Deadly Reprisal (Detective Zoe Finch Book 5)

by Rachel McLean

“Apparently it was fresh.”

  “So a man with small feet, or a woman with large feet… what about the dog hairs?”

  “From a brown, short-haired dog.”

  “Find out if Laurence had a dog.”

  “Pets aren’t allowed in halls of residence.”

  “His family might have one. He might have gone home to visit, or just not washed his clothes all that often.”

  “How d’you want me to get that?”

  “By talking to his parents.” She saw his look of alarm. “It’s OK, I’ll get Mo to do it.”

  The door opened behind her and Mo walked in, two cups of coffee in hand. “Thought you might want this,” he said to her.

  “Thanks. I need to see Lesley, but leave it on my desk, will you? And I’d be grateful if you could call Laurence’s parents.”

  He nodded. “Are they in the city?”

  “Ask the warden, she’ll have been in contact with them. If they’re here, go and see them. If not, send someone from their local force.”

  “Anything specific you want to ask them?”

  “For starters, they might know if their son had fallen out with anyone.”

  “He was living away from home…”

  “He might have talked to them. No harm in asking.”

  “Of course. Must be awful for them.”

  She nodded. “And ask them if they’ve got a dog, will you?”

  “A dog?”

  Zoe gestured to Rhodri.

  “Adi found dog hairs on Laurence’s clothing, Sarge.”

  “Right. And you think the killer might have had a dog.”

  “You never know,” Zoe said.

  “I’m on it.”

  “Good,” she replied. “I’ll talk to the DCI about getting DNA samples, let you know how I get on.”

  Chapter Forty-One

  Kayla was right: Lin wasn’t in her room. Connie checked a map of the campus on her phone and grabbed her bike from outside Boulton Hall to cycle over to the School of Medicine. It was a chilly February morning with mist still hanging in the air at 10am, and she shivered as she pulled on her helmet. By the time she arrived at the medical school, she was warm from the exercise and the mist was lifting.

  Connie found a toilet and checked the mirror, anxious to present a professional image. After a minute tweaking her hair and rubbing under her eyes, she was ready.

  She had no idea where Lin would be.

  She went to the reception desk. “Hello, my name’s Detective Constable Williams. I need to talk to one of your students.”

  The young man behind the desk was skinny with wild blonde hair and a tie with pictures of fish. He flushed as she showed him her warrant card.

  “Hang on a minute.” He ducked out from behind the desk and half-ran up a flight of stairs.

  After a few minutes he reappeared with a grey-haired man who eyed Connie with irritation.

  “I’m Doctor Ian Hassel, Student Liaison. What can we do for you?”

  “I need to speak to Lin Johnson, she’s a first year student.”

  “Can’t it wait?”

  “My inquiries are part of a murder investigation.” She straightened. The man was four inches taller than her, but she was a police officer. “So no, it can’t wait.”

  He pushed his glasses up his nose and surveyed her, then sighed. “Very well. I suggest you wait here.”

  “Thank you.”

  He grunted and went to the desk where he conferred with the fish-tie man in a low voice. The younger man peered round him at Connie as they spoke, then picked up a phone.

  Connie stood in the centre of the space, determined not to shrink into a wall. Medics in white coats walked past, occasionally giving her puzzled stares. A door banged open towards the back of the reception area and students crowded through it, pushing past her to get to the exit. She felt herself buffeted by them and wondered if they’d even registered her presence.

  At last the crowd had dispersed, and she spotted Lin coming down the stairs. She wore a lab coat and her hair was tucked behind her ears. She looked nervous.

  At the bottom of the stairs, she painted on a false smile and approached Connie, her hand outstretched.

  “Hi, I’m Lin,” she said in an American accent.

  Connie held up her ID. “DC Connie Williams. Is there somewhere private we can talk?”

  “Er…”

  “Lecture theatre nine’s empty for the next five minutes,” the fish-tie man said. “I won’t tell if you won’t.”

  “Thanks,” Lin shot him a bright smile very different from the one she’d given Connie. She turned to Connie. “Come on.”

  Connie followed the young woman through the door the students had emerged from, her footsteps echoing on the hard floor. Once inside, Lin closed the door and slid into a seat on the second row. Connie followed her, sitting three seats away and facing her.

  “I was in an anatomy class,” Lin said.

  “Sorry to disturb you.”

  “I hate anatomy.”

  “Really?” How could you be a doctor, and hate anatomy? It was one of the more interesting aspects of the forensics training Connie had received.

  “Gruesome. We’re working on an old guy who died of myocardial infarction. We call him Dave.”

  “You don’t know their real identities?”

  Lin shuddered. “That would make it even worse.”

  “Well, I won’t keep you. I just need to ask you a few more questions about Laurence.”

  “I thought you might.”

  “Did you know about the allegations of rape against him?”

  A shadow crossed Lin’s face. “I did.”

  “Did you know who made them?”

  “Where d’you wanna start?”

  “There was more than one woman?”

  “Laurence was a creep,” Lin said. “It’s why he never came out of his room. It’s why Kayla didn’t want to film him on Monday night.”

  “Because he was a creep?”

  “Exactly.”

  “Anything more specific? Did anything happen between Kayla and Laurence?”

  Lin held Connie’s gaze. “You’d have to ask Kayla that.”

  “I have. She says not.”

  “There’s your answer then.”

  Connie leaned back. “You said where d’you wanna start? Does that mean Laurence assaulted multiple women?”

  “Look, the guy’s dead, alright. Not that anyone’ll miss him.”

  “I imagine his parents will.”

  “No one in Boulton Hall, I mean. I’m not going to start throwing around accusations when he ain’t here to defend himself.”

  “But you would, if he was still alive?”

  Lin’s tongue darted out between her lips. Her pupils were dilated. “That’s not my place,” she said.

  “But you think there are other women whose place it would be to say something?”

  Lin shrugged.

  Connie eyed her. “Did Laurence ever assault you? Did he make unwelcome moves on you?”

  “Unwelcome moves?” Lin laughed, her eyes cold. “What is this, Saturday Night Fever?” She blew out. “No. He never tried it on with me. I was lucky, I guess. Doesn’t like East Asian women. Didn’t.”

  “So you’re saying the women Laurence came on to were white?”

  “I dunno. I’m not saying anything. Look, I don’t want to stir up trouble. Just forget I ever said anything.”

  “I can’t do that, I’m afraid.”

  “I guess you can’t.” Lin dropped her gaze to her fingernails. They were bitten.

  “Do you know of any specific women who might have reason to want Laurence dead, Lin?”

  “The whole of Boulton Hall knew what he was like. It was an open secret. We knew the warden was investigating what he’d done to Becca. We knew there were other girls, before her.”

  “But none of them made a complaint.”

  “I don’t blame them, do you? Doctor Edwards has hardly mounted a thoroug
h inquiry.”

  “They would have the option to go to the police.”

  Lin raised an eyebrow. “Bit late for that now.”

  “Lin, I want you to tell me the names of anyone you think might have wanted Laurence dead. I need to talk to them.”

  “There are two hundred students in Boulton. Where d’you want me to start?”

  “You know what I mean.”

  Lin stood up. “Look. Becca was popular, yeah? Is popular. She’s one of those girls who somehow manage to combine being naturally pretty with being really nice. Makes you sick, but there you have it. I guess half the straight guys in the hall have got a crush on her. Any one of them might have wanted to do it, defend her honour, y’know?”

  “And the women?”

  “Well that’s not just cos of Becca. There are a few who’d have wanted rid of him for their own reasons.”

  Connie stood up to bring their eyes level. “I need names.”

  “I don’t know nothin’ for sure. And I’m not about to land people in it on the basis of hearsay. You need to put your nose to the ground, see what you can find.”

  “That’s what I’m doing.”

  “Good. You carry on doing it. I need to get back to class.”

  “How’s Kayla been? Since the two of you found Laurence?”

  Lin stared off into space. “The truth? Pretty freaked out.”

  “Is she seeing Jenson Begg?”

  Lin’s head whipped round. “That’s her business.”

  “It’s a simple question.”

  “I don’t see what it has to do with Laurence dying.”

  “Jenson was involved in the warden’s investigation. He had information he might have passed to Kayla.”

  Lin narrowed her eyes. Behind Connie, the door to the lecture theatre opened: time was up.

  “She’s imagining things,” Lin said.

  “Hallucinating?”

  “Nah. Just imagining things.” Lin was having to shout now over the sound of students taking their places around the two of them. “She’s got it into her head that some woman is following her.”

  “Which woman?”

  “No idea. But Kayla reckons she’s being stalked. Maybe she is, who knows. But I think she’s losing it.”

  Chapter Forty-Two

  Kayla’s phone rang as she walked across campus. Her head felt full of mush and her feet were heavy. Talking to that policewoman had left her irritable and confused.

  “It’s Kayla,” she snapped as she answered it.

  “Hi Kayla, it’s Gina. How are you?”

  Kayla clenched her fist around the strap of her bag. “I’m fine. How are you?”

  “I’m good thanks. Just wondered if you fancied grabbing lunch.”

  Kayla was passing Old Joe, the iconic university clock tower. It was five past eleven. She was running late for her lecture on eighteenth century women novelists.

  “I’ve got a lecture now, but I’ll be free at quarter past twelve.”

  “Perfect. I’ll be in the Costa at University Centre.”

  “OK.” Kayla wasn’t sure how she felt about Gina paying her so much attention, but lunch with someone not from Boulton Hall could be just what she needed. She picked up pace and hurried to her lecture.

  An hour later she was in the basement of the Costa, peering through the crowds and looking for Gina. At last she found her at a long table with four other women. They were huddled together, talking in low voices. Then Gina laughed and leaned back in her seat, her eyes creased. The other women laughed with her. Kayla smiled.

  “Er, hi.” She stood behind Gina, her stomach clenching. She hadn’t been expecting company.

  Gina turned round, wiping her eyes. “Kayla, lovely to see you. Here, grab a chair.” She yanked a chair out from under the table and patted it. “Folks, this is Kayla. I met her in Boulton Hall.”

  The woman opposite Gina, who had dark skin and bleached-blonde hair that was almost white, winced. “Nasty business you’ve got going on there.”

  Kayla felt herself stiffen. She nodded, unable to speak.

  “Kayla was the one who found him,” Gina said in a low voice. The women around the table adopted expressions of concern and sympathy: narrowed eyes, cocked heads, downturned mouths. Kayla shrugged, wishing she hadn’t come.

  “We can help you,” said a tall blonde woman wearing a vibrant green jacket. “That’s what this group is for.”

  Kayla frowned and looked at Gina. She’d been expecting a simple lunch.

  Gina smiled at her. “We’re a women’s support group. We’ve all had unpleasant experiences at the hands of men. Jane over there” – she gestured at the tall blonde woman, who smiled at Kayla – “she got out of an abusive relationship ten months ago.”

  Jane nodded gravely, her eyes on Kayla. “And Sukhi’s still trying to stop her dad running her life.”

  “He’s a monster,” muttered a skinny Asian woman in a blue and white tunic top. “Fuck knows how my mum puts up with him.”

  “We got together cos we knew there would be no judgement,” Gina said. “Some of us are still battling our demons. Others are through to the other side. Me, for example. But I believe it’s the responsibility of a woman who’s survived trauma to make herself available to others going through it.” She tapped the empty chair again and Kayla slid into it, her rucksack on her lap.

  “I’m not sure I’ve been through trauma,” she said.

  The other women exchanged glances. What had Gina told them about her?

  The white-haired woman reached across the table and grabbed Kayla’s hand. “It’s hard to admit to it. You blame yourself. You think you could have stopped it, or avoided it.”

  “I found a… body. There wasn’t much I could do to stop that.”

  The woman raised an eyebrow. “You look like you’ve suffered worse than that.”

  Kayla shuffled in her seat. “I don’t see how…” She didn’t like this.

  Gina put a hand over the white-haired woman’s wrist. “Go easy on her, Berni. She’s new. Let’s just let her get to know us, then when she’s ready, she might want to open up.”

  Kayla felt a shiver run down her back.

  “Anyway, d’you want a coffee, Kayla?” Gina said. “My treat.”

  Kayla shrugged. Anything to end the discomfort of this conversation. “Thanks. Soy latte please.”

  “Coming right up.” Gina gave her hand a quick squeeze then left her alone with the other women. They started talking between themselves, leaving Kayla feeling like an interloper in the middle of a crowd of strangers.

  Chapter Forty-Three

  Mo sat in the lobby of the budget hotel, trying to ignore the fact that the man behind the reception desk wouldn’t stop staring at him. He’d asked for Laurence’s parents and been told to wait for them to come down from their room.

  He couldn’t imagine what they were going through. Summoned from Leeds to identify their dead son not five months after waving him off to university. Being stuck in this soulless place couldn’t help.

  The lift doors slid open and a grey-haired couple walked out, scanning the space. Mo stood up and gave them a sympathetic smile, aware that his face was a cliché.

  “Mr Thomms, Mrs Thomms. Thank you for seeing me.”

  Mr Thomms was short and slim, dressed in a pair of loosely fitting jeans and a blue shirt. His skin was pale and he looked like he hadn’t slept. He held out a hand and shook Mo’s. “David Thomms,” he said, his voice cracking.

  His wife stood a pace behind him, her eyes roaming over Mo. Sizing him up, working out if he was up to solving her son’s murder. She was just as slender as her husband but looked less drawn, perhaps because of the perfectly applied makeup. Her pink sweater looked like it had been ironed.

  “Mrs Thomms,” Mo said. “I’m so sorry for your loss.”

  She nodded. “Thank you.” She eyed the hard sofa Mo had been sitting on and glanced at the receptionist. “Let’s not stay here.”

 
“Good idea,” Mo said. “There’s a place we can get coffee.”

  They were near the canals, in an area behind the old Royal Mail building, now known as the Mailbox. This part of the city centre was devoted to restaurants, bars and coffee shops as well as a few hotels. Early afternoon on a Thursday, it was starting to get busy.

  Mo led the couple to a bar that looked quieter than most and advertised coffee. He found an isolated table near the back and gestured for them to sit down.

  “What can I get you?” he asked.

  “Two white coffees,” Mrs Thomms said. “Just filter. David will have sugar.”

  “No problem.”

  Mo collected the coffee as quickly as he could, grabbing a herbal tea for himself, and returned to the table. The couple sat in silence, each of them darting their gaze around the bar as if expecting to spot something of interest. Maybe they thought Laurence had been in the habit of coming here. Mo doubted it.

  Mo sipped his tea while Mr Thomms stirred his coffee and Mrs Thomms stared at hers, almost as if she was wondering what it was.

  “Before I start,” he said, “I want to make sure we don’t go over the same ground more than once. Who have you spoken to?”

  “We spoke to a uniformed sergeant when we arrived,” Mr Thomms said. “He told us the circumstances of Laurence’s passing.”

  Mo nodded. “Did he tell you we’re treating it as a murder?”

  Mr Thomms nodded, not meeting Mo’s eye. His wife scratched her cheek and dragged in a trembling breath.

  “We have DNA evidence that we think shows someone forced your son to take illegal drugs in a concentrated form. We’re working on identifying this person.”

  “What kind of DNA evidence?” asked Mrs Thomms.

  “There were scratches inside your son’s mouth. We found his DNA in the cheek swab we took, but also the DNA of one other person.”

  “Could he have got that some other way?” she asked. “Kissing, maybe?”

  Mo smiled. “You can find DNA from saliva in the mouth of someone who has been kissing. But the fact that this DNA was concentrated around the scratches suggests that it wasn’t so well-intentioned.”

  Mrs Thomms stared ahead of her, past Mo and at the wall behind him, her eyes glazed. After a moment, she nodded slowly. “Why would someone want to kill him?”