Reunion: a gripping crime thriller (DI Kate Fletcher Book Book 4)

by Heleyne Hammersley

  Booth looked over Kate’s shoulder, his eyes focused on the middle distance, clearly trying to remember. ‘Driving licence, I believe. She didn’t have her passport because she’d sent it off for renewal as soon as she’d arrived home. She also showed me a credit card and a utility bill to prove where she was living.’

  ‘So, you have an address for this woman?’

  Booth pulled his keyboard towards him and typed something. He glanced at his monitor and typed again.

  ‘Are all your records computerised?’ Hollis asked.

  Booth nodded, distracted by what he was doing.

  ‘Everything?’ Hollis persisted. ‘Admittance, deaths, all that?’

  ‘Yes,’ Booth said. ‘Our system is kept up to date with all the details of our residents.’

  ‘So, you’d have had a record of the niece before she turned up. You wouldn’t have just taken the word of a stranger, if the resident didn’t have all their faculties say?’

  Booth frowned. ‘I don’t know what sort of place you think I’m running here,’ he said. ‘Under no circumstances would we release a vulnerable resident unless we followed proper procedures. It’s not as if somebody could just walk in off the street and call themselves a relative.’

  ‘So, how did you know this woman was Mrs Wallace’s niece?’

  Booth turned the screen so that Hollis could see it, a smile of triumph in his eyes. ‘Here. She was listed as a family member when Mrs Wallace was admitted two years ago.’ He pointed to the relevant piece of information.

  Kate leaned round so that she could see where Booth was pointing. A passport-style photograph of an elderly lady stared out at her from the top left-hand side of the screen – her eyes looked vacant. Next of kin was recorded as David Wallace with an address in Bentley and, under ‘other’, was the name Stephanie Martin with an address which looked Spanish and another in Thorpe.

  ‘That makes no sense,’ Kate said. ‘Wouldn’t the husband have had to be involved?’

  ‘It’s perfectly straightforward,’ Booth said, sounding slightly defensive. ‘Our residents are elderly so, usually, their spouses are also elderly – if they’re still alive. We always ask for the name of another relative who can act as next of kin if the spouse dies.’

  ‘And if the spouse is still alive? Surely you would check with them first?’

  ‘Of course,’ Booth looked affronted, as though Kate was suggesting that he hadn’t done his job properly. ‘But, as you can see, the husband is dead. He died almost a year after Mrs Wallace came to stay with us.’

  Next to the name David Wallace was the word DECEASED in red upper-case letters and a date in 2018.

  9

  ‘Who has access to these records?’ Kate asked.

  The care home manager, Booth, rubbed his chin. ‘Myself and the admin staff. Medical staff can see the records, but any alterations have to be authorised by admin. Family members are verified at the time of admittance – we usually ask for a passport, birth certificate, marriage certificate. We have to be as thorough as possible – we can’t have somebody being admitted in error and we need to know exactly who to contact in case of an emergency.’

  ‘But this Stephanie Martin claimed to have been living abroad. How would you have been able to verify her identity if it was Wallace who brought his wife into your care?’

  Booth sighed and tapped at his keyboard again. ‘Our records show that Mr Wallace brought a copy of his niece’s birth certificate along with documentation proving that she was Mrs Wallace’s niece through her sister, Deirdre. The information was entered by our registrar two days prior to Mrs Wallace coming to live here. You can see that the appropriate boxes have been ticked.’

  Kate glanced at the screen, more interested in the process Booth was describing than the result. ‘No scans of the documents?’

  Booth tapped a couple of keys. ‘No. That is slightly irregular. Possibly an oversight or it’s possible that the client didn’t want the documents scanned – that is their prerogative.’

  ‘I’d like copies of this, if possible,’ she said. ‘Could somebody else have entered this information, at a later date? Or could somebody have changed it?’

  ‘I don’t see how. The system logs the ID of the person entering the data – as you can see. If I changed this, it would then show that I’d made a change and the date.’

  Kate was struggling to make sense of the information. Surely Wallace must have known the niece if he showed the admin staff the documents. And the name, Stephanie Martin. Steve Martin was one of the actors in The Three Amigos. Somebody was taking the piss.

  ‘Do you have somebody who maintains your IT system, or do you use an outside company?’

  ‘We use Don Valley Data – they’re based in Doncaster. It’s part of an NHS contract.’

  ‘And do you have a lot of IT issues?’

  ‘We’re a small organisation, DI Fletcher. Our in-house network consists of less than twenty PCs and maybe two dozen staff laptops. We don’t have many IT problems.’

  ‘Can staff access your system remotely? When they’re at home, or off-site?’ Hollis asked. It was a good question. If remote access was enabled, then it opened the system up to being hacked much more easily.

  ‘No. There’s no need. Patient medical records can be accessed via the NHS system in case of a medical emergency. It’s all very secure – we just get regular usage updates, that sort of thing. What exactly are you looking for?’

  ‘We’re investigating a murder, Mr Booth. There may be a connection to The Nook but we’re yet to establish what that connection might be. I’d appreciate it if you could get the information I’ve requested, plus details of your IT provider. I’d also like any CCTV footage you have from the days that Mrs Wallace was admitted and discharged. If there’s anything else, I’ll be in touch.’

  Kate stood up, denying Booth the chance to respond to her request and Hollis opened the door. ‘We’ll wait in the foyer, if that’s okay.’

  ‘Did you get a good look at the niece’s address?’ Hollis asked as soon as they were out of earshot of Booth’s office.

  ‘Kimberley Road in Thorpe. Same as the one given at the storage place. We know that’s a dead end.’

  ‘Not that one. There were two. When she was supposedly abroad the niece was living in Mexico – where that bloody film’s set. It all comes back to those three kids. Somebody must have accessed those records and altered them.’

  ‘There is one thing you’re missing,’ Kate said.

  Hollis frowned at her.

  ‘We’re looking for a niece. A woman. Calvin Russell told us that a man made the booking for the storage unit where the body was found.’

  ‘An accomplice?’

  ‘Or Russell’s not what he appears to be. He did say that he got the job because he was good with computers.’

  Hollis was silent for a minute and then shook his head. ‘Can’t see it. He looked genuinely shaken up. And the way his boss treated him – like a little kid.’

  Kate wasn’t as convinced. There was a pattern to this, and she didn’t like it. It felt like every step forward they took presented them with a new piece of the puzzle but she couldn’t see the whole thing. The niece obviously wasn’t who she claimed to be but then who was she? What was her role in this? Was she working with Russell and if so, what was the motive?

  ‘I’m going to get Barratt to bring Russell in,’ she said to Hollis. ‘My gut isn’t telling me anything, so we need to act rather than theorise.’

  She dialled Barratt’s number on her phone and turned away from Hollis as she waited for the other DC to pick up. Scanning the bright wallpaper and vases of fresh flowers she wondered what could have drawn a murderer here – to a place of the elderly and the dying.

  ‘Kate?’ Barratt finally answered.

  ‘Bring Calvin Russell in. I want him formally questioned.’

  Silence.

  ‘Did you get that?’

  ‘Of course,’ Barratt sounded flustered
, as though he didn’t want to talk to her.

  ‘Something wrong, Matt?’

  ‘Nope,’ he responded, a little too quickly. ‘I’ll get on to that.’

  Kate hung up and dialled Cooper’s number.

  ‘Sam? Clear the decks. I’ve requested CCTV from The Nook from the days that Margaret Wallace was admitted and discharged. And I want you to find out anything you can about Don Valley Data. See if you’ve got any contacts who might be connected with them.’

  Cooper didn’t respond.

  ‘Sam? What the fuck’s going on? First Barratt sounds like he’s away with the fairies and now you.’

  ‘Sorry,’ Cooper mumbled down the phone. ‘CCTV and Don Valley Data. Got it.’

  ‘Good and–’

  ‘Kate, I think you might be in bother,’ Cooper blurted out. ‘DCI Das’s been in here looking for you and she’s not happy. She was at the PM of the body from the storage locker this morning and got back ten minutes ago with a face like thunder. Has she rung you?’

  ‘I don’t think so.’ Kate hadn’t felt her phone vibrate during the interview with Booth. ‘Shit! We were in a cupboard under the stairs. I bet there was no signal.’

  She ended the call and scanned the screen of her phone expecting to see a red exclamation mark next to the handset icon. Nothing. No missed calls and no texts. Maybe Cooper was imagining things. But Barratt had been a bit off as well.

  ‘DI Fletcher,’ Booth was walking towards her with a slim folder of papers. ‘Here’s the information you requested. I’ve included the phone number of the IT company. I’m afraid the CCTV footage might take a couple of hours, but I’ll get it to you by tomorrow.’

  ‘I’ll send somebody over by the end of the working day with a memory stick,’ Kate said, unwilling to allow Booth to dictate a timetable. ‘Please have it ready. And thanks for this.’ She waved the folder at him and started walking to the door. Mark Harrison appeared from behind the reception desk and flashed his key fob at the sensor, allowing them out into the chilly November air.

  ‘Well, that was–’ Kate’s phone buzzed in her pocket. She checked the screen. Priya Das. It looked like Sam had been right.

  ‘Fletcher?’ Das barked at her. Kate knew she was in trouble – the DCI never used her surname. ‘We have a huge problem. You need to get back to Doncaster Central now. I’ll see you in my office in half an hour and you’d better be prepared to turn everything on this case over to DS O’Connor until we get this mess sorted out.’

  ‘What–’ Kate started to ask but Das had already hung up.

  JULY 1988

  ‘Where’s Ned?’ Dusty whispered peering over Lucky’s shoulder, trying to see if their friend was lurking in the gloom between the tents.

  ‘Not coming,’ Lucky said with a shrug. ‘Says he doesn’t feel like it.’

  ‘What’s up with him?’

  ‘Dunno. He’s wrapped up in his sleeping bag. Told me to fuck off when I tried to get him out.’

  Dusty was puzzled. This night walk had been Ned’s idea. There was no way he’d back out without a good reason. He’d been weird at teatime as well. He hadn’t eaten much and had hardly spoken to anyone as far as she could tell. She hadn’t been sitting with him and Lucky because they’d been made to pair up with the person they shared a tent with so she’d had to put up with dopey Angela for an hour instead of sharing the meal with her friends.

  ‘Is he not well?’ she asked Lucky.

  ‘I said I don’t know!’ Lucky snapped back a little too loudly, causing them both to look around in case they’d woken up one of the teachers. ‘He didn’t seem to want to talk to me, so I took his advice and fucked off.’ Lucky’s voice had lowered to a hiss and Dusty could tell that he didn’t want to talk about Ned’s emotional or physical state. It was another of the growing differences between them and an increasing source of friction. How many times had one of the boys laughed when she tried to explore their feelings? She had laughed herself, but she knew that none of them meant it – that beneath the surface there were things that were becoming more difficult to talk about as they grew up. And feelings were very much off limits.

  But she couldn’t let it go. She didn’t know why. Maybe it was Lucky’s blasé attitude to his friend’s distress or it might have been her own bloody-mindedness – Ned had planned this so the least he could do was to turn up. She tiptoed over to the boys’ tent and unzipped the front flaps as quietly as she could manage.

  ‘Ned?’

  She couldn’t see much inside except for a large dark lump which she assumed was Ned.

  ‘Ned!’ she hissed again, sticking her head and shoulders through the gap between the hanging folds of fabric. ‘Since when are you a chicken? This was your bloody idea so get yourself up and come with us.’

  The lump moved slightly and Dusty heard a muffled sniff. ‘Ned? What’s up?’

  A sigh from the lump. ‘Nothing’s up. I’ve just changed my mind. Leave me alone. You and Lucky go.’

  There was nothing else to be said. If Ned didn’t want to talk and didn’t want to go with them there wasn’t much that Dusty could do about it. She couldn’t spend all night arguing with him about it either – the first hint of raised voices would be sure to send an adult in their direction.

  ‘And zip the doors up,’ Ned said as Dusty withdrew her head.

  ‘Well?’ Lucky asked as Dusty crept back to where he’d been waiting in the deep shadows under a huge tree.

  ‘He’s not coming,’ she said. ‘It’s just us.’

  ‘Okay, so what do we do? This was Ned’s plan. Where shall we go?’

  Dusty looked around. Her eyes had adjusted to the light and she was surprised that there were still faint streaks of pink and orange in the blue-black sky. The tents were a huddle of pale shapes on the silvery parched grass, turned metallic by the light from a three-quarter moon. It was tempting to just run around them yelling, to give everybody a fright and then go back to bed, but she didn’t think that was what Ned had in mind and she felt a strong spark of loyalty to him despite his resistance to her questions.

  ‘Let’s see what the teachers are up to,’ she whispered, nodding towards the solid black block of the wooden building which housed the staff accommodation. ‘I bet they’re all still up drinking and playing cards without Mrs Dalston to keep an eye on them.’

  There had been a sense of shock in the camp earlier when the instructor who’d taken their teacher to the hospital had returned without her. He’d spent some time reassuring the students that Mrs Dalston would be fine – it was a clean break and she’d be in plaster for a few weeks but no permanent damage. It had still felt a bit strange having tea without her, though.

  There was just enough light for her to read Lucky’s doubtful expression. ‘What if they catch us?’

  ‘Then they’ll just send us back to our tents. It’s not like we’re doing anything – just having a wander round.’

  Lucky shook his head. ‘I dunno…’

  Shocked, Dusty saw that his eyes were wide, the whites clearly visible all round his pupils. Lucky was frightened. Whether it was the darkness or the fear of being caught by the adults, Dusty couldn’t be sure but, now she thought about it, his voice had been trembling since they’d met up.

  ‘Or we could just go back,’ she said. ‘We’ve been out and had a look around. There’s not really much to do anyway. Maybe Ned had something in mind but it’s not the same without him.’

  The relief was obvious in Lucky’s face as he nodded his agreement. ‘Okay,’ he said. ‘If that’s what you want.’

  And suddenly Dusty was furious. If that’s what you want. Putting the blame on her when he was obviously scared stiff. Well, she wasn’t going to let him get away with that. ‘No, it’s not what I want. I want to go and spy on the teachers. I only said it because you’re shitting yourself. Come on.’

  She walked towards the shadow of the building imagining that it was a huge mouth waiting to swallow her up in its darkness. She didn’t b
other to see if Lucky was following her, she didn’t care. He could do what he wanted but she wouldn’t let him get away with making out that she was the one who was scared.

  ‘Dusty?’

  She turned round and Lucky walked into her. ‘What?’

  ‘Slow down. They’ll hear us if you keep stomping about like that.’

  ‘A bit late for that,’ said a deep voice from the darkness.

  Dusty took a step away from the sound and trod on something behind her.

  ‘Shit! That was my foot,’ Lucky yelped.

  ‘You don’t know what pain is, you little cunt,’ said another voice, this time from behind Lucky. ‘But you’re about to find out. Think you can get away with breaking the rules?’

  Dusty turned to see Mr Whitaker emerge from the deepest of the shadows. ‘You c-c-can’t talk to us like that,’ she stammered. ‘I’ll tell my mam.’

  ‘And I’ll tell her that you were trying to steal cigarettes from the staff. That is why you’re out here at this time of night, isn’t it?’

  ‘No!’ Lucky squawked. ‘We just wanted to see what it was like in the dark.’

  ‘You need to keep them quiet,’ the mysterious voice behind Lucky said. ‘We don’t want the other kids waking up.’

  Dusty saw Whitaker nod and then, without seeming to move he’d caught the top of her arm in an iron grip.

  ‘Right, you two. Let’s show you what happens to naughty little children who can’t do as they’re told.’

  She tried to resist as he pulled her towards the building, but he was a grown man and much too strong for her. A door opened in front of her, spilling dull orange light out onto the grass. A huge figure was silhouetted in the rectangle of brightness – the sergeant major. He crossed his arms and leaned against the door jamb as though he had been expecting them and, as they got closer, Dusty could see that he was grinning to himself. She looked back over her shoulder and saw Lucky’s pale face contort with pain as he struggled with a member of the centre staff. The one who’d taken Mrs Dalston to the hospital.