Zoe remembered what Mo had learned from the bursar and the other students: Laurence hadn’t used the shared kitchen, and he hadn’t taken his meals in the canteen. Now they knew why.
“So either he withdrew into himself because he was ashamed of what he did to Becca and the other possible victims,” she said. “Or he suspected the other students were watching him.”
“Maybe he did take an overdose,” Connie suggested. “If he was living like that…”
“Don’t forget the bruising,” Mo said. “His wrists. Those injuries were sustained within twenty-four hours of the post-mortem, and that was at lunchtime.”
“Eww,” said Rhodri. “A post-mortem at lunchtime.” He shuddered.
Zoe laughed. “Come on, folks.” She noticed Connie placing her phone on the desk. “You tried your mate?”
“No answer, boss. Sorry.”
Zoe turned to the board. What did you do? Laurence’s photo was in the centre. He had dark, straggly hair and wore an Adidas t-shirt. They had to know if he’d raped those girls, and if that was why he’d died.
Chapter Sixteen
Kayla sat in the corner of the Boulton Hall canteen. Dinner had long since finished but she couldn’t bring herself to move. The room was empty, one of the dining staff turning out the lights half an hour ago without spotting her.
She still felt fizzy from the drugs she’d taken with Jenson. He’d wanted to have sex, he’d said it would be more stimulating than usual. She wanted none of it. In the last twenty-four hours she’d seen a dead body, lied to the police, and accidentally smoked meth. She just wanted to sleep.
The swing doors to the canteen opened and a dark shape entered. Kayla tensed. It could be Lin, the two of them sometimes met in here after everyone had disappeared to their rooms or the bar. But the shape was too large.
Kayla shrank down, hoping she wouldn’t be seen.
“Hello?” the person called. It was a woman with a Yorkshire accent. Not Lin, with her feigned Texan drawl.
Kayla tried to stop breathing. If she kept very, very still, then the woman wouldn’t see her. She knew it was dark in this corner of the room, she’d sat here plenty of times.
“I don’t want to hurt you.”
Kayla stared at the figure heading her way. Why would she say she wasn’t going to hurt her, unless she was going to hurt her? She considered bolting for the door, but the only way out was between the two rows of tables and that would take her right into the woman’s path.
The woman was closer now. Dim light filtered through the blinds at the windows on the opposite side of the room and Kayla could just make out her features. She was heavy-set, with spiky orange-red hair and pale skin. She wore blue jeans, a torn grey t-shirt that might once have been white, and black boots that squeaked on the polished floor.
Kayla huddled further into her chair, causing it to shift beneath her. She winced at the sound of the legs scraping along the floor.
The woman paused a moment, facing Kayla.
Shit.
“Hi.” The woman walked towards her, smiling. “I saw you in here on your own. Wanted to check you were OK.”
It was too late to pretend she wasn’t here. “I’m fine.”
“You don’t look it.”
How do you know how I look? Kayla thought. You don’t even know me.
The woman pulled out a chair opposite Kayla and sat down. Kayla looked past her, towards the door, unwilling to make eye contact.
“I won’t bite.”
Kayla shrugged, still not meeting the woman’s gaze. She smelled of fried food. Kayla didn’t remember seeing her in Boulton Hall. She was older than Kayla, a third-year or a postgrad maybe.
“Please, leave me alone.”
“Must be pretty tough, what you saw last night.”
Kayla felt her spine tingle. She forced out a breath, slow and steady.
“I’m fine. Please…”
“Especially given who it was.”
Kayla’s gaze darted to the woman’s face. “I don’t know what…”
The woman shrugged. “I know what he was like. I know what he did.”
“To Becca.”
“And the others. To you, maybe?”
Kayla shook her head. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Look.” The woman leaned back and delved into the pocket of her jeans. She brought out a folded-up leaflet. Kayla watched her hands as she unfolded it and smoothed it out on the table between them. Her nails were painted a perfect shade of wine-red, dark against the pale skin of her fingers.
The woman pushed the leaflet across the table. It was for a women’s support group.
“I don’t need any help.”
“I didn’t say you needed help. But there are others who might.”
“How d’you mean?”
“Every time a woman fails to report an assault, it puts more of us at risk.”
Kayla shifted her gaze to look past the woman’s shoulder again, towards the doors. She could see people moving around in the hallway beyond. Could she make a run for it?
“You do know that, don’t you?” the woman said.
Kayla shrugged. “Like I say, I don’t know what you’re talking about. And besides, he’s dead.”
The woman licked her lips, her fingers drumming on the leaflet. “If one of them gets away with it, it tells the others they can, too.”
“I’d hardly say he got away with it.” Kayla felt heat rise to her face. She wondered what Lin would say if she was here. If she’d film this woman for Lin’s Lens.
“I’d say he did,” the woman said, “if no one knows what he did. Why he died.”
Kayla tensed. “You’re saying he was killed because of what he did to Becca?”
The woman shrugged. “I’m not saying anything. But if you want to talk, come to us.” She pushed the leaflet closer. “I’m Gina.”
Kayla stared into the woman’s face, trying not to display emotion. She said nothing.
The woman drummed her fingernails on the leaflet twice then stood, leaving it on the table. “Email’s on here. Mobile too. Goes straight to me. Gina.” She moved away from the table, still facing Kayla. “Call me, if you want to prevent it happening again.”
Chapter Seventeen
Zoe stood in the lift of West Midlands Police HQ at Lloyd House, watching the floor numbers light up. She was alone, no one to interrupt her thoughts or force her into awkward conversation as she rose to the fifth floor.
The corridor outside was quiet except for a woman who stood in front of the doors, waiting for her. Detective Sergeant Layla Kaur of Professional Standards. The woman who’d questioned her in the Ian Osman case.
“DI Finch.”
“DS Kaur.”
“Thanks for coming so late.”
“Better than having to account for myself in the daytime.”
“That’s what I thought.”
“Let’s get this done, then. My son’s waiting for me.”
DS Kaur nodded and turned to lead Zoe along a dark corridor. After some time, they came to an interview room. DS Kaur opened the door and waited for Zoe to pass her.
“Just you and me?” Zoe asked.
“This is an informal interview,” the DS said. “You aren’t under caution.”
Nothing’s informal with Professional Standards, Zoe thought, but instead of objecting she nodded. She had nothing to hide, after all.
“Coffee?” DS Kaur went to a side table where a coffee pot sat. Zoe wondered how long it had been sitting there, spoiling.
“OK.” She needed all the stimulation she could get, even if it would taste like crap. “Thanks.”
DS Kaur passed her a mug and put it on the table.
“You not having one?”
The other woman pulled a face. “No.”
Zoe took a sip as she sat down. The coffee was tepid and bitter. She pushed it away. “Don’t blame you.”
“I recommend bringing your own, next time.”
“I’m hoping there won’t be a next time.”
The DS nodded. “We’ll see.” She sighed as she sat down opposite Zoe and opened a file. “So. DS Osman.”
“DS Osman.”
“Start from the beginning, will you DI Finch? When did you first meet him?”
“His children were abducted in October last year. The first time I met him was at his home, with his wife, Alison. The evening after they were taken.”
“And was he a suspect at that time?”
“Only in as much as parents always are when you don’t have anything else to go on in a child abduction case. We didn’t have any concrete reason to suspect him or his wife at that stage.”
“Was he cooperative?”
“Not really.”
“How so?”
“When we did talk to him, he would answer our questions. I don’t believe he ever told me or my team any outright lies. But he was evasive. He kept disappearing without good reason. His colleagues at Kings Norton nick told us he had a habit of doing that.”
“Where do you think he was going?”
“I didn’t have any idea at that point. I was too focused on finding his children.”
“You didn’t think he had his kids hidden somewhere, and that was where he was going?”
“It was a consideration. The investigation did lead us to suspect him and his wife of orchestrating the whole thing. We had a link to a cleaning firm. There was a woman working there, using Alison’s name and looking a lot like her. We were sufficiently convinced that I arrested her.”
“And you arrested DS Osman too, is that true?”
“He was arrested by DI Whaley. I sat in on the interview the two of you conducted with him.”
DI Carl Whaley was Zoe’s boyfriend. Or at least, he had been.
“So you did,” DS Kaur said. “Took him quite a bit of smooth talking with our bosses to persuade them to let you in that interview.”
“I was grateful for that.” Zoe looked around the blank grey room, wondering if there was a camera somewhere. Carl, are you watching this?
“But in the end you released both of them.”
“That’s not entirely true,” Zoe said. “We at Force CID released Alison. We discovered another woman had been using her identity, and had the children. It was Professional Standards who released DS Osman.”
She didn’t mention the fact that PSD had done a deal with Ian: he was to spy on organised crime and on her own boss, Detective Superintendent David Randle, in return for being allowed back to work. And he was moved to her team in Force CID, so she could report to Carl on his movements.
None of which had turned out well.
The DS leaned back, her hands behind her head. “At what point did you suspect DS Osman might be involved in corrupt activity?”
“He booked a DNA test, but that turned out to be because he wasn’t sure if he was the kids’ dad. And then there was the work he had done to his house. The contractor was Stuart Reynolds, who worked for organised crime.”
“And you reported this to DI Whaley.”
“I did.”
“You didn’t talk to DS Osman about it.”
“I did not.”
“Sure about that?” DS Kaur cocked her head.
“Positive.”
“So how is it that he seems to know you were watching him, and that you believed he was involved with organised crime?”
“I have no idea.” Zoe wiped her palms on her jeans. Informal chat, she’d been told. “Am I under investigation?”
DS Kaur shook her head, smiling. “Just an informal chat. If it wasn’t for the sensitive nature of this conversation, I’m sure we’d be doing it in a pub somewhere. Or a coffee shop maybe.”
Zoe narrowed her eyes. She shouldn’t have come here alone. “Is this being recorded?”
“I’m taking notes, as you see. But no, there’s no recorder.”
Zoe looked up. “No camera?”
“DI Finch, you know I’d be required to tell you if there was a camera in the room. We aren’t filming you. No one is watching.” She blushed a little. Thinking of her boss no doubt, and Zoe’s relationship with him. How much did she know about that? Did she know that Zoe hadn’t spoken to Carl for three weeks, since he’d made it clear that he couldn’t be sure she wasn’t bent?
Zoe sighed. “I said nothing to Ian about my suspicions. I told DI Whaley everything that concerned me. Including any activity Ian was undertaking under the terms of his agreement with DI Whaley.”
“We aren’t here to talk about that,” DS Kaur said, too quickly. “Let’s move on to the terror attack in January. You and DS Osman were both at the airport, yes?”
“You’ve already questioned me about this.”
“This isn’t a questioning. I just want to get a few things straight in my head. Like why DS Osman was there when it was his day off.”
“I did wonder that myself.”
“He didn’t tell you?”
“He told me he’d had a call from the office. He was out shopping with his wife and kids. I had no reason to doubt him. Until…”
“Until the Forensics team found evidence that he’d planted explosives residue on an innocent victim of the attack.”
“I couldn’t have put it better myself.” Zoe licked her lips. “Can I have a glass of water?”
DS Kaur placed her hands flat on the table. “Not enjoying the coffee?”
Zoe smirked. “I think you know the answer to that.”
The other woman stood up. “Fair point. Wait one minute.” She rounded the table and left the room. Zoe heard the lock turn behind her. Locked in, for a friendly chat?
She stood and walked round the table a couple of times. DS Kaur had taken her folder with her, too cautious to leave it in the room with a witness who still wasn’t sure if she was being treated as a suspect.
The door banged open and DS Kaur came in carrying two plastic cups of water. She placed one in front of Zoe and drank from the other before crumpling it and dropping it into a bin.
Zoe sipped at her water, hoping she wasn’t going to be here much longer. “You wanted to know why Ian was at the airport. I’ve told you before that apart from what he told me, I don’t know. He was assigned to work with me on securing the scene and preserving evidence as best we could while the rescue attempt was underway.”
“Did he do that?”
“Neither of us did, really. It became clear that the firefighters’ work had to take precedence.”
“And the two of you weren’t together the whole time.”
“I tried to board the aeroplane. When I came out, that was when I saw him near the bodies.”
“Including the body of Nadeem Sharif.” Layla checked her file. “The man he planted evidence on.”
“Allegedly. We hadn’t identified the bodies at that stage.”
“So you didn’t see DS Osman leaving any residue on Sharif’s body?”
“I didn’t.” She’d already told them this: DS Kaur, and her boss Detective Superintendent Malcom Rogers.
A phone buzzed in Layla’s pocket. She took it out and listened, her eyes on Zoe, silent.
After a few moments she hung up and put the phone face down on the table. “Thank you, DI Finch. You can go home to your son now.”
Zoe looked up at the ceiling, but there was no sign of a camera.
“Good,” she said. She downed the rest of the water, tossed the empty cup into the bin, and yanked the door open.
Chapter Eighteen
Rhodri stood at the student’s union bar, a pint of Foster’s in his hand. He’d gone home and got changed, knowing that his Top Man suit would make him stand out like a ballerina at a rugby match. Instead he wore a black t-shirt with blue jeans and a black leather jacket. But even in this gear, he knew that he didn’t fit.
The girl working behind the bar was young and pretty. She laughed with the punters as she served drinks. It was quiet tonight, and she was the only one behind
the bar most of the time. There was an older man who kept appearing and then disappearing through a narrow door at the back. It looked like he was replenishing stocks.
Rhodri considered finding a table and sitting somewhere he’d be less conspicuous, but then he wouldn’t be able to watch people. Or talk to the barmaid. Who cared if they rumbled the fact he was a copper? No one would say anything, and he’d be gone once he’d finished this pint.
He downed his pint and banged his glass on the bar to get the girl’s attention. She flashed him a smile and approached, her hand out for the glass.
“Same again?”
“Please.” He grabbed a fiver from his wallet. He should drink here more often, he thought. It was bloody cheap.
He sidled along the bar to stand in front of her as she poured his pint. He held his gaze on the glass, not wanting to look like a weirdo.
At last she placed the glass in front of him and he handed over his money.
“Haven’t seen you here before,” she said as she gave him his change. “You a mature student?”
“Yeah,” he said. “Chemistry.”
She shrugged. “Enjoy your pint.”
“Hang on a minute.”
She turned back to him. Two girls were at the other end of the bar, trying to get her attention.
Rhodri flashed her the best smile he could. “You work here every night?”
She folded her arms. “You trying to chat me up?”
“Just making conversation.” One of the girls at the other end of the bar cleared her throat loudly. “S’pose I’d better let you do your job,” he said, hoping she’d come back afterwards.
She served the girls – two gin and tonics – and then a man who wanted a pint of Guinness, and a girl who looked too young to be drinking. Anywhere else, she’d have been carded. Rhodri cursed himself. Stop thinking like a copper. You’re supposed to be a student.
He cursed himself for picking Chemistry. He’d dropped it in Year 9 and knew nothing about anything scientific. But he knew Chemistry was Becca’s subject. And Laurence’s too. It might give him an in.
When the barmaid got closer again, he spoke. “I’m in the same tutor group as Becca MacGuire. I was hoping she’d be here.”
Deadly Reprisal (Detective Zoe Finch Book 5) Page 6
