Saslow contented herself with nibbling an olive.
Vogel watched Willis cut a piece of bread into neat sections of almost identical size and shape, that was typical of the DS, thought Vogel. Willis was an organised, precise sort of man, who liked to put things into boxes. Vogel understood. He was much the same. He was aware of a number of similarities between himself and the somewhat pedantic sergeant. Not in personal appearance though, Vogel was incapable of looking dapper. His wardrobe consisted primarily of a selection of honourable, corduroy jackets in various states of dilapidation.
‘Come on then, Willis,’ said Vogel. ‘Tell us how you got on with the second Mrs Cooke.’
Willis gave a fair and balanced account of his interview, the flat vowels of his native, Manchester accent still evident in his voice, even after thirteen years in Bristol. He didn’t unduly stress the strained relationship between father and daughter or the matter of Susan Cooke’s sleeping pills. He did not need to, instead he gave just the correct amount of emphasis to both. He was that kind of copper, thought Vogel, who noted automatically that both the present and previous Mrs Cooke apparently had ‘trouble with her nerves.’
Willis did draw attention to the bruise on Mrs Cooke’s face.
‘Claire Brown and I both reckoned Terry’s been knocking her about. Bastard.’ Willis spat out the last word.
‘Steady,’ said Vogel. ‘Not the first wife beater you’ve come across, John, and it won’t be the last. Doesn’t make the man a killer.’
‘Maybe not. Makes him a vicious bully though. I can’t stand it, boss. Saw too much of it as a kid.’
Vogel and Saslow glanced at Willis in surprise. It wasn’t like him to remark on anything so personal. They both waited for the DS to tell them more, but he didn’t. Vogel, of course, was secretly relieved.
‘Anyway, on the basis of fact alone, we certainly can’t rule Terry Cooke out,’ Willis continued. ‘I don’t think an alibi from his missus would stand up for long in court, that’s for sure.’
Vogel nodded his agreement. ‘All the same,’ he said. ‘Looking at the family on the usual basis of who would be the likeliest suspect, I still lean more towards the stepdad. Although we know he’s a lying, cheating toerag, it no more makes him a killer than being a wife beater. Plus, his alibi seems pretty cast-iron to me.’
Vogel then enquired about any results from the officers knocking on doors in the vicinity of the crime scene.
‘Not a lot, I’m afraid, boss,’ responded Willis, glancing up from dissecting a second piece of garlic bread, ‘Stone Lane is tucked away just off the beaten track, which is why the girl was taken there, presumably. Turns out neither of those two big houses up the lane are occupied. They’re up for redevelopment, so nothing there. West Street and Old Market Street always have some sort of life going on, but the shops would all have been closed, of course, except the sex shops.
‘We’ve contacted most of the people who live in flats above the various business premises. Only one had anything to say really. The woman in the flat on the corner of Stone Lane, nearest to where the body was found, did hear something suspicious, though it doesn’t amount to a lot.
‘She was woken by what she described as “a screeching sound”, just before ten thirty. She goes to bed early, apparently. She looked out of her window and saw a couple of tomcats squaring up to each other. So she just assumed she’d heard a cat fight, went back to bed and thought no more of it.’
‘The time probably fits, doesn’t it?’ remarked Saslow. ‘Was she sure of that, John?’
‘Said she checked her bedside clock when she woke up.’
‘CCTV?’ queried Vogel.
‘Still being looked at, boss. We’re also trying to track down as many as we can of the bar and restaurant customers. We’ve put out an appeal, but nothing more so far. I checked on the phone with the lads right after I left the Cooke’s place.’
‘Right, well, let’s hope we get luckier this afternoon,’ said Vogel. ‘We need to order now, then get out of here.’
Saslow chose a beetroot and goat’s cheese salad, much as Vogel had predicted. He went for a cheese and potato bake, with roasted tomatoes and basil on the side. Willis said he’d have what the boss was having. He didn’t even look at a menu.
‘Will you fill me in a bit more on the stepdad, boss?’ Willis asked. ‘What did his bit on the side have to say? You said his alibi checks out?’
Vogel nodded. ‘Yes, I think so. Of course, Fisher won’t be out of the frame until we have the DNA results and they may not be conclusive either, but his, as you call her, “bit on the side” …’
Vogel paused, a wry smile flickering on his lips. It was not a description he would ever have used of the woman he’d just met in Bath. But it was typical enough of the attitude of most male coppers he knew.
‘… Daisy Wilkins, is quite adamant that he spent the entire night with her,’ Vogel continued. ‘And I don’t think she is the sort of woman who would lie to the police.’
Willis’s expression gave nothing away. But Vogel was aware of Dawn Saslow regarding him somewhat quizzically. He ignored the DC.
‘We need to go through that girl’s life and the whole extended family with a damned toothcomb,’ Vogel continued. ‘Let’s check the whereabouts of everybody close to her on the night she died and hope to God we come up with something, or someone who’s a real suspect.
‘Because, if it’s nobody from the family, if we have the unusual one, if it is an outsider, well, you both know what that means, don’t you?’
Saslow nodded, her mouth full of beetroot and cheese.
‘Yes, boss,’ said Willis. ‘It means we are looking for a random killer, probably a total nutter. At the very least, a sexual pervert. More than likely somebody who kills for kicks, with no motive, just because they damn well like it.’
‘Yes,’ agreed Vogel. ‘And those bastards are the hardest of all to catch.’
Saslow swallowed hard, clearing her mouth.
‘But we are going to get this one, guv, whatever the MO aren’t we?’ she asked.
Vogel pushed his quickly-emptied plate to one side and wiped the back of his hand across his mouth. ‘I hope so Saslow,’ said Vogel. ‘I really do.’
‘I think we should have a damned good look at the girl’s father,’ said Willis, diverting attention back to the man who was clearly his favourite suspect. ‘It’s a pretty ropey set up he has with his second wife and she indicated that he always put Melanie on a pedestal. If the girl’s been running a bit wild, potentially dating on the internet, hanging out with the wrong crowd or even if he just thought she was, that could have made him pretty mad. Plus, he’s sure to have been pissed off about her not bothering to see him half the time.’
‘But is he the sort to sexually assault his own daughter?’ asked Dawn Saslow.
Willis shrugged. ‘He’s the sort who knocks his missus about, I’m damned sure of that,’ he said.
‘Doesn’t mean he ever laid a finger on his daughter,’ responded Vogel. ‘Not in any way at all.’
‘OK, but we don’t know that, do we?’ Willis persisted. ‘The girl’s clothing was ripped and torn, her breasts were bruised and exposed, as were her private parts, but we don’t know yet whether or not there was penetration. Certainly, there was no obvious presence of semen. He could have lost his temper with her and attacked her. Then realised he’d gone too far and deliberately faked signs of sexual abuse to lay a false trail.’
Vogel looked thoughtful. His phone buzzed. He took the call straight away.
‘Well, that’s fascinating,’ he murmured. He looked as if he was being told something of considerable significance. By the time he’d finished the other two officers were both staring at him intently.
‘We’ve just had Melanie Cooke’s phone records from her mobile provider,’ he said. ‘Seems like her father made no less than twenty-one calls to her over the three days before her death. She didn’t pick up any of them, nor respond with a text o
r call back.’
Willis looked as if he wanted to say he’d told them so, but remained silent.
‘There must have been something going on then,’ said Saslow.
Vogel nodded.
‘Shall I bring him in, boss?’ asked Willis. ‘We need to get him processed fast. There’s always a wait for DNA.’
‘Hold on a minute,’ said Vogel. ‘Cooke’s supposed to be coming in this afternoon under his own steam. We made an appointment for two thirty at Patchway. He’s just formally identified his daughter, which is always an ordeal. Before we get heavy, let’s see if he turns up. I think we could get more out of him if we don’t alarm him too much.’
‘Fair enough,’ said Willis. ‘But we shouldn’t just leave him to the process boys, should we? He should be watched throughout. Do you want me to get over there?’
‘That wouldn’t be a bad idea, Willis. Go and babysit him through it. Be sure to treat the man like the genuinely bereaved father he purports to be, whilst at the same time try to wheedle all you can out of him. If he doesn’t turn up by three o’clock at the latest though, the gloves are off. Go get him.’
‘You got it, boss,’ said Willis, putting down his knife and fork at once and preparing to stand up.
Willis was a slow and methodical eater, almost half of his meal remained on his plate.
‘Finish your food man,’ ordered Vogel, shaking his head. ‘It’s not two o’clock yet.’
Obediently, Willis sat down again.
‘You need to look after yourself more,’ said Vogel. ‘And I forgot to ask. You were fighting a migraine yesterday, are you OK?’
‘Oh fine, boss, yeah. Well over it.’
‘Thank God,’ said Vogel. ‘Would hate for you to go sick on me with this lot on our hands.’
‘No chance, boss,’ said Willis.
‘I know,’ responded Vogel, grinning.
He turned to Saslow.
‘Get back to headquarters, Dawn,’ he instructed. ‘Liaise with DI Hartley. Then start checking recorded paedophile behaviour in the Bristol area, particularly dating websites aimed at youngsters and anything to do with grooming. Start with the most recent records.’
Saslow looked mildly surprised.
‘I thought we were concentrating on the family, boss,’ she said.
‘We need to keep an open mind,’ responded Vogel. ‘It’s all too easy in an investigation like this to lead yourself up a blind alley.’
‘Right boss,’ said Saslow, who had finished her salad.
She pushed back her chair and stood up.
‘I shall try to avoid that then,’ she muttered over her shoulder, as she turned and headed for the door.
‘Please God,’ said Vogel, even though he didn’t believe in any God at all, never had, and privately thought those who did had something wrong with their brains.
AL
As soon as I was out of sight of the school and the advancing teacher, I made myself slow to a proper speed and proceed normally, zipping up my fly as I drove.
I was heading to the far side of the council estate, where I knew there were some playing fields with parking alongside. No CCTV. I’d checked earlier. I was a good planner, I told myself, that was why I’d never been caught. Not yet anyway. Even on this occasion – when I’d got carried away and forgotten about being careful – it had been a tight call but I had still escaped.
When I reached the playing fields, I took off my hoody and reversed it. I always wore a reversible jacket of some kind on these outings. This one was a nondescript grey on one side and red on the other. Grey was for when I wanted to watch inconspicuously and red was for when I turned myself into an innocent passer-by. Red stood out. Had the teacher reported me, the police or anyone else would be looking for a man in grey. That was the idea, anyway.
I stepped out of the van and walked to the nearest bus stop, which was a couple of streets away and frequently served. I knew exactly where it was. I always did my homework. However, standing at the bus stop, trying to look casual and normal, I was still finding it difficult to control my breathing.
What on earth had I been thinking? What would I have done if that child had climbed into the passenger seat beside me? What would I have wanted her to do? What would I have made her do? How could I have imagined that I could get away with it parked opposite a school?
And afterwards, if miraculously I had not been spotted, then what?
Would I have just let her jump out and trot off back to school for her afternoon lessons? Was it remotely possible that she would have done my bidding and then left quietly? Or would she have yelled and screamed, when she realised exactly what sort of kitten I was holding in my lap? You could never predict how they might react, after all. Would she have cried for her mummy? Would I have had to silence her?
I pushed my hands into the pockets of my hoody. I wanted them tucked away, so that they couldn’t do any harm. No. Not that. I would never do that. I would never hurt one of them. Really, I wouldn’t.
Never again.
TEN
Willis made his way to Patchway and settled in to wait for Terry Cooke, as Vogel had instructed. He sat at an unused desk in the front office and, whilst he made some phone calls, kept a constant eye on the public entrance beyond. At around five minutes to three, he was just beginning to fidget when Cooke walked in. Willis hadn’t met the man before, but recognised him from a photograph Vogel had shown him. Cooke looked both nervous and upset, just like a man who had just lost his daughter.
As soon as Willis saw Cooke enter, he stepped up to the counter to greet him, introduced himself and then uttered the almost mandatory remark of policemen everywhere under such circumstances.
‘I am sorry for your loss, Mr Cooke.’
Cooke nodded in an absent sort of way. ‘I’m sorry I’m late,’ he said. ‘I went back to be with Sarah after … after doing the identification.’ His voice faltered, just for a moment. ‘Then my car wouldn’t start. That woman PC who took me to the morgue offered to drive me, but Sarah needed her more. I didn’t want to leave Sarah alone. I got a bus, which took for ever. Damned car’s had it, but I can’t afford a new one, with three young kids and child support for Melanie.’
He paused. His eyes filled with tears.
‘Not any more,’ he muttered. ‘Not any more.’
Willis wasn’t impressed. He had, more than once, seen the most elaborate outpourings of grief from allegedly distraught family members, who had turned out to be vile murderers.
He made no comment as he escorted Cooke through the building to the custody suite. Here, Cooke was photographed and fingerprinted. He had samples of his saliva extracted, with an instrument like a cotton bud, and placed on a slide. Willis oversaw the entire operation. He was meticulous, even to the point of taking over the DNA testing and fingerprinting himself. The young officer, who had expected to be conducting the tests, made no protest but looked mildly offended.
Willis didn’t care.
He wanted no mistakes. This was a major murder investigation. DI Vogel might be mild-mannered for a senior policeman, but he wasn’t a patient man. Not when conducting a murder inquiry, anyway. Willis wanted the case closed as much as his boss did. An early result would make for a much quieter life. Willis took the DNA slide to the custody sergeant to be recorded and sent off to forensics. The results would take several days.
Willis already believed that Terry Cooke could well end up being arrested on suspicion of the murder of his daughter, but these situations were always tricky. It was imperative that if the man were to be charged, brought to trial and ultimately convicted, the case would have to be watertight. Willis intended to do his damnedest to make sure of that. Indeed, he intended to do more than his damnedest. He was determined to succeed and he would start by getting to know Terry Cooke better, just as Vogel had suggested. Nothing he learned this way would be admissible in any court case, but his purpose was primarily to gather ammunition for any future formal interviews.
&n
bsp; Willis more or less insisted on driving Cooke home, albeit in the most commiserate of terms.
‘C’mon mate, you want to get back to your family,’ he said. ‘I’ll take you in my own car. Nobody will know I’m a copper and even if anyone did, well, under the circumstances you would be expected to be having dealings with the police.’
Cooke looked doubtful.
‘I need to go round to Sarah’s first,’ he said. ‘Sort out my car. It’s all right. I don’t need to bother you. I’ll get the bus again.’
Willis persisted.
‘Look mate, we both want to get the bastard who killed your daughter, don’t we?’
Cooke agreed. He still looked very shaken. Willis thought he might be able to trade on that.
‘Well come on, let me be your chauffeur and we can talk about it on the way, man to man. Away from the station. You might know something that would help, without even being aware of it. You’d be surprised how often that happens.’
Meekly, Cooke allowed himself to be led out to Willis’s car. The policeman began his questioning as soon as they were both sitting in the vehicle, albeit in as casual a fashion as possible. After all, nothing said in such circumstances could ever be used as evidence, and Willis was aiming for a friendly chat rather than anything resembling an interview. Or to make it appear that way, at least.
‘Do you mind telling me again, mate, just so I’m sure I’ve got it right, when you last saw your daughter?’ Willis asked as they pulled out of the station yard.
Cooke looked exasperated.
‘Do we have to go over everything repeatedly?’ he asked.
‘You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to, mate,’ replied Willis. ‘This is just an informal chat, but you do want to help, don’t you?’
Cooke nodded glumly. His body language was resigned.
‘OK, then please help me check a few details. Doesn’t mean you’re a suspect or anything.’
Not yet, thought the policeman. But pretty soon you might be, if I have my way.
Deadly Dance Page 10
