by Ricki Thomas
“Where were you when you saw the woman?”
“I’d just come through the door at the top of the stairs, I had to use the stairs because the blasted lift is broken again. Anyway I saw her straight away, she looked quite shocked actually, and there was a lot of blood. You know, I couldn’t take my eyes away.”
“You saw a man with her, I believe?” Slowly, don’t get her excited.
“Yes, yes, there he was, right next to her, he sort of had his hands out, on her I think. I don’t know.”
“What did you do when you saw her?” Krein knew the answer would be nothing, the public had become scared and selfish during his time on the force.
As expected a flash of guilt registered on Mrs Murray’s face. “Well, I didn’t know what to do, did I? The woman saw me, I saw her looking, she was scared, real scared, but so was I, so I turned and ran, down the stairs, back into the shopping centre. In fact I dropped my bag on the way.”
“Your bag?”
“My bag of shopping. Bill had a right go when I got home, I had to do him an omelette because we had no meat, someone nicked the bag, you see, I went back for it. My Bill likes his meat in the evening, he accused me of trying to feed him rabbit food.”
“So you didn’t go to help the woman?” He once would have been incredulous, but after years of experience he was used to the apathy, and his tone was flat.
“I know I should have, but I was scared. Thought the bloke would get me too, so I just ran away.” Mrs Murray was bringing tendrils of hair across her mouth and sucking on them childishly.
Krein uncrossed his legs, he leant his elbows on his knees and considered Mrs Murray’s life-burned face. “Why did you not notify the police at that point?” It wasn’t an accusation, and she visibly relaxed.
“I thought no-one would believe me, in fact I wasn’t sure I hadn’t been dreaming, lord knows, everyone tells me off for living in a dream world, and Bill said it was probably just my imagination. And he said if it wasn’t then I was to keep out of it. But when I couldn’t sleep last night, I knew I had to do something, well, I wouldn’t have been able to live with myself, that poor girl. I called you first thing, as soon as Bill had gone to work.”
Krein knew he’d extracted as much information as he was going to get. “Okay. Can you remember what the woman looked like? You said you saw her looking at you.”
“I didn’t get that good a look, the weather was real murky, you know, rainy. She was blonde, her hair was sort of longish, well, shoulder length. Her eyes were bright, really wide open, because she was scared I suppose.”
“Can you remember what she was wearing?”
“Couldn’t tell you, well, definitely a skirt, but it was red from blood.”
“How do you know she wasn’t just wearing a red skirt?”
Mrs Murray fidgeted with her fingers again, anxious. “I could tell. I just could, it was a big patch of red, it wasn’t all red. Blue. Her cardigan was pale blue. That’s right, the skirt was too. Pale blue. I remember now. But there was so much blood.”
“Thank you Mrs Murray, I know this is hard.” He needed her to relax again. “Now, the man, what can you remember about him?”
“His beard, he had a big beard, wild, it was, light brown, dark blond, whatever. His hair was longer, quite shaggy. He wasn’t bad looking, I suppose, I only got a brief look. He wasn’t huge, not six foot, but not much less. His eyes were wild too, he had glasses on, but you could still see his eyes from the side.”
“Can you remember what he was wearing, or if he was carrying anything?”
“Yes, I can. He had a smart suit on, real posh. It was pale grey. I didn’t see anything in his hands. Oh yes, there was, there was something glistening,”
“Any idea what it was?” Krein wondered how much of what she was saying was true, and how much fabrication to make herself more important.
“Don’t know, maybe keys, could have been a knife, I suppose, really, I’m not sure.”
“Mrs Murray, if you were to see this man again, would you recognise him?”
“Definitely, I’ll remember his face forever, I think.”
Krein knew it wouldn’t be ethical to show Mrs Murray the photograph of Gregor and Annabel, it would be seen as influencing a witness. He carefully brought the framed photo from his bag and concealed Gregor’s face with a scrap of paper. “Would you be prepared to come to an identity parade, we have a suspect who fits your description of the man.”
Raynor looked at his boss in confusion, they had no suspect at all! But he checked himself, Krein’s mind always worked faster, and more logically than everybody else’s.
“Mrs Murray,” Krein displayed the un-obscured half of the photo, “could you tell me, is this the woman you saw yesterday?”
Christine Murray gasped, she held her hand to her mouth. “Oh isn’t she pretty when she smiles! Yes, I would swear that’s the same woman.” Krein was so tempted to uncover Greg’s photo, the deep blonde beard was such a giveaway. But he replaced the photo in his bag and thanked Mrs Murray for her time.
Krein rapped on the heavy, oak door of thirty-nine Morrell Close, Caisten, the door swung wide immediately. Gail moved aside as soon as she’d seen the identity badge Krein waved at her.
“Good afternoon, Madam, I’m Detective Inspector Krein, this is Detective Sergeant Raynor. We are here about Annabel Keeley.”
“Oh, hello, I’m Annabel’s mother, Gail Rackham, please come in.” Krein hoped the shock had not registered on his face, he was usually a master of keeping his expressions blank, but this lady looked no-where near the mid-fifties that she must be.
Krein and Raynor followed the tall, elegant, yet demure woman through the white stained Georgian door to the lounge, they nodded their regards to the unkempt man curled in an armchair, his eyes bland, his demeanour broken.
“Greg, they’re here about Annabel.” Gail motioned to the settee for Krein and Raynor to sit, and sat herself in the spare armchair. Soon a little girl made her way onto, what Krein supposed, was her grandmother’s lap.
“Are you Mr Gregor Keeley?”
“Yes, sir, and you are?” Greg seemed disinterested which bristled Krein.
“Detective Inspector Krein, Detective Sergeant Raynor.” Krein noticed Keeley’s wild beard with interest, it was far scruffier than it was in the photograph of him with the missing woman he had in his briefcase. He thought back to his conversation earlier with Mrs Murray, her description of the man who was with the lady she’d seen. Wild, light brown or dark blond beard, longer shaggy hair, not six foot but not far off. Was Gregor Keeley attractive? Maybe, not his idea of handsome, but he supposed a middle-aged woman may find him so.
“Have you any news of Annabel, have you found her?” A flicker of hope registered in his voice.
“No sir, but we do have a possible sighting, at the Westgate car park yesterday. We’re looking into it.”
Gail’s eyes lit up. “Really, was she okay?”
“It’s too early to tell, Mrs Rackham. Mr Keeley, could you tell me where you were yesterday please?”
Greg looked shocked at the question. “Me? I was at work, of course.”
“Where do you work? And what do you do there?”
“I’m an accountant, I work in Witney at Gordon and MacIntyre Chartered Accountants. I was working on one of our major client’s accounts yesterday, assisting with notes for their audit.”
Krein was suspicious, this didn’t feel right. This Keeley guy had just offered a hell of a lot of unprompted information. He glanced at DS Raynor, noticing by the look on his face that Raynor was thinking the same thing.
“Were you at the Witney offices between eleven and twelve in the morning yesterday?”
“Yes, well no, I wasn’t, actually, not the main offices, I took the accounts to a nearby office the company owns so that I could work with no distraction, the office above Timberlakes Jewellers. But I was in Witney.”
“Were you with anybody?”
“This is ridiculous, you’re treating me as if I’m under suspicion. Gail, take Petra away, please. I don’t want her hearing this.” Gail lifted the little girl from her lap and led the confused child from the room: their footsteps sounded lightly on the stairs.
“Mr Keeley, I can understand your concern, but these are routine questions that we have to ask to get a better idea of what happened yesterday. We need the complete picture. Were you alone?”
“Yes, okay, I was on my own. My telephone in the office rings all day, my secretary is hopeless at keeping calls back. These accounts are intricate, I needed solitude to be able to concentrate, okay, nothing wrong with that.”
“Do you have anybody who could verify your whereabouts between eleven and twelve yesterday?”
Greg sighed, his head settled in his hands, before moving them down to stroke at his beard, smoothing it into shape roughly. “No. My secretary knew where I was, though. She could have contacted me at any time.”
“Mr Keeley, do you need to wear glasses at any time?”
“You what? What the hell are you getting at now?”
“Please answer the question.”
“Yes, not that I can see the point of asking that. I am slightly short sighted. I wear contact lenses, usually at weekends, and glasses at work.”
“What were you wearing yesterday?”
Greg shifted uncomfortably on the seat, his hands were now smoothing his unbrushed hair. “Jesus, this is ridiculous. I was wearing my bloody grey work suit, I have three suits. Yesterday I wore the grey one.”
“Could you show it to me please?”
Greg stormed out of the room and thundered up the stairs, muttering under his breath. Presently he arrived back holding a pale grey suit, which still hung neatly from a coat hanger. Krein lifted the legs closer, three tiny brownish red spots dotted the left trouser leg, mid thigh height. He held the material up to show Raynor and Greg. “Do you know what these marks are on your trousers?”
Greg’s face paled visibly, his eyes flickered between the two policemen. His voice was strained, delayed. “No, I’ve no idea.”
“Miss Packard, my name is Detective Inspector Krein, this is Detective Sergeant Raynor. We are investigating a missing person, and we have reason to believe you may be able to help us with our enquiries.”
Bella Packard was quite beautiful, her long dark hair was rich and full, her figure was slim yet curvy in all the right places, her clothing immaculate. She had chocolate brown eyes that looked demure between her thick lashes. She took a moment or two to register what the policeman had said, then moved aside to let the men through.
Once settled on the sofa in the small, tidy lounge of Bella’s modern flat, Krein explained the reason for his visit. Her boss’s wife was missing, he needed to know if she could verify his whereabouts between eleven and twelve the previous day.
“Mr Keeley worked in the other office yesterday, he often goes there when he needs quiet, says it gives him time to think without distraction.”
“Where is this other office?”
“Above Timberlakes Jewellers in the High Street.”
“That’s not far from Gordon and MacIntyre is it?”
“No, it’s four buildings along, towards the town centre.”
“Do you have a car park at your offices?” This was the type of interview Krein liked: short and to the point.
“Yes, round the back.”
“Was Mr Keeley’s car in the car park between eleven and twelve yesterday morning?”
Bella thought for a moment, and slowly shook her head. “No, he didn’t have his car yesterday, his wife sometimes needs it, so he leaves it at home and comes in by train.”
DS Raynor was looking at the photographs displayed in frames on the wall, they were of Bella Packard, but far more blatant than he would expect from the wholesome woman in front of him, she obviously did light glamour modelling as a sideline. Following Raynor’s interest, Krein wondered if Keeley knew what his secretary got up to afters hours. Was there anything between Keeley and his pretty assistant? She was such a beauty, she must turn heads wherever she goes.
“Is there anybody you can think of who could verify that Mr Keeley was at the Timberlake office?”
Bella thought deeply again before speaking. “I’m sorry, but I can’t think of anyone. Mr Keeley likes to be alone. Sometimes he doesn’t even take calls when he works there.”
“Doesn’t take calls?”
“Well, when he’s there I often phone through with questions, or people he may like to speak to, but yesterday the phone was just ringing. He often ignores the phone, hates being disturbed, which makes my job harder. In fact, to be honest I think he unplugs it, otherwise I’m sure the ringing would annoy him.”
“He doesn’t have a mobile?”
She pondered for a moment. “Not that I know of, I’ve not seen him with one.”
“Did you see Mr Keeley at all yesterday?”
“Yes. He came in about half nine, like he always does, he collected some papers, then left for the other office.”
“Can you remember what he was wearing?”
Again, she thought, her eyes narrowed as she mentally pictured Greg the day before. “Yes, he had his pale grey suit on yesterday. He wears it a lot, I think it’s his favourite.”
“Did you notice any stains on the left trouser leg of the suit?”
Bella flushed, her eyes flittered down as she avoided Krein’s interrogating stare. “I’m sorry, Mr Krein, but I don’t usually look at Mr Keeley’s trousers. I’m good at my job, and he respects me for that.”
Krein stepped back in surprise, he strongly suspected that Greg had something going with his assistant. Was this relevant? Maybe he wanted his wife out of the way? “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to offend you, I think you misheard the question. Just one more, and we’ll be on our way. Could you tell me if Mr Keeley was wearing glasses yesterday.”
“Yes, he always does. Now, if you’d please excuse me, I have to be back at work in a few minutes.”
The Scene of Crime Officer had arrived at the site of the motorbike accident. He had been called in to try and assess what had happened an hour earlier, at twenty past eleven in the morning. He had briefly surveyed the wreckage of the Sportster, now he was waiting for a forensics team to come and take samples of the black paint that was scratched into the mudguard and handlebars of the chrome bike: these were probably from the car that caused the tragedy.
The first constable to attend the scene had managed to get a rough idea from the two young boys about what had taken place. They’d stated that a black car had come speeding over the crest of the hill in the opposite direction, towards Clouds hill, just as the motorcycle was overtaking the boys, who’d been riding side by side. The bike had collided with the front right hand side of the car, had flipped onto it’s side and skidded along the road, throwing the rider into the verge. Neither of them had managed to remember the registration number of the car.
He had already heard that the motorcyclist had been pronounced dead on arrival at the hospital. The police had been notified to locate the mysterious vehicle.
Krein and Raynor hadn’t needed to arrest Greg Keeley. When they asked if he would mind answering some questions at the police station, he bowed his head, resigned, and agreed to go without argument. Krein had been taken aback, he’d expected an outburst after the fuss Greg had kicked up earlier.
The three men were sitting in a grubby interview room, Krein and Raynor on one side of the graffiti covered wooden table, Greg on the other. Greg sat with his legs wide, one elbow on each knee, resting his head in his hands.
“Mr Keeley, could you please tell me if you took any telephone calls in the Timberlake office yesterday, or if you made any outgoing calls?”
“I pulled the connection out at the socket, like I usually do when I work there. Otherwise there would be no point me going there.”
“How did you get to work yesterday?”
“I t
ook the train, there’s a direct line between Caisten and Witney. I use it quite often when Annabel needs the car.”
“Did you leave the office at any time yesterday?”
“No. I collected the accounts at about nine thirty from the main offices, then walked directly to Timberlakes.”
“Do you recall seeing anybody on your way there?”
“No, no-one.” Greg knew this sounded bad, he wrenched his fingers nervously through his beard.
“Even at Timberlakes? Someone who could verify you were there.”
Greg was resigned. “It’s a separate side entrance, they don’t know when the offices are occupied and when they’re not.”
“What time did you leave the office?”
“About five, I think. I took the accounts back to the main office, then caught the five twenty train back to Caisten. I was home about six, that’s when I realised something was wrong.”
“Did you go to Oxford at all yesterday?”
“I already told you, I was in the office all day, and I didn’t have the car anyway.”
“There is a train link from Witney to Oxford, Mr Keeley.”
“No, I didn’t leave the office. Look, if I wanted to kill my wife I wouldn’t have done it in Oxford, would I!” Greg was increasingly frustrated at the time they were wasting on him.
“Interesting, Mr Keeley! Nobody’s suggested that Annabel is dead. Do you know how those three stains got on your suit trousers.”
Greg rolled his eyes, ashamed of his blunder. “Maybe it’s red ink from my pen, when I reconcile accounts I always use a red pen, and I was using one yesterday.”
“Okay, well we’ve sent them for analysis, should know the results soon. Mr Keeley, are you and Miss Bella Packard intimately involved with each other at all, having relations of sorts?”
Greg sprang up from his seat, anger flashing through his eyes. Krein noted how wild they were when he was angered. “That is none of your bloody business. Now either you bloody arrest me, or you bloody well let me go, because I’ve had enough of this crap.”
