Jackson glanced nervously at his solicitor who gently nodded, a signal to do as instructed. ‘No comment,’ Jackson offered, though it was difficult to hear with his hand blocking his mouth.
‘Please speak loud and clear for the recording,’ Patel reminded him. ‘It’s here for your sake as much as ours.’
Jackson lowered his hand. ‘No comment.’
‘Does that mean you don’t know why you’ve been arrested?’
Another glance at the solicitor. ‘No comment.’
The solicitor leaned forward as Patel was opening his mouth to speak again. ‘I have recommended my client not to comment on any of your questions until you’ve disclosed what evidence you believe you have to connect him to these preposterous accusations.’
‘Is that what you want to do, Mr Jackson?’ Patel pressed, ignoring the solicitor.
Jackson flinched at the sound of his own name and began to nod, before remembering his instructions. ‘No comment.’
‘The thing is, Mr Jackson,’ Patel continued, ‘I need to ask you questions to establish whether you’re the man we believe murdered two innocent people. So, by not answering my questions, it makes it difficult for me to rule you out as a suspect. Do you understand?’
‘No comment,’ said more confidently this time.
‘Okay, for the purposes of clarity, you were arrested as we believe you are responsible for the murder of Petr Nowakowski and Maria Alexandrou. Do you understand what that means?’
‘No comment.’
Patel nodded, aware of how the next few minutes would progress. ‘Did you kill Petr Nowakowski and Maria Alexandrou?’
‘No comment.’
‘Did you know Petr Nowakowski and Maria Alexandrou?’
‘No comment.’
‘Had you met Petr Nowakowski or Maria Alexandrou?’
‘No comment.’
Kate continued to focus on the monitor. The main image was of Jackson and his solicitor, while a smaller view of Laura and Patel occupied the top corner of the screen. Kate was studying Jackson’s body language. She’d observed and undertaken more interviews in her career than she could ever recall, and no two had been the same. When dealing with suspects who had been interviewed or previously charged, the delivery of the ‘no comment’ was often with confidence or ennui, but with first-timers, more often than not, there was fear in their response. Jackson’s shudder every time Patel used his name was telling her a lot. He looked uncomfortable, but that didn’t necessarily confirm guilt or innocence, just that he wasn’t prepared to be interviewed today. Or, of course, it could all be an act; a cover story he’d concocted and was sticking to. She concentrated harder.
Patel made eye contact. ‘You sometimes work at St Bartholomew’s school on Hill Lane, don’t you?’
Jackson’s brow furrowed. ‘No comment.’
Kate leaned closer to the screen. Was that a clue? The mention of the school had clearly triggered something behind those dark eyes, but what?
‘We know you work there, Mr Jackson, because we have your van on their CCTV footage, and your name in the visitor’s book.’
‘No comment.’
‘Why won’t you comment about working at the school? That isn’t a crime.’
A glance at the solicitor. ‘No comment.’
‘You were called to the school last Thursday, weren’t you, Mr Jackson?’
‘No comment.’
‘Why were you called to the school, Mr Jackson?’
‘No comment.’
‘Was it to fix a photocopier?’
‘No comment.’
‘Tell me about your business, Mr Jackson; what do you do for a living?’
‘No comment.’
‘Does it pay well, being an engineer?’
‘No comment.’ Frustration was starting to kick in.
‘I’m pretty good with my hands,’ Patel mused. ‘I love doing a bit of DIY at the weekend. Are you good with your hands, Mr Jackson?’
‘No comment.’
‘I bet you are. I mean, you’d have to be to be an engineer, right?’
‘No comment.’ Delivered through gritted teeth.
Kate smiled to herself, pleased she’d chosen to send Patel in. She’d never known an officer as good at asking the same question a dozen different ways. The repetition and fast delivery could be a useful tool to upset the suspect’s rhythm, particularly when they desperately wanted to reply, but were remaining quiet under their solicitor’s instruction.
‘Did you always want to be an engineer?’
‘No comment.’
‘I imagine if we looked in the toolbox we recovered from the back of your van we’d find screwdrivers, wire cutters maybe, possibly a socket set.’
‘No comment.’
‘What about a power saw, Mr Jackson?’
The furrows in Jackson’s forehead sunk deeper. ‘No comment.’
‘Do you own a power saw, Mr Jackson?’
Jackson was now sitting further forward, growing increasingly worried. Was that a sign?
‘No comment.’
‘What else are we going to find in your toolbox?’
‘No comment.’
‘Blood?’
Jackson opened his mouth to reply, but the solicitor pressed an arm across him; a simple reminder to stick to the script.
‘No comment.’
‘Will we find Petr Nowakowski’s blood on any of your tools?’
‘No!’
‘Sorry, Mr Jackson, are you saying we won’t find any of Petr’s blood on your tools?’
He opened his mouth to speak again, before shaking his head, his lips trembling as he fought against the urge to say whatever he was holding back. ‘No comment.’
‘What about Maria Alexandrou’s blood?’
A shake of the head again. ‘No comment.’ Anger was becoming exasperation.
‘Because, Mr Jackson, the thing is, even if you’ve cleaned your tools, our forensics team are so good at finding the traces that are missed. So even if you think you’ve done a good job of cleaning them up, I wouldn’t count on it.’
Jackson rose from his chair and leaned in, ‘No comment!’
Both Patel and Laura instinctively sat back in response, playing up to the shock of his aggression. The solicitor tugged on Jackson’s arm, dragging him back to the seat.
Patel waited until Jackson had taken several breaths to calm himself before continuing. ‘Blood gets everywhere. It gets into the hinges and joints, particularly in scissors where the blades pivot. You think warm soapy water and a brush will be enough, but that doesn’t clean the microscopic traces unseen by the human eye. Those are the traces that help us nail killers. And sometimes that’s all it takes. Just a trace of Petr or Maria’s blood on your tools and we’ll have enough to press charges.’
‘I didn’t kill anyone!’ Jackson erupted, the first splash of a tear hitting his cheeks.
‘We believe you did, Mr Jackson. And the evidence we’re currently searching for in your house is going to confirm that. I know it was your solicitor’s idea not to answer any of our questions, but it won’t be your solicitor in the dock with a jury deciding his guilt. It’ll be you and you’ll be on your own to face their verdict. Hiding the truth now might seem like a good idea, but it really isn’t. The sooner you tell us the truth of what you did to Petr and Maria, the sooner we can all move on.’
‘I’m not a killer,’ he sobbed, burying his head in his hands.
The solicitor put the lid on his fountain pen and rested his pad on the table. ‘I think now would be an opportune moment to give my client a break, don’t you?’
Laura suspended the interview, leaving Kate to watch Jackson from the viewing suite, as he broke down into shuddering sobs beside his lawyer. She had to admit it was a convincing performance, but she’d seen better. Switching off the monitor, she headed to the incident room to discuss tactics for the second round of questioning, and to check in with Humberidge to see what progress they’d made
at Jackson’s house.
47
‘Go ahead, Humberidge,’ Kate said, leaning towards the conference phone in the supe’s office. ‘You’re on with the supe, Patel and Laura. How’s the search going?’
Humberidge’s voice crackled through the speaker. ‘We’ve bagged up his computer, but no sign of a tablet device or mobile phone yet.’
Kate muted the receiver so she could fill in the supe. ‘Jackson didn’t have a phone in his possession when we picked him up, and has yet to confirm where it is. From what we’ve managed to ascertain he uses the same phone for business as personal use.’
‘I’ve taken a picture of the pages in his address book and have emailed it over,’ Humberidge continued. ‘There’s only a couple of dozen entries, but might be worth checking those nearby.’
‘Patel will take a look at those when we’re through here,’ Kate said, catching eyes with Patel. ‘Anything else of interest we can use in the interview?’
‘Only been inside for half an hour, ma’am, but will keep you posted. The only other find of any significance is a box containing four unopened packets of photocopy paper. It’s the same brand of box and paper as was used to deliver the victim’s hearts.’
Kate clenched her fist in satisfaction. SSD had already confirmed that the brand used was generally stocked for both commercial and educational facilities to purchase. It wasn’t a smoking gun, but at the very least an uncanny coincidence. If only SSD had managed to locate a fingerprint on either of the boxes Jackson had covered in the wrapping paper, they might be a step closer to charging him.
‘I want you to check and see if he has any of the wrapping paper he used left. Check every room and all bins inside and outside, even for a scrap of it. Also, check for any glues or adhesives, so we can compare to what was used to attach the paper.’
‘Will do, ma’am.’
‘What’s the garden like? Anything unusual?’
‘There’s no garden at the front of the property, just a concrete driveway. The back is like a forest: overgrown and not cared for. No recently disturbed patches of soil as far as I can see, but I’ve got Vicky out there doing a closer sweep as we speak.’
‘Any sign that he might have burned the remains of the bodies? Ash, maybe, or charred patches on the concrete?’
‘Will have to let you know. I’ve got three constables trying to make contact with the immediate neighbours to see if anyone noticed any suspicious behaviour in the last couple of weeks, but I’ll keep you posted.’
‘Thanks, call me back as soon as you have anything else so I can coordinate with the rest of the team.’ Kate disconnected the line and straightened up.
The supe removed his glasses and chewed at one of the arms. ‘And presently there is no forensic evidence linking him to either victim?’
‘No, not unless we find something in his home or where he’s disposed of the rest of the bodies,’ Kate confirmed. ‘I have officers and dogs still at Mottisfont combing the grounds, but it’s such a large estate to cover that it could take days to find anything. But I’m not even convinced that’s why he was there this morning. On the security feed he is seen entering with the satchel we apprehended him with, but it only contained a packed lunch when we checked it. Plus, he didn’t have any digging equipment with him, and there was no trace of dirt on his hands or beneath his nails. As tough as it is to admit, I think he was only there to see the sights today.’
The supe paused to consider what she’d said. ‘Well, you need to work as quickly as you can. If the evidence isn’t strong enough by the morning, you know you’ll have to release him.’
‘You’re absolutely right, but I think we need to leave him to a stew a little longer. We need to buy Humberidge and the team as much time as possible to thoroughly examine his home. If we disclose the circumstantial evidence we have at present, his solicitor will be laughing.’
‘I think he wants to speak,’ Patel countered. ‘If we could just get him away from his solicitor, I’m sure he’d come clean.’
Kate agreed. ‘But his solicitor will have been working to reel him back in since his last outburst.’ She paused and tried to focus on finding the solution. ‘Right, you two go back to the incident room and see what else you can dig up about his background. I want to know what school he went to, whether his parents are still alive, who he knew at college, I mean, anything that tells us more about him as a person so we can better focus our search for his victims.’
‘I think Quinlan is still in the incident room trying to identify the people in Jackson’s social media photos,’ Laura offered. ‘I’ll see if he can fill in any of the other blanks.’
‘Good. I’m going to go and visit Imelda Watkins, the owner of number forty-eight Abbotts Way. I want to know why he used her property to do what he did. Maybe she can shed some light on what drove him to kill Petr and Maria.’
*
Imelda Watkins’ four-bedroom detached property was in a sprawling cul-de-sac, in the large village of North Baddesley, situated halfway between the Lordshill and Romsey suburbs. The front of the property was protected by a small brick wall enclosure and a large wooden farm gate, beyond which Kate spotted a Mercedes, sparkling despite the recent run of bad weather. Parking up directly outside the gate, Kate followed the small pathway that ran down the side of the wall, where a smaller wooden gate led past the bay window to the front door.
Kate casually glanced through the window as she proceeded, but the blinds were partly closed and obscured most of the view. Kate hadn’t called ahead to check whether Mrs Watkins would be home, so was relieved to hear her approaching the door when Kate had clattered the letterbox.
‘Detective Matthews, this is a surprise. Please, come in.’
Kate followed Imelda out to a conservatory at the rear of the property, politely declining the offer of a drink. The room looked out onto a long lawn, bordered by several conifer trees at its end, which caused a dark shadow to spread over the grass, which still had patches of white from the previous evening’s snow. Inside the conservatory, the walls were adorned with pictures of Mrs Watkins and a man.
‘Is that you and your husband?’ Kate asked, nodding at one of a younger Imelda standing beside a blue beach hut with a tall man, dressed in shorts and a T-shirt.
Imelda looked up at the image, and a sorrowful smile graced her face. ‘That’s my Graham, yes. I’m sure that’s where Neil gets his passion for the ocean from. Graham was in the navy when I met him, before resigning his commission when I fell pregnant, and taking a job at the local hospital.’
Kate watched as Imelda continued to stare at the image, the memories of that time playing silently behind her eyes. ‘I’m here about the discovery we made at your Abbotts Way property last night,’ Kate continued. ‘I believe one of my team has been in touch?’
Imelda’s focus returned to Kate. ‘Good heavens, no. What kind of discovery?’
Kate perched on the wicker chair next to Imelda. ‘You haven’t spoken to anyone from my team today?’
‘No, I’ve only been home for about ten minutes. Neil and I went and laid flowers at my late husband’s graveside. What’s going on? Oh God, tell me someone hasn’t vandalised it as well? It took me hours to get the paint from Neil’s brickwork.’
‘Not exactly. One of the rooms upstairs, Mrs Watkins, we are treating as a murder scene.’
Imelda gasped, and covered her mouth with her hand. ‘Murder?’
Kate tried to read Imelda’s face, but could trace no sign of deceit. This news really was a shock to her. ‘When were you last at the property, Mrs Watkins?’
Imelda puffed out her cheeks. ‘I-I-I don’t know. I can’t remember.’
‘It’s been some time, then?’
‘Well, yes. It’s been vacant for nearly a year. It’s on the market, and I really can’t remember when I last called in there. Supporting the school takes up much of my time and I… goodness me. Would you mind fetching me a glass of water?’
Kate stood
and made her way back to the kitchen, locating a glass on the draining board and filling it at the sink, before returning to the conservatory. ‘Here you go.’
Imelda accepted the glass and sipped from it slowly.
‘Can you confirm who has access to the property, Mrs Watkins?’
‘Um, let me see. Well, I have a set of keys, of course, and the estate agent has a set so they can show prospective clients around, but I don’t think there have been any interested parties in several months.’
‘Anybody else? What about your son, Neil?’
‘No, he doesn’t have a set of keys. He mows the lawn there sometimes, but I don’t think he’s been over there since before Christmas. I can call him and ask if you like?’
‘Is he not here now?’
‘No, he dropped me home and then said he wanted to go for a drive. I don’t imagine he’ll be much longer.’
‘You were renting the property out last year, weren’t you?’
‘That’s right. To a man I met at St Bartholomew’s, as it goes.’
‘Chris Jackson?’
‘That’s right. Do you know him?’
‘What can you tell me about him?’
Imelda lowered the glass of water to a small table adjacent to the wicker chair, considering her answer. ‘He paid his rent on time.’
‘Is that it? There’s nothing else you can tell me?’
‘Apologies, detective, but I was raised not to gossip behind other’s backs. What is it you want to know?’
Kate had to be careful not to inadvertently lead Imelda as a witness. ‘He was renting the property for a year according to council tax records. Why did the tenancy agreement end? Was it his choice or yours?’
‘Mine.’
Kate remained silent, waiting for Imelda to elaborate. She eventually sighed. ‘After my husband passed, things became difficult… financially, I mean. That was why I first agreed to Chris leasing the property. It was such a big place, and not in a good state of repair, so I didn’t charge him top whack. I thought it would be good having someone capable with their hands on site. With all the best will in the world, Neil isn’t good at that kind of thing. He can’t jump unless I tell him, and I didn’t want to spend money on a third party to maintain the place, so Chris just came along at the right time.’
Cold Heart: Absolutely gripping serial-killer fiction Page 23
