by Carol Wyer
She ignored his comment, collected her phone and walked towards the door. Shearer let her go ahead and faced Mitz. ‘She okay?’ he mouthed.
Mitz shook his head. ‘No.’
Shearer nodded and strode after her, catching up with her as she reached the stairs.
‘Sorry about the flower-arranging quip. That’s me – open mouth, say something stupid, brain catches up later.’
She paused for a moment, looked at Shearer. ‘It’s not like you to be bothered about what you say, Tom. You’re renowned for your sarcastic wit. That was quite a good comment by your standards.’
He smiled. ‘I thought I’d been less than sensitive, what with Valentine’s Day and Davies and everything,’ he said, his words drying up. ‘Shit, I’m no good at this sort of thing. Look, I’m sorry, okay?’
She buried a pang of hurt. ‘It’s been two years, Tom. I’m fine. Today is just another day. You didn’t upset me.’
‘Good. Glad that’s settled,’ he said.
Detective Chief Inspector Flint’s office was much more sterile since he’d taken it over. It had once belonged to DCI Louisa Mulholland, who had worked and lived in there, rarely leaving to go home and always arriving early, way before her officers. Gone was the collection of memorabilia that had been on windowsills. The ornaments and Corgi police car Louisa had received for a birthday had gone with her to Yorkshire, where she’d taken up a new position. The large number of photographs that had adorned the wall had been removed, leaving several dark patches as a reminder. Flint’s desk was impossibly tidy with only a leather desk blotter and matching square pen pot and business card holder on display. A tray containing documents had been pushed to one side of the desk, and in front of it was a silver-framed photograph of him and his wife taken at a police ball.
‘Tom, Robyn, sit down.’ Flint was as red-faced as usual. A roll of fat hung over his collar. He loosened the blue tie he was wearing as if it was choking him, and he swallowed. ‘I wanted to give you the heads up about the latest development at the station. As you are aware, the counterterrorism department has increased over the last year, and the powers that be have decided it requires more operational space. We looked at all the possibilities, but with the constraints we have on our budget, the only viable option is to increase their current space by knocking through into the room next door, which is currently Tom’s office.’
Robyn had a feeling she knew where this was going. Flint eased back into his chair, one leg draped over the other. His trousers rode up to reveal dark socks bearing the Batman logo.
‘That raises the issue of where to house Tom and his team. Robyn, your office has sufficient space to accommodate another three members of staff and equipment. This will only be a temporary situation as we’re considering other possibilities for Tom, and I appreciate it isn’t ideal for you both, but I also have confidence you’ll manage. You’re both resourceful officers.’
Regardless of the sudden sinking feeling in her stomach, Robyn maintained a poker face. This was all she needed, snarky Tom Shearer in her space every single day. There was nothing she could do about it. Flint, or the super, had made the decision. If she started griping, it would reflect badly on her, especially as Tom was looking quite calm about it. This was most unlike him. She couldn’t be bothered to argue. The decision had been made.
Flint studied his officers. ‘You’ll need to shift your gear out by start of the day tomorrow, Tom. We want to get the workmen in as soon as possible.’
Shearer spoke. ‘Yes, sir.’
Flint’s eyebrows disappeared into his hairline. ‘Okay, that was easier than I expected. I thought you might have issues with this decision?’
‘No, sir. I’m fine about it. Robyn?’
Robyn nodded her accord.
Flint looked relieved. ‘Okay. That’s it. Thank you for your cooperation.’
Outside again in the corridor, Robyn faced Shearer. ‘What’s with all the “yes, sir”, “no, sir” nonsense? You’re going to hate sharing your space with me. We have very different ways of doing things.’
‘You’ll hate it more,’ he said with a smirk. ‘We’ll have to make the best of it. I’m not keen, but it’ll only be for a short while. We could draw chalk marks on the floor and divide the place up so we don’t get in each other’s way. Bagsy I get the side with the coffee machine.’
‘No way! That stays in my section. You and your officers can keep your hands off it.’
The corners of his mouth twitched upwards. ‘That’s better. More like your old self. It was like you were in another world or time zone in Flint’s office. Normally you’d have created seven bells about sharing with me. What’s going on?’
She shook her head. ‘Nothing. I’m having an off day, that’s all.’
‘Can’t say I’ve ever noticed you having one of those before. You’re like Wonder Woman most days. You whirl into the station, spin about and whirl out.’
‘Now you’re going to be in my face every day, you’ll probably see more of my off days.’ She attempted a small grin. ‘Wonder Woman?’
Shearer laughed. ‘I could have described you like the Looney Tunes Tasmanian devil, but you’re in a bad enough mood.’
‘You’d better not come out with any of this sort of stuff in front of my officers, DI Shearer, or you’ll really see my bad side.’
‘Don’t tempt me. You know I can’t resist a challenge,’ he said.
‘I mean it. It’s one thing to be sarcastic out of earshot and another if you undermine me in front of my officers.’ She threw him a steely gaze.
He gave a grunt. ‘Okay. I can see you really have got out of the wrong side of bed today. I’ll leave you to it.’
Two
The office was buzzing quietly with activity. Sergeant Matt Higham had arrived and was attempting to coax the photocopier into life by thumping it.
‘Listen up, everyone.’ Robyn’s voice made them all look up. ‘We’ve got to shift the furniture around and make room for company. DI Shearer and his team are moving in with us for an indefinite period.’
Mitz let out a long groan. ‘Please tell us you’re joking.’
She shook her head. ‘It’s come from upstairs. Counterterrorism is expanding into DI Shearer’s office and he’s being moved in with us. I don’t like it any more than you do, but we’re all adults and can get along, can’t we? You’ve all worked with him and his officers on various cases. There shouldn’t be an issue here.’
Mitz voiced all their thoughts. ‘Working with them is different to having to share our space with them every day.’
‘Sorry, Mitz. Like it or not, they’re moving in.’
Matt thumped the photocopier once more. ‘Better move the biscuits to a better hiding place,’ he said, looking at Anna. ‘If I can find them, that lot will.’
Anna’s mouth opened. ‘I knew it was you who was eating them.’
He gave a winning smile. ‘Man cannot survive on coffee alone.’
An officer knocked on the door and waved a piece of paper. ‘Excuse me, ma’am. This has come through. Forensics called it in. They’re at the scene.’
Robyn read through the information at speed. ‘It looks like a murder’s taken place on Cannock Chase. Male, in his thirties, shot in the neck. Okay, team, let’s go check it out.’
* * *
Daylight was fading as Robyn pulled off the road and drove towards the blue lights of parked squad cars. The area was crawling with white-suited officers. A makeshift screen had been erected, hiding the car and occupant, and floodlights now lit the grassy space and woods beyond. Robyn and her team made themselves known to the officer standing in front of the cordon stretching far into the woods, before donning the protective clothing and dipping under the yellow tape. A figure handed over a plastic bag to another officer and, with a wave of his hand, beckoned them over.
Connor Richards, originally from Dublin, was in charge of the forensic team. He’d had fifteen years’ experience in Ireland before takin
g up his position in Stafford. Robyn had heard colleagues commenting that his easy manner and soft Irish accent made the unpleasant act of examining a crime scene seem more bearable. At the moment, nothing could be seen of Connor other than his eyes, the colour of Wedgwood blue. He acknowledged the trio and lowered his face mask to speak.
‘We haven’t got too much at this stage for you, Robyn. We’re still collecting evidence. Found his driving licence in his wallet along with a credit card and twenty pounds. The victim is Henry Gregson, aged thirty-three, and lives in Brocton. He’s wearing a wedding ring, and judging by the logo on his shirt, he works at the MiniMarkt convenience store in Lichfield. We think he was murdered sometime between 1 and 3 p.m.’ He shook his head as he spoke. ‘It was a little lad who found him. Must have been a heck of a shock for him.’
Mitz made a tutting noise. ‘Awful,’ he said, quietly.
‘The pathologist’s confirmed Gregson received a single fatal gunshot to the neck that punctured the carotid, the main artery in the neck, and undoubtedly death was instantaneous. We found no evidence of a struggle inside the car. There’s no damage or scuff marks; in fact, little sign of movement, suggesting Gregson died immediately. The passenger window was lowered at the time of the shot, which allowed the bullet to enter the car unimpeded.’ He squinted at an almost invisible speck on the ground. ‘So far, we haven’t uncovered any prints on the passenger side of the vehicle. Indeed, it appears the passenger door, handle and seat have all been wiped clean. Gregson’s injuries and the extent of tissue damage surrounding the wound suggest the weapon wasn’t fired at close range. More likely the assailant was approximately three yards away. The bullet entered the left side of his neck, and, as there’s no obvious exit hole, I assume it’s lodged inside his body.’
‘He’s still in situ?’ Robyn asked.
‘Sure he is, we waited for you. Follow me.’ Connor pulled up his mask again. He picked his way carefully towards the screen. Behind it was a red Kia Sportage. The doors were open, and sitting in the driver’s seat was Henry Gregson, his head tilted back against the headrest, his tongue out and eyes open. Robyn studied the circular hole with abraded skin, crusted with bright red blood. The stain had spilled down onto the collar of his white shirt to form a crimson bib around his neck. His hands, palms facing upwards, were resting on his thighs, and Robyn noted the wedding band on his ring finger. Henry Gregson had been undoubtedly classically good-looking, clean-shaven, with dark wavy hair, olive eyes, a slightly Roman nose, white teeth and a strong square jaw. A tie was coiled neatly on the passenger seat beside him as if it had recently been removed. Robyn cast a look around the interior. Connor was right. There was no sign of a struggle. Henry’s car was immaculately clean: the dark plastic dashboard was free of smudges and smears. He’d even got a microfibre cloth in the door pocket to keep it spotless.
‘It’s a clean shot. I’d suggest whoever did this is used to firing weapons,’ said Connor.
Anna appeared by Robyn’s side. ‘He’s not wearing a seatbelt,’ she said.
Connor shook his head. ‘He wasn’t wearing one when we found him. The radio was on though – tuned to Classic FM. It appears he was either taking time out to enjoy some solitude here on the Chase or he was waiting for somebody.’
Robyn looked at the thick padded jacket lying on the back seat. ‘It’s been a cold day. Not the sort of day to come out to the Chase for a walk.’
‘He might have wanted some time to think. I usually take Rascal for a walk when I want to mull things over,’ said Anna.
‘That’s quite possible,’ Robyn replied. ‘This isn’t a car park, is it?’ She looked around the grassed area.
Connor spoke. ‘The main car park is over by the activity centre. This is just a clearing, accessible only by the route you took from the main road.’
Robyn looked at the body again then moved to the rear of the vehicle. There was a sticker on his back windscreen – ‘Baby on Board’ – and she shivered, not from cold but from the knowledge that a child was now fatherless, and his partner or wife would have to learn the horrible truth that her man was never coming home again. Today of all days.
Connor joined her and spoke again. ‘I think you’ll be interested in evidence bag F101. It contains Gregson’s mobile phone. We suspect he was using it when he got shot. We found it under the passenger seat, hidden from view. It was tricky to coax it out. Had to use a piece of wire and ingenuity to reach it. I’ll make sure you get it pronto. Just need to check it over for prints first. If you don’t mind, I’d better get on. We’ve a large area to cover.’
She nodded her appreciation. ‘I’ll see you back at the station later.’
‘I expect that’s messed up any Valentine’s Day plans you’ve made,’ he said with a light shrug of his shoulders. ‘I called Kate to explain I’d been called out. She wasn’t best pleased. Sometimes, I worry this job will mess up every relationship I attempt.’
Connor had been with florist Kate for six months; she was a good-time girl who loved partying and letting her hair down. Robyn had met her at a police event and noted her self-centred attitude, the looks she threw Connor when he was talking to others and paying her insufficient attention, and the way she clung to his arm in a proprietorial manner whenever they were together. Robyn was sure Kate would get fed up of the broken-off engagements and abandoned plans. It was tough being in a relationship with anyone in this line of work. She took a deep breath to prevent herself dwelling on thoughts of Davies again. She couldn’t afford to think about him at a time like this.
She walked some of the area, head down, noting the position of the vehicle before checking the car again and taking a last look at Henry Gregson. Then she ducked back under the crime scene tape, removed the protective clothing, dropping it in the bin provided, and strode to the squad car. Mitz and Anna had shadowed her movements in silence. Standing beside the squad car, Robyn pinched her nostrils together then spoke. ‘Mitz, is the little boy who found Gregson still here?’
Mitz shook his head. ‘No, guv. He was taken home. I have the address. Mrs Price, his grandmother, gave a statement before leaving. The boy, Aiden Moore, was following the Gruffalo Spotting Trail with his older brother.’ Seeing the puzzled look on Robyn’s face, he explained. ‘It’s basically a route that allows children to search for characters from the book The Gruffalo. Once they find special markers, they’re able to point a mobile phone at them and watch the characters appear on their screens. The markers activate a 3D animation of that character, making it seem to come to life in the forest.’
‘I understand. Sort of,’ Robyn said, wrinkling her brow further.
Mitz continued, ‘Aiden and his brother, Kyle, went on ahead. Mrs Price suffers from asthma and was struggling to keep up with them. She told them not to go too far. Aiden strayed off the route and came across this clearing where he spotted the car. It’s identical to his mother’s car and he approached it, thinking it was hers.’
‘Is he okay?’ Robyn asked.
‘I had a quick word with one of the other officers while you were with Connor. He said Aiden was painfully shy and didn’t want to speak. He kept trying to hide behind his grandmother. He didn’t know if that was normal behaviour for the boy or if he’d been frightened by what he’d seen.’ Mitz put his notebook in his pocket and waited for instructions. They were quick in arriving.
‘Right, let’s start with the grandmother and see how best to proceed. I don’t want the little boy put under any duress and we need to find out what state he’s in. We’ll interview her, Mitz. Anna, please get hold of the statements made from those working here today. Check them through and ask David to run background checks on all the staff. We’ll be investigating anybody who might have been in the vicinity between 1 and 3 p.m., and that includes staff, dog-walkers and visitors.’
Anna scribbled down the requests. They came faster now.
‘Use the CCTV footage and list the vehicle registrations of the cars in the car park today. Given
it was a very cold day, we might be fortunate and only have a handful to check out. Locate the owners of those cars and we’ll run background checks on them too. Ask Matt to dig up everything he can on Henry Gregson, his family, work colleagues and friends. Find out which officers were dispatched to break the news of his death to his family. Have a word with them first and get an idea of how the news was received. We’ll pay them a visit after we’ve spoken to Mrs Price,’ Robyn added, nodding at Mitz. ‘And, Anna, make sure you get hold of Henry Gregson’s phone. I want to know if he was using it when he was shot and a list of any people he contacted that morning.’
Anna wrote quickly then stubbed a final full stop and looked up in case there was more to follow.
Robyn shook her head. ‘That’s it for now.’
Mitz looked across at the crime scene. Lights bobbed up and down as officers continued with their searches. ‘A man chooses to park up in a secluded part of Cannock Chase for no apparent reason, then, again for no apparent reason, winds down the passenger window and is shot. It makes no sense.’
Robyn opened the car door. ‘This type of crime rarely makes sense but once we’ve got sufficient evidence, hopefully we’ll track down his killer. It’s all we can do. And we’ll start by gathering some facts.’
Mitz hurried to the driver’s side. Robyn was right. It was all they could do.
Three
THEN
* * *
‘Stop it. Stop it!’ she screams. ‘He’s only ten. You’ll kill him!’ She pulls at her husband’s beefy arm, her painted nails raking across his massive bicep, leaving raised red marks. He stares at them for a brief instant, then raises his huge, leather belt once again, bringing it down hard. She screams again, the noise deafening the boy, who cowers on the floor. Each slap of the belt intensifies the pain, which now radiates in ever-increasing circles over his back. The boy wishes it would stop. He tries to concentrate on something other than the slapping of the belt and his nerves that scream in agony.
