Basic Element: A dark gipping detective thriller (Crane and Anderson Book 2)

by Wendy Cartmell

  “I went to Aldershot police station today.”

  Theresa stopped washing her hands, then realising she shouldn’t react, she began again, pushing the soap dispenser plunger and rubbing the soap into them. “Oh really?” she said, still rubbing.

  “Yes, they’d wanted my opinion about a case they’re working on.”

  “A case?” Theresa hoped he didn’t notice the slight squeak in her voice. She concentrated hard on rinsing her hands under the tap.

  “Yes, the one all over the news at the moment.”

  Dear God. Theresa grabbed the edge of the sink before she collapsed like a marionette, all knocking knees and pointy elbows. “You didn’t mention it before.” She managed to steady herself, then grabbed a towel to wipe her hands with.

  “Well it’s confidential, isn’t it?”

  “So,” she mustered what little courage she had and turned to look at him. “Did you help?”

  Tim took a long pull of his beer before saying, “I think so, but all the time I was there, I had this feeling I was being scrutinized. That ex-army chap didn’t take his eyes off me. And then there were the questions.”

  “Questions?” Theresa thought she was going to throw up and swallowed down the bile that had risen up her throat.

  “Yes,” he sat at the table and so she joined him, grateful for the excuse to sit, as she was sure her legs wouldn’t have held her up much longer. “They wanted to know if I went to Portsmouth and Southampton at all, so I had to explain I went to both universities. And then that Crane said something. It was when I said I didn’t fit the profile of the killer. I think he was hinting I wouldn’t, because I’d written it. I wouldn’t write a profile that would implicate me, if I was the killer. It was all very weird.”

  “He probably meant it as a joke,” said Theresa, not thinking that for one little bit. She wished the Aldershot Police had given her a heads up about looking into her husband. She was really very grateful to them, pleased they seemed to have taken her seriously, but she could have done without the shock. Her heart was hammering in her chest like a piston and she could feel pools of sweat gathering under her arms. She had to get away from Tim, get out of the house.

  “Anyway, I’m sure it’s not worth worrying about,” Theresa said. “Why don’t we have a nice bottle of red with the steak? Cheer you up a bit.” She managed a smile. “I’ll go and get one.”

  But Tim stood up instead. “No you’re alright, I’ll go. Give me the keys to the Jimny. I’ll take your car as it’s blocking mine in.”

  Tim

  Despite the steak, which was rather good and the bottle of red wine he’d drunk most of, he couldn’t get his brain to switch off. Beside him, Theresa rolled onto her back, her legs tangled in the duvet, and began snoring. That was all he needed. The bloody woman drove him mad. No wonder he stayed away so much. They just didn’t seem to have anything in common anymore, not since the children had grown up and left home. He had seen it as an opportunity to try new things, meet new people and to live a little after the years of struggling to bring up the boys. No matter what anyone told you, children changed your life big time.

  He was finally enjoying his life. Being true to himself. Home was just somewhere to sleep now. To rest and recharge his batteries. Before his next foray into a world he’d never known existed in his previous, boring, life. With Theresa still sounding like a pig on heat and most of his side of the duvet wrapped around her twitching legs, he decided a cup of tea would do nicely and shrugged on his dressing gown and went downstairs.

  The kitchen was the warmest room in the chilly house, the heating having clicked off hours ago, so he set up his laptop there and made a caffeine free tea. He was wired enough already. The first thing he did was to pull up his calendar. He needed to double check some dates. The dates when the murders had taken place. As he toggled between his report to the police and his calendar, it soon became clear why the police had been looking at him so closely. During the first murder in Aldershot, he’d been at a conference in a hotel nearby. The Portsmouth murder fitted as well, and his latest adventure in Southampton had been at the same time as the most recent killing.

  He was also worried about the car. He couldn’t remember which vehicle he’d taken to Portsmouth or Southampton. Even though the Jeep was supposedly Theresa’s car, they both used whichever one was last on the drive. It made more sense than keep shunting them backwards and forwards along the thin strip of concrete that only held two cars, end to end. So he could have been driving the Jeep on those three occasions. He just didn’t know. Had no way of knowing, really. If he’d left any parking tickets or petrol receipts in there that would prove his location on a certain night, Theresa would have thrown them out by now. She was becoming manically clean and tidy these days. Out of control. Behaving strangely. Hell, perhaps she was beginning to suspect him? Of what, he didn’t know. But it would explain the bizarre woman who’d replaced his wife.

  His fingers jerked on his keyboard, sending the calendar app out of control, so he closed it down and snapped shut the lid. He’d been planning to go on S-Dates to find his next liaison, but that was before he’d confirmed to himself the police were actually looking into him. Why else would they have wanted to consult him? He’d never worked with Aldershot Police or the Hampshire Major Crimes Teams before and at first he’d wondered why they’d picked him. But his professional pride had told him it was because he was a leading figure in criminology, at least within the South of England, so it was natural they should contact him.

  How stupid and blind he’d been. He should have been far more prepared when he went into the police station today. What would he have done if they’d arrested him on the spot? What would Theresa and the kids think? His face burned with shame and his innards coiled like a python, constricting his stomach and he murmured with the pain. Clutching the table he got unsteadily to his feet and just about managed to get to the downstairs cloakroom before his red wine and steak fed the toilet, instead of giving his body the essential nutrients it contained.

  He staggered out of the cloakroom by holding onto the door frame, and trembling and shaking, he knew he’d get no more sleep that night.

  Holly

  The screen blurred before her eyes and Holly sat back and decided she needed a rest. She had been drilling down the owners of Suzuki Jeeps with the partial plate caught on CCTV. Now that the search had been expanded to counties bordering Hampshire, there was a lot more data to trawl through. Searches only got her so far and she then had to check out each one the computer spat out. She was just going to ask Ciaran if he wanted a coffee as she was going to make herself a green tea, but his phone rang. One look at his face suggested it was a call he’d been waiting for. Donna, no doubt. She hadn’t told anyone else he was seeing Sally’s flatmate. She wasn’t sure if there was a regulation against it, at least until the case had been closed, but doubted if Anderson or Crane would deem it appropriate. She didn’t care who he saw, really, but this blossoming relationship was having an adverse effect on his work. Like now. He’d buggered off to talk sweet nothings to Donna, so she couldn’t go and get herself a drink, as one of them should to be at their desks, if at all possible. She didn’t expect dying of thirst would be reason enough to vacate her post.

  Pissed off and with nothing else to do to pass the time until he returned, she went back to work and looked at her screen again. It showed the search for Suzuki Jeeps with the partial plate in Berkshire. She’d just finished the names A-C and was going to start on the D’s after her short break. Idly looking at the names, one of them caught her eye, causing her to sit up in her chair. Dennison, Theresa with an address in Reading.

  All thought of a drink forgotten, she shouted to Crane, “Guv, got a minute?”

  Crane looked up from the report he was reading. “Sure, come on over.”

  “No, I need you here.”

  “For Christ’s sake, Holly. Must I?”

  “Please, sir, it’s important. I need you to see w
hat’s on my screen. I can hardly believe it.”

  “Just tell me, Holly and stop with the theatrics.”

  Bloody hell. Crane must be having a bad day, she thought. She wasn’t the only one who had noticed the change in Crane on what were becoming known around the office as his ‘bad pain days’. She really was trying to be sympathetic and understanding, but in truth was getting rather fed up of being snapped at.

  “I’ve found the owner of the Suzuki Jeep we’re looking for. It’s Professor Dennison’s wife. Is that important enough for you, sir?”

  Anderson

  Overhearing the conversation, Anderson came out of his office. Crane was on the phone, which had rung immediately after Holly’s sarcastic comment. He said to Holly, “Did I just hear right?”

  “Yes, sir,” said Holly. “It’s definite. The partial plate matches Mrs Dennison’s Suzuki Jimny Jeep.”

  “Bloody hell.” Anderson scratched his head. “I wasn’t really expecting that.”

  “You won’t be expecting this message either,” said Crane limping over to them. “Professor Dennison is downstairs. He says he wants to talk to us.”

  “Christ, you don’t think he’s come to confess do you?”

  “Who?” said Ciaran, joining the three of them.

  “Where have you been?” grumbled Anderson.

  “Call of nature, sir.”

  “It was a bloody long one,” said Anderson, smiling inside at the lad’s embarrassment. Ciaran really had to learn to keep his face impassive. Perhaps Crane could give him a lesson or two later on. Right now they had a more pressing problem.

  Once Holly had explained to Ciaran what was going on, Anderson said, “Right. Let’s see what he has to say, Crane.”

  “In your office?”

  Anderson smiled, relishing the idea of getting the Professor on the back foot immediately. “No, in an interview room I think. Let’s make this a bit more formal shall we?”

  While Holly arranged for the Professor to be taken to a free interview room, Anderson went to get his files and Crane a fresh notebook out of his drawer. Holly then printed a still photo from the CCTV they had of the Suzuki Jeep and handed it to him as they left.

  Crane stumbled getting into the lift and Anderson said, “You alright?”

  “Great. Fine. Never better.”

  “Liar.”

  Crane glared, eyes flashing, but said nothing.

  “I saw you take a pain tablet just now.”

  More silence from Crane who seemed focused on his stick.

  “You need to get that sorted you know. I’ve noticed you have bad days.”

  “And how would you know?”

  “Because that’s when you’re in a bloody awful mood. Now I don’t know if it’s because you’re trying to come off the tablets and suffering withdrawal symptoms, or if you’re not taking enough to help get you through the day while you’re working. Either way, fix it.”

  Crane glowered and hissed, “Yes, sir.”

  “Fuck off,” Anderson grinned, treating his friend’s comment as sarcasm. Although he didn’t believe it was. Not really. “But I mean it, Crane. You can’t carry on like this. So until that tablet starts to work, keep your mouth shut in the interview room. The last thing I need is you kicking off at our prime suspect.”

  “Who me? As if I would.”

  “Yes you bloody would and you know it.”

  Anderson’s lecture ended as the lift doors opened and they were engulfed in the maelstrom that was the front of the police station. Drunks, pimps and whores were slumped in the seats along one wall. An addict, clearly high, was arguing with the uniformed constable on the desk, who appeared grateful for the reinforced glass he was shielded by.

  “Where’s our man?” Anderson called.

  “Room 4.”

  Glad to leave the rumpus behind, they walked down the corridor towards the interview room holding Professor Dennison. Anderson had a spring in his step, as it finally looked as though they were getting somewhere.

  Professor Dennison was sitting at a grey metal table and jumped up at their entry into the room.

  “Professor,” Anderson and Crane nodded their hello’s and invited him to sit again. “So, what can we do for you? Have you come up with any other insights we should know about?”

  “Um, no, not exactly.” The Professor squirmed on his chair. “It’s, um, about, um…”

  “For goodness sake,” burst Crane. “Get on with it, man.”

  Glaring at his friend, with an ‘I told you to keep quiet’ look, Anderson then turned to Dennison and said, “Please, Professor. We’re very busy.”

  As though the Professor had just remembered who he was, he puffed out his chest and sat upright. “I believe you’re looking for a Suzuki Jeep with a partial plate number BD51.”

  Anderson said, “That’s correct.”

  “Well, it might be my car, or rather my wife’s car,” he quickly corrected himself. “Our number plate is CD51 SAC.”

  “And why would the vehicle have been in the vicinity of the murder site in Southampton that night, Professor?”

  “Because I was visiting a friend at the time.”

  “A friend?” Crane butted in.

  “Yes, Sgt Major, a friend.”

  “And who might this friend be?”

  “I’d rather not say at the moment,” Anderson watched as Dennison lowered his eyes and stared at the table.

  “What about your wife?”

  Dennison’s head snapped up and Anderson was pleased to see he was keeping the Professor out of his comfort zone, with questions outside the scope of what he’d no doubt rehearsed.

  “Perhaps you can explain this?” Crane said and slid a photograph across the table.

  Anderson sighed. Crane clearly didn’t take orders very well. Anderson knew it wasn’t out of disrespect, but merely because Crane had been used to being in control for many years. It was clearly a habit Crane was struggling to break. Or was he struggling? Maybe he had no intention of moderating his behaviour. Realising he was wool gathering Anderson looked at the Professor, who didn’t seem to be handling the shock of seeing his wife at the steering wheel of their Jeep very well.

  “Oh my,” he whispered.

  “Oh my indeed,” said Anderson. “We’d already found out your wife owned the Jeep we were looking for before you came here. And that she was driving it on the night in question. A clever member of my team managed to enhance the image of the Jeep and you can clearly see its Mrs Dennison driving.”

  “I came in voluntarily,” interrupted Dennison.

  Anderson ignored his interruption. “So what we need to know from you is what was she doing there?”

  “I haven’t the faintest idea,” said Dennison. “I don’t know what to think. Surely she can’t be involved? Can she?”

  Crane

  After leaving the interview room, Crane and Anderson went to the viewing room, to spy on the Professor, wanting to see his reaction to Anderson’s words, now he was on his own.

  “He looks like those World War One shell shock victims, doesn’t he,” said Crane, shuffling around to get his stick in the right position to keep him comfortably upright.

  “He didn’t ask for a lawyer,” mused Anderson.

  “He’s not been arrested though has he? That’s when most people run for cover under the safe umbrella of legal advice. And it was his wife driving the Jeep, not him.”

  “Suppose so.”

  Anderson still looked thoughtful and the Professor still hadn’t moved. Irritated by the whole thing Crane said, “Do you believe him? That he was with ‘a friend’ in Southampton?”

  “To be honest I’ve no idea what to think any more.”

  Crane, preferring to verbalise his introspection said, “But why would his wife be going on at us about him, if it’s her who is the killer?”

  “To throw us off the scent? Misdirection and all that?”

  “Is it possible the killer is a woman? Mrs Dennison? Jesus.
This is a weird one.” Crane’s words were as confused and jumbled as his thoughts.

  That brought a smile from Anderson. “I thought our previous murder case with DS Bullock at the centre of it was weird, but I think this one tops that.”

  “So what to do now?”

  “A chat with Major Martin, I think.”

  “On the phone?” Crane said, pulling his mobile out of his pocket.

  “No, I fancy a trip out, get some fresh air. We can take your new car.”

  “What about the Professor?” Crane fumbled as he put away his phone and found the car keys which were lurking at the bottom of his trouser pocket.

  “I think he could do with some quality reflection time, don’t you? He’ll still be here when we get back. Maybe by then he’ll be more willing to speak to us.”

  “But he could just leave!”

  “I know that, you know that, but does he know that?”

  “Of course he does, he studies criminology.”

  “Yes, but I’m betting his sense of fair play and ‘doing the right thing’ will make him stay. Come on, perhaps Major Martin can advise you on your pain medication as well.”

  Grumbling under his breath, Crane followed Anderson out of the room. Anderson was so bloody infuriating. But he was also the only friend Crane had, and his boss, so he’d better rectify his problems pretty soon. Could he really sort out his pain meds? Could he really continue working, or would his disability make it impossible? That question caused Crane to stumble once again, but Derek was there, as always, to steady him.

  Holly

  At last. As Holly checked her emails, the one she’d been waiting for had arrived. S-Dates had eventually sent them the information they’d requested through the search warrant. Careful not to upset the owners of the site, Ciaran had only requested details of the accounts they were interested in. The three accounts that had arranged a meeting with their three victims; Sally, Charlie and Dawn.