Deadly Reprisal (Detective Zoe Finch Book 5)

by Rachel McLean

  She sheeshed in irritation at herself. She could always call Mo back.

  “Connie. Give me good news.”

  “They’ve got a match, boss.”

  “The DNA from the sampling?”

  “None of them matched. It’s Jenson Begg’s DNA.”

  “Sorry?”

  “The DNA taken from inside Laurence’s mouth. It was Jenson’s.”

  “Shit.” Zoe put her hand over the phone. If Jenson had killed Laurence, then who had killed Jenson? And why did the two killings look so similar?

  She could hear Connie’s voice, faint from the phone in her hand. She lifted it to her ear.

  “Connie. You’re good at this stuff. Can you bring Mo into this call? I think he’s still on hold to me.”

  “I can boss, but you’ll have to hang up from that call.”

  Zoe shook her head. “Tell you what, I’ll hang up from everything. You call me back and bring Mo in.”

  “Boss.”

  Zoe hung up and held her phone in front of her, waiting. A group of female students strode past her car. They looked focused, serious. She looked back at her phone. Connie, where are you? Maybe she wasn’t as clever at this stuff as Zoe thought.

  She looked up again to see Lin at the back of the group of women. Zoe checked her watch. Ten past eleven. Surely Lin should be over at the medical school?

  Maybe she had a free period. No law against walking across campus with your mates.

  Her phone rang.

  “Connie, any joy?”

  “I’ve got Mo on the call, boss.”

  “Hey, boss,” said Mo.

  “Me too,” said Rhodri. “The sarge has got us on hands-free.”

  Zoe smiled. “Nice one, Connie. OK, so this is what we have. Jenson’s DNA was in Laurence’s mouth, which suggests it was him that forced the drugs into Laurence. And for Jenson’s murder, we’ve got a woman seen at the house not long before time of death.”

  “What about those boot prints?” asked Mo.

  “Connie?” said Zoe.

  “The FSIs are still working on them. Apparently they’re not very well defined, makes it harder to match them to a brand. And with them not being trainers…”

  Zoe nodded. She knew how hard it could be matching shoes without much in the way of treads.

  “So what about this woman at the house? Could she be the one Rhodri saw sniffing around over the road?”

  “Could be, boss,” said Rhodri. “Whoever it was, they were well hidden. Might mean they were small.”

  “Or that they were crouching down,” said Zoe.

  “But if Jenson killed Laurence, then did whoever killed Jenson do it in revenge?” asked Mo.

  “That’s the best hypothesis we’ve got right now,” said Zoe. “Who would have been upset at Laurence’s death?”

  “No one, by the sounds of it,” said Connie.

  “Yeah,” said Zoe. “Everyone we’ve spoken to says Laurence was universally hated.”

  “Maybe the two deaths aren’t related?” suggested Rhodri.

  “Hell of a coincidence if they aren’t,” said Mo.

  “You’re right,” added Zoe. “It’s too tight for there not to be a link. I just can’t see it.”

  “You want us to talk to the other woman from the house?” asked Mo. “If we tell her what her boyfriend said, it might jog her memory.”

  “Do that,” said Zoe. “But be careful. You can’t go putting testimony in her head.”

  “Come on, boss…” said Mo.

  “Sorry. I know you’re too smart to do that. I just feel like we’re getting evidence that’s designed to have us going in circles. Almost like someone wants us to get confused.”

  “It’s DNA evidence,” said Connie. “Not much arguing with that.”

  “Yeah.” Zoe sighed. “OK. Mo, you find this woman, see if she can remember anything. I’m going to talk to the warden again. I want to know what she’s not telling us about Jenson and Laurence, any interactions they had.”

  “Jenson was investigating Becca’s allegations of rape,” said Connie. “He’d have interviewed Laurence, wouldn’t he?”

  “Possibly, although the warden might have done all that,” said Zoe. “Connie, can you talk to Becca again? I want to find out what the investigation looked like from her angle. And if there was anyone who took the other side in all this. Someone who sided with Laurence.”

  “No problem, boss. I’ll need to cycle over there, should take about half an hour.”

  “Good.” Zoe checked her watch. She caught movement out of the corner of her eye: Kayla, leaving the English building. She was with the group of women that had passed Zoe earlier. One of the women had her by the arm, and seemed to be all but dragging her along.

  “Boss?” Mo’s voice.

  “Sorry?”

  “I was just asking if you wanted us to check witness statements from Jenson’s neighbours?”

  “Sorry. Do that, yes. And someone needs to speak to the other housemate.”

  “Rhod’s better with the students than I am,” said Mo.

  “Really?” Zoe raised an eyebrow.

  “Give him a chance, boss.”

  Rhodri cleared his throat.

  “Up to you, Mo,” Zoe said. “One of you check the statements, one of you talk to the other housemate.”

  “I’ll let you know if we get anywhere,” Mo said.

  “Yeah.” Zoe eyed the women as they hurried away from the car. She wanted to know why Kayla was being pushed around by these women, and who they were.

  She got out of her car and started following them.

  Chapter Seventy-Nine

  Ian stared out of his kitchen window, his gaze unfocused. It was raining outside, he could hear it beating against the glass. He didn’t care.

  He checked his watch, pushing up the sleeve of his best jacket to do so. Eleven thirty. He had a meeting with his solicitor at 2pm. The woman was coming here, for once. She wanted to see him in his home environment. Not that his home environment was exactly typical today.

  “Right.” Alison stood in the doorway. “Good luck.”

  He turned. Suitcases stood either side of her, a pile of teddy bears balanced on top of one of them. She was going to her mum’s until this was all over. She said the kids were suffering with the atmosphere in the house. But he knew the real reason: she hated him. He’d lied to her for six years, he couldn’t blame her.

  He took a step towards her and she shrunk back. He felt his chest drop.

  “Say hi to your mum from me,” he said.

  She shrugged. Her mum hated him even more than she did. He was the bastard who’d dragged her daughter into police corruption, who was responsible for their kids being kidnapped as far as she was concerned. He and Alison both knew that the kids had only been kidnapped because their birth father had shacked up with a woman who was unhinged. But with Ian facing trial, his mother-in-law didn’t believe a word of it.

  He leaned against the sink, ignoring the damp seeping through the back of his shirt. “When will you be back?”

  “I’ve talked to you about this, Ian. When the trial’s over.”

  He nodded. That could be weeks away. It was a complex case: terrorism folded up with police corruption. He had no idea who would be called as a witness. Whether his former colleagues would stand by him.

  He swallowed, his throat tight. “Look after yourself. Give the kids a kiss from me every night.”

  Her face softened. “I will.”

  The kids weren’t his, not genetically. But his name was on the adoption certificates. He loved them like they were his own.

  If he went to prison, would he ever see them again?

  He stretched out his arms. “Please. Just a hug.”

  She shifted her weight, her eyes on his face. Then she took a few steps forward and leaned in to give him a tentative pat on the back. He tried to draw her closer, but she pulled away first.

  “Good luck,” she said.

  “
I love you, Alison.”

  “I know.” She looked back at the suitcases. “I have to go.”

  Her mum was waiting outside, sitting in that bloody Corsa that dated from 1995. What was it with old people and their cars? The thing should have dropped dead of old age by now.

  Ian nodded. “Call me.”

  “If I get a chance.”

  Her mum’s house was small, a claustrophobic terrace half a mile away. There wouldn’t be much room for Alison and the kids, and she’d struggle to find privacy.

  Even so, she didn’t have to stay in with them every moment of the day, did she?

  The door slammed and Ian turned to the window. He watched his wife drag her suitcases up the path to the pavement, thinking of the moment Ollie had appeared out there, been dumped by the madwoman who’d taken him.

  Alison’s mum climbed out of the car and folded her daughter in a hug. Ian watched the pair of them open the boot and haul Alison’s luggage inside.

  He stared at her, willing her to turn and acknowledge him. She walked to the passenger door. There was a brief moment when she paused, and he thought she might turn to him, but instead she just pulled the door open and climbed in. He watched her reaching for the seatbelt, clicking it into place, her eyes ahead the whole time.

  The car pulled out slowly, indicator blinking. Ian watched as it drove out of sight, his mouth dry. He stood watching the quiet street for a few minutes, until he was startled out of his daze by his phone ringing.

  “Ian Osman.” It still took concentration to not say DS Osman.

  “Ian.”

  He knew that voice. “Sir.”

  “You don’t need to call me that any more, you’re a civilian.”

  “Don’t remind me.”

  A laugh. “I can imagine. You’re seeing Jane this afternoon, yes?”

  “I am.” Ian tugged at his tie. It was damp.

  “Good. There’s a thing or two we need to go over first. You’ve got three hours.”

  “Two and a half.”

  “That’s enough. Come to this address.”

  Ian grabbed the pen for the magnetic whiteboard attached to the fridge and wrote down an address in Chelmsley Wood.

  “I’ll never get there and back in time.”

  “You will. Don’t worry. You leave now, and it’ll be fine.”

  Chapter Eighty

  “OK, Rhodri, let me know how you get on. I’ll head back to base, go through those statements.”

  “You sure?”

  “I think you’re better with these students than I am,” said Mo. “I’m going to leave you to talk to Shonda and go back to the office.”

  “I don’t mind working through the witness statements, honest.”

  Mo turned and gave him a smile. “I know you don’t, Constable. And in any other circumstances, believe me, I’d be more than happy to dump that job on you. But right now I think your talents are better used on interviews.”

  Rhodri beamed. “Thanks, Sarge.”

  “Don’t tell the boss I was so glowing in my praise for you.”

  “Promise.” Rhodri shrugged, still smiling.

  “I’ll wait while you find out where she is. Be quick.”

  “Yeah.” Rhodri opened the car door and jumped out. He hurried back to Jenson’s house. Will answered the door.

  “You again.”

  “Sorry, mate. Look, after what you told me about seeing that woman, it’d be a big help if I could talk to your girlfriend. She’s not here, is she?”

  “Nah. She’s got lectures.”

  “Any idea where?”

  A shrug. “Psychology building, I guess.”

  “Cool. Thanks.”

  “Like I said, she was in the loo. She won’t be able to help you.”

  “Best to try anyway, eh?”

  Another shrug. Will shut the door.

  Rhodri ran back to the car and landed in the passenger seat, making the car shudder. Luckily the sarge hadn’t left yet.

  “Psychology building, Sarge.”

  “He tell you where that is?”

  Rhodri cursed himself. “I’ll look it up. You start driving.”

  “Fair enough.”

  As they drove towards the campus, Rhodri scrolled through Google Maps. He gave Mo directions as they approached the university.

  Outside the Psychology building, Mo stopped the car. “Call me if you get anything. Can you make your own way back?”

  “Yeah. I’ll walk.”

  “Be quick about it, yeah?”

  Rhodri got out, bending down to talk to Mo. “No probs.”

  Mo reached across and closed the passenger door. He drove away.

  Rhodri turned to the Psychology building. How was he going to find Shonda? How was he going to get her attention in the middle of a lecture?

  Only one way to find out.

  He walked into the building and searched for a reception desk. There was none. He grabbed a passing student.

  “Hiya, I’m looking for Shonda Taylor.”

  The young woman frowned. “Never heard of her.”

  “Is there someone I can talk to who might?”

  “The admin office is over there. They know who’s who.”

  “Ta.” He went to the door she’d indicated and knocked, then pushed it open.

  Rhodri pulled on his most endearing smile. A middle-aged woman around the same age and build as his mum sat behind a desk, staring at him. “Who are you?”

  He pulled out his warrant card. “Nothing to worry about, but I need to talk to Shonda Taylor.”

  “Why?”

  “It’s in connection with an inquiry.””

  The woman’s eyes widened. She looked like she might cry. “That kid who died in Boulton Hall?”

  “Can you tell me where she is?”

  “Wait a minute.” She looked at her computer screen. “She’s third year, so she should be in Professor Musa’s lecture right now.”

  “Where is that?”

  “Second floor. Room 234.”

  “Thanks.”

  “You can’t just drag her out of there.”

  “I’ll wait.”

  “Don’t disrupt the lecture. Please.”

  He gave her his brightest smile. “Don’t worry. They’ll never know I’m there.”

  He turned and left the room before she could stop him. He took the stairs two at a time and was soon on the second floor. He followed the room numbers until he got to 234.

  He peered through the glass in the door to see a lecture underway. A skinny black man with grey hair stood at the front of the room, waving his arms around. Rhodri scanned the rows of students. Shonda was in the sixth row, near the middle.

  There were two exits at the back of the room, higher up. But she was closer to this one. He had to hope she’d come this way when the lecture was over.

  He checked his watch: eleven forty-five. Not long.

  “Excuse me, do you need help?”

  Rhodri turned to see a man behind him, head cocked. He was overweight with pasty skin, wearing a suit that struggled not to rip at the seams.

  “I’m fine, thanks.”

  “You need to go into that lecture? Professor Musa doesn’t like it when students are late.”

  “Just waiting for someone. Cheers.”

  The man raised an eyebrow, and walked away. Rhodri leaned against the wall, his heart pounding. He was a police officer: why did he feel so out of place here?

  He turned back to the door to see the students getting up from their seats. Shonda was hidden by a group of students in front of her. Rhodri stared at the spot where she’d been, hoping she hadn’t gone already.

  “You after me?”

  He turned to see Shonda behind him.

  “How the hell did you get there?”

  She raised an eyebrow. “Swearing at a witness, Constable? Hardly professional.”

  “You were in there a minute ago.”

  “I spotted you through the door. Thought I’d gra
b you before everyone else saw me being interviewed by the police. It’s not a good look, you know.”

  He smiled. “Sorry. You want to go somewhere?”

  “There’s a coffee shop in the basement. Follow me.”

  He followed her along the corridor and through a doorway leading to a set of stairs. She hurried down, her footsteps light. No one passed them on the way down.

  “This your private rat run?” he asked.

  “It’s handy.” She stopped at the bottom and held the door open for him. “After you.”

  “Ta.” He walked through and found himself at the edge of a space containing a few tables and chairs and a Costa vending machine to one side.

  “Hardly a coffee shop,” he said.

  “I exaggerated. You paying?”

  “I can’t, sorry.”

  “Oh, come on. I’m helping you with your job. Least you can do is buy me a coffee.”

  “Alright.” He’d use his own money. No way the force was stumping up for coffees for witnesses.

  She waited at a table near the stairway while he fetched two lattes. He placed one in front of her and sipped his own.

  “So?” She leaned back in her chair, legs out straight in front.

  “I wanted to talk to you about Wednesday night.”

  “Thought you might. But what specifically?”

  “Did you see anyone come to the house, about ten thirty?”

  “What kind of someone?”

  “Any kind of someone. Did you hear anyone come in? Anyone talking to Jenson?”

  “People came to see Jenson quite a lot. I’m sure you can guess why.”

  He nodded and took a gulp of his coffee. He hadn’t realised how thirsty he was. “So he had visitors on Wednesday night?”

  She stared off to one side, thinking. “I’m not sure.”

  “You were with Will.”

  “I’m always with Will.”

  “Maybe you heard someone out the front? Maybe someone arguing with Jenson?”

  “You’re telling me he had an argy with someone.”

  “I’m saying nothing of the sort. Just asking if you saw anything like that.”

  “Which means someone has told you he did have an argument with someone. You think he was murdered?”