The History Suite (#9 - The Craig Modern Thriller Series)

by Catriona King

  Liam shrugged. “I took one look at him and I just knew. He looked far too worried to have been guilty.”

  “Well, you still owe Dr Winter and me five pounds each. That’ll teach you to think the worst of people.”

  As Liam paid up Craig and John glanced at each other, thinking the same thing. If Jacobs was innocent and Tim Taylor’s alibi panned out they were back at zero with two murders to solve.

  Chapter Ten

  The C.C.U. 4 p.m.

  Craig was in his office with the door open when the others arrived. As Liam strolled past he beckoned him in.

  “Listen to this.”

  He indicated a tape machine on his desk. It was playing Jacobs’ interview from a few hours earlier and for a moment Liam thought Craig was going to rant at him again. Craig stopped the tape halfway through.

  “What do you make of that?”

  Liam screwed up his face. “What?”

  Craig sighed and waved him to a seat then he rewound the tape and played the segment again. Ian Jacobs’ voice came through, his nerves audible.

  “I followed Cooke.”

  Annette spoke next. “With what intention?”

  “I don’t know…to tell him what he was, I suppose. Filthy drug-dealing scum.”

  “Anything else?”

  “I suppose…” Jacobs whispered something to his brief then carried on. “I wanted to hit him. Hurt him like he’d hurt us.”

  Annette’s follow-up was smooth. “And did you? Hurt him I mean.”

  Craig gestured at the tape. “That’s how it should be done.”

  Liam made a face and kept listening. Jacobs spoke again, more energetically this time.

  “No. I didn’t, honestly I didn’t. When I caught up with him he was lying on the ground.”

  “Where?”

  “Between the wards.” Jacobs’ voice dropped. “He was just lying there. There was no blood. Just…just his eyes were open…staring.”

  “What happened then, Mr Jacobs?”

  “I knew he was dead but I reached down to check his pulse anyway. At his neck.”

  “How did you know to do that?”

  “I’m a first-aider at work. We have to be trained. There are accidents in the garage sometimes.”

  “All right. But why didn’t you call someone?”

  “Because Cooke was dead and I knew exactly what they’d think; that I killed him.”

  “Did you see or hear anything when you found Dr Cooke? Even the smallest thing might help us.”

  That was the point Craig had left the viewing room. There was silence on the tape for a moment and Craig pictured Jacobs trying to recall the events of a fraught five minutes in an already fraught day. To his surprise he did.

  “I smelled something strange…like mint. It was probably just disinfectant. Maybe the wards use that sort?”

  Craig made a note to check. Jacobs was still talking.

  “And…”

  Annette voice was encouraging. “Yes?”

  “You’ll think I’ve lost it.”

  “No, I won’t. Anything you noticed, however small, Mr Jacobs. Please.”

  Annette had flipped from interrogator to confidant, making Jacobs believe he could help and bringing him to the angels’ side. Well done, Annette.

  “Well…I could have sworn that I heard squeaking.”

  “Like an animal, a mouse? Or a small child?”

  “No. Like rubber, like rubber squeaking against the plastic floor. Like when you have shoes that squeak, but not quite like that.” Jacobs sighed heavily. “This probably sounds like rubbish.”

  Annette said “No, it doesn’t.”

  Craig switched off the tape and turned to Liam. “Jacobs couldn’t remember any more than that. But it gives us something to go on.”

  Liam stared at him sceptically. “What? That our killer chewed gum and wore squeaky shoes! He sounds like a Raymond Chandler character.”

  Craig smiled at the image; it fitted plenty of detectives on the force. “Des can help with scents and sounds; set up a session for Jacobs with him. In the meantime, how’re you doing printing the people on the unit?”

  Liam dragged a hand down his face in tiredness. “It’s slow. Some people are objecting so we’re going the warrant route. It’ll be tomorrow before we’re done. Then however long it takes for Davy to run them and Des to match them with the two he found on Cooke.”

  Craig nodded. They were still in the legwork part of the case, but then when were they ever not?

  “OK, keep everyone on that. I’ll speak to Des about the other things.”

  Suddenly Liam rose and strode to Craig’s door. He checked that no-one was eavesdropping then he retook his seat.

  “What’s the story with Carmen and Jake?”

  Craig realised that he’d only told Annette.

  “Sorry, I should have updated you. Jake’s grandfather’s very ill and he’s helping his grandmother with his care. He’s only got months to live and Jake’s pretty cut up about it.”

  Liam nodded. “So he’s working flexitime. Helping to get the old boy sorted and fitting in everything else in-between.”

  Craig nodded, puzzled how Liam had got it so quickly. Liam saw his question.

  “It’s what I did when my granny was ill. The force was good about it, right enough. Must have pissed off my mates though, they were carrying my work load for months.”

  “Everybody dies and everyone needs help.” Craig thought for a moment and then frowned. “Carmen’s a different kettle of fish. I’ve sent her to the psychologist. Her behaviour towards the men in the squad is unacceptable.”

  “Aye, and what’s even more unacceptable is Aidan Hughes filling her post while she was seconded to us, and us having to keep her for good! I owe him one for that.”

  Craig shrugged. “If Carmen can get past this she’ll make a good detective. She’s nearly as good as Davy on some of the I.T. stuff.”

  Liam shook his head slowly. “Don’t let the lad hear you say that. He guards his turf like a Spartan.”

  The image of Davy in a crimson cloak wielding a sword made Craig laugh. “OK, I won’t say it. Anyway, I only said on some of the I.T.; Davy is undisputed king of that world.”

  He motioned Liam towards the door. It was time for the briefing and time to tell everyone that they’d just lost their main suspect and had to start the hunt anew.

  ***

  Thursday, 9 a.m.

  Craig took the lift up to Des-World and found the bearded scientist with his nose pressed against a fuming cabinet and a Meatloaf track on. He didn’t hear Craig enter so he was treated to a one minute display of what Des probably thought was a dance, although not any that he recognised from their youth, followed by an air guitar flourish at the end. As the track ended the scientist turned, jumping when he saw Craig.

  He grinned sheepishly. “How long have you been there?”

  “Enough to know that the National Ballet’s loss is our gain. I’m here to pick your brains.”

  Des turned off the CD before an even louder track filled the room and Craig gestured towards the cabinet, where a set of prints was appearing from the fumes.

  “Are those anything to do with us?”

  “No. A burglary. I’d ask what I could do for you but you’re here for whatever I found under Ian Jacobs’ and Adrian Cooke’s nails, aren’t you?”

  “Amongst other things. I want to ask you about scents and sounds first.”

  Des looked faintly puzzled. “OK…fire away.”

  “We’ve interviewed Jacobs and I don’t think he killed Cooke.”

  Des interrupted. “Who does that leave you with?”

  Craig shrugged. “The invisible man. That’s all we can be sure of at the moment, that our killer is a man. However…”

  He smiled and Des knew there was work ahead.

  “Go on.”

  “Jacobs has given us some other information. Obviously you had to check whatever you found under his nails, but my gues
s is it was nothing. Just a smudge of engine oil and dirt. Am I right?”

  “You’re right.”

  “What was under Cooke’s nails?”

  “Skin cells we can match to his killer when we find him, but otherwise nothing useful. They were remarkably clean actually, although I suppose you’d expect that from a doctor. There was no sign of Ian Jacobs if that’s what you mean.”

  Craig nodded. It all pointed to Jacobs being innocent. He was moving into the witness camp.

  “OK, that brings me to why I came. Obviously the prints you found on Cooke need to be checked. We’re gathering prints from everyone who was on the unit that night to compare against, and Davy’s doing the database checks.”

  Des’ voice was dry. “Obviously. Not that you would tell the Head of Forensic Science their job or anything.”

  Craig smiled, acknowledging that was exactly what he’d just done. “Sorry. But while all that’s happening I might have something else for you. Except…”

  “It’s a challenge?” Des rubbed his hands gleefully. He had a PhD in Forensic Science from King’s College and every so often he got bored with the routine stuff. A challenge was just what he needed to wake him up. “OK, shoot.”

  Craig screwed up his face, wondering how Des could possibly identify a scent and a noise.

  “OK. Jacobs admits that he recognised Adrian Cooke on the unit that night and followed him to have it out. But he’s saying that by the time he found him, in the area outside the linen room, Cooke was already dead on the ground. He checked his carotid pulse…”

  Des interrupted. “How did he know where it was? Most people wouldn’t have a clue.”

  “He’s a first-aider at work. Anyway, he checked Cooke’s pulse with one finger…” They said the next words simultaneously. “Hence the oily fingerprint.” Craig carried on. “Jacobs had got a phone call at work to say that his mum was ill so he rushed out without washing his hands properly. The oil will match something from the garage.”

  Des nodded; it made sense so far. “OK, so Jacobs is innocent of Cooke’s death. Now what?”

  Craig made a face. “This is where it gets complicated. Jacobs says that as he reached Cooke he heard something. A squeaking noise, like rubber against a plastic floor. He also smelled mint. I know it’s not much to go on, but…”

  He glanced at Des hopefully, expecting to see a thoughtful frown. Instead he saw a look of almost unseemly glee.

  “This is brilliant! I’ve wanted one of these for years. The closest I got was a burglary where the resident heard a strange noise. It turned out to be the burglar’s leather jacket rubbing against a wall. It took us ages but we finally pinned it down. Of course, it wasn’t admissible, but it did help when we nailed them on other things.” He turned to Craig. “You realise what you’ve done, don’t you? You’ve given me a sensory array; sound and scent. This is awesome!”

  Craig smiled at his schoolboy enthusiasm but dragged him back to the case before he started talking in geek-speak.

  “I’m glad you’re happy, but the question is, can you help I.D. what caused them? Jacobs is willing to work with you for however long it takes. He hated Cooke but he was pretty shocked by his death.”

  Des didn’t answer. Instead he rushed to a bookshelf and removed a hard-backed volume, muttering to himself.

  “I’ll have to get onto the British Library…they have one of the biggest sound archives in the world. One of my postgrad mates works there. Then there’s the scent…of course, I have a small olfactory collection myself…”

  Craig knew he’d lost him to that faraway world scientists inhabited and to the rarefied language that they spoke. But he had his answer. Yes, Des would help, now they just had to hope that Ian Jacobs’ memory was as good as he thought.

  ***

  2 p.m.

  “Davy, could you come in for a moment?”

  Davy roused himself from ‘the zone’, that zombie-like state he entered when he’d stared at a computer for too long. It was a level of self-hypnosis called parallel awareness, where he knew enough about what was happening around him to react to threats, but had tuned out everything else. He did some of his best work in the zone, although to the outside world it looked like he’d shut down.

  “Bring any mapping you’ve got and the background checks.”

  Davy glanced at Craig and then around the squad-room. It was peaceful with only them and Nicky there and he’d got more done in the previous five hours than in the whole day before. He knew why; Liam wasn’t there. He made a note to wear ear plugs in future to tune him out.

  He gathered his papers and joined Craig in his office, taking a chair and the coffee he’d poured. Craig smiled, amused by the analyst’s T-shirt. It had a picture of Sheldon from The Big Bang Theory – he was Davy, John and Des rolled into one.

  “OK. I want to go through the mapping for both days: the Thursday morning when Eleanor Rudd was murdered and the evening of Dr Cooke’s death. Is that OK?”

  Davy smiled. Of course it was OK. He’d had it ready since yesterday, just waiting to be asked. Forty minutes later they’d listed everyone who’d entered or left the wards, either to leave the hospital entirely through the main entrance or the back of the long-stay suite, or to wander around it for any reason and return. Davy excluded all but those people who could possibly have been in the linen room area at the time of both deaths. It still left fifteen people – three patients, four visitors and eight staff.

  “The problem is that w…whether by design or coincidence, both murders occurred at busy transit times. Eleanor Rudd’s w…was mid-morning and Adrian Cooke’s at visiting time, so narrowing the list down further is nearly impossible.”

  Craig raked his hair in frustration. “It doesn’t help that the unit’s so open anyone can wander in and out.”

  Davy shook his head. “Only Newman Ward. Reilly S…Suite is only opened by bell or key. Although…”

  “That doesn’t narrow it down any because we already know which three long-stay residents we’re looking at from Eleanor Rudd.”

  “Two of them match the list for upper-body s…strength but unless we find something more…”

  There was silence for a moment then Craig gestured at a sheet beside Davy’s elbow.

  “What’s that?”

  “The background checks.”

  “Anything interesting?”

  Davy shrugged. “Interesting, but I’m not certain how relevant they are to the case. There are a few minor drug users amongst patients and visitors, and a fair number of financial problems amongst the s…staff.” His face lit up. “One guy did time for bigamy.”

  “Which one?”

  “An elderly man in long-stay. And one of the old ladies did time for growing w…weed in 2005.”

  Craig shook his head at people’s secrets and wondered what lurked inside his team. Better not to ask.

  “So nothing relevant to the murders?”

  Davy shook his head. “Not so far, but now that we’ve narrowed the list to fifteen I’ll dig deeper into that group. The prints Des found s…should help.”

  Craig nodded. He wondered if he should call the others and tell them just to print the fifteen people on that list, then he dismissed the idea. That would make one piece of evidence contingent on another being correct, it was a dodgy way to proceed. His thoughts were interrupted by a knock on the door and Nicky popping her head in.

  “Dr Marsham on the phone for you, sir.”

  “Put him through.”

  Davy stood up to leave but Craig waved him back down. “It might be about the prints on Cooke.”

  He pressed speakerphone and greeted Des for the second time that day.

  “Davy’s here as well, Des. Fire ahead.”

  “Hello, Davy. Well, I got onto the sound archive, Marc. They can’t do it but they’ve put me onto another group that’s going to work with us, so if someone could bring Ian Jacobs to the lab this afternoon we can start that. I warn you, it might take a while.”r />
  Davy leaned eagerly towards the phone. “Is this s…sound matching?”

  “Yes. We might I.D. it, if we’re lucky.”

  “I’d love to see how it w…works.”

  He shot Craig a hopeful glance.

  “Can Davy join you, Des?”

  “Glad to have him. OK, that’s not why I rang. I’ve I.D.ed the print on Cooke’s lapel badge.” Craig leaned in as he continued. “You’re not going to like it.”

  Craig’s heart sank. “Tell me.”

  “It belongs to Edward Rudd. Eleanor Rudd’s younger brother. He’s on the PNC database for a shop-lifting offence when he was twelve.”

  Craig didn’t know what he was more dismayed by, the owner of the print or the fact that juvenile records were still held on the Police National Computer. The UK courts wouldn’t seal juvenile records, despite several individual appeals, and it just seemed wrong that some sweets a kid nicked when they were twelve should show as a criminal record for the rest of their life.

  Des continued. “If Edward Rudd is your killer, do you still want me to work on the sound I.D.?”

  Craig nodded then realised Des couldn’t see him. “Absolutely. Eddie Rudd’s print might be there but it feels wrong, and we’ve still got the one on Cooke’s watch. Any idea how old Rudd’s print is, Des?”

  “Sorry, I can’t tell. The technology to date prints is coming but it isn’t mainstream yet.”

  Craig signed off and turned to see Davy’s puzzled face. He looked like Craig felt.

  “It doesn’t make s…sense, chief. Eddie Rudd can’t be the killer; he wasn’t even on the unit that night.”

  “Perhaps he got away before the police arrived.”

  Davy frowned. “But w…why would he have been there? He wouldn’t have been visiting anyone, unless…”

  “Unless he was waiting to see Cooke and have things out with him. He might have blamed him for his sister’s death.”

  As he said the words Craig shook his head. The print couldn’t be argued with but Eddie Rudd just didn’t feel right. They needed him in for questioning. He crossed to the door.

  “Nicky, get me Liam, please.”

  One minute later the desk-phone rang and Liam’s voice boomed “hello.” Craig put the call on speaker and watched as Davy held his ears. Liam was even louder than usual today.