Deadly Reprisal (Detective Zoe Finch Book 5)

by Rachel McLean

  The warden sat back abruptly. “You’re mistaken.”

  “It’s DNA. The room for error is infinitesimally…”

  “I know the statistics of DNA matching. But what about human error? You got the samples muddled, or the pathologist made a mistake.”

  Zoe felt her skin bristle. “Doctor Adebayo is the best pathologist I’ve worked with. She doesn’t make mistakes.”

  “The pathologist who attended the scene was a man.”

  Damn. “Doctor Reynolds works closely with Doctor Adebayo. I’m confident in his findings.”

  “Even if you can’t remember which pathologist it actually was that you need to have confidence in.”

  “Doctor Edwards, were you aware of any kind of relationship between Laurence and Jenson?”

  “No.”

  “Was Jenson Laurence’s residential tutor?”

  “No. Amelia was.”

  “When Becca MacGuire accused Laurence of raping her, she went to Jenson first. Yes?”

  “She did.”

  “And he came to you.”

  “Yes.” The warden steepled her hands on the table.

  “Did Jenson talk to Laurence about it? Was he involved in the investigation?”

  “It’s not the role of a postgraduate to be take part in that kind of thing. I questioned Jenson, yes, to use your own terminology. I asked him about what Becca had said to him, what kind of mood she was in. But I also told him not to speak to Laurence. I didn’t want any interference.”

  “You thought Jenson might interfere?”

  “That’s not what I meant, Inspector. I wanted a clear line of accountability. I wanted to know who was talking to who.”

  “Were you aware that Becca’s allegations were common knowledge around Boulton Hall?”

  “That did come to my attention. I don’t know how it got out. I imagine Becca confided in a friend or two, who were less than circumspect.”

  Oh yes, thought Zoe. Blame the undergraduates.

  “How did Jenson react to Becca’s allegations against Laurence?”

  “I told you. He came to see me, and repor—”

  “I don’t mean what did he do, Doctor Edwards. I mean how did he react emotionally. Was he angry, upset?”

  “He was… introspective. It worried him, that one of his students had been through such an ordeal.”

  “So he believed Becca?”

  “He certainly believed that she was suffering.”

  “Not that she was raped?”

  “Inspector, as you know, I didn’t come to the police, and that was out of respect for Becca’s wishes. If that means our investigation wasn’t to the high standards you uphold, then there’s little I can do about that. But we weren’t able to find conclusive proof that Laurence did in fact rape Becca.”

  “No physical evidence. His word against hers.”

  “Exactly.”

  “How d’you think that made Becca feel?”

  “I guided her in the direction of the student welfare office. They offer counselling for women who’ve suffered—”

  “Once again. I didn’t ask you what you did. I asked how you think Becca felt about the lack of conclusion.”

  “She was angry.”

  “Did she talk to her residential tutor about those feelings, perhaps?”

  “I can’t tell you that, Detective.”

  “Did she tell Jenson how disappointed she was that justice hadn’t been done? Could he have decided to mete out his own form of justice?”

  The warden barked out a laugh. “Now you’re being ridiculous.”

  “Doctor Edwards, did you see or speak to Jenson around the time of Laurence’s death?”

  “I was away on a field trip, if you recall.”

  “Did you see him when you returned? How was his mood?”

  “Sombre, like the rest of us. A student had died. The entire community was in shock.”

  “Did he seem agitated, or nervous?”

  “If you’re asking me if he was wringing his hands and wailing out, damned spot, then no. He showed no signs of anything out of the ordinary.”

  Zoe sighed. They had forensic evidence pointing to Jenson, but nothing else. The party made it hard to establish alibis. Her gut told her the forensics were pointing the wrong way, but it was DNA. She’d have to look elsewhere for corroboration.

  “Thank you, Doctor Edwards. I’ll let you know if I need anything more from you.”

  Chapter Eighty-Seven

  “I can’t make it out.”

  Mo and Rhodri sat in Mo’s car, on Jenson Begg’s street. Mo held Mrs Anderson’s camcorder up in front of him and peered at it. “It’s just too grainy.”

  “We’ll have to get Connie to work on it, Sarge.”

  “Has she said we can take it away? Hopefully we can transfer the film onto digital and then let her have this thing back.”

  “She has, boss. Right friendly she was.”

  Mo gave Rhodri a knowing look. “I bet she was.” There was something about Rhodri, perhaps his gangly frame and awkward manner, that endeared him to elderly women.

  “Come on then.” Mo started the car. “Call Connie while we’re en route, will you?”

  “Right… Connie, it’s Rhod. Where are you?… OK, can you get back to the office? I’ve got a video I want you to work your magic on.”

  They stopped at the junction with the Bristol Road. Rhodri laughed. “Yeah, magician, me. Anyway, can you?… Ta. See ya, Con.”

  He hung up. “She’ll be there in ten minutes, Sarge.”

  “Good.” Mo focused on the road ahead, ignoring the raindrops splashing on the windscreen. Rhodri was looking at the camcorder screen.

  “Can you make anything out?” Mo said.

  “Well there’s definitely a woman. And a man.”

  “Standing in Jenson Begg’s front garden.”

  “Talking by the looks of it.”

  “Arguing?”

  “I can’t tell, Sarge. Maybe when we blow it up it’ll be easier.”

  “You’ve got young eyes. Do you recognise either of them?”

  ‘The guy looks like Jenson, but I can’t be sure. The woman… dunno. Could be anyone.”

  “Could be Kayla.”

  “Could be Shonda.”

  “She’d have told us if she had an argy with him, surely?”

  “Who knows,” said Mo. He turned onto Edgbaston Park Road and accelerated up the hill. “She could be trying to muddy the waters.”

  Rhodri gazed out of the window, tracing a raindrop with his fingertip. Mo’s stomach rumbled. He hadn’t taken a break yet today. Hopefully Rhodri would have one of his biscuit hauls in his desk.

  “You think someone in the house is responsible?” said Rhodri.

  Mo shrugged. “I think people were dealing drugs from that house and they want as little police attention on them as possible.”

  “Not easy, when one of your housemates has been murdered.”

  “Nope.” Mo pulled into the car park of Harborne police station. “Let’s get inside and find out, eh?”

  Chapter Eighty-Eight

  Kayla dragged herself off the bed and made her way to her desk. She might as well make a start on that essay, even if her brain did feel like someone had pumped rubber into it.

  She grabbed her copy of Emma from the shelf above her desk and opened up her laptop. Describe how the respective social standing of Emma Woodhouse and Harriet Smith drives their actions in the novel. She wasn’t in the mood.

  Maybe she’d go to the vending machine downstairs, get some chocolate. That would help with motivation. It might boost her mood, too.

  She reached up to the shelf where she kept her keys. She fumbled for them, her fingers moving blindly above her head.

  She stood up, frowning, and looked at the shelf. A row of books, a postcard from her mum, a spider plant. No keys.

  She felt her pockets. No keys there either.

  That’s odd.

  It was early afternoon. S
he could wedge her door open and pop out without taking her keys. She grabbed a hardback book.

  She pulled the door handle. It didn’t budge. She tugged again. She rattled it, and turned it, and pulled again.

  The door was locked.

  Kayla stumbled back to the shelf. She pushed the books and the plant aside, searching for her keys. She swept a pile of papers off her desk, her hands moving across the surface.

  Where were they?

  She went to the door again. Be calm. Maybe she was pulling it the wrong way.

  She wrapped her hand around the door handle, gently this time. She concentrated on turning it one way, then the next.

  It wasn’t going anywhere.

  Someone had locked her in.

  Chapter Eighty-Nine

  Connie ducked her head as she hurried towards the bike shed. The helmet would keep some of the rain off, but not all of it.

  She’d cope. Getting wet on her bike wasn’t exactly new.

  She caught movement from the corner of her eye. She turned to see Lin running away from the building.

  “Lin! You OK?”

  Lin skidded to a halt. She turned towards Connie. “I’m fine. Leave me alone.”

  Connie raised her hands. “Just asking a question. You look like you’re in a hurry.”

  “I’ve got lectures.”

  Lin’s hands were empty. She wasn’t carrying a bag. Connie stepped out of the bike shed.

  “Lin, you seem agitated.”

  “I’m fine. Leave me alone.” Lin started walking.

  Connie grabbed her bike. She slung her helmet strap over the handlebars and started cycling to catch the younger woman up. “Lin!”

  Lin looked over her shoulder. She was hunched against the rain. “Stop following me! This is police harassment.”

  “I just want to ask you a couple of questions.”

  Lin span round. “Go on then. What d’you want to know?” She pushed her hair back and shook her hands out.

  “Did Laurence Thomms and Jenson Begg know each other?”

  “No. Why?”

  “What kind of man was Jenson?”

  Lin shrugged. “You’d have to ask Kayla.”

  “I have. Now I’m asking you.”

  Lin took a deep breath. Rain poured over both of them. Connie ignored it, but Lin was shivering.

  “Did he take advantage of the students he was a tutor for?”

  Lin stiffened. “Maybe that’s how Jenson knew Laurence, if you reckon he did. Two creeps together.”

  “Did Laurence try to rape Kayla?”

  Lin’s expression hardened. “I’m not talking about that.”

  “Did he?”

  “I’m not talking about it.” She turned and stared walking.

  Connie caught up and cycled alongside her. She knew Lin might make a complaint, but she was sick of being pushed away. Why were the students hiding things?

  “Lin, did Laurence assault other girls?”

  “Probably. You’d have to ask them.”

  “Did Jenson assault undergraduates?”

  Lin closed her eyes for a moment, not breaking stride. “He was a creep. He wanted to control the students he was responsible for. He thought he was being protective.” She turned to Connie. “He knew about Laurence, he wanted to stop him.”

  “Enough to kill him?”

  Lin didn’t slow down. “I can’t answer that. But maybe, yeah.”

  “Did Laurence have any friends? Anyone who’d want to protect him?”

  “No way. We all hated him.”

  Connie shifted her weight on the bike. She wished Lin would slow down.

  “Lin, did either of them assault you?”

  Lin flinched. “No. Now leave me alone before I call your boss.” She ran towards a grassy area where Connie couldn’t follow.

  Chapter Ninety

  Zoe slid into her car, her mind racing.

  The interview with the warden seemed an irrelevance after what Sheila had told her.

  Alina Popescu, with Randle? Was it a coincidence, or something more?

  Did she want to give this to Carl, or do some digging of her own?

  She stared out through the rain, fists clenched in her lap. Eventually she came to a decision and picked up her phone.

  It rang out five times. Zoe cursed herself: why had she expected it to be answered?

  “Zoe.”

  She straightened. “I hope you don’t mind me calling.”

  “I’ve got my daughter looking like she’s seen a ghost and the nurse that’s on today is bloody rough with the cannula. I could do with some distraction.”

  Zoe smiled. It was always good to speak to Lesley.

  “Ma’am. I need to talk to you about something. It’s sensitive.”

  “One of your team giving you trouble?”

  “No.”

  “I didn’t think so. Is it Frank? I know he’s a dinosaur, but you’ve dealt with worse than him before.”

  “It’s not DI Dawson.”

  “Right.” Lesley coughed. “What is it, then?”

  Zoe hesitated. What was she doing calling her boss with information about the New Street bomber, when that was what had put her in hospital?

  “I’m sorry, ma’am. You’re supposed to be resting. I’ll talk to someone else.”

  “Oh no you bloody don’t.”

  “It’s fine. I can talk to Frank.”

  “No you can’t, and we both know it. This is about David, isn’t it?”

  “I didn’t…”

  “Zoe, you have a tone to your voice when you’re thinking about that man. It’s like a fucking great Belisha beacon on top of your head, it’s that obvious. Now spit it out.”

  “I don’t want to upset you.”

  “Upset me?” There was a pause. “Hang on.”

  Lesley coughed, the sound muffled. Zoe waited for the coughing to recede. It took over a minute.

  “Carry on.” Lesley’s voice was hoarse. “Is it about Magpie? Is that why you’re pussyfooting around me?”

  “It is.” Zoe gripped the steering wheel.

  “Don’t keep me in suspense, Zoe.”

  OK. Deep breath. “We identified the bomber, Ma’am.”

  “That’s the best news I’ve had all fucking day. Who was she?”

  “Alina Popescu. She was brought over from Romania by Trevor Hamm’s organisation.”

  “So far, so predictable. What’s this got to do with Randle?”

  “There’s a photo of the two of them together.”

  More coughing. Zoe waited for it to subside.

  “Ma’am? Are you OK?”

  “Fine,” Lesley spluttered. “You’re saying there’s a photo of David with this woman?”

  “At a function last September. From what Sheila could tell, Alina was working as an escort.”

  “OK. You stop talking to me right now. Go back to Sheila and tell her to talk to Carl Whaley. This is too hot for anyone other than Professional Standards.”

  “She wanted me to call him.”

  “It’ll be cleaner if it comes from her. You don’t want to be mixed up in this. Randle was your boss, Zoe. Still is. Step back.”

  Zoe sighed. She’d been hoping to call Carl next. Any excuse to speak to him. Passing him information like this might bring him back to her.

  “Ma’am.”

  “Do as I say, Zoe. Hang up, call Sheila. Pass it back.”

  Chapter Ninety-One

  “Guys.” Connie stood at the door to the office, dripping wet.

  “Connie, you should have called me for a lift,” said Mo.

  “How would I have got my bike back here if I’d done that?”

  “We could have gone back for it.”

  “It’s alright, Sarge. I’m used to it.” She shoved her bike helmet under her desk and sat down. “Where is it then?”

  Mo grabbed the camcorder off Rhodri’s desk. “It’s pretty old. Got a cassette in it.”

  Connie whistled. “That’s an
cient.” She turned it in her hands. “Practically an antique.” She looked up at him, her eyes glowing. “A challenge.”

  He grinned at her. “I knew you’d be able to sort it. We need it blown up, the image improved if possible.”

  “Yeah.” She turned it over, looking for any kind of input or output. “Here. There’s an AV out. I can hook this up to a TV.” She looked up at Mo. “Not difficult at all.”

  Mo felt his cheeks flush. “No?”

  Connie laughed. “No. But we do need a telly. One with the right input. And some leads…”

  “There’s the telly in the break room,” said Rhodri.

  “There is.” Connie had her head down, rummaging through her desk drawers. “Bingo.” She sat up, a red and white lead in her hand. “See, all those people who tell me not to hoard old leads. They’re wrong.”

  “Come on, then.” Mo opened the door, heading towards the break room.

  They filed in. Two uniformed constables were inside, feet up on the coffee table. When they saw Mo they pulled them to the floor.

  “Can you let us have the TV please, lads?” Mo asked.

  The officers gathered up their things and left the room.

  “Smashing. Connie, hook it up.”

  She peered round the back of the TV. Tongue poking out, she fumbled around behind it. After a few moments the leads she’d found in her desk were trailing from the back of the TV. She plugged the camcorder in at the other end.

  “Rhodri, stick it on AV,” she said.

  “Righto.” Rhodri grabbed the remote and started flicking through inputs. Mo stood close to the screen, waiting for it to come to life.

  Connie was pressing buttons on the camcorder. “There,” she said, and looked up. On the TV was an image of Umberslade Road. It wasn’t high resolution, but it was a lot clearer than it had been on the tiny camcorder screen.

  They stood around the screen, watching as a man came out of the front door of number 240: Rhodri.

  “You didn’t say you were on this,” said Mo.

  “I didn’t spot meself. Connie, what did you do?”

  “Only went back to the beginning.”

  They all watched as Rhodri drove away in his Saab. Before getting inside, he looked towards the house opposite, which was out of shot.