Deadly Reprisal (Detective Zoe Finch Book 5)

by Rachel McLean

  “One more question.”

  “OK.”

  “Would anyone here have access to the equipment or materials needed to make methamphetamine?”

  “Crystal meth?” Beauman leaned across the desk. “Bit of a cliché, isn’t it?”

  “You haven’t answered my question.”

  “The constituent chemicals used to manufacture crystal meth would be stocked by this department, yes. But that doesn’t mean any students or staff had access without authorisation. We’re very careful to control access to any substances we think people might want to steal. I’m sure you are aware that Ephedrine, for example, is a controlled substance.”

  “So you can account for all of your supplies?”

  “Of course we can. I’ll get the faculty administrator to confirm it with you, if you want. If any of our students are taking meth, it’s going to be manufactured in someone’s bedroom in Selly Oak, not on our campus.”

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Connie yawned as she entered the team room.

  “Late night?” Rhodri asked. She shook her head.

  “Early morning. My mum’s got herself a dog and the bugger keeps waking me up.”

  “He doesn’t wake your mum up?” Zoe asked.

  “He knows it’s easier to wake me up.” She dumped her bag on her desk. “Ignore me. What’s the plan today?”

  Zoe was at the board, her eyes roaming across it. They had photos of Laurence pinned up: one from his Facebook profile, several others from the crime scene. To one side were Lin and Kayla. Becca’s photo was alone at the bottom of the board.

  “What subjects were they all studying?” she asked.

  “Laurence was doing Chemistry,” Connie said. “Becca too.”

  “I know those ones. I was there this morning.” Zoe wrote Chemistry under Laurence and Becca’s names. “What about the other two?”

  Connie picked up her notebook. “Kayla’s studying…”

  “English,” Rhodri interrupted. “And Lin’s doing Medicine.”

  Zoe wrote the subjects on the board. “Laurence and Becca could have known each other through their course. But they weren’t in the same tutor group.”

  “They all lived in Boulton Hall,” Connie said.

  “All first years,” Zoe said.

  “Aren’t they all, in those halls of residence?” Connie asked.

  “Most of them,” Mo replied. “But there’s at least one postgrad. Jenson Begg, their residential tutor.”

  “You and I are going to see him today,” Zoe told him. She wrote his name on the board.

  “I checked out Becca’s alibi,” Rhodri said.

  Zoe turned to him. “You did?”

  “I went to the university bar. Spoke to one of her colleagues. She was working all night Sunday night.”

  “Did you find out what time they closed?”

  “Er…” Rhodri blushed. “Sorry.”

  “There was a party going on,” Connie said. “Surely the bar would have been open till that was over.”

  “We’ll need to check,” Zoe said.

  “The other barmaid seemed pretty certain Becca didn’t do it,” Rhodri muttered.

  “It’s looking like she couldn’t have,” Zoe agreed. “But let’s just check what time the bar closed, yes?”

  “Sure thing.”

  “Laurence’s tutor, in the Chemistry department,” Zoe said. “She didn’t know him from Adam.”

  “No?” Mo asked.

  “He was one of twenty first-years she had responsibility for. She clearly hadn’t bothered to get to know him, or any of the rest of them, I imagine. I tried to find out from her what he was like, if he’d been attending lectures. Who his friends were on his course. She knew nothing.”

  “Hopefully his residential tutor will know more,” Mo said.

  “Let’s hope so. I asked if anyone might have stolen the ingredients for the drugs from her department. She was insistent they wouldn’t have.”

  “They’ll keep some of them under lock and key,” Mo said. “The controlled substances.”

  Zoe nodded. “We still need to find out where the drugs came from. Rhodri, can you speak to Adi and find out if they’re able to get a fit on that from the residue they found. And see if he’s anywhere with those DNA results while you’re at it.”

  “Sure thing, boss.”

  “Good. Mo, let’s head over to Boulton Hall. I want to talk to that residential tutor, see what he can tell us.”

  “You’ve got your Skype call with the warden in ten minutes,” Connie said.

  Zoe eyed her watch. “OK.”

  “Actually, eight minutes.”

  “Where?” she said.

  “I’ve emailed the details to you. Just click the link, and it’ll hook you up.”

  “Thanks. Mo, let’s go into my office.”

  “What d’you want me doing while you’re interviewing?” Connie asked.

  “Try to get your mate in university admin again.”

  “I already did. There was one other complaint made about Laurence, but it was dropped.”

  “You get a name?”

  “She couldn’t give it me. Sorry, boss. Said it was more than her job was worth.”

  “You think it’s someone we need to worry about?”

  “I just think she was thinking of the fact it was dropped. The girl’s anonymity would need to be protected…”

  “I still want to know how many girls he might have assaulted. If he did, of course. Hopefully the warden will be able to shed some light.”

  “So…?” Connie asked.

  “Check social media. Becca’s accounts, and Laurence’s. Any mention of either of them. Find out who their friends were, are. Someone other than Becca might have wanted revenge. See if anyone else knew.”

  “Right, boss.”

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Zoe clicked the link in Connie’s email to find the warden already online and waiting for her. She was a middle-aged woman with a double chin and short blonde hair, wearing a pink shirt and matching lipstick. She stared into the camera, looking uneasy.

  “Doctor Edwards,” Zoe said, checking her notes. “My name’s Detective Inspector Finch and this is Detective Sergeant Uddin. Thanks for taking the time to talk to us.”

  “I’ve been trying to get a flight back, but they’re all booked. I can’t quite believe…” The warden had a soft Welsh accent. Zoe couldn’t tell if it was this, or genuine emotion, that made her sound concerned.

  “We need to talk to you about the investigation you were conducting into rape allegations made against Laurence Thomms by Becca MacGuire.”

  The warden paled. “The boy’s just died…”

  “This might be relevant.”

  “You think Becca killed him?”

  “We don’t. But it might be related.”

  “We kept the whole thing highly confidential. I don’t believe many of the other students knew about it.”

  “Many of them?” If just one person knew a secret as explosive as this in a closed community like a hall of residence, it wouldn’t be long before everyone knew.

  “Well, there was Jenson, of course. Becca’s residential tutor. He was the person she reported it to. And then I imagine she told one or two of her friends. She needed someone to lean on, Detective.”

  “I can understand that. So when did she report it?”

  “It was at the beginning of this month I was told about it.”

  “And Jenson?”

  “She told him the day before he told me. Let me see.” The warden leaned back and reached behind her. She returned with a phone in her hand. “Damn. It’s not in here. I’ll have to ask my secretary for the exact dates. But it was ten, eleven days ago, I think. Around the fifth.”

  “That was when Jenson told you?”

  “Yes.”

  “And what did you do?”

  “I opened an investigation. Spoke to Becca, and Laurence, and a few other students who lived in the roo
ms around the one where the alleged rape took place. I was circumspect, Inspector. Apart from the ones Becca had spoken to, the students would not have known who was involved.”

  “So she said he raped her in Boulton Hall?”

  “In one of the communal lounges on floor three.”

  “But Becca lives on the second floor.”

  “Yes. And Laurence on the fourth floor. One of the things I was trying to ascertain was why they were both on the third floor.”

  “Did you find out?”

  “Becca has a friend in that corridor. She’d gone to the kitchen to get a coffee for the two of them. She said Laurence was there, waiting for her.”

  Mo was out of sight of the camera, next to Zoe. She felt his weight shift.

  “Did any of the neighbouring students hear anything?” Zoe asked.

  “One of them said he heard shouting. That’s all.”

  “And was there any physical evidence? Did you ask a medical professional to examine Becca, or take samples?”

  “It was six days before she told her tutor. It would have been too late for that.”

  Zoe balled her fist on the desk. “Doctor Edwards, why didn’t you call the police?”

  “Becca asked us not to.”

  “Did she give a reason why not?”

  “She didn’t want to go to court. Didn’t think she’d be believed. She was insistent.”

  That fitted with what Becca had said.

  “So what did your investigation find?”

  “The evidence was inconclusive.”

  I bet it was, Zoe thought. How could a university lecturer possibly hope to investigate a serious crime like a rape?

  Mo put a hand on her arm. She frowned at him. He shook his head.

  She looked into the camera. When Doctor Edwards arrived in Birmingham, they would need to speak again. “Is there anything else you want to tell me?”

  “Laurence came to me a week ago. He said he was being victimised.”

  “In what way?”

  “Other students were calling him names. Leaving things under his door. Spitting on him.”

  “Did he have any idea why?” Zoe asked.

  “I imagine word got out about the alleged rape.”

  I bet it did, Zoe thought. “And what did you say to him, when he told you this?”

  “I told him not to worry. That it would blow over.”

  Zoe plunged her hands under her thighs and pushed down on them with all her weight, to stop herself from punching the screen. “Again, you didn’t report anything to the police?”

  “DI Finch, I know this looks bad. But you must consider that you are viewing events with the benefit of hindsight.”

  The woman was right, Zoe knew. But the refusal to take responsibility irritated her.

  “Doctor, can you answer a question for me?”

  “Of course.”

  “Have Laurence’s parents come to the university yet? Because I know they’ve been to the morgue to visit his body.”

  “I have an appointment with them tomorrow. If I manage to get a flight.”

  “Well you tell them about the benefit of hindsight from me, won’t you? I’m sure that will be very reassuring.”

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Detective Sergeant Ian Osman sat on the low chair he’d been directed to, his hands clasped between his knees. A woman sat at a desk opposite, occasionally glancing up at him. The first time, she gave him a tight smile.

  The door next to him opened and DI Carl Whaley emerged.

  “Detective Sergeant Osman. Come in, will you.”

  “I’m waiting for my solicitor.”

  Carl checked his watch. “Will he be long?”

  “I’ve had a text. Five minutes.”

  “Five minutes it is, then.”

  DI Whaley disappeared through the door. Four minutes later a woman in her early forties hurried up the nearby stairs, panting.

  “I’m so sorry, Sergeant Osman. I got stuck in traffic.”

  “Where’s Edward Startshaw?”

  She paused for breath. “My name’s Jane Summer.” She handed him a card: Jane Summer. Criminal law specialist. “Edward called me. Asked me to take on your case.”

  “Nobody told me.”

  She shrugged. “For the best, he said. His caseload is overwhelmed.”

  For the best. It probably was. Edward Startshaw was Trevor Hamm’s lawyer. Hamm liked to use him as his eyes and ears in legal cases that touched him. And he was good at his job. But Ian knew that had Startshaw represented him, it would indicate suspicion by association.

  He stood up, hand outstretched. “You can call me Ian.”

  She took it. “And you can call me Jane.”

  Her handshake was firm. “They’re waiting for us,” Ian said.

  “Good.” She nodded at the woman behind the desk, who stood up and knocked on the door. DI Whaley re-remerged.

  “About time.”

  Jane had caught her breath by now. She gave DI Whaley a level stare. “Jane Summer. You are?”

  “Detective Inspector Whaley. My colleague is DS Kaur. What kept you?”

  “I got stuck in traffic. You haven’t been waiting long.”

  DI Whaley said nothing, but instead looked at Ian. “Come on in then.”

  Ian wiped his hands together and followed the DI in, his lawyer walking behind him.

  The room was similar to the one Ian had been questioned in last time: small, blank, anonymous. It was nicer than the rooms he was accustomed to questioning suspects in.

  “Take a seat, DS Osman. Ms Summer.”

  The two of them sat at the table. DS Kaur was already there, waiting. She pursed her lips as she sat down.

  “So,” DI Whaley said. “You’ve already given evidence about the residue you planted on Nadeem Sharif at Birmingham airport on the twenty-fifth of January.”

  “My client has been most cooperative,” Jane said.

  DI Whaley eyed her. “Indeed. And you’ve told us that you were instructed to plant that evidence by Trevor Hamm, who Force CID are still looking for.”

  “Hamm told me I had to incriminate a random individual from the plane. Preferably someone Asian. Preferably a man.”

  DI Whaley leaned back. “Did he?”

  Ian met his gaze. “He did. And you told me that any information I provided to help you convict organised crime would be favourable to my case.”

  “We did,” Whaley said. “There will have to be a formal hearing, once we’ve completed our investigation. You’ll be dismissed from the police service, of course, but the nature of any criminal charges against you is still to be determined.”

  “I understand.” Ian’s chest felt tight. He hadn’t told Alison that he was going to be sacked. All she knew was that he’d been suspended.

  “But I don’t believe you,” DI Whaley said.

  Ian gripped his leg under the table. “Why not?”

  Jane put a hand in front of his, on the table. Calm down. Don’t let him rile you.

  DS Kaur opened a file and brought out a photo of a green Ford Focus. “Is this your car?”

  “It is.”

  “The car you used to drive to Stuart Reynold’s industrial unit on the twenty-eighth of October, when Force CID were investigating the disappearance of your children. And again on the tenth of December.”

  Ian felt the hairs on his neck bristle. “Yes.”

  “You visited Reynolds because he was your contact in the organised crime gang you were working for.”

  “He passed me messages from Hamm, and he did renovation work on my house.”

  “Which was how you were paid for services rendered.”

  “Yes.”

  DI Whaley leaned forward. “So how come we have no evidence of you visiting Reynolds, or indeed Hamm, after that date?”

  “Maybe you weren’t following me.”

  “We were, DS Osman. And you took great care not to go anywhere or meet anyone from the organised crime gang.”
<
br />   Ian shrugged.

  “So how did Hamm get these instructions to you? The ones about planting evidence on a body at the airport?”

  “By phone.”

  “See, that’s not right either, is it?”

  “Hamm called me.”

  “Himself?”

  “Why not?”

  Whaley wrinkled his nose. “One thing we do know about Trevor Hamm is that he lets his subordinates do that kind of thing. And he avoids using the phone.”

  “He must have used a burner phone.”

  Whaley shook his head. “Could you maybe have got those instructions from someone else?”

  “I didn’t get them from Reynolds, if that’s what you’re—”

  “I’m not talking about Reynolds.”

  Ian pulled at his collar. He was sweating. “I’m entitled to a glass of water.”

  “So you are.” DI Whaley turned to DS Kaur. “Can you do the honours, please?”

  Her shoulders slumped, but she stood up and left the room.

  Whaley watched Ian while they waited. Ian stared back at him, trying not to blink. He felt light-headed.

  DS Kaur reappeared with a plastic cup of water. She placed it in front of Ian and he gulped it down.

  “Better?” Whaley asked.

  “Thank you.”

  “So. You didn’t get your instructions direct from Hamm, and you didn’t get them from Reynolds. We have no evidence of you visiting anyone in Hamm’s organisation close to the time of the attacks. So who did tell you to plant this evidence?”

  Jane leaned forward. “I don’t think this is re—”

  Whaley raised a hand. “If DS Osman helps us, we can tell the CPS.” He turned his gaze on Ian. “You know we’re after someone bigger than you, Ian. And I’m not talking about Trevor Hamm. Help us, and it’ll work in your favour.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  Ian knew damn well what, and who, they were talking about. Detective Superintendent David Randle. But if Whaley didn’t have enough evidence to name him, Ian wasn’t about to.

  Whaley sighed. “You’re being stupid, Ian.”

  “I’m telling the truth.”

  “No. You’re trying to protect someone. How are you more scared of him than you are of Trevor Hamm?”