Satisfied that he wouldn’t be observed until the next train was due to pass in twenty minutes, he made his way over to the fence separating the work site and the track. It had been cut and moved to one side by the maintenance workers. The temporary fencing that he had unlocked was designed to prevent the public from accessing the railway line.
He crossed the tracks to a rough grass verge that hugged the wayside and led down to a copse of trees that sheltered the site from view.
He grunted, and his shoulders relaxed a little. It was better than he had hoped.
Beyond the field the nearest houses were another half a mile away. He knew this because he had driven down the road observing the perfect gardens and the rolling landscape around them.
He also knew from his observations that the occupants of the three houses nearest to the field overlooking the railway would be at work when he returned.
There was only one problem with having a house in such an idyllic location. The size of a typical mortgage meant an early morning commute to a job in the city, and a late return home in the evening.
There would be no one to observe him.
He turned away from the houses, and made his way back over the tracks. He stopped between the two sets of rails, his steel-capped boots sinking a little into the uneven surface.
He lifted his head and gazed towards the horizon, the rails disappearing under a footbridge a good half a mile away. The footbridge was deserted, the call of a blackbird the only sound breaking the silence. A shiver ran down his spine.
It would be so easy to wait for the next train. There were only a few minutes until it was due to arrive, and it wouldn’t slow down. He could simply walk out in front of it at the last minute, and the driver wouldn’t be able to do anything about it.
Or, if he shifted a little to his right, his boot would touch the live rail and he’d be electrocuted in an instant.
He blinked, and forced the temptation from his mind.
He wouldn’t end it, not until the project was complete.
He had a target, and he intended to meet it.
Seventeen
The desk phone next to Kay’s elbow rang, and she reached out for it while pushing a pile of paperwork to one side.
‘Hello?’
‘Results are in for the tyre treads,’ said Harriet. ‘You’re not going to like it.’
‘Hit me with it.’
‘They’re a cheap brand, same as used by a tyre repair and replacement parts franchise up and down the country. Usually fitted to one of the smaller car models. No distinguishing marks, normal wear and tear.’
‘Crap.’
‘I hear you.’
‘Sorry, Harriet – I realise you’re doing your best with what you’ve got.’
‘No problem. I hate mysteries, too. I have got something of interest for you, though. When we were analysing what was left of the rope around the victim’s ankle, we found a fingernail embedded in the fibres. At first, we thought it belonged to our victim, but it doesn’t match his DNA. So—’
‘It belongs to his killer.’
‘Exactly. I’ll email over my full report within the next twenty minutes, but I thought you might want to know now to give you a head start.’
‘Thanks, I appreciate it.’
Kay ended the call and hurried into Sharp’s office.
‘Obviously, we’ll go through the records see if there’s anybody who’s a match to that DNA,’ she said after she’d brought him up to speed on her conversation with the CSI.
‘Good,’ said Sharp. ‘Let me know if we get a match—’
He broke off as Debbie West knocked on the door and entered without waiting for a response.
‘You need to see this, guv.’
She handed over a copy of the local newspaper that had been opened to the third page, and jabbed a finger at the article.
Sharp swore.
‘What is it?’ Said Kay.
Sharp turned the newspaper in his hands so Kay could see the headline. ‘Denise Abbott has been talking.’
Kay rose from her chair and took the newspaper from him, running her eyes over the text. She groaned.
Cameron Abbott’s widow had single-handedly put the whole investigation at risk. By talking to a reporter, and telling him that the police had been in touch with her to discuss an open case, she had alerted the killer to their progress.
‘How much damage has she done, do you think?’ said Debbie.
‘A lot of this is conjecture,’ said Kay. ‘At no time did we mention we were investigating a murder, only that there had been another death on the same stretch of railway as her husband.’
‘Did you suspect that she might go to the newspapers?’ said Sharp.
‘Not at all. She seemed to have moved on very quickly after her husband’s death. She was seeing someone else, who was at the house when we were there. He didn’t introduce himself and remained upstairs.’
‘Do you think he was the one that got in touch with the newspaper?’
‘Maybe. Look, I’ll ask Barnes and Carys to go around to see them both and reiterate that they’re not to talk to the press about this investigation again.’
‘Do that. I’ll get our media officer to call the newspaper’s editor and have a word. Hopefully we can salvage this.’ Sharp glanced over her shoulder, and Kay followed his gaze.
Her heart sank.
DCI Larch was stalking across the incident room towards them, his face a shade of beetroot.
‘Debbie, get back to your desk. You’re not needed here,’ said Sharp.
Debbie scuttled from the office, relief across her features.
Larch slammed the door and Kay braced herself for the onslaught.
‘What the bloody hell have you done, Hunter?’ He stabbed his finger at her, spittle on his lips. He snatched the newspaper from her grasp and held it in front of her face, his hands shaking. ‘Was this your idea? We have media policies for a reason, Detective Sergeant.’
‘Guv, this had nothing to do with Kay,’ said Sharp, his voice calm. He reached out and lowered the newspaper, ignoring the DCI’s glare. ‘Denise Abbott chose to go to the press of her own accord. We can only assume she wanted the attention, but we’ve tasked Barnes and Miles to go round to her house immediately and explain the nature of our investigation and request she refrain from speaking to anyone else in the media.’
‘It’s not good enough, Sharp. Wherever Hunter goes, there’s trouble. Sort it out, for chrissakes.’
He spun on his heel, flung the door open, and strode out of the incident room.
Kay exhaled loudly. ‘Thanks, guv.’
‘No problem. Look, I know he’s got it in for you but don’t let him get under your skin. We’re under pressure to solve this one quickly. Larch is dealing with budget cuts and performance targets, and he’s made it no secret that we’re under scrutiny. Let’s get on with it before something else conspires to upset him.’
Kay couldn’t help herself. ‘Or else heads will roll?’
Sharp’s eyes narrowed and he tried to suppress a smirk. ‘You’ve been hanging around with Barnes again, haven’t you? I should—’
He stopped mid-sentence as Carys rushed into the room. ‘Guv? I got a call from Lucas – he said you need to check your emails. He’s managed to get a match on our victim’s dental records.’
‘Get the team together, Carys. I’ll join you in a second.’
He dashed back to his computer, and Kay hurried to her desk to grab her notebook.
An excited murmur filled the room as the team left their desks and made their way to where Sharp stood with his back to the whiteboard. He didn’t wait for them to settle. ‘We have a positive identification for our victim.’
The room fell silent.
‘Lawrence Whiting. Aged forty-four. Currently unemployed, he’d been renting a flat in Larkfield for the past year.’ He passed the full report to Kay. ‘You all know what to do. Track down and notify the next of kin. His GP’s
details are in the report so start there. Interview his family and friends, sort out access to the flat. Somebody might have a spare set of keys, otherwise get the locksmith there as soon as possible.’
Eighteen
Kay frowned as Barnes moved into the inner lane off the bypass and turned onto the motorway.
‘I thought you said Lawrence’s mother lived in Allington?’
‘She used to. When I spoke to the receptionist at his GP’s surgery, it turns out his mother has been diagnosed with the early symptoms of dementia. The receptionist gave me the sister’s phone number. She and Lawrence arranged to move their mother to a nursing home the other side of Aylesford. The sister, Grace, will meet us there. I’ve asked Hazel to meet us there, as well.’
Hazel Aldridge was one of the team’s family liaison officers, whose role involved providing support to bereaved families while an investigation took place. An invaluable member of the team, Hazel had skills that meant she was best placed to provide the family with regular updates about the investigation, and deal with any questions they might have about the process.
Kay had a lot of admiration for anyone who took on the role, as it could often be very confronting when dealing with others’ frustration and grief.
They reached the aged care facility within twenty minutes, the volume of traffic steady between the daily school run and commuter rush. Barnes pulled the car into a space next to Hazel’s vehicle, and led the way into the reception area.
Kay was struck by the sense of false cheer created by colourful plants in pots either side of the front door and bright colours that had been applied to the walls of the reception area. The thick carpet muted their footsteps while a faint trace of disinfectant filled the air.
Hazel pushed herself out of one of the comfy-looking armchairs in reception as they entered, and shook hands with them both. ‘I’ve signed in, and they’ve arranged to let us have the use of the day room while the other residents are having an afternoon tea in the canteen.’
Kay’s shoulders relaxed a little. It was typical of Hazel to take charge of the situation, for which she was grateful. She signed the register after Barnes, and the receptionist provided directions to the day room.
‘Mrs Whiting and her daughter are already there,’ she said. ‘The room is all yours for the next forty minutes.’
Kay followed Barnes and Hazel along a carpeted corridor that seemed to use an inordinate amount of beige compared to the cheery reception area. Although it was well lit, a dreariness clung to the walls and a sensation of time slowing down enveloped her.
The corridor ended at a set of double doors, both of which were pegged open and led through to the day room. A selection of armchairs had been scattered around the space in small groups, and Kay was surprised to find the decor to be modern and uplifting compared to the corridor. She wondered if the interior decorating budget only stretched so far, and to the places more likely to be used by visiting families, then chastised herself for her cynicism.
Large patio windows overlooked a paved terrace that led to well-tended gardens lined with a border of fir trees. A television had been fixed to the left-hand wall of the room, while various colourful pictures filled the plasterwork around it.
A woman rose from a two-seater sofa against the right-hand wall, and made her way towards them. Her short brown hair had been cut into a severe bob, the sides of which she tucked behind her ears, revealing two studs in one earlobe. A plain-looking woman, she appeared to have aged prematurely as if her mother’s and brother’s health had been having a detrimental effect on her own.
‘Grace Whiting?’
The woman nodded.
‘I’m Detective Sergeant Kay Hunter. I’m sorry for your loss.’
The woman shook her hand, and blinked back tears before dabbing at her cheeks with a scrunched up paper tissue she held in her other hand. ‘Thank you, Detective. I’ve let our mother know, but as you can see, I’m not sure she’s understood.’
She gestured to the woman sitting in the armchair next to the sofa with a blanket drawn up over her knees. The woman smiled and gave a little wave before confusion swept across her features and she dropped her hand to her lap.
Kay introduced Barnes and Hazel.
‘Hazel will be your family liaison officer while we continue our investigations. She’ll be able to answer any questions you might have about our progress and the process. Would you mind if we ask you some questions about your brother?’
‘That’s fine. Shall we take a seat over here, and I can keep my mother company at the same time?’
She turned and settled into a second armchair, sweeping her grey wool calf-length skirt underneath her before pulling her pale yellow cardigan around her shoulders. She dropped her hands into her lap and began to play with the wedding band on her finger.
Barnes extracted his notebook, and Kay nodded her thanks. With one of them taking notes, she could concentrate on listening to Grace.
‘We weren’t very close,’ she began. ‘He had his own health issues to deal with, and when our mum was diagnosed with dementia six months ago, it was left to me to look after her.’
Kay noted the undertone of bitterness in the woman’s voice. ‘Did he ever visit your mother here?’
‘Not to my knowledge. I think he was embarrassed. He struggled to cope with his depression, and had managed to start to turn his life around. I don’t think he wanted the responsibility on top of everything else.’
‘When was the last time you saw your brother?’
‘About four weeks ago. We have to put Mum’s house on the market to pay for her accommodation here and so I was starting to clear through her things. I found some bits and pieces of his amongst her stuff in the attic, and suggested he take a look at it to see if he wanted to keep any of it. He called in, but he didn’t hang around. He was probably there for all of an hour, no more.’
‘Can you think of anyone who would have wanted to harm your brother?’
‘No. When Lawrence’s depression became too much, he lost touch with a lot of his old friends. It’s the same old story with mental illness, isn’t it? People don’t know how to react to it, or help and so they drift away. The problem is, when Lawrence was feeling low he couldn’t help the way he acted. People took it as being rude, but it was simply the case that he couldn’t cope being around people – it made him too anxious. So, in answer to your question, I can’t think of anybody that would want to harm him, because he wasn’t socialising with anybody.’
‘How did he seem, the last time you saw him?’
A sad smile crossed the woman’s face. ‘He looked healthier, as if he was eating properly and getting some exercise for a change. While he’d been out of work, he put a lot of weight on and the antidepressants probably didn’t help with that. But when I saw him that day, he seemed more upbeat. He was even talking about applying for a job he’d seen in the paper that week. It was such a change in behaviour for him because when he was ill, he seemed to lose the will to live.’
Nineteen
Kay followed Gavin across the road towards the three-storey block of flats.
After tracking down and speaking with Whiting’s sister, Kay and Barnes had spent some time with her providing their contact numbers and listening while Hazel explained her role and availability, before leaving with a spare set of keys she held for her brother’s flat.
She hadn’t wanted to accompany them.
‘You’re welcome to take what you need,’ she said. ‘I don’t think I can face going there at the moment.’
Kay had dropped off Barnes at the police station so he could update the investigation database with his notes, and set off for Larkfield with Gavin in tow, much to Carys’s chagrin.
‘I can help you search the flat,’ she’d said, after pulling Kay to one side while her colleague grabbed his jacket.
‘I realise that,’ said Kay, ‘but I’m taking Gavin. You’ve had plenty of experience at doing this.’
Crest
fallen, Carys had turned away and busied herself making small talk with Barnes about the morning’s events.
Now, Kay inserted the first of three keys into a locked door that led into a wide hallway flagged by the first of four flats on the ground floor.
Gavin made sure the doors were shut behind them and the security mechanism had locked before leading the way up two flights of stairs and along the landing. He stopped at the second door on the right and glanced at the aluminium numbers screwed to its surface.
‘This is the one.’
They paused to pull protective gloves over their hands, and then entered the flat.
Apart from a slight musty smell, the flat appeared to be clean and tidy. A narrow hallway led to a bedroom off to the right with a bathroom next to it. The kitchen and lounge room area had been recently renovated, and comprised one large living area.
Muted daylight poured through a front window that had Venetian blinds pulled down for privacy. A television sat on a low unit under the window, the remote control to one side of it. Here and there on the walls, a selection of cheap photographic prints had been hung. Kay recognised them from a shop she often passed in the Fremlin Walk shopping centre.
She moved over the threshold and into the kitchen, her eyes taking in the tidy worktops – a bottle of olive oil stood next to the cooker hob, and a selection of condiments were lined up neatly against the tiles that lined the wall. She turned and opened the refrigerator door, and was surprised to see a selection of fresh vegetables and fruit amongst the jars of half-used pasta sauce, mustards, and plastic containers.
‘He was certainly looking after himself,’ said Gavin.
‘His sister told us that he’d recently become more interested in healthy eating. She said he’d put a lot of weight on due to the depression and the drugs he was on.’
Gavin pointed to a set of weights in the corner. ‘Out of all of the victims we’re investigating, he seems to be the only one that was starting to turn his life around with any success.’
Will to Live Page 7
