by Oliver Tidy
Romney glanced at his watch. ‘If you turn up anything let me know immediately. Understand? Sergeant?’
‘Oh shit,’ said Marsh, her eyes transfixed on the screen of the mobile.
‘What is it?’ Romney walked over to stand beside her. It took him only a second to realise that he was staring at the semi-naked form of Claire Stamp strapped across the table in the back room of the petrol station.
The message had been sent at a little after one o’clock in the morning. There were three others unopened and lodged in the message inbox of the phone. These had been sent between eleven and twelve-thirty the previous night. It was a short, sustained and nasty campaign of terror. There was one that had been opened. It had been sent, and presumably received, at a little after ten o’clock the previous night.
‘The poor cow,’ said Marsh. ‘She told me again last night: it’s what she was most tormented by – the idea that someone had a photographic record of what was done to her.’
Romney said, ‘This changes things. A lot. This could have pushed her over the edge. Perhaps made her jump.’
‘He must know her,’ said Marsh, turning to stare at Romney, her thoughts ploughing a different furrow to his. ‘The rapist must know her. How else would he have her number?’
‘And why would she open one and not the others?
‘Maybe she was too shocked, too afraid. She might have broken down.’
‘Maybe she was already dead,’ said Romney.
*
Romney received one piece of good news that morning. After he’d dispatched Grimes to the apartment block, he was on his way to see Superintendent Falkner, to bring him up to speed on unfolding events, when an officer hailed him across the squad room, the business end of a telephone in his outstretched hand. ‘Forensics for you, sir.’
‘Inspector, it’s Diane Hodge. We spoke earlier this morning.’
‘Have you got some good news for me, Miss Hodge? I could certainly use some.’
‘As a matter of fact I have, Inspector. Your instinct and reasoning were inspired and spot on. I did the tests myself. It was as you suggested: I found clearly identifiable traces of saliva: evidence. Do you have a suspect?’
‘Not yet.’
‘Well, when you do, get me a sample of his spit and I’ll tell you if you have the right man.’
‘Thank you,’ said Romney. ‘Thank you very much.’
*
Romney spoke with Superintendent Falkner for only fifteen minutes. The day before, he had been forced to hint that they had precious little in the way of leads to pursue. Despite the appalling and shocking news of the death of Claire Stamp, he was at least able to report that now he had a suspicious death, an obvious campaign of terror for one of the victims, and a forensic breakthrough to investigate.
He made his way back to the CID squad room, collected DC Spicer – an experienced officer – and after briefing him of the role he was to play, set off once more to the holding cells for an appointment that had been made with Simon Avery. His lawyer was waiting.
*
As they all settled around the little table, Romney said, ‘Moved up in the world since yesterday, have we?’
‘What are you talking about?’ scowled Avery. His cockiness of the day before had been replaced with a tetchy petulance. After two nights in the cells, and all that had gone on between, he was looking understandably jaded, and his temper was clearly fraying.
‘Yesterday, you were calling for the duty solicitor and today we have the pleasure of?’ Romney turned and raised his eyebrows.
‘Kenneth Lane of Bridgewater, Burke and Lane,’ said an expensively educated voice. ‘My client would like to protest in the strongest terms for the treatment he has received.’
‘What treatment would that be?’
‘His liberty has been deliberately curtailed by the police’s unnecessary impediment of due process.’
‘Well, Mr Lane,’ said Romney, ‘that might be the way you see it. It’s certainly not the way we see it.’
‘Perhaps, Detective Inspector,’ said the solicitor, ‘we will both have to see how the authorities that concern themselves with such things view it.’
‘Fine by me. Now, instead of wasting anymore of your client’s valuable liberty and money on your doubtless fat fee, why don’t we make a start?’
The lawyer smiled thinly. The recording equipment was set in motion, details of those present were spoken into it, and the interview began.
Romney said, ‘Mr Avery. I’d like to talk to you about last night.’
Avery threw up his hands theatrically. ‘See?’ he said to his lawyer. ‘I told you. Just pissing me about ‘cos they’ve nothing better to do. ‘Cos they don’t like me. You know what this is? It’s harassment. You had me in here the night before for nothing. I’ve already been interviewed about last night. Everyone else has been processed, but surprise, surprise, I’m still here.’
After a long, patient moment Romney said, ‘Have you finished? For the record, firstly, as I understand it, you were detained the night before last and subsequently cautioned for causing an obstruction and indeed you were fortunate not to have been charged with assaulting a police officer.’ Avery snorted derisively. ‘Secondly, I wish to interview you in connection with a possible crime that was committed last night.’
‘And I’ve told you. I’ve already been interviewed about last night.’
Romney turned his attention to the solicitor. ‘Are you just going to sit there all morning and let him open his valve every couple of minutes? Don’t you think you should advise your client that it might be in his best interests to shut up and hear what I have to say? Ah, of course not. You’re being paid by the hour aren’t you?’ It was a cheap shot, but to Romney, who had taken an instant dislike to the smarmy, well-tailored solicitor, it was made worth it by the suspicious look that Avery shot his legal representation. In any case, it seemed to have the desired result as Avery slumped silently in his seat. ‘Let me make things nice and simple for you, Mr Avery. I do not want to talk to you about the brawling that you were involved in at The Castle.’
‘Allegedly involved in, Detective Inspector,’ corrected the lawyer, finding his voice again.
Romney ignored it. He was about to either drop a bombshell on Avery or unveil the elephant in the room that only he and Avery were aware of, and he wanted to be quite sure of how he interpreted Avery’s reaction. Romney considered that, after many years and hundreds of interviews of all manner of villains, he had developed an acute understanding of when the person on the other side of the table was being less than honest. If Avery had some knowledge of what Romney had him there for; if he, as Romney hoped, had been directly involved in, or at least complicit in events that led to the death of Claire Stamp, then he should begin to show signs of such.
The lawyer seemed to misunderstand Romney’s pause as a sudden lack of conviction in his position and he pressed further. ‘Well, Inspector? What is it that you wish to speak to my client about?’
Romney only had eyes for Avery when he said, ‘I want to speak to your client about the death of Claire Stamp who was found this morning, lying dead, in her nightwear, in the parking area of the apartment block where she lived.’
***
5
The two officers agreed that Avery was either innocent of complicity in the death of Claire Stamp or an exceptionally talented liar. Romney felt keenly the disappointment that Avery’s involvement had not been made transparent through his reaction to the news or under his subsequent questioning.
Despite that lack of confirmation, Romney still intended to treat Avery as a suspect until he felt he had no choice but to do otherwise. He would be among the first to admit that gauging the physical reaction of a suspect to accusations of murder was hardly at the cutting edge of police investigative methods, although there would always be a place for instinct, in his reasoning, when it came to police work.
As Avery had already been interviewed regarding t
he previous night’s disturbance, and had not crumpled into a sobbing confession of guilt when confronted with the news of Claire Stamp’s death, Romney was obliged to release him with the customary warning that he should keep himself available for further questioning, should the need arise. Romney hoped sincerely that it would. His distaste for the man grew with every encounter.
*
While she had been at Claire Stamp’s apartment, Marsh had tried ringing the number the images were sent from using Claire’s phone, but no network connection had been made.
On his return to the station Romney had set someone the task of discovering whether there was any record of a phone contract for the number that had been used to send the images to Claire Stamp. He and Marsh had discussed the likelihood of this and agreed that, with the trouble that the attacker had gone to to protect his identity, he was hardly likely to throw his anonymity away so stupidly. Indeed, the number turned out to be one of those on a SIM card that phone networks gave away by the fistful in the hope that someone might actually load some credit onto just one.
Enquiries regarding credit top-ups for the number revealed that it had only ever had credit applied to it once. That was by cash some weeks before. Further enquiries of the phone’s history showed it had never made a call and had only been used to send four messages. All were picture messages sent to Claire Stamp’s phone the previous night.
This information gave Romney further evidence that the rape was a pre-meditated act. Its execution and follow-up campaign of terror seemed too well planned to be anything else. The supposition gave the DI a nasty feeling in the pit of his stomach. The rapist, whoever he was, had seen his plans apparently succeed so brilliantly that he would surely be tempted to do it again. They invariably were.
The next task was to go through Claire Stamp’s phone’s contact list and ring every number, get addresses, visit homes, seek out the men and invite them to attend the station for a mouth swab test, so that they might be eliminated from police enquiries. There were thirty six contacts in the phone.
In addition to this, an officer was set the task of discovering and locating all the men who visited the petrol station in some capacity, other than customer, over the last few months. Not that customers were being ruled out, but manpower dictated what could reasonably be hoped to be achieved.
*
Romney paid a visit to the uniform officer in charge of coordinating the paperwork for the previous evening’s disturbance at The Castle. He explained his particular interest in Avery’s involvement and timings of the evening and received assurances that the information he required would be with him as soon as all witnesses had been interviewed, their statements examined, information collated and timings reliably calculated.
*
When Romney finally returned to the squad room, Marsh was back at her desk.
‘Anything interesting?’ he said.
‘No one who was home heard or saw a thing. There are a couple of flats that didn’t answer. I’ll go back and see them later. The building’s superintendent is going to ask them to get in touch.’
Romney took this news on the chin. He hadn’t expected anything much from it.
‘I’ve been thinking, sir,’ said Marsh.
With a noise in the back of his throat, Romney indicated that she should proceed.
‘There are four ways Claire Stamp could have gone off that balcony. She could have been forced, conscious or unconscious; she could have jumped; she could have fallen accidentally; or she could have already been dead before being thrown.’
Romney nodded. ‘Right,’ he said. ‘And?’
‘I don’t think that she fell accidentally.’
‘Agreed.’
‘The dead don’t scream, and I’m guessing that jumpers don’t either, but those who are pushed alive probably do.’
‘Go on.’
‘No one that I spoke to at the flats heard anything, which could suggest that she wasn’t pushed alive and conscious. She was either already dead, unconscious or jumped.’
Romney waited. When it appeared that Marsh had nothing to add he said, ‘That’s it?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Very interesting. Doesn’t exactly narrow things down much does it?’
‘Just thinking it through, sir,’ said Marsh, unperturbed. ‘I did find out how Claire Stamp got her phone back. The building’s superintendent said that a young man showed up at the flats yesterday afternoon asking to be let in to see her. He didn’t much like the look of him. He asked him what he wanted and the lad said she’d phoned the garage about leaving her mobile there and he had offered to drop it off on his way home.’
‘It was Park?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘What was he doing on his way home at that time of day? I thought he didn’t start until lunch time.’
‘I phoned the garage. Mr Patel said that he’d started complaining of a headache soon after we’d spoken to him and so he felt it best to send him home.’
‘How compassionate,’ said Romney. ‘Probably didn’t want to risk the fuss and bother if the poor sod took a turn for the worse.’
Romney explained the breakthrough on the forensics leaving out the detail that it was his suggestion that had brought it. He told Marsh to make herself useful working with the other officers in tracking down males in Claire Stamp’s phone’s memory.
*
In the late afternoon Romney received a phone call from the pathologist. The autopsy he had performed on Claire Stamp revealed that she had died of massive head trauma. When the DI asked whether she could have already been dead before she left the balcony the pathologist took a moment’s thought.
‘It’s possible, but she would have had to have been pitched off the balcony pretty soon after any blow had been dealt for the traumas that her body suffered to be consistent in the way that her body reacted to them.’
‘Anything else? Anything unusual? Had she been drinking?’
‘Nothing. No booze, no drugs, nothing under her finger nails to suggest a struggle. Nothing at all, apart from the marks around the neck that your DS seemed to know all about. Sorry.’
Romney thanked him and summoned Marsh into his office to share the information. ‘Let’s suppose that Avery did stove her head in with something and then pushed her off the balcony. He’d probably have had to use something handy, something just lying around and suitable and portable enough to be hefted and swung.’
‘She might have hit her head on something if they struggled,’ said Marsh.
‘True. Think back to when we were in her lounge the first time. And then try to remember if there was anything that would fit the bill that was missing from the lounge today.’ Marsh made a face. ‘I know,’ said Romney, 'it’s a hard ask, but as I remember there wasn’t too much in there.’
After a few moments, Marsh shook her head. ‘Nothing springs to mind.’
‘Me neither,’ said Romney. ‘Think about it.’
‘Why, though, sir?’
‘Pardon.’
‘Like you said, when all else fails ask why? Why would Avery kill her?’
‘Maybe he didn’t mean to. Maybe they had a row that got out of hand. Maybe it was an accident. You heard them shouting at each other when we left.’
‘Plenty of people shout at each other, sir, but that doesn’t often mean that one of them ends up dead.’
‘I know, but she did and remember: he’s a nasty bastard. He’s just suffered a career threatening embarrassment that he might find hard to live down; he has access to the flat and they were rowing when we left. It’s not something we can ignore.’
*
Later in the day the tenant of the flat directly below Claire Stamp’s contacted Marsh to let her know she was in, but that she had young children with her. She asked if someone could visit her at her home, rather than traipse the children through the dark, cold and wet, so that she might help with the police enquiries that she understood from the building’s caretaker sh
e was wanted for. Marsh offered to drop in on her way home from work.
*
Marsh was there within the hour. The woman who had seemed less than friendly on the telephone was the opposite in the flesh. She clearly had her hands and her evenings full judging by the way the two under-fives were tearing around the flat. Marsh was invited in, found a seat not cluttered with toys or playschool ephemera and provided with a cup of tea. The woman stuck the children in front of the television with a biscuit each and told Marsh she probably had about five minutes before they started running around again.
‘I’m still in shock about it,’ said the woman, when Marsh mentioned the business that had brought her there. ‘I had no idea until I came home this evening after picking these two up.’
‘Did you know her?’
‘Only to say hello to, you know?’ Marsh did. She had lived in her block of flats for nearly two months and had no conversations longer than that with any of the other tenants. ‘It’s terrible,’ continued the woman. ‘She was so young. What can be so bad in your life that you throw yourself off the fourth floor? She seemed happy enough, had her looks, nice flat, boyfriend. Mind you they ding-donged up there some nights.’
‘Did they? Describe him to me would you?’
The woman’s eyes widened as she caught on quickly. ‘She did jump, didn’t she?’
‘We’re keeping an open mind at this time, but I’ll ask you to keep that to yourself. Until all our investigations are finished, we have to treat the death as suspicious.’
‘Of course,’ said the woman. ‘But they were fighting last night. Sound travels well in this building.
‘Really? About what time would that be?’
