by Adam Croft
When the impact of a person’s crime ran deep, emotions tended to be much deeper too. It wasn’t a simple case of anger, remorse, rage or forgiveness. What was on the surface was often there to mask something that was far more profound. They weren’t straightforward feelings, either. It was entirely possible for a victim or relative to feel rage and forgiveness, either alternately or quite possibly at exactly the same time. The reactions to being a victim of a serious crime were wide-ranging and complex.
Wendy knew it was often best to try and get views from a range of people connected with a crime — their friends, family and colleagues — in order to really gain an understanding into how someone had been affected. Unfortunately, in most circumstances that just wasn’t possible. Budget cuts and stretched time meant that it wasn’t always feasible to gain as full an understanding as many officers would have liked.
In this particular case, though, it was vital that Wendy really understood what was going on in the minds of Katie McCourt’s family and friends. After all, in this case some deep but hidden desire for revenge could have been the catalyst for murder.
She’d arranged to meet Suzanne Corrigan at the aptly-named Coffee House, nestled on the corner of the entrance and exit to one of the town’s main car parks and barely a stone’s throw from the back of Mildenheath Police Station. Almost opposite, one of the town’s largest open spaces, the Recreation Ground, was home to a number of children braving the increasingly cold weather, blowing off some steam on the monkey bars and slides.
The Coffee House specialised in not only serving the usual tea and cakes, but also selling coffee, both ground and in full beans, to customers who wanted to make their own brews at home. Their main specialism, though, was flavoured ‘gourmet’ coffees, with varieties ranging from hazelnut and mint to brandy and cinnamon. Wendy was a fan of coffee, but she’d never yet found a flavoured version she liked, so had instead decided to opt for a cup of regular black filter.
She sat down at a vacant table and sipped at her mug. She was always uncomfortable being the first person to arrive anywhere, not quite knowing what to do with herself while she waited. She fished into her pocket for her mobile phone and had barely looked at it when Suzanne arrived and sat opposite her. A woman came over and took her order and Suzanne told her she’d have the same as Wendy.
‘Can’t stand that flavoured stuff,’ she said, eliciting a smile from Wendy. ‘Tastes like someone’s splashed Britvic in it.’
After a few moments of dancing around the elephant in the room by chatting about irrelevant and inane topics, Wendy decided to bite the bullet.
‘Suzanne, I wanted to talk to you a bit more about what happened to Katie.’
‘I’ve told you more or less everything I know,’ Suzanne said. ‘It’s the same as the account you had from her.’
‘I know, but I wanted a bit more information on what happened after that,’ Wendy explained.
Suzanne took a sip of her coffee and narrowed her eyes. ’What do you mean?’
‘How it affected everyone, I mean. What effect it had on the family. I know from my job that something like that happening can have quite a deep impact on relatives. Parents in particular.’
‘Well, yeah, John and Teresa were pretty cut up, obviously. You send your youngest daughter out to work for her first real job and she ends up getting felt up by some pervert. I don’t think they were best pleased, if that’s what you mean.’
Wendy sensed that Suzanne making light of the situation was probably something of a coping mechanism. She’d seen it a thousand times before.
‘Deeper than that, though,’ Wendy said. ‘I can only imagine what it must be like for her parents. And for Anna.’
‘It’s a violation, isn’t it?’ Suzanne said. ‘It’s almost worse when it happens to your daughter or sister than it would be if it happened to you, if you see what I mean.’
‘Is it still having an impact on them?’ Wendy asked. ‘They seemed pretty subdued when they were talking to me about it.’
Suzanne took another long sip of her coffee, seemingly thinking about how best to word her response.
‘Between you and me, although they’d say it was something they’d dealt with and moved on from, I think John in particular is pretty cut up about it. I mean, I don’t have any specific examples, but there’s just the odd comments here and there. When you see the stuff on the TV or in the papers about child abuse, you know? The Jimmy Savile thing that came out, and now all the MPs and TV stars. Whenever that comes up in conversation or anything, it’s like a dark cloud descends over him. But I suppose that’s a subject that affects a lot of people. Everyone’s got an opinion and it’s the same one for a lot of people.’
‘What sort of things does he say?’ Wendy asked, her interest piqued.
‘Oh, I can’t remember specifics. The usual stuff, really. “String them up by their bollocks” and all that. He’s not someone who’s backwards in coming forwards, if you see what I mean. He’s got some pretty tasty views on things like immigration and welfare, too, so I wouldn’t say it surprised me when he comes out with that stuff.’
As she saw so often in her line of work, Wendy thought, a lack of understanding led to ignorance, which led to people having some pretty bizarre views.
‘Can you remember anything specific that he said?’ Wendy asked.
‘No, I already told you. I’ve probably only met her parents a handful of times at family parties and things like that. When this all happened with Katie last year I tried to be there for them, be a good friend to Anna, so we spent a bit of time together then too. I didn’t memorise the conversations, though.’
Wendy nodded. ‘I understand. Would you say they’ve got better, though? In terms of moving on, I mean. Or is there still something lingering, perhaps growing?’
‘Oh, it’s definitely growing with John,’ Suzanne said. ‘They say it does with fathers, though. Katie had a new boyfriend about four months ago. He wanted to know absolutely everything about him. His name, his parents’ names and jobs, where he lived, all that. Not just in a sense of being interested, I don’t mean. He physically wouldn’t let her see him again until she’d answered all his questions.’
Wendy tried not to let any emotions show on her face, and instead took a large gulp of coffee.
‘Would you say he’s overprotective, then?’
Suzanne pulled her lips back as she considered her response. ‘In some ways, yes. I think mainly he’s just overcautious, though. After all, he’s seen what can happen.’
Wendy wasn’t sure if that would be enough for her to justify spending time and resources on investigating John McCourt more closely, but it was certainly a starting point.
She steered the conversation towards more inert topics, talking about the scourge of traffic in the town and the lengths the council had gone to in order to finally secure a new bypass for Mildenheath — something which had been proposed for the best part of fifty years but had only just reached the construction phase. In the meantime, shops and trade in the town had all but died, leaving the council with nothing but desperate measures.
Eventually, Suzanne managed to unavoidably bring the conversation back to Mildenheath CID and Jack Culverhouse in particular.
‘So what’s going on with him exactly? You seemed a bit cagey on the phone, but I guessed that was because you were at work.’
Wendy looked down at her coffee.
‘Come on, Wendy. You said we were going to work together,’ Suzanne said. ‘I promise you I won’t publish anything you don’t want me to. I don’t exactly want to be the kind of reporter who gloats over someone having a breakdown.’
‘Breakdown?’ Wendy asked, sensing an opportunity to turn the tables. ‘Is that what you think’s happened?’
‘I don’t know what to think,’ Suzanne replied.
‘Well why don’t you give me your theories. Then I can tell you if you’re right or wrong.’ It was a classic police line, but it was one that tended to w
ork more often than not.
Suzanne leant back in her chair and crossed her arms. ‘Right, well my theory is that he was pretty close to PC Baxter. Saw himself as his mentor. Saw something of his younger self in him. Baxter took a bullet for him and died. That’s got to really mess a man up, having that happen in front of his eyes.’
Wendy shook her head. ‘That’s not quite what happened.’
‘It bloody was,’ Suzanne said, her eyes widening. ‘You seem to be forgetting I was there. It was my house.’
Wendy raised a hand to try and placate her. Suzanne had, thankfully, only been renting the house and had since moved, having not set foot in it since the night of Luke’s death.
‘I know, but what I mean is it’s more complex than that. A big case like the Ripper one affects officers in more ways than one. He had to lead the case, he was responsible for it. And let’s face it, five people died, including Luke.’
‘So you admit that he’s not well?’ Suzanne asked.
Wendy looked her in the eye. ‘Are we talking as friends or as police officer and reporter?’
‘If you’re asking whether or not you can trust me, I’ve already told you I won’t print anything you don’t want me to,’ she replied.
‘So why are you so keen to know? If you can’t do anything with it, what does it matter?’
Suzanne sighed. ‘I like Jack. He’s a tough bugger, but he gets results. And I’m not going to lie, he makes for some bloody brilliant material in the paper. His quotes are unbeatable. Even from a purely selfish point of view, the last thing I want is some faceless bureaucrat taking his place and boring the pants off everybody.’
Wendy had to laugh. ‘Well yes, he’s certainly good entertainment value, I’ll give him that. Look, he’s not been suspended or anything like that. Not officially, anyway, as far as I know. It’s nothing disciplinary.’ She knew she couldn’t be sure of that herself — the updates from on high were few and far between — and she realised that perhaps she was just saying what she wanted to hear herself. ‘He just needs time away from it all.’
‘Has he been drinking?’ Suzanne asked.
‘It’s Jack Culverhouse. He’s never not been drinking.’
‘You know what I mean. I don’t just mean a couple of glasses of wine in the evening. I mean more heavily than that.’
Wendy leaned in towards Suzanne. ‘Where are you getting this from?’
‘Oh come on, Wendy. I saw him at Luke’s memorial service. None of the other reporters did, but most of them have only seen short clips of him on the telly from the fall-out of the Ripper case. They don’t know him personally. I recognised him straight away but thought it best not to say anything. He clearly wasn’t his usual self, so I kept my distance.’
‘You saw him?’
‘Yeah, and he was a mess. Whatever you might think of me, Wendy, I’m not the sort of person who’d highlight something like that. I have some dignity.’
Wendy shook her head. ‘I don’t think badly of you, Suzanne, believe me. I’ve had to deal with a lot of reporters in my time and you’re a long way from being anything like them. I just need to be cautious in how I deal with the press. It’s a very sensitive subject.’
‘I get that. But we’re not talking as police officer and reporter, remember?’
Wendy held off for a second or two, considering her position, before smiling awkwardly.
28
That evening, Wendy decided to go to Culverhouse’s place to see how he was getting on. She had to convince herself that she wasn’t checking up on him, nor was she making sure he was still alive. Despite the way he’d acted recently, it wasn’t particularly out of character for him and she felt a certain loyalty towards him — especially since Malcolm Pope had been on the scene.
It was the smell that hit her as Culverhouse opened his front door: the sweet, cloying smell of alcohol and the stuffiness of a house that hadn’t seen an open window or door for days. She could see he hadn’t shaved, either. There was a good few days’ growth starting to show and she thought it actually looked quite good on him, aside from the fact that it had only come about through laziness and neglect.
She tried not to visit Culverhouse at home if she could help it. The way it was looking and smelling right now, she didn’t particularly want to come back again any time soon. Culverhouse was a private man who kept himself to himself. He was the sort of person everyone thought they knew quite well, but that was because he always had something to say and had always been a larger-than-life character. But when they thought about it, they realised that he’d never actually told them anything about himself.
He’d opened up to Wendy once, but only once and not as much as she would’ve liked. She guessed everyone needed a release every now and again, particularly in this job. That was why so many police officers’ marriages fell apart. It was the sort of job where you needed to talk about it in order to stop yourself going mad, but the nature of the job meant you weren’t able to.
‘How have you been?’ she asked as he removed a grease-smeared plate from the arm of the sofa and beckoned for her to sit down.
‘How do I look?’
‘Like shit,’ she replied.
‘Charming. I’ll have you know I had takeaway pizza off this plate. It came in a box and I plated it up, so I’ve not lost all my dignity. Granted, that was three days ago, but still.’
At any other time, Wendy would’ve laughed at his self-deprecating wit, but she knew by now that it was just a defence mechanism.
‘What’s new?’ he asked, calling from the kitchen as he tidied the plate away. ‘Malcolm Pope got you licking his arse yet?’
‘I don’t think we’re far off,’ Wendy replied. ‘Let’s just say it’s... different with him around.’
‘Careful. Next thing you know, you’ll be telling me you miss me.’
Wendy didn’t respond to that. ‘Steve and Frank aren’t happy. Debbie’s not bothered, though.’
‘She never is. You could put Pol Pot in charge and she’d just sit in the corner getting on with her paperwork. She’s dependable. Reliable. Not likely to be distracted by someone opening a pub door four miles away.’
Wendy chuckled. ‘Steve’s been cutting down, actually. Probably something to do with having to spend an extra hour or two writing up bloody reports for Pope. Doubt if he even makes last orders any more.’
Culverhouse returned from the kitchen and sat down in an armchair. ’He won’t put up with that for long. He’ll go stir crazy. He’s the sort of bloke who needs to have his set ways.’
‘Tell me about it,’ Wendy replied. ‘Sometimes I think he and Frank are on the verge of breaking into some sort of revolution. They’re talking about going to the Chief Constable to complain.’
Culverhouse shook his head. ‘Won’t do any good. They’re between a rock and a hard place. If they go straight to the top they’ll be seen as troublemakers. Chain of command dictates they have to go to the Superintendent or Chief Superintendent. Problem with that is the Chief Super’s got the whole of the merged county forces to look after and the Super’s too busy creaming over Malcolm Pope to care.’
He was right. The most senior Detective Superintendent was one of Pope’s biggest fans, and it was highly suspected that Pope would follow him up the ladder once the Chief Constable retired. The Chief Superintendent might have been more sympathetic towards them but they never saw hide nor hair of her, especially as she had to spread herself across three collaborative county forces.
The structure within and around Mildenheath CID was an odd one, not helped by the fact that it had been effectively isolated as an almost self-sufficient satellite department. With Chief Constable Charles Hawes choosing to base himself largely at Mildenheath, the CID team at the station had a direct route to the top. The fact that he was very sympathetic towards them helped enormously. To all intents and purposes, the fact that there was a Superintendent and Chief Superintendent between them in the hierarchy didn’t matter a bit. Th
ey were all too busy shuffling paper up at Milton House, waiting for Mildenheath to fail and be swallowed up into the wider organisation.
‘Suzanne Corrigan’s been sniffing around,’ Wendy said, getting straight to the point.
‘Tell her to bugger off then.’
‘She’s not stupid,’ Wendy replied. ‘She’s already been asking about links between the two killings. And she knows about Jeff Brelsford’s history, too.’
‘How?’ Culverhouse asked, his eyebrows narrowing.
‘Some family connection. I put some pressure on her and persuaded her not to run with anything. I think we can trust her, but that’s not the point.’
Culverhouse looked her silently for a few seconds. ‘What did you mean about links?’
Bollocks. She hadn’t meant to say that. She made a non-committal ‘Hmmmm?’ and looked towards the window.
‘You said she’s been asking about links between the two killings. What links?’
Wendy sighed. ‘I really shouldn’t be telling you this. The guy killed in Southbrook. Terry Kendall. He had a hard drive full of child porn. He and Jeff Brelsford were killed in the same way, too. Almost certainly by the same person.’
Culverhouse looked at her and said nothing for a moment. ‘Good,’ he finally said.
‘Good?’
‘Yeah, good. At least someone’s getting rid of the buggers. You can’t stop someone being a paedophile, Knight. They don’t get rehabilitated like burglars. It’s a disease of the mind. One that can’t be cured.’
‘You don’t know that,’ Wendy replied.
Culverhouse snorted. ’How many reformed paedophiles have you heard of? It doesn’t happen. You’re in Cloud Cuckoo Land again. Besides which, do you know how many of them get off and get away with it? They’re a menace to society. If someone’s doing our job for us, I really couldn’t give a shit.’
