Deadly Reprisal (Detective Zoe Finch Book 5)

by Rachel McLean

  “That’s what I’m hoping you can help us with. Did Laurence talk to you about falling out with anyone at university? Anyone who might have wanted to hurt him?”

  “Nothing,” said Mr Thomms. “No.”

  His wife put a hand on his knee. “He didn’t call home much. I spoke to him a few times in the first month, but then contact tailed off.” Her voice broke on the off.

  “When was the last time you spoke to him?” Mo asked.

  Mrs Thomms reached inside a slim blue handbag and brought out a pocket diary. “I always wrote it down.” She held her breath for a moment, her eyes wet. She blinked and shook out her head. “Sorry. Here.” She held the diary out. On 18th January she’d written Laurence at the top of the page, along with a time: 8:20pm.

  “That’s when he called us.”

  “That’s the last time?”

  She nodded, her lips pursed. She blinked a few times.

  “I know this is hard,” Mo said. “But what did you talk about?” He watched the couple trying to retain their composure. Interviews with family members were always a mix of sympathy, dread and suspicion. In this case, the parents had been over a hundred miles away when their son died, so all he felt was overwhelming sadness for them. He realised he didn’t know if Laurence had siblings.

  “I can’t remember,” Mrs Thomms said. “Not much, I imagine. He never said much of substance. If you know what I mean.”

  Mo nodded. He knew what his own conversations with his parents could be like: plenty of words, no depth. “Did he talk about any of his fellow students? Or any staff members?”

  “Not that I remember. He was struggling with an assignment, he was stressed about that. Not that I understood a word he said about it.” She sniffed.

  “Did he mention a girl called Becca MacGuire?”

  Mrs Thomms frowned. “No.”

  “Why?” asked her husband, his voice rough.

  Mo ignored the question. “Kayla Goode? Lin Johnson?”

  “He rarely talked about girls, Detective,” Mrs Thomms said. “I’d remember if he mentioned any of those names. Were they his friends?”

  “They were living in the same hall of residence.”

  “Have they been hurt as well?”

  “No.” Not in the way you think, Mo thought. He wondered how much the couple knew about the allegations against their son. Would the warden have contacted them? The students were adults; he doubted that would be necessary.

  “Did he seem happy at university?” he asked.

  “I don’t know,” said Mr Thomms. “I mean, you can’t really tell, can you?”

  Mo drew a breath, thinking of his own daughters. Fiona was eleven now, and Isla eight. He hoped he would always know if they were happy or not. “So he gave no indication of his mood?”

  “You think he might have killed himself?” Mrs Thomms’ voice was sharp.

  “We’ve ruled that out.”

  “Good.”

  “I have one final question, and it might feel a bit odd.”

  Mrs Thomms raised herself up. “Go on.” She looked like a woman who expected worse to be piled on top of already devastating news.

  “Do you own a dog?”

  “A dog?”

  “Do you own one?”

  “Three cats. Never had a dog. Why?”

  “Nothing for you to worry about. Thank you for your time.” Mo gulped down the last of his tepid tea and stood up, glad to be leaving the deep sorrow that emanated from the couple.

  Chapter Forty-Four

  “Zoe, how you getting on with our mystery drug death?”

  “We’ve got DNA from inside his mouth, Ma’am. Adi reckons it’s from the person who pushed the drugs down his throat.”

  Lesley swivelled in her chair, her skirt crackling against her tan tights. “And you want me to authorise DNA sampling from all the students in Boulton Hall.”

  “Just the men.”

  “It’s male DNA?”

  “It is.”

  Lesley held her fingers against her chin and drummed once, then twice. “Is there a risk of this killer striking again?”

  “It depends. If it’s someone trying to get revenge on Laurence because he assaulted female students, then either no, because they’ve done what they set out to do… or yes, because Laurence won’t be the only man on campus who’s done that. And if it’s nothing to do with the assaults but it’s drug-related, then there’s a credible risk of something similar happening again.”

  “You not got any potential targets in mind, though.”

  “No. But I think there is a risk the perpetrator might do it again.”

  “Maybe we should get the good Doctor McBride back in,” Lesley said.

  “I’d rather we didn’t.”

  Lesley laughed. Petra McBride was a psychologist who’d been drafted in to help identify the person who’d come to be known as the Digbeth Ripper. She’d been short, Scottish, and bolshy. Zoe had grown to quite like her by the time the case was solved, but she wasn’t sure she had the energy to square up to the woman on this one.

  “Don’t worry,” said Lesley. “We don’t have the budget. Wrong time of year. So. You want to get DNA samples. How many male students are there in Boulton Hall?”

  “Ninety-four.”

  “I can stomach that many. Make sure you do staff, too. Not just academics: cooks, cleaners, the people behind the scenes. Can’t afford to miss anyone.”

  “Thanks, Ma’am.”

  “My pleasure.” Lesley coughed. “I heard you’d had a grilling from Professional Standards.”

  Zoe clenched her fists. “DS Kaur.”

  Lesley rifled in her desk for a pencil, then started exploring her mouth with it. Zoe looked away, spotting a McDonalds bag in the bin.

  “Don’t worry about it,” Lesley said, pulling out the pencil.

  “She gave me quite the going over.”

  “It’s what they do. You know what we’re like with our suspects.”

  “I’m not a suspect.”

  Lesley waved a hand. “You know what I mean. They see us like we see the shits who come in here having burgled people and started fights in pubs. Impossible to have any respect when your perspective on the bright and shiny West Midlands Police Service is the small minority of bad apples.”

  “I’m worried they still think I was working with Ian.”

  “They don’t really think that. They’re just tightening the screws, in case you know anything you’re not telling them.”

  “I’ve been frank and honest from day one.”

  Lesley raised an eyebrow. “Have you? Told that boyfriend of yours everything you knew about Ian? About David?”

  “We try not to talk about work. We’re not talking at all right now.”

  “Exactly.” Lesley coughed, bending over to hack for a few moments. She waved an arm in front of her: ignore this.

  “Are you alright, Ma’am?”

  “Me?” Lesley sat up straight and cleared her throat, her hand on her chest. Her eyes were bloodshot. “Never better. Right. I’ll get that paperwork for you and you can get onto Uniform and organise this sampling circus.”

  Chapter Forty-Five

  Kayla’s last lecture finished early. In truth she’d spent half of it trying not to doze off, and was relieved to be released.

  She strolled back through campus, enjoying the thin sunshine that had replaced the morning’s fog. As she passed Costa Coffee, she wondered why Gina had invited her to join the women’s support group at lunchtime. Did she think Kayla needed supporting? Did she know things about her?

  She made a tsking noise to banish the thought from her head. She wanted to get her wits back, to wake up. She’d hardly slept the last two nights; the image of Laurence’s dead body kept floating in front of her eyes as she was about to drop off. She yawned, attracting the attention of two men who sniggered as they passed her. She resisted the urge to tell them where to get off.

  Back at Boulton Hall, she took the stairs to
the second floor and Jenson’s flat. He’d have finished his counselling sessions for the afternoon but wouldn’t have left for the Selly Oak house yet.

  As Kayla rounded the corner to his corridor, she saw his door open, and the back of a woman’s shoe just inside. She could hear a low murmur, but not the words, just that this woman was talking to him.

  Kayla hung back, not wanting to invade the woman’s privacy. She waited, occasionally peering round the corner. She heard laughter: Jenson’s, and then the woman’s. Followed by more muttered words.

  Kayla hopped from foot to foot. She needed the loo but didn’t want to draw attention to herself by moving. She leaned against the wall and waited for Jenson to finish his conversation. What was it that needed so long? It was four fifteen, quarter of an hour after he should have finished.

  At last she heard his door close. She retreated towards the lift so Jenson’s visitor wouldn’t see her. Footsteps approached: firm, steady. She heard low singing: Lady Gaga.

  The woman emerged, walking towards the stairs. She was East Asian, wearing cowboy boots over red leggings. She had short dark hair and a gait that smacked of confidence.

  It was Lin.

  Kayla stepped forward to speak to her friend, then thought better of it. Lin hated Jenson. She thought he was bad news, terrible for Kayla. So what was she doing visiting him in the afternoon, laughing with him in the corridor?

  Chapter Forty-Six

  Zoe stood up to leave Lesley’s office just as the door opened. It would be Mo, reporting back from his interview and checking progress on the DNA sampling.

  “I’ll be right there,” she said. “We’ve got the OK for the sampling.”

  “What sampling’s that, then?” Detective Superintendent David Randle closed the door and waggled his eyebrows at Zoe in a way that made her feel six years old.

  “Sir. The Laurence Thomms case. We have DNA, we’re running checks on the students.”

  “Good, good.” He turned to Lesley. “You got a minute?”

  “Of course, sir.” Lesley slipped her shoes back on and arranged her feet in front of her chair.

  Randle nodded then eyed Zoe. “Don’t let me keep you.”

  “Sir.” Zoe waited for him to move to one side then left the room, sharing a brief glance with Lesley. When she was halfway down the corridor, she heard raised voices. Was Randle shouting at the DCI?

  She stopped walking, desperate to go back and eavesdrop. But she respected Lesley too much for that. She forced herself to put one foot in front of the other, making her way slowly back to the team room.

  The three of them were waiting for her. Mo stood next to the board, his finger on Jenson Begg’s photo.

  “Hi,” Zoe said. “How did it go with the parents?”

  Mo shook his head, his eyes lowered. “It was heartbreaking just being in the same room with them.”

  “Must be rough. Did they give you anything useful?”

  “Seems he hardly rang home. Last time they spoke to him was a month ago.”

  She winced. “If Nicholas does that to me when he’s at uni I’ll be straight over there to tell him what’s what.”

  Mo smiled at her. “No, you won’t.”

  She shrugged. “So did you get anything useful?”

  “Sorry. Connie’s got something though.”

  Zoe turned to the DC, who was biting back a smile. “Connie. Tell us what’s making you look so pleased with yourself.”

  Connie held up a file. “Jenson Begg’s got history.”

  “OK.” Zoe grabbed the file from her. “What kind of history?”

  “The university authorities gave him a warning after he was found in possession of a Class A drug, two and a half years ago.”

  “When he was an undergraduate.”

  “Yes. And he received another warning after a student said he stalked her.”

  “Stalking?” Zoe skimmed the file.

  “He was in his third year. He’d been going out with her, April Hulse was her name. She dumped him but it seems he wouldn’t accept it. Eventually she reported him to her tutor.”

  “You get this from your mate…?”

  “Rhonda. Yes.”

  “Good old Rhonda. What came of it?”

  “He got a rap on the knuckles and a warning not to do it again. By the time it came to a head, he and the woman had both graduated.”

  “And she’d buggered off back home or off to her new graduate life.”

  “Yes.”

  “Meaning he got to stay at the university as a postgrad, counselling vulnerable students and with no comeback for what he supposedly did.”

  Connie nodded. “I bloody wish these girls would come to us instead of the university, boss.”

  “You and me both, Connie. So does the warden know about this? She did give him a position of responsibility, after all.”

  “She can’t have. He wasn’t charged with anything. Didn’t have his degree withheld, obviously. The woman didn’t press charges.”

  “OK,” said Zoe. “I’m not sure if the stalking’s relevant, or if it just makes me bloody depressed at the mindset of these young men, but the possession definitely is. You find out how much he was carrying?”

  “Sorry, boss. Rhonda didn’t know that.”

  “Exactly which Class A substance was it?”

  “Cocaine. Not methamphetamine.”

  Zoe punched the desk. “We should talk to him. Even if he isn’t a suspect, he might know where the drugs that killed Laurence came from.”

  “You want me to go again, boss?” Mo said.

  “I want Rhodri this time.”

  “Me, boss?” Rhodri looked alarmed.

  “You’re a young guy. See if you can strike up a rapport with him. A bit of banter. Maybe he’ll open up. Brag. Don’t go pulling any tricks like you did in the bar, though.”

  “No, boss.”

  “You tell him you’re a police officer, right? This isn’t an undercover operation.”

  “No, boss.”

  “Glad that’s got through.” Zoe turned to Mo. “Right. Can you get onto Uniform and start the ball rolling with the DNA sampling? We’ll need to find a room in Boulton Hall we can use, I’ll speak to Doctor Edwards.”

  “No problem, boss. You want it to start tonight?”

  “What time is it?”

  “Half six, boss,” said Connie.

  “We get things set up tonight, leave Uniform to work their magic, then start the testing tomorrow. Connie, I want you to liaise with Boulton Hall. Get a list of all male students and staff. Trans women too, if there are any. We’re looking for someone with a Y chromosome.”

  “I already rang them to set up another interview with the warden, boss.”

  “When you found out about Jenson’s record.”

  “Yes.”

  “You knew I’d want to talk to her.”

  “I thought it was a reasonable assumption.”

  “Nice one, Connie. I do love having a team who’re able to think ahead of me.”

  Connie smiled.

  “So have you already got the list?”

  Connie’s smile dropped. “Didn’t think of that, sorry. But I do know they’ve gone home for the night.”

  “No bother. We’ll talk to them first thing. You OK to come in early?”

  “Course I am.”

  “Good. You and Mo can coordinate that. Rhodri, you want a lift to Boulton Hall?”

  “It’s OK. I’ve got my Saab.”

  “Your trusty Saab, of course.” Zoe thought of the time it had broken down when they’d been following Ian. “Let me know how you get on with Jenson, and I’ll see if I can pin down the warden at home.”

  Chapter Forty-Seven

  “Sir. This is a rare honour.” Lesley leaned across her desk, listening to Zoe’s footsteps recede along the corridor.

  “Don’t give me that crap, Lesley.”

  Lesley sighed. She didn’t have the energy for this. “I’ve got no idea what crap you’
re talking about.”

  “Rare honour. You don’t have to sweet-talk me.”

  “Fair enough. What can I do for you?”

  “Ian Osman.”

  Lesley felt her stomach dip. She didn’t like being reminded of the fact she’d agreed to have him in Zoe’s team. The guy had been a square peg from day one, and she wished she could take that decision back.

  “What about him?” she asked.

  “I don’t like it.”

  Lesley regarded her boss. She didn’t like it either: the fact that there’d been a bent copper in her team, and the fact it tainted everyone. She had a feeling Randle didn’t like it for different reasons.

  “You’ll have to clarify, sir.”

  “It reflects badly on Force CID,” he said. “DS Osman was given access to sensitive investigations. He was trusted.”

  Lesley raised an eyebrow. Her recollection was that Ian had been the opposite of trusted. And she still believed it was Randle who’d summoned him to the airport where he’d planted that evidence.

  “Force CID is the department that works on the most high-profile, sensitive cases,” she said. “I can imagine it’s a magnet to bent coppers.”

  “You think you’ve got more of them?” He sat down in the chair Zoe had vacated, his eyes not leaving Lesley’s face.

  “No, sir. Not as far as I’m aware. But of course, if Professional Standards have got their eye on anyone, they’re more likely to liaise with you…”

  “What about DI Finch? You think she was working with Osman?”

  A shooting pain ran down the back of Lesley’s neck. She’d been having these pains intermittently since the New Street bomb, and agitation set them off.

  “I certainly don’t,” she said.

  “Professional Standards don’t seem to think so. They interviewed her on Tuesday evening. Very secretive, it was.”

  “It can’t have been all that secretive. Seeing as you know about it and I know about it.”

  “She told you?”

  Lesley shoved the paperwork on her desk to one side. “Of course she bloody told me. My officers come to me when they have problems. When there’s anything that might affect their work.”