Jack Be Nimble (Knight & Culverhouse Book 3)

by Adam Croft

  ‘Was there no jacket or coat?’ Wendy asked.

  ‘Not at the scene,’ Culverhouse replied. ‘I know what you’re thinking. Cold night, early hours, not exactly going to want to go out without a coat. But then again we don’t know she was outside. If she was killed elsewhere, it could have been anywhere. More than likely indoors. Debbie and Frank, the door-to-door enquiries’ll need to cover that. See if anyone remembers a woman fitting our victim’s description entering a property nearby at any point in the last day or so.’

  Before they could answer, there was a knock at the door and a young uniformed sergeant entered the room to let Culverhouse know he’d just received a phone call and needed to tell him about it. Culverhouse handed over to Wendy and stepped out of the room.

  ‘Well, I think that’s most of it covered actually,’ Wendy said. ‘Unless anyone has anything they’d like to raise?’

  ‘Yeah. I shouldn’t think it’d be a local house that she went into, if any,’ Frank Vine said. ‘Would be a bit risky, considering how close together the houses are. You wouldn’t want to dump the body too close to home, would you?’

  ‘True,’ Wendy replied, ‘but the further our killer had to take the body, the higher the risk of him being seen doing it. I don’t think logic comes into it too much, either. That alleyway isn’t a logical place to leave a body, especially if the victim wasn’t killed there. I think it’s safe to say our first priority needs to be identifying the victim. Once we know who our body is, finding the killer will be a whole lot easier.’

  ‘On which note,’ Culverhouse said, barging through the door back into the incident room, ‘you’ll be pleased to know that our radio appeal might have had some success. We’ve just had a call from a bloke who reckons our body sounds just like his ex-wife.’

  7

  31st August

  Culverhouse had considered the call to be important enough for him to make the visit to Keira Quinn’s ex-husband himself, taking Wendy along with him. Wendy wasn’t sure what information he’d been passed, but knowing that Culverhouse was usually skeptical about random callers she assumed it must have been something of note.

  They pulled up outside number 42 Parkview Road, part of an estate built at the foot of Mildenheath Common.

  ‘Nice view,’ Wendy said, gesturing towards the Common.

  ‘Yeah, well you’d need it living round here, wouldn’t you,’ Culverhouse replied. The Parkview Road area wasn’t the worst area of Mildenheath by any stretch of the imagination, but she had to admit that it wasn’t exactly Meadow Hill Lane.

  The man who answered the door was smartly dressed in a blue striped shirt tucked into dark trousers, the sun glistening off his belt buckle as he stepped aside to let them in.

  ‘Thank you for your time, Mr Quinn,’ Culverhouse said as he sat down on the sofa in the living room.

  ‘Andy,’ the man said before Culverhouse could continue.

  ‘You spoke to my colleague on the phone earlier and said you had reason to believe the body found off Albert Road might have been that of your ex-wife.’

  ‘Yeah, that’s right,’ Andy Quinn replied. ‘The description sounded just like her. The top — she’s had it for years. And when I heard about the heart-shaped ring on her right hand, I just stopped dead in my tracks. I think... I think that might be a ring I gave her years ago.’

  ‘Would she still be wearing it?’ Culverhouse asked, an eyebrow raised.

  ‘Oh yeah, definitely. She’s a sentimental sort of person,’ Quinn replied, perching on the arm of a chair and wringing his hands. ‘She’s not the sort of person to let go very easily. I should know. Our relationship was well past its sell-by date.’

  ‘Did she have any other distinguishing features?’ Culverhouse asked, glancing around the room, trying to take in as much as he could.

  ‘Not that I can think of,’ Quinn said after a few seconds’ silence. ‘No tattoos or anything like that.’

  ‘Birthmarks?’

  ‘No. I don’t think so.’

  ‘Do you have any pictures of your wife?’ Wendy asked.

  ‘I don’t, no. We got divorced and I didn’t really see any sense in keeping photos of her about the house. Sorry.’

  Culverhouse nodded. He could certainly sympathise with him there, although he did feel it was perhaps a little pointless having come out to Andy Quinn’s house when they could now only rely on him identifying the body. ‘How long have you been divorced?’

  ‘Officially, about three years,’ Quinn replied. ‘We must’ve broken up a hundred times before that, though. Just one of those relationships which was doomed from the start. Poison, y’know. Better off without each other.’

  ‘Any kids?’ Culverhouse asked.

  ‘No, thank God. It was messy enough as it was, without that.’

  Before Culverhouse could respond, his mobile phone started to ring. He excused himself and went into the hallway to answer it.

  Wendy glanced around the room and noticed a distinct lack of photos of any sort. ‘Do you live here alone?’ she asked.

  Quinn paused for a moment longer than Wendy would’ve liked. ‘No, my partner stays here most nights. She’s away for work a lot, but she bases herself here.’

  ‘Partner?’ she asked.

  ‘Yes, Erin. We’ve been together a year or so.’

  ‘And did you still see Keira at all?’

  ‘No, not really. She kind of... Well, she went off the rails a bit after we broke up. We don’t exactly move in the same circles any more.’

  Wendy was going to ask him to elaborate, but was interrupted by Culverhouse coming back into the room.

  ‘That was Frank,’ he said. ‘They’ve been to your ex-wife’s address and can’t get any answer, so I’m afraid we’ll need you to come and identify the body.’

  Wendy watched Quinn closely, looking for any sign of emotion in his eyes, but she saw none.

  The mortuary technician, Robyn Heslop, smiled in that neutral yet reassuring way that only people well acquainted with grieving families can manage. Andy Quinn stood silently in the doorway, as if about to take a step into a lion’s den.

  ‘You only need to tell us if this is your ex-wife, Keira, Andy,’ Wendy said, having elected to take the lead in this sensitive situation rather than leave it to Culverhouse.

  ‘You should be prepared for her to look a bit different,’ Robyn Heslop added, her hand hovering over the corner of the sheeting that covered the body. ‘She has some injuries to her face.’

  Andy Quinn made a small choking noise, almost as if he was holding back a sob, and nodded. Robyn Heslop pulled back the sheeting.

  Having already seen images of Keira Quinn’s body, and not being overly keen to see it in the flesh, Wendy instead opted to keep her eyes fixed on Keira’s ex-husband. His furrowed brow relaxed slightly as the recognition flashed across his face.

  ‘Yes,’ he whispered. ‘That’s her. That’s Keira.’

  8

  31st August

  Wendy volunteered to drive back to the station, the pair having taken Andy Quinn home again. She found that driving helped her to process her thoughts, and she had plenty of those going through her head today.

  ‘I mean, it’s pretty normal to expect a different reaction to an ex-wife dying than your present wife, but didn’t he strike you as a bit odd?’ Wendy asked a quiet Culverhouse as she slowed down for yet another red traffic light. ‘And before you say it, yes I know, people grieve in different ways. But he seemed almost... Not pleased, but peaceful. Yeah, peaceful. Didn’t you think?’

  She glanced sideways at Culverhouse. He was nodding acquiescently in the way he always did when he didn’t want to engage in conversation. Wendy, on the other hand, was very keen to talk.

  ‘It all just seems a bit odd. Hearing it on the news on the radio and phoning it in because his ex-wife owned a similar top and ring. I mean, I know, that’s why we put the appeals out in the first place, but still. Bit weird, isn’t it? That suddenly, I mean.’


  This was almost becoming a game to Wendy now. Although she respected her boss, she did take a perverse pleasure in making him feel uncomfortable.

  ‘How long until we ask him for an alibi for last night? Sad to say it, but he’s the only lead we’ve got at the moment. It probably won’t have crossed his mind yet, but we should speak to him before he’s had a chance to think about it. I’ll wait for the FLO to see him first, though.’

  ‘I can speak to him if you’d like,’ she added. ‘Presume you’ll be sending Debbie as the FLO?’ DC Debbie Weston was the trained Family Liaison Officer for the department. ‘That’s one job I’d never want to do. Not exactly many bright days in that job, are there?’

  Culverhouse let out a sigh. ‘Helen came to see me last night.’

  Wendy’s eyebrows shot up as the traffic lights turned green and the car stuttered forward, her foot slipping off the clutch a little too keenly. ‘Helen? Your wife Helen?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘What did she say? What did she want? Where’s she been?’

  ‘Nothing of any use, God knows, and Spain, apparently.’

  ‘Blimey,’ Wendy said, unsure of what else to say. ‘I hope she had her excuses at the ready.’

  ‘Oh yes. Plenty of excuses. As per usual,’ Culverhouse replied, looking out of the passenger-side window.

  ‘I’m not really sure what to say. How do you feel?’

  ‘Tired.’

  Wendy nodded. She could only remember one other time when she’d been in this position, Jack opening up and telling her something other than how many sugars he wanted in his coffee.

  ‘I’ll speak to Debbie when we get back,’ he said, changing the subject. ‘I’ll let her know the situation so she knows we’ll want to speak to Quinn. Get her to keep her eyes and ears open.’

  Wendy desperately wanted to know more about Helen’s visit but could see Jack didn’t want to talk about it. Now that she thought about it, she realised he hadn’t ever even told her about Helen leaving or what had happened. She’d only heard the third-hand stories that everyone else had, that Helen had upped and left one day with their young daughter. Most people knew better than to broach the subject and ask what happened. Culverhouse could be a terrifying character at the best of times, so asking him why his wife had walked out on him and taken their daughter with her didn’t seem like a great idea to most people.

  So why had he suddenly trusted her? Perhaps he just needed to tell someone, she presumed. A man like Jack Culverhouse didn’t have many close friends, living his life wedded to the job. She presumed he had just needed to open up and she left it at that.

  9

  31st August

  Keira Quinn’s flat wasn’t what Wendy would’ve called luxurious. Ambassador Court was a stone’s throw from the town centre, which was about the only thing it had going for it.

  The flat was small, cramped and dirty. It seemed as though Keira had done her best to keep it tidy as best she could, but the rising damp, peeling plaster and grubby decor seemed to indicate that the landlord had been less than attentive in his duties.

  Aside from a decent-sized flat-screen television, Keira Quinn seemed to have lived a fairly simple and modest existence. Wendy knew that a flat in Ambassador Court would cost around four to five hundred pounds a month in the current market.

  DS Steve Wing was looking into her financial affairs, but Andy Quinn had mentioned in the car on the way to the mortuary that his ex-wife didn’t have a full-time job. If Keira had been in receipt of jobseeker’s allowance — something Steve would be able to ascertain — she’d only get £73 a week, which would barely cover her rent, let alone anything else. And due to the government’s stringent restrictions on out-of-work benefits she’d have to jump through all sorts of hoops and meet eligibility targets on job applications.

  Wendy looked out of the living room window at the street below. The traffic was, as usual, backed up from the town centre and the noise was audible throughout the flat. So much for peace and tranquility, she thought.

  Culverhouse was busy looking through the opened mail which’d been stacked neatly on the small drop-leaf dining table. There seemed to be nothing particularly interesting; a mobile phone bill for £28.30, a letter from a local jeweller’s advertising a closing-down sale and a request for her to come and give blood next month. Wendy chuckled at the dark humour. Keira Quinn had given more than enough blood last night.

  ‘Amazing, isn’t it?’ Culverhouse said. ‘Absolutely nothing here to tell us who she was or what she was up to. No payslips, no photos, no bills lying around other than the mobile phone one.’

  ‘Maybe not everyone’s as disorganised as you,’ Wendy said with a smile. ‘If she lived a fairly simple life there’s no reason why she should have loads of paperwork lying around the flat. Probably enough time to keep it tidy, too, if she wasn’t working.’

  ‘Just seems a bit odd to me,’ Culverhouse said. He had an uncanny way of dropping a little seed of a hint into conversations, knowing full well that it would germinate in the other person’s mind and end up having to be addressed anyway, whether they liked it or not.

  ‘Maybe she kept it all digitally. It’s not a massive place, so maybe she just liked to keep everything tidy and minimalistic. Many people do. Anyway, if she wasn’t working, what sort of paperwork would she have? Gas, electric and water are probably all online. Mine are, as is my mobile phone bill. I think the only bill I get through the post is the council tax once a year.’

  ‘Yeah, but no junk mail, nothing?’

  ‘She might be on the Royal Mail list.’

  ‘That doesn’t mean a bloody thing. I’m on it and I still get half the Amazon fucking rainforest through my letterbox every week.’

  Wendy chuckled inwardly, having had an unavoidable image of groups of local youths signing Culverhouse up for every imaginable piece of junk mail in existence.

  The forensics team had already been to the flat to check for any signs of forced entry as well as to test for blood stains and any other signs that Keira had been killed in her flat. Everything seemed to indicate that she hadn’t been.

  ‘Always amazes me how tidy they leave a place, that lot,’ Culverhouse said. ‘You know, they could just say they’ve been to a scene and done their swabs and shit and no-one would be any the wiser. Makes you wonder.’

  Wendy chose to ignore his comment, assuming it to be another attempt at being inflammatory.

  They spent fifteen minutes looking around the flat but could find absolutely nothing of interest. That, in itself, was something of interest as it seemed that Keira Quinn lived a far simpler life than even the most minimalist of people. The flat was almost eerie — a complete lack of personal touches. It seemed to Wendy to be more like a show home than somewhere that people actually lived.

  Uniformed officers had spoken to the occupants of the neighbouring flats to see if anyone remembered seeing her coming or going over the past couple of days but none of them were able to provide any information. A number of neighbours confirmed that Keira did live in the flat and that they tended to see her regularly, which put paid to the nagging doubt in Wendy’s mind that the flat didn’t even look lived in. Perhaps she was just an incredibly neat and organised person after all.

  But that didn’t help them in terms of uncovering clues which could lead them towards discovering who might have wanted to kill her. Other than her mutilated body, Keira Quinn seemed to have managed to stay more or less untraceable, even in death.

  10

  1st September

  The morning sun was far brighter than either Wendy Knight’s or Jack Culverhouse’s moods, searing through the vertical blinds like a laser beam as Culverhouse shielded his eyes while he addressed the incident room.

  ‘Right. Report’s in from the post mortem,’ he said as the other officers looked on. ‘Might as well have not bothered as there’s nothing new other than an estimated time of death, which they put at somewhere between midnight and one o�
�clock in the morning, although there were some inconsistencies. We should get more detail later today, with any luck. Luke, any luck with the CCTV?’

  The eyes of the officers darted over to DS Luke Baxter, who was leaning back on his chair, twiddling a pencil around in his mouth. At the sound of his name, he dropped his chair forward and sat up.

  ‘Nothing yet, guv. Nothing council-owned anywhere near there. Nearest ones are on the high street, in the square. Quite a few people on that, though, so we’d need to narrow it down. Frank and Debbie have been doing door-to-door and have been asking if anyone’s got private CCTV installed but don’t think they’ve had any luck so far.’

  ‘Nope, nothing,’ DS Frank Vine confirmed. ‘No-one seems to have heard anything either, apart from one elderly woman who says she heard what sounded like a van pulling up outside her house around two-thirty yesterday morning.’

  ‘Where does she live?’ Culverhouse asked, signalling to DS Debbie Weston to pull the cord and close the blinds.

  ‘About a hundred yards from where the body was found. Would be a long way to drag it, especially without leaving traces. Risky, too. Anyone could’ve looked out their window, come out of their house, anything. And you’d expect some sort of trace if she’d been dragged. Bits of clothing or skin on the pavement, marks on the body, something in the mud. Forensics say they couldn’t find anything.’