message left in blue by her son’s grave.” He looked up. “These tie up with what was found in Perelman's history exercise book while he attended North Barton Boys’ School. So," he looked around, "clever though our friend thinks he is by using different writing materials and trying to implicate his adoptive father and Toby Lake, this devious character hasn't covered all his tracks."

  "Give him time," muttered Crooker.

  Fraser reported Marchant’s view on the author of that cruel note left in St Matthew’s churchyard. “A young adult male, probably highly intelligent. However, judging by the gaps between the words, a social outcast…”

  “Who said that?” Jane Truelove re-crossed her legs.

  “My graphologist pal,” and before she could spike him again, Deakins added that the slur on Malcolm Wheeler’s flier, referring to an ‘older female,’ turned out to be none other than the fragrant Pat Molloy.

  Another red tick met the whiteboard.

  "Jacquie Harper mentioned Vienna to me, remember?" Jarvis butted in, but Fraser was ready.

  "That's her pills talking. “My hunch is that Perelman will head back to this
area, sooner rather than later. He may have contacts, places to hang out in. If Jacquie Harper isn’t to be banged up for perjury, she should be re-housed for her own safety, and 313b Mullion Road cordoned off. Also, all empty properties in Downside, Ditch Hollow and Scrub End checked out. There's always the Molloy's crib, mind," he added. "Now that's a thought."

  A murmur of approval followed, spurring him on.

  “It's the Martins I'm really worried about. Who's to say Perelman didn't recognise Mrs Martin when she met him in Birmingham and when she turned up at his house? And what about her mac belt left there? She says she never found it. Look, that family needs protection," he added. "Pronto."

  Deakins shook his head and removed his glasses to rub the bridge of his nose.

  "Impossible, given our staffing levels, and how d'you think I feel about that?"

  He then added, “can they go elsewhere?"

  "Sick joke, sir. I've just had my flat taken off me. Good, eh? They could have holed up there for a while."

  Jane Truelove’s titter was noticeable, and Jarvis picked up on it.

  "That’s the Met for you," he said.

  Thanks…

  "So, we wait until... until they’re dead, too? That it?" Fraser sprung up and left the room, whereupon Deakins left his whiteboard and followed.

  "Save your anger, eh, Tim?" He said, pressing the lift button for the ground floor and the smallest, least commodious interview room where Jacqueline Louise Harper had been left to sweat on her own for half an hour.

  “Everyone’s on edge.”

  *

  As Fraser strode towards ’The Box’ as it was known, a call came through upstairs from a Nick Weaver, formerly of North Barton Boys' School, now at Park Grove Sixth Form College. Wary of the Law, despite being no longer a pusher and user, it took just five minutes for Deakins to learn that back in the summer of 2010, Darshan Patel had been blackmailing Louis Perelman over some alibi or other, on the very day Toby Lake disappeared, Weaver had also overheard the violinist suggest he and Lake go fishing by Wrecker's Brook.

  “I hope this helps,” said the reformed student afterwards.

  “We’ve turned a corner. Thank you.”

  59

  Detective Inspector Tim Fraser introduced himself to the woman hunched over the one table screwed to the middle of the holding cell’s tiled floor. Jacquie Harper was forty-two, but looked nearer sixty.

  He made his way to the other fixed chair opposite her, immediately catching the mixed whiff of gin and Happy Chicks. She’d brought that place of death in here with her, yet even the numb pallor, torn coat and worn shoes left him cold. Her raw, red hands were ringless.

  She'd wasted more than three years of police time and put Rita and her family in the greatest danger. Now was his turn to con her, and when he began speaking, his voice had the ‘I'm on your side’ tone honed to perfection.

  "So, you're Jacquie. May I call you that?"

  "I want a solicitor. It’s my right." She didn't look up.

  "You've got the wrong impression, love. You're not being accused of anything, nor your son. In fact, I'd like to thank you for your recent co-operation with my colleagues. I wish more folk were as helpful."

  “I said, I want a solicitor.”

  Fraser visualised Jez's defaced grave, Darshan Patel's earnest face in his College photograph, and the horrors Tina Crabtree had endured.

  “Think about it. Legal Aid’s collapsing, and do you know what solicitors charge? Two hundred quid an hour, and those are the generous ones.”

  She shook her head as if in defeat, but Fraser was used to that. He produced a packet of Churchills, opened the lid and angled a jutting cigarette towards her. Usually a good ploy, but not this time.

  "Mind if I do, then?" He placed one between his lips, and when there was still no reply, lit up. "The girlfriend's given me two weeks to dump this filthy habit up, or else." He drove the first smoke towards the ceiling. Pulled a disposable ashtray from his jeans’ pocket and kept hold of it. "She’s tough - but not like you, eh? You'd do anything for anybody, and don't get me wrong, Jacquie. I mean that in a nice way."

  She looked up. Defiance returning.

  "I'm losing pay being here. Will you be stumping up?”

  "We'll sort that, no worries." Fraser eased back in his chair. "But first, we need more help. Did you ever see your son with a box containing two six inch knives?” He added a detailed description of the pyrography and waited.

  “Never.”

  “One knife, then?”

  “No.”

  “So how come that ended up in your partner’s bedroom?”

  A flicker of her eyelids. That was all.

  “He always was a mystery. OK?”

  “But Louis had to get them back, didn’t he? Why? Because he’d killed twice with them? Because he’s a coward, who’d used another name. Pete Brown, for example.”

  “All fairy tales.”

  Fraser fought the urge to shake her until the truth tumbled out. He changed tack.

  “So what did your lad do for money? I mean, kids of that age cost a bit. The latest gear, techie stuff, CD's etcetera…"

  "He's not like other kids. He plays his violin, reads a lot, specially the Bible."

  “Right.”

  "Dave left him enough funds," she added unconvincingly. "He can please himself."

  Deakins stole a glance through the door's small, glass panel, but no way would Fraser be pressured. "By almost cleaning you out?"

  For the first time her eyes met his. Miserable as sin.

  "What d’you mean?"

  "You tell me."

  "I repeat, I want my solicitor."

  "And I want to help you."

  She sat bolt upright, then stood. The pong even stronger as he rang the silent buzzer under the table corner. Killed his dimp in the ashtray and collapsed its sides, leaving it by his elbow.

  "I'll report you for this!" she barked.

  "What?"

  "Lying. Keeping me prisoner."

  Jacquie Harper made a clumsy dash for the door, but Fraser beat her to it, barring her way with outspread arms, careful to avoid physical contact. In close-up, she looked terrible.

  "Look, Jacquie," he began, wondering where Frobisher was. Observing tricky interviews. was part of any rookie cop’s training . "We just want your lad back safe and sound.” He could be in danger. Anything could happen to him, so tell us where he is. For his sake too."

  “He’s not my lad.”

  Now we’re getting somewhere…

  Defiance darkened her eyes.

  "Was he into drugs and needed the dough? Involved with someone controlling him in some way?" Fraser persisted, and just as he felt she might be about to spill, Kieran Frobisher unlocked the cell door and squeezed himself in. Number 8 was a keen rugby player exuding fitness. He wandered over to the table. Stayed standing. Eyed the dead ashtray.

  “That’s slander,” she spat out the words.

  “I know you’ve been asked this before, but where was he last Wednesday afternoon? Birmingham, by any chance?”

  “Fuck off.”

  “Have you missed a carving knife since then?”

  “Ask Jarvis and that other pig. We only eat ready meals.”

  “Ms X swears he pushed one at her through your letterbox that very afternoon.”

  “Bollocks. He was in school.”

  That same lie was too quick. Frobisher clearly thought the same. Time for more pressure.

  “I’d like a look at Louis’ birth certificate,” Fraser began. ”Just to confirm a few details. Do you have it?”

  “No.”

  Another lie.

  “I can give
you a lift home, or if you prefer, collect it later? ”

  “I said, fuck off.”

  “Where is it, then?”

  She managed a tiny smile.

  “Ditch Hollow sewage farm.”

  The constable’s face said it all, but Fraser had to keep on track.

  “Had either you or Dr. Perelman given your son his birth parents’ personal details?”

  “Ask Dave.”

  Just then, Frobisher’s phone rang. He listened, ended the call and cleared his throat, ready for the next move, as instructed. A promising actor, thought Fraser, still keeping Jacquie Harper clear of the door.

  "Sir,” he began. “News just in. May I continue?"

  Fraser nodded as his charge perked up.

  "News?" She said.

  "Don't want to alarm you, Ms. Harper, but it's about your Louis,” said the young cop.

  "What's happened? Tell me!"

  Both men shared a knowing glance. Frobisher spoke first.

  "There's been a serious accident near Worcester. All we know at this stage."

  She thought for a second.

  "Worcester? Louis doesn't know anyone in that part of the world. Only here and Vienna. Have you got the right name?"

  Vienna…

  “Yes.”

  Fraser feigned concern as he indicated for the constable to leave. "Check again with the desk," he suggested, giving him a sly wink. "Mistakes are easily made. Oh, and take Jacquie with you. She'll need to be reassured all is probably well." He then added, “and we’ll need to know that she’ll be at 135b, Mullion Road for as long as we need her. That includes a thorough search, because up to now, there’s no photograph of her son to release to the media. Also, despite her denial, he may have been a user.”

  “Bastard,” she hissed. “You’re all the fucking same.”

  *

  Fraser kept his distance, observing how, despite the constable’s guiding arm, she was unsteady on her feet, muttering the names of other capital cities. But only Vienna mattered. He knew that now. Also how his guess about her adopted son’s next move had been lazy and wrong.

  He watched her stumble from the building under an almost dark sky, towards not only the bus stop, but being fingered for perjury.