by Rob Ashman
In that case, I may as well do it.
I told Irvine about my news and about my plans.
He listened, his mouth slightly ajar the whole time, before saying, ‘I-I owe you b-big time.’
30
Kray sat in her car at the head of the cul-de-sac, drumming her fingers against the steering wheel. An hour earlier, she had pulled the team together and re-focussed their activities into three priorities – find holes in Palmer’s alibi, find forensic evidence to place him at the scene and identify anyone else potentially at risk. Two names leapt onto the board immediately; Sadie Palmer, or Raynor as she was known since getting divorced, and Vanessa Wilding, the solicitor Palmer had burned by tipping coffee into her lap.
They had to be the next victims. No one else fitted the profile. They were the two people to complete the rhyme, Kray was sure of it. They needed to speak to them fast.
Kray chose to handle Sadie Raynor herself.
The interview with Palmer continued to spin around in her head. There was something about it that sent her intuition into orbit. Here was a man who was being questioned about a murder. During the questioning, he works out that he is also being implicated in two other killings. The natural reaction would be to panic and fly into a rage of protestations and denial. Instead, he welcomes the assumption that they are dead and calmly tells Kray she has no evidence. He even takes the piss out of the police, goading her to react. No, there was something about Palmer that screamed fake.
Kray saw the white Volvo estate in her rear-view mirror as it drew into the close. It glided past and parked on the drive. The back doors flew open and a boy and girl, aged around ten and twelve, shot out of the car, swinging their school bags in their wake. Kray wondered which London fashion house catwalk Sadie Raynor had just stepped off on her way back from the school gates. Her perfectly styled Marilyn Monroe hair appeared first from the car followed by a pair of white trousers that fitted where they touched, a red low-cut top and a pair of high heels completed the look. The heels were tall enough to make Kray appear of normal height.
She walked over and introduced herself. ‘Hi, Sadie Raynor? I’m Acting DCI Roz Kray. We spoke on the phone.’
‘Oh hi,’ she replied with a downturn in her voice. ‘Look, as I told you, I haven’t seen Kevin in…I don’t know how long, so I don’t see how I can help.’ She strode away towards the three-bed detached house.
‘It’s important I speak to you, Sadie.’
‘Well, okay, if you must. Come inside where we can talk.’ She stuck her key in the lock and the kids rushed past. ‘Excuse the mess!’ she called over her shoulder.
Kray entered the hallway and could hear the kids clomping around upstairs. She went into the lounge. What mess? Kray thought, looking at the show-home condition of the room. This makes my place look untidy.
‘Take a seat,’ said Raynor.
Kray did as she was told and sank into a floral-patterned armchair.
‘It’s always a rush to pick up Tom and Bea from school.’ Raynor perched herself on the edge of the sofa.
‘Have you come straight from work?’
‘No, the gym. Well, it’s more of a club, really.’
‘Really?’
‘You said you wanted to talk to me about Kevin,’ she huffed.
‘Yes. When was the last time you saw him?’
‘I reckon that was at his sentencing hearing. Don’t recall the date. I was sitting in the gallery and watched him being sent down. I’ve not had contact with him since.’
‘But your divorce went through when he was in prison. Did you speak to him then?’
‘No, the solicitor dealt with all that.’
‘And when he was released did he try to get in touch?’
‘No, never heard a thing. In fact, I didn’t know he was out until someone told me. Please excuse me being blunt but what is this about?’
Kray leaned forward. ‘We are questioning your ex-husband about three serious crimes. In each case, the crime was committed against a person who he had every reason to hold a grudge against.’
‘Who, Kevin?’
‘Yes, Kevin.’
‘You’re not suggesting Kevin had anything to do with the murder of John Graham, are you? I heard about it on the news.’
‘I’m not in a position to confirm or deny that, Sadie.’
Sadie rocked back into the cushions on the settee and laughed out loud. ‘You can’t be serious? Kevin doesn’t have the balls to do anything like that! Christ, Kevin doesn’t have the balls to do anything much – and I should know.’
‘We are following several lines of inquiry at this stage.’
‘But come on, I mean, Kevin Palmer! He’s a bloody joke, not a murderer.’
‘He does have a history of violence. You once fled your home to get away from him.’
‘Roz, I don’t want you to waste your time, so I’ll let you into a little secret. My ex-husband didn’t have the balls to do anything when he found me in bed with another man. The worst he did was kick a door. He’s a loser, always has been and always will be.’
‘But he was violent towards you?’
‘Come on, Roz, you must have met him? If Kevin bloody Palmer raised a hand to me I’d kick his arse all around the house.’
‘But you told the police he broke in, you said you feared for your safety.’
‘I wanted him out of my life, he was holding us back. I ran to my neighbour’s house so I could call the police. I saw an opportunity to build up a picture that I could use later on in the divorce courts. How the hell do you think I have all this?’ She waved her hand to indicate the house.
‘He was never violent?’
‘Not that I know of. He was a sad excuse for a man who denied us the quality of life that we aspired to with his small-minded job and his small-minded ideas. He was a pussy – and I don’t mean of the feline variety neither.’
‘But what about the newspaper article?’
Sadie rolled back again and belly laughed. ‘It was a crock of shit. I approached the woman who wrote the newspaper column with an idea for the piece, and she did the rest. I got paid for it as well. He was in no position to fight back. He wrote her a letter bleating about the injustice of it all, and she tore him to shreds.’
‘It was all false.’
‘I wouldn’t say it was false. He did technically break in, and he did a bit of shouting. Let’s just say, I told the papers what they wanted to hear. Kevin had held us back for years. I kept telling him to expand the business, win bigger contracts, think big. But would he do it? Would he hell. We scratted around with second-hand cars, in a house that needed renovating and went to Spain for a week in the summer. That’s not me, that’s not us. He was a director in the business, for Christ’s sake.’
‘So you–’
‘Took matters into my own hands, that’s what I did. We’ve done up the house, got nice things and a better life. I hate him for what he did to me, how he kept me down for all those years… Now, you seem like a nice woman, so I’m only telling you so you don’t go disappearing up dead ends. But if you repeat any of this, I’ll deny it.’
What a fucking charmer.
‘We believe there is a possible risk to you and your kids,’ Kray said.
‘Not from Kevin there isn’t.’
‘I want you to take the threat seriously, Sadie.’
‘Why would I do that? I don’t take Kevin seriously. He’s nothing. He’s a nobody. I’m not sure what it is you’re investigating, love, but you’re barking up the wrong tree with him. Look, I’m only telling you all this stuff so you don’t waste your time.’
A blue Mercedes pulled onto the drive.
Sadie got up. ‘Now, if you don’t mind, I’m off out tonight.’
Kray stood up and watched as a young smartly dressed man with slicked back hair and a designer-stubble chin got out. Sadie slinked her way to the front door and opened it wide.
‘Hello, hun,’ she said as he slid his arm aro
und her waist, kissing her on the mouth.
‘Hey, I got off early. Thought we could–’ Kray appeared in the hallway. The man stopped. ‘Hey, I’m Henry.’ He flashed a set of glinting white teeth that matched the colour of his upturned collar.
‘Hooray,’ said Kray. Henry continued to smile, missing the joke completely. Kray pulled a card from her inside pocket and handed it to Sadie. ‘If you see, or hear, anything out of the ordinary, please get in touch. Anytime, day or night.’
‘What is this, hun?’ Henry said, slipping his hand from her hip and onto her arse.
Sadie ignored him, picking the card from Kray’s hand. ‘The next time you see my ex-husband, tell him I wish him all the worst.’
Kray squeezed past the couple still in their embrace on the doorstep. She walked back to her car, truly believing that Sadie Raynor meant every word.
31
Across town, an unremarkable looking woman is driving home after a hard day at work. Well, if you call hanging around all day drinking coffee hard work, then it certainly was a tough day. This was the third case this week where the victim had failed to show up at court. It is the malaise of the judicial system; people don’t turn up, paperwork doesn’t turn up, court rooms suddenly become unavailable – it’s a bloody shambles.
She presses the button on the fob which she keeps in the centre console, and the up and over garage door lifts open. She is head over heels in love with her latest gift to herself. It is a week old now, and it still manages to bring a smile to her face every time she pulls onto her drive.
The door hits the limit switches and the whirring motor stops. She pulls the SUV into the garage and waits for the parking sensors to tell her she is far enough in. She kills the engine and steps out, no getting piss-wet through for her, now she has her new toy installed. The back tail-gate rises up and she leans in to retrieve her leather briefcase.
She hears the crackle a split second before the terminals jab between her shoulder blades. Her back arches like a crooked ballerina and her mouth gapes open, but nothing comes out. She slumps forward and is bundled into the back with a rag forced into her mouth, held in place with floor tape. It was a slick and practised move. Another crackle and she jerks around with the metal pins digging into the nape of her neck. Her feet and hands are bound together and a hood pulled over her head. The spasming of her limbs makes the job way more difficult than it should be.
Two mobile phones clatter to the concrete as they are discarded onto the garage floor. The tail gate is closed, and the SUV backs out from the confines of the garage, the motor kicks in, and the door closes.
Soon, the lights of the town disappear into the rear-view mirror and the darkness of the countryside wraps around the vehicle. It keeps exactly to the speed limit, passing the sign for Inglewhite, then takes a sharp left onto a narrow lane. By now, there is a commotion coming from the boot of the SUV. The big tyres make light work of the uneven road surface as the derelict farm house comes into view. The muffled yells intensify. The vehicle disappears from view into a large barn, and the driver steps out, pulling the wooden doors shut.
The tail gate lifts up and the screams hit a crescendo, but only until the surge of electricity shuts down her brain once more. She’s pulled from the boot and carried across the barn, down a set of stone steps to a small damp room. The brick walls are covered in mould and the place is empty of the wood and coal that it used to store. She is dumped on the floor.
The man fills a plastic cup with water from a bottle and unwraps a folded square of paper containing a ground powder, tipping their contents into the cup. He swishes it around and waits. The woman comes around and starts groaning. He sits her upright, lifting her hood to expose her mouth. He removes the tape and pulls the cloth free of her mouth.
‘Drink,’ he says, offering the cup up to her lips.
She shakes her head.
‘D-drink,’ he repeats the order.
She shakes her head once more.
The man presses the button and the stun gun crackles, sending arcs of blue and white light dancing across the brickwork. The woman jumps at the sound.
‘No, no, no, please,’ she says, leaning her head forward to touch the rim. He tilts the cup and she drains the contents. ‘Don’t hurt me,’ she pleads. ‘I have money I can–’
The man rams the cloth back into her mouth and applies the tape. The hood is pulled back in place. She gags against the rag. He sits at the entrance to the underground coal house.
He can see her breathing heavily, trying to control the panic. He sits and waits.
After twenty minutes, her head drops and she keels over onto her side. He drapes a blanket around her body, ducks his head beneath the door way and leaves, locking the door behind him.
32
Kray crashed through the door to the incident room which was full of excited chatter. ‘Right, people, what do we have?’ she said, not waiting for them to notice she was there. ‘Who’s first?’
‘Roz, we checked out Palmer’s flat.’ It was Detective Janice Parks. ‘Had a spot of difficulty getting past the Chinese woman downstairs but…anyway. We went through the place and there is definitely no other way out of that flat other than to walk through the front door and down the stairs. You have to pass into the front of the shop to exit the building by either the front or back door. It’s like Palmer said – one way in, one way out.’
‘Okay, that’s not what we wanted. Who’s next?’
‘Sorry, Roz, if I could finish,’ Parks continued. ‘While we were there, we spoke to Anabel and Joseph Woo. They only have good things to say about Palmer. They know about him having been in jail but want to be part of his rehabilitation back into society. They confirmed that Palmer chats to the customers and always sticks around while his meal is being cooked. Anabel also confirmed that she had given him the meal for free on Monday night to say sorry for the noise. If he had left that flat on either last Monday, or the Monday before that, they would have seen him. Sorry, Roz.’
‘Okay, thank you, Janice. Have we identified anyone other than Sadie Raynor and Vanessa Wilding who might be at risk?’
‘No, nobody. They fit the profile and are top of our list of potential next victims,’ said Tavener.
Kray glanced over at Brownlow who glared back. She ignored him. ‘Anything new from forensics?’
‘Nothing,’ said a tall woman in a smart suit. ‘We’ve re-checked the samples and gone through the inventory but it hasn’t yielded any new information. We also traced the suppliers for the type of hoist used to suspend the victims and they are the most common model on the market. They are on sale all over the place as well as on eBay.’
Kray sighed. ‘Okay, thank you, everyone.’ She closed off the update and sidled over to Tavener. ‘I fancy another go at Palmer but this time, we turn up the heat.’
‘I’m all for that, Roz.’
Fifteen minutes later, Kray and Tavener walked in to find Palmer sat with his head resting on his forearms on the desk. He raised his head when he heard them enter. Three empty plastic cups were stacked in front of him.
‘At last!’ he said, shaking his head. ‘I thought you’d forgotten about me.’
‘No, Mr Palmer, you are very much in our thoughts, I can assure you,’ replied Kray, pulling a chair out from the table and taking a seat. Tavener followed suit. He pressed the button on the tape machine.
‘Interview resumed nineteen twenty-five, present are Mr Kevin Palmer, Acting DCI Kray and DC Tavener. Mr Palmer I have to remind you, you are still under caution and you have waived the right to have legal representation. Is that still the case?’
‘Yes, it is.’
‘This is for you.’ Roz handed him a coffee. He took it from her with his left hand. Kray glanced sideways at Tavener.
‘Kevin–’ she said.
‘Have you checked my alibis out? Have you checked with forensics?’
‘Kevin, I want you to take a look at these photographs.’ Kray was not going to be
knocked off her line of questioning. Tavener opened a document-sized envelope and fished out a picture. It showed a naked man, suspended upside down in a hallway. The carpet below him was stained dark with blood. Tavener laid the photo in front of Palmer.
He brought out another showing another naked man hanging upside down in what looked like a metal-walled room. The third photograph showed a woman hanging in the same position at the bottom of her stairs.
‘Do you recognise the victims?’
Palmer stared open-mouthed at the carnage in front of him.
‘Shit a brick,’ he said, scanning the detail. ‘That’s John.’ He pushed his chair away from the table. ‘That’s fucking John Graham.’ He examined the other two. ‘My God, that’s Nigel Chapman and Teresa Franklin, I recognise her hair. So, I was right?’
‘You have a motive to kill each one these victims. You also have the skills.’
‘Skills? What do you mean?’
‘You work in an abattoir where you slaughter pigs.’
‘So?’
‘In each case, the victim was given an electric shock by attaching electrodes to their temples, they were bled dry by severing the major blood vessels in the neck and were scalded with boiling water and their skin was scrubbed raw. Does that sound like a familiar process to you, Kevin?’
Palmer said nothing, staring at the pictures.
‘Does that sound like a familiar process to you, Mr Palmer?’ Kray asked again.
‘Yes, it’s the process we go through when the pigs come into the factory.’
‘And you do all three processes, that’s correct isn’t it, Kevin?’
‘Yes, I rotate around all three jobs.’
‘Let’s recap, shall we? This is Nigel Chapman, who had an affair with your wife which led to the breakdown of your marriage; this is John Graham, who, in your words, swindled you out of your share of the business, and Teresa Franklin, who wrote a devastating article about you in the local paper. Anyone would want to wreak revenge on these people but not everyone has the skills you possess. Are you telling me that you didn’t do this?’
