by ML Rose
The burglar had got inside the Pitt household one month ago. He climbed up the back wall, which wouldn't have been an easy feat. From Sandra Pitts office windows, Arla had seen how big the garden was. Easily half the length of a football pitch.
She frowned. As far as she could remember, the rear end of the property was covered by a role of mature oak trees. She hadn't actually seen the back wall. Arla opened up a new window and clicked on land registry. She brought up the plans of Sandra Pitts house. At the back of the property there was a thin sliver of land, maybe just wide enough to let a car through.
Residential houses in this area now cost tens of millions. Arla assumed the alarm system would be adequate for the size of the property.
She read the report in the PCN or police crime notice. One of the security guards had written it. He assumed the burglar had climbed up the rear wall, but didn’t’ mention how tall the wall was.
He had followed footprints in the grass, as it had rained heavily the night before. The burglar had opened an unlocked backdoor and got inside the property. That set the alarms off.
Arla frowned. Not much of a burglar, was he? Expensive houses in London had their fair share of burglaries. Most of them happened in the daytime, when their occupants were at work. So why did this burglar come so late at night, when he knew everyone would be in the house, either sleeping or relaxing?
She read the other PCN. She didn't recognise the name of Shirley Linklater. She was a 22-year-old woman who lived alone in a house in Battersea. The same boot prints were found in her back garden, and also inside the house. This happened in the daytime, at 2:30. Shirley was not around, and nothing had been taken from the house.
Apart from these two occasions, the man with those boot prints had never committed any other burglaries, or at least none reported in a police crime notice.
Arla leaned back in her chair, thinking. As puzzling as the burglar’s motives seemed, there was something that confused her even more.
Why would this person attack Dr Vaughan?
Vaughan was comfortable financially, but he didn't have great wealth. There was something else here, and Arla couldn't put her finger on it.
She looked at the Pitt household security guard’s PCN report again, and found some attachments. They turned out to be CCTV footage of the burglar. Excitement lurched in Arla's veins. She clicked on them and magnified the images.
The cameras were mounted at the rear of the property, and the figure was only visible when he came up to one of the rear doors. This was probably a servant's entrance. When the figure was in full view, Arla froze the screen. He wore a black hooded top, with a black mask over his face. He was Caucasian, and his eyes were visible. It was the same guy who had accosted, and probably killed Dr Vaughan. There was no doubt.
Arla tapped the screen with one finger. "Who are you?" She whispered.
CHAPTER 32
She wrote down Shirley Linklater on her black notebook and circled it. She sent an email to Rob and Lisa, asking them to collect DNA samples from John Churchill and Natalie Chapman as soon as possible.
The sudden knock on the door startled her. Her boss, Commander Wayne Johnson walked in without bothering for her response.
He was a man mountain, and his bulk filled up the room even when he was standing at the doorstep. He shut the door behind him. Arla rose to her feet swiftly, panic scratching at her throat. She had known Wayne Johnson for many years, and he knew everything about her. He was the big boss now, a Commander in the London Met. She knew Johnson wouldn’t come down unless there was a problem.
"How are you, Arla?" Johnson asked, his tone civil. For such a large man, his blue eyes were unusually small. They darted around the room, and came to rest on her face.
"I'm fine sir. Can I help you with anything?"
Arla knew what he was like, and she had a premonition.
"Yes," Johnson said quietly. "I understand you visited Baroness Pitt’s house yesterday. You questioned her family and took statements. Is that correct?"
"Yes sir, it is."
"You know that she is the Home Secretary’s right-hand man. Or should I say, woman." It was a statement not a question.
“Yes sir, I did some research before I went to see her.” Arla raised an eyebrow.
Johnson clamped down on his back teeth. “Don’t get smart with me, Arla. You should’ve cleared it with me before going to see a politically sensitive individual.”
“Politically sensitive, sir?”
“Yes. And you know what it means, so don’t give me that look.”
A flare of anger passed through Arla's mind. Johnson was being condescending, and she didn't like it.
"I'm investigating a murder case sir. She had seen the victim frequently over the last few weeks. And now, it turns out that the main suspect was trying to burgle her house."
Johnson tapped his foot on the lino floor. "Is it possible the suspect saw her at Dr Vaughan’s Chambers, then followed her?"
Arla had thought of that. She nodded." Yes, but why only her? Dr Vaughan had several wealthy clients, as this was his private clinic. As far as I know, the other clients haven’t reported a burglary."
"They could be in the future." Johnson lowered his ponderous bulk into a chair that creaked alarmingly. "All I'm saying, Baroness Pitt is a coincidence in this case. Do you agree?"
“No, I don’t sir,” Arla said firmly. “There must be a reason why the same person who burgled Sandra Pitt’s house also assaulted Dr Vaughan. To my mind, there’s a connection between these three people.”
Johnson stared at her for a few seconds, then to her surprise, he agreed. "I’ll give you the benefit of doubt, for now. It’s a big coincidence but they do happen. You know that the CPS will throw this out of the court room if we can’t prove a definite link." The CPS or Crown Prosecution Service could make life very difficult for policemen trying to prove someone guilty.
"I know that, sir."
Johnson was silent for a while, his lips pressed together. "I want a report on the case. And I don't want you to visit Baroness Pitt’s house again, without my permission."
Arla frowned. She was sick and tired of Johnson trying to micro manage her cases. "But sir, I need to interview the guards about the burglary."
"That's okay. But leave the family alone."
A knot of irritation creased Arla's forehead. "But why, sir? If the investigation demands it, then they need to be questioned, right?"
Johnson directed a steely gaze at her, designed to intimidate Arla. Arla's face held a bored expression as she stared back at him. Johnson didn't scare her. She knew he needed her to solve cases so that he could look good to the top brass.
"Just run it past me. Don't make a big deal out of this, Arla. Do you understand?"
The threat was implicit. Arla's kept her face impassive, and her emotions in check. She squared her shoulders. "Yes sir. Will that be all?"
"For now, DCI Baker. I will be keeping an eye on this case." Johnson rose and left, shutting the door behind him.
Arla stared at the door for a few seconds, fuming.
CHAPTER 33
A big chunk of Arla's morning was taken up in the sexual harassment case. She had to attend the Tooting Police Station, interview both parties, and a couple of witnesses. She didn't enjoy this aspect of her role.
Although she fully supported the female detective constable who was complaining, this distracted from her main job. Her mind lay on the streets, and in the secretive corners where whispers abounded. Arla wanted to be there, behind closed doors, listening through the walls of this crime ridden city.
Instead, she had to stare at the stony faces of her detective colleagues who resented her being there. However, Arla knew it was easy to feel intimidated as a junior copper. Especially as a female.
As more women had joined the police forces, the locker room jokes, and male chauvinism had decreased. But the culture of hard drinking and taking the piss had remained. Anyone who didn't give ba
ck as good as they got was put down as a wimp. It was a laddish culture, and unfortunately women in the force were often on the receiving end. Things were changing, but like all change, it was a slow trickle.
Before she left the station, Arla gave the detective constable her personal number and told her to call if she had any concerns. She was driving back to Clapham when Harry called. She put him on the loudspeaker. They hadn't spoken since last night. They slept together as usual, but she noticed he remained on his side of the bed.
"It's me," he said. "Rob told me about the latest CCTV images of John Churchill in the parking lot. Shall we bring him in?"
Arla thought for a few seconds. "Yes, I think it's a good idea."
"I thought you might. I took the liberty of calling up Chelsea Cross Hospital, and making sure he’s there today."
"Thanks. Shall I pick you up?"
Their usual banter was missing. The conversation felt strained, stilted.
Harry said, "No. I've got to help out with another case. Rob can go with you."
Arla swallowed, nervousness gathering around the corners of her heart. She relied on Harry a lot, although she’d never admit that to his face.
She wanted him to come with her to the hospital. It was normal, that’s what they did. They were a couple on the job, and also off it. She couldn’t think of Harry any other way.
She kept her thoughts to herself. If this was the way Harry wanted to play it, then so be it. She took a deep breath. "Yes, that's fine." She hung up.
Before Harry, her life had been desolate and empty. She lived for her job, and nothing else.
Searching for her sister Nicole had given meaning to her life, and that meaning had turned to ashes when she discovered the truth. Harry had been there to make sure she didn't go off the rails. He understood her, and they had made a life together. Was that life now at risk of unravelling? Arla gripped the steering wheel tighter as a black shadow engulfed her heart. No, she didn't want that. She desperately wanted Nicole to have a mum and dad, a family. That's why she wanted to get married. Why couldn't Harry understand that?
Arla pulled into the rear parking lot of the Clapham station, and Rob was waiting beneath the shelter. He finished the rest of his cigarette and then stub it out in the bin. He got in the passenger seat, and they drove off. It was strange, Arla thought, to do the driving herself. Normally, it was Harry who did the honours.
Rob said, "Do you think he’ll play ball?"
Distracted, Arla glanced at him. "What?"
"The suspect. John Churchill. Will he play ball, or put up a fight?"
"Given that he's a doctor, and we’re going to his hospital clinic, I can't exactly see him making a scene."
"Are you sure, guv?"
Arla pondered. Resisting would make John look more suspicious, and she didn't think he was that stupid. But there was no harm in having some backup. "Okay. Have a uniform team on standby."
Rob fished out his phone and called switchboard. He gave the instructions, then hung up. It was 1:30 by the time they parked near the Gynaecology outpatients at Chelsea Cross Hospital. They walked into the clinic to find it empty apart from receptionist and two nurses. Arla walked up to them and introduced herself. John was still in his room, and Arla walked up to it and knocked on the door.
Arla and Rob walked in without waiting for a response. John was speaking into a hand-held Dictaphone. His entire face went rigid when he saw them. A frowned creased his forehead. He lowered the Dictaphone slowly. "I'm busy, Inspector Baker, as you can see. Can you please come back later?"
"I'm afraid that's not possible," Arla said brusquely. "New evidence has emerged, and we need to question you with regards to that."
John's face was losing colour rapidly. "What do you mean?" he asked.
Arla studied him for a few seconds, letting the silence grow. John glanced towards Rob, who was standing at the door with arms folded across his chest, legs spread.
Arla said, "It would be easier if you came with us to the station." She softened her voice. "At this stage, we just want to ask you some questions."
"Can you please wait till later on today? I have patients to see…
"You don't have a clinic this afternoon. You have a half day. I just asked the nurses outside." Arla glared at him.
John licked his lips, and looked around nervously. His Adam's apple bobbed up and down as he thought of a response. "In my half day I do admin work for the hospital. I have to be in my office upstairs."
Arla suspected he was lying. She stepped closer. "If you don't come with us Mr Churchill, I will have no choice but to arrest you."
John's jaws dropped open. He breathed heavily, and a film of moisture appeared on his forehead. "Arrest me?" He croaked. "For what?"
"For the murder of Stephen Vaughan."
John's shoulders slumped. "What?"
Agitated, he stood, his hands moving in the air. His voice rose to a shout.
"No, no, no! You've got this all wrong. Stephen was a colleague. I know we didn't get on, but that doesn't mean I killed him."
He stopped and stared at Arla, his lips quivering. "I'm not going with you. You can't make me."
Arla remained calm. "John Churchill, I’m arresting you on the suspicion of Stephen Vaughan's murder. You do not have to say anything, but anything you do say could be used as evidence in a court of law.”
She raised her eyebrows as John’s face crumpled, and his jaws dropped open.
“I shall give you one last chance. You can come with us of your own free will, or you will be resisting arrest. How would you like to proceed?"
CHAPTER 34
Arla closed the steel door of interview room three. John Churchill was sat next to a lawyer called Mr Chisholm. Arla disliked him. Mr Chisholm had a penchant for shiny, pinstriped suits and he loved poking holes into police cases. He acted mainly as the defence lawyer, and he made himself readily available when he sniffed a juicy case.
A doctor appearing as a suspect in the murder of another doctor didn't happen every day. Arla had no doubt Mr Chisholm jumped at the chance. She also had no doubt he would enjoy making life difficult for her.
He gave Arla a thin, arrogant smile when she introduced herself. John stared directly forward, looking at no one, his features carved in stone.
Rob spoke into the recorder, identifying everyone present and noting the time and date. There was still no sign of Harry. The case he was involved in was a drug smuggling ring. Arla didn't understand why he had made himself available for that, when she needed him to help her out. She tried not to think about it.
She gathered up her papers, then opened up her notebook. She stared at John for a few seconds, and he pointedly ignored her.
Arla opened proceedings with a question to John. "On Thursday, June 6, you visited Dr Vaughan’s private clinic in Clapham. Is that correct?"
"Yes." John was staring above Arla's head, not meeting her eyes.
"You had an argument with him, and raised your voice. Then you left in an angry state. Is that correct?"
"No comment."
“After you left you spent some time in the rear car park. You looked over Dr Vaughan’s car, and used a torchlight to examine the interior. Could you please confirm that? I should remind you this was caught on CCTV.”
John swallowed, and the corners of his eyes flickered.
"No comment."
"What were you looking for inside Dr Vaughan’s car?"
"No comment."
"You didn't like Dr Vaughan, did you?
Mr Chisholm leaned towards Arla. "That's a leading question, Inspector Baker. You should know better than that."
"It's a relevant question in this case. The suspect has a known dislike for the victim."
"Hearsay. And you know it. Can't build a case on that, Inspector Baker," Mr Chisholm smiled. Arla smiled back, wishing she could slap him.
"Did your wife know Mr Vaughan?" She asked, observing John closely. Again, his eyelids flickered and his lip
s stretched taut in a thin line.
“I don’t know.”
"Imogen, that's a nice name, isn't it?" Arla said. "Imogen is a housewife, looking after three children. On her own. And you're always at work, aren't you?"
For the first time, John glanced at Arla. "What does that have to do with anything?"
"Did you neglect your wife and family?"
Mr Chisholm made a sound and shook his head, but Arla ignored him. Her eyes remained fixed on John's face. He glanced at her, then looked away.
"Did Imogen know Dr Vaughan?" Arla repeated her question, raising her voice a notch. The remark hit home. A tinge of red appeared on John's cheeks and a muscle ticked in his jaws.
"I don't know," he ground out.
"There's a lot you don't know, it seems. For example, the fact that Imogen was having an affair with Dr Vaughan."
John's nostrils flared, and a wave of crimson flushed his face. He snarled silently, then looked down at his hands.
“Did you know about Imogen’s affair with the suspect, Mr Churchill?”
"No comment."
"Imogen was having an affair with Dr Vaughan, and you found out, didn't you?"
Mr Chisholm leaned in towards his client and whispered in his ears. John was breathing heavily now, rocking from side to side. His eyes were closed.
Arla continued, her voice rising as she spoke.
"You were furious when you found out. Not only had Dr Vaughan made your career progression difficult, now he was also sleeping with your wife. That's why you went to his office. The two of you had a massive argument. When you left, you examined his car. You knew the central locking would open all doors at the same time.”
John’s eyes were open now, and he was glaring at Arla. Sweat trickled down the sides of his face.
Arla leaned forward, raising her voice further.
“For the following week, you made a stakeout opposite his Chambers, and kept an eye on him. The night he died, you jumped over the parking lot wall. You forced your way into his car, and made him drive back home. There, you killed him. Is that not correct?"
