by Rob Sinclair
A good question.
‘I rushed through into the kitchen. I thought it was a burglar. I went right up to the back window. Then I saw the gate crash shut too.’
‘Did you see someone that time?’
A pause. ‘No, but the gate. It wouldn’t close itself, would it?’
She sounded more defensive now.
‘Anything you saw, however small, would be really helpful,’ Dani said.
‘I’m sorry, I… I know someone was here, but…’
Dani gave her the time, but she didn’t finish the sentence.
‘What next?’ Dani said when she realised Bianca needed the prompt.
‘I was standing in the kitchen. I called to Clara. I got no answer. I was about to go back towards the front, I already had my phone out to call 999 because I thought she’d been broken into… Then I pushed the bathroom door open. I don’t even know why.’
She hung her head and sobbed again and Dani gave her the time to compose herself. Of course, Dani had to keep an open mind to what Bianca was saying. In fact, could Bianca even be a suspect? Dani couldn’t rule out such a possibility, but right now she didn’t believe that to be the case. This woman was genuinely shocked and traumatised.
‘I screamed,’ Bianca said. ‘I ran to the bath. I grabbed her head and tried to pull her back up—’
‘So she was under the water?’
‘What? Y-yes? Her mouth, her nose, eyes. I didn’t know what to do. She wasn’t breathing. I thought about giving CPR.’
‘Did you?’
‘No. I was so confused. I ran out and called an ambulance then I went back and… oh God.’
She buried her face in her hands now.
‘Mrs Neita, was the water hot?’
She looked up at Dani as though it was a ridiculous question.
‘Of course it was. Well, not hot, but warm.’
It might have seemed obvious to Bianca, but it wasn’t to Dani. She stewed on that response for a few moments.
‘The police got here first,’ Bianca said. ‘It took… I don’t even know. Maybe not even two minutes. I was still by her side, still talking to her, trying to get her to wake up.’
The room fell silent for a few moments. Dani waited to see if Bianca would add anything unprompted. She didn’t.
‘How did you know Clara?’ Dani asked.
Bianca stared at Dani as though unsure about the change of direction.
‘I… we met at the coffee shop. She’s been around here a couple of years, I think. But… I don’t know that much about her really.’
‘She lives alone?’
‘I think so.’
‘No kids.’
‘No.’
‘Husband, boyfriend?’
‘She never talked about one.’
Nor were there any pictures suggesting she had a partner. In fact there were barely any personal items in the house at all.
‘Had she ever missed a shift before?’
‘Not that I remember. That’s why it was odd. Especially to not answer her phone either.’
‘We found a lot of pills in the bathroom. Anti-depressants mostly. Did you know she was taking those?’
‘Why would I know what medication she’s on?’
The way she said it was as though it was a horrible question to ask.
‘So you didn’t know?’
‘I didn’t know. Why would I? She was just a… wait. Are you saying…’
She didn’t finish the question.
‘I’m saying there’s a partly drunk glass of vodka by the bath,’ Dani said. ‘And a medicine cabinet filled with medication of various sorts—’
‘You think she killed herself?’
‘Would that surprise you?’
Bianca huffed as though the question wasn’t worthy of a response. ‘I already told you, there was someone else here.’
Dani nodded as she processed all of the conflicting things she was seeing and hearing. She could understand why the PCs who’d attended the 999 call had phoned the Homicide team, not least because of the as-yet-unexplained death, but particularly with a witness account of a potential intruder. But did that really explain any of what Dani was seeing here?
‘Er, Dani.’
She turned to Easton who was standing in the doorway.
‘Can I have a word?’ he asked.
‘Sorry, Mrs Neita, please excuse me for a moment.’
‘Do you know how long you’ll need me for?’ Bianca said as Dani got to her feet. ‘The shop’s still closed. We can’t lose a whole day’s takings.’
‘If you let my colleague take your details, and a brief statement, you can go. We’ll be in touch if we need anything more.’
Bianca nodded mournfully.
‘I’m really sorry you had to see this,’ Dani said before she stepped out into the corridor.
‘I overheard what she said about someone being here,’ Easton said, just louder than a whisper.
‘And?’
He pursed his lips and shook his head. ‘No sign of a boyfriend or anything. No clothes, that sort of thing.’
‘A girlfriend?’
Easton initially looked puzzled, as if that thought had never crossed his mind. ‘I mean, no, I don’t think so. No extra toothbrush either. But more to the point, I can’t see any evidence of an intruder either. No obvious forced entry, no sign of anything having been disturbed. TV, laptop, tablet, purse all still here.’
Dani thought for a moment. What were they not seeing?
Or perhaps they were seeing everything. A severely depressed woman, living alone, who’d taken a morning bath with a cocktail of pills and a glass of vodka. Back door left open because of the steam from the bath? Gate swinging in the wind. Death by suicide or misadventure, whichever it was, it was the same result for poor Clara Doyle.
‘But there is something,’ Easton said.
‘Yeah?’
‘Follow me.’
Dani followed Easton up the stairs, the coarse-weave brown carpet scrunching under her feet. The upstairs of the house had just three doors off the landing: a small toilet, a box room that was used as some sort of dumping ground for clothes and suitcases and unused furniture, and a slightly larger bedroom at the front that was clearly Clara Doyle’s space. The double bed had sumptuous sheets, ruffled from recent use. There was a small dressing table with perfume and make-up messily arranged, a bedside table, but no other furniture, though there was another internal door in one corner. Dani’s immediate thought was that perhaps it was a fitted wardrobe, or even a tiny corner en-suite, but as she looked to the handle and saw the small padlock she realised that this was the reason Easton had called her up.
‘What do you think?’ he said.
‘Let’s try and find a key. If not, we break it off.’
Easton nodded and they set about on their search. There weren’t that many places to look, and Dani was the one who found it, stuffed beneath underwear in the bottom bedside drawer.
She held the key aloft, and Easton looked over at her victoriously, though Dani was feeling quite different. What were they about to stumble on here?
She moved to the door and with a rise of tension pushed the small key into the lock. She unclasped the padlock, then held her breath as she opened the door.
She was left staring into a darkened space. She reached around the inside wall and found a corded switch which she tugged down. A soft yellow light flickered on.
Neither of them said a word. Dani took a halfstep in, her eyes darting left, right, up and down as she took in the patchwork of photos, handwritten notes, newspaper clippings that adorned the wall. Like a crime scene board, or the work of a raving conspiracy theorist. There were scribbled notes, red and black lines drawn all over them, linking the various bits of information in some unknown way.
‘What is this?’ Easton said.
Dani said nothing as she continued to look. One thing was for sure. There was a theme here. Two men in particular, whose faces appeare
d several times over.
‘Go and get Mrs Neita.’
Easton hurried off. Dani continued to try to take in what she could. What was Clara Doyle doing with all this?
Easton was soon back, both PC Rowden and Bianca with him. Bianca now looked both scared and seriously uncomfortable.
‘This is horrible,’ Bianca said as Dani stepped back out of the cupboard, or whatever it was. ‘I’m in her bedroom. She’s dead downstairs and we’re all in her room going through her things.’
‘I know it’s not nice to do, but we have to do it,’ Dani said. ‘Please, can you come and take a look in here.’
Bianca hesitated but was soon by Dani’s side within the small space, staring aghast at the picture wall, much in the same way as Dani had moments before.
‘Do you recognise any of these people?’ Dani asked.
No response. Bianca’s eyes flicked across the wall.
‘Are they her family? Friends?’
‘I… I just don’t know.’
Except one thing was clear: she wasn’t paying any attention to the older guy. One of the pictures was a press cutting and gave his name as Nicolae Popescu. Bianca was looking all over, anywhere except at his pictures.
Dani reached forward and grabbed the largest, most clear photo she could of Popescu. With a round but lined face, receding hair, large Slavic nose, he looked mean and vicious.
‘Do you know this man?’ Dani said. Bianca quickly looked away from the photo, catching Dani’s gaze. ‘Nicolae Popescu. Who is he?’
‘I’ve no idea,’ Bianca said, her words quavering slightly.
Dani stared at her, but Bianca didn’t say anything more.
‘OK, you can go,’ Dani said.
Dani realised she sounded pissed off now, but only because she was certain Bianca was holding back on something. Why?
Bianca and PC Rowden retreated and Dani waited until she was sure they were out of earshot.
‘Who is this guy?’ she said to Easton, holding the photo up.
He shrugged sheepishly. ‘I honestly don’t know either, but I agree her reaction was off.’
‘Then let’s find out.’
Easton was soon beside Dani in the cramped space, scanning the photos on the wall. ‘And this younger guy?’ he said. ‘What’s the deal, do you think?’
Dani really had no clue. Like Popescu, the younger man appeared in several of the pictures, though his name wasn’t clear as there were several other names written on the pictures or next to them: Michael Marin, Patrick Beatty, James Alden. Dani’s eyes flicked across the pictures, the clippings, the notes, the jumble of names and words – coded? – that adorned it all. How could anyone make sense of this…
Then her eyes settled. She felt a sickly feeling in the pit of her stomach. A shiver ran right through her and she whipped her eyes back into the bedroom as though she was expecting to see a ghoul there.
There was nothing. Nobody at all.
Her eyes soon found the picture again. Her heart rattled away in her chest.
‘What is it?’ Easton said, clearly picking up on her edginess.
Dani said nothing as she reached forwards with the tip of a blue plastic-covered finger.
‘What the—’ were the only words she could muster.
It made no sense to her, it made no sense to him, but there was no doubt whatsoever that the man her finger had rested on – the man standing with a wide smile in a group of five, alongside the young man who appeared in several of the other photos – was her brother, Ben.
Chapter 3
‘This isn’t right,’ Dani said, closing down the pop-up screen with an agitated press of the mouse.
‘What?’ Easton said from across the open-plan office space of the Homicide team at HQ. A few other eyes peeped up over their low dividers to look in Dani’s direction, but she ignored the questioning looks.
Easton was soon by her side, hovering over her screen.
‘Clara Doyle doesn’t exist,’ Dani said.
No response.
‘No national insurance number,’ she said. ‘No marriage records, passport, driving licence—’
‘So—’
‘So the licence found in her purse is a fake.’
‘Fingerprints?’
‘No match.’
Easton sighed. ‘We’ll have to send a team back to her house. Search everywhere. There must be a clue as to who she really is. A bank account, something.’
‘Good idea. But the bigger question is why? Why the fake identity at all?’
Easton said nothing again.
‘We’ll get the search done,’ Dani said after a few moments of silence. ‘Check with her landlord. Does she pay him from a bank account? What ID checks did he do? Let’s arrange another meeting with her friend, Bianca, too, plus whoever employed her at that coffee shop.’
‘What about the men in the pictures?’
Dani sighed. ‘All we’ve got to go on are their names and their faces.’
‘We can narrow down their ages at least to match to other records.’
‘To a certain extent. Except we don’t even know when most of those pictures were taken. And it’s not quite that straightforward.’
Dani clicked away with her mouse, pulling up the other search results.
‘James Alden, Patrick Beatty, Michael Marin,’ Dani said. ‘Those were the three names that appeared by the photos on that board that all seemed to relate to the younger man. So which one was he really, and why the aliases? And from first glance there are tens of results just in the West Midlands for those names.’
‘Social media?’ Easton said.
‘Already tried. Briefly, anyway. Nothing that looks like our guy. The only option we have left to identify this man is to dig into every single person with one of these names until we find the match.’
‘Yet we don’t even know why we’d be doing that.’
Dani glanced up at Easton, not sure what to make of his statement.
‘No,’ she said. ‘But I think we have to. If only to help figure out who our dead woman really is.’
‘What about the other guy? Popescu.’
‘Well, that’s where this all gets even more murky.’
Easton raised an eyebrow.
‘Nicolae Popescu,’ Dani said, pointing to the onscreen profile once she’d brought it up. ‘Take a look.’
Easton leaned forward and took control of the mouse as he scrolled down, his eyes flicking from left to right and back again at speed.
‘It’s definitely him,’ Easton said. ‘The same guy as in the pictures.’
‘Romanian national,’ Dani said. ‘Arrived in the UK 2008.’
‘Convicted of… bloody hell.’
‘GBH. Attempted murder. He spent three years in prison before he was deported.’
‘Which was in 2013. So he’s been out of the country for seven years?’
‘According to Border Force’s records, at least.’
‘What do we do with this?’
Dani stood up from her chair, and peered over to DCI McNair’s office. She could just make out her boss through the small window next to the closed door.
‘Let’s go and ask.’
* * *
‘So you’ve got a Jane Doe, who may or may not have died in suspicious circumstances,’ McNair said, glancing over the top of her glasses to Dani, the way she often did. Kind of like a stereotypical school headmistress from days gone by. Was that the look McNair intended? In her fifties and with her ever formal appearance perhaps it was.
‘No, I’d say there’s no doubt right now that her death is absolutely suspicious,’ Dani said. ‘Even disregarding the nature of her death, we have a witness reporting that she believed someone else had been in the house—’
‘But she didn’t actually see anyone, you said.’
‘She didn’t. But there are CCTV cameras on the streets around there, and we have a pretty good idea of time. We might find someone if they were hang—’
/> ‘Who said any intruder came on foot?’
‘No one, but—’
‘Then you’re going to have a hard time tracking down a mystery person of unknown description, travelling by unknown means, in an unknown direction.’
Dani slumped a little. It was a fair point. But that didn’t mean it wasn’t necessarily still worth a try.
‘What else?’ McNair said, sitting back in her chair now. She didn’t look uninterested exactly, but she did look like she wasn’t sure why one of her senior detectives was so over-excited. Not that Dani believed she was.
‘We did a brief search of the house,’ Dani said. ‘The only alcohol we found was a half-empty bottle of vodka. All those pills we found… none of them were properly labelled. They weren’t dispensed from an official pharmacy, and the dates had all expired.’
‘So you’re suggesting?’
‘I’m suggesting our Jane Doe wasn’t a regular drinker, and it’s possible she wasn’t even regularly on that medication. Perhaps it wasn’t hers at all.’
‘So you’re telling me you don’t think this was an accidental overdose?’
‘I’m telling you at least that a lot of elements here don’t add up.’
‘Suicide then?’
‘There was no note, but… it’s possible.’
‘As possible as any other outcome right now,’ McNair said. ‘One bottle of vodka? Out of date pills? So perhaps our victim got hold of those things for the very reason of killing herself.’
‘I agree that’s a theory that fits,’ Dani said, even though she didn’t believe it at all. ‘But at the very least there are a lot of factors here we need to look at more closely. A possible intruder. False identity, perhaps an unscrupulous landlord who’s failed to carry out proper checks on his tenant, same for her employer. And even if she killed herself, someone still supplied her with grey market medication…’
‘And then there’s those pictures. And your brother.’ McNair said the last three words with a strange sneer. Almost accusatory. But towards Dani rather than Ben.
‘We’ve no idea what Clara Doyle, or whatever she’s really called, was aiming for with that picture board,’ Easton said, ‘but it’s worth a deeper look into who those men are so we can try to figure it out. What links them to each other? What links them to our dead woman?’
