Blood Money

by Collett, Chris

  ‘So she’d told you about the split from Jimmy?’

  Joy nodded.

  ‘And how did she feel about that?’

  ‘It was hard, but she knew she’d done the right thing. I was glad. We’d all been trying to tell her for months what a loser he was.’

  ‘You knew that he hit her?’

  ‘How could we not know? She always had some excuse about the marks, but we saw right through it. I think when he made that bogus ransom demand, she saw him for what he really was, so I guess at least one good thing came out of the kidnapping.’

  ‘How did she seem on Friday night?’

  ‘To tell you the truth we all got pretty bladdered, but I remember she seemed pretty pleased with herself. She’d been sort of edgy in the week and nearly didn’t come, but then I think she’d realised she’d done the right thing leaving Jimmy and she started to relax. I even wondered if there might be someone else on the scene.’

  ‘What makes you say that?’

  ‘I made some comment about enjoying her freedom, but she said it might not last long anyway. I asked her what she meant and she said something like plenty more fish in the sea, and some of them more mature.’

  ‘What do you think she meant by that exactly?’

  ‘I’m not sure, but it sounded like she had her eye on some older guy. She always seemed to go for older men. Then later when we were talking about Rachel going - there have been a few people who’ve left since baby Jessica - Christie said “could be me next”.’

  ‘Those were her exact words?’

  ‘Yes.’

  So what was Christie celebrating? Leaving Jimmy Bond, or had she already decided on another way out? As Mariner and Knox left the building, they acknowledged a couple of the auxiliary staff who sat on the outside wall smoking. ‘You’ve been asking about Christie, haven’t you? Poor girl,’ one of them called out.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Mrs Barratt tell you about the ding-dong?’

  ‘The ding-dong?’

  The woman glanced knowingly at her friend. ‘What did I tell you? Friday night when everyone else had gone home, I’d just finished up and needed to put the keys back in the cupboard in the office, but I couldn’t go in because Christie was in there with Mrs Barratt and they were at it hammer and tongs.’

  ‘They were having an argument?’

  ‘A right old slanging match. I thought World War Three was about to start.’

  ‘How long did this go on for?’

  ‘Well, I came out here and had another ciggie. I was putting it out when Christie came out the door.’

  ‘Was she upset?’

  ‘No. She was grinning, like the cat that got the cream. She looked well pleased with herself.’

  Mariner led the way back into the nursery, annoyed that their time was being wasted. He confronted Trudy Barratt. ‘You didn’t tell us that Christie came to see you before she went home on Friday.’

  ‘Oh, was that Friday?’ She was all innocence. ‘I could have sworn it was earlier in the week. The time just goes, doesn’t it?’

  Genuine mistake or not? ‘We’ve just been told it was Friday. What was the discussion about?’

  ‘Christie was talking about leaving. I tried to dissuade her. She was a good nursery nurse, reliable. There aren’t too many of those around at present. And if I’m honest, I’ve invested a lot in her in terms of training. I was disappointed that she’d be going before I got a return on that.’

  ‘Did she tell you why she wanted to leave?’

  ‘Not specifically, but she’d had her name in all the papers, I expect she thought she could get a better job at another nursery. That’s what usually happens. It’s frustrating. You train up members of staff and then they move on.’

  ‘So you didn’t part on good terms.’

  ‘It wasn’t like that.’ She spoke quickly. ‘We resolved the matter.’

  ‘How?’

  ‘I persuaded her to stay.’

  ‘Did you offer her a sweetener, an incentive? A pay rise for example?’ Mariner thought back to what Christie had told her nan.

  ‘Not exactly. But I might have implied that one would be forthcoming. Samantha will be going on maternity leave soon, so the deputy cover will be available.’

  ‘Isn’t that a dangerous precedent, to give in to that kind of pressure from a member of staff?’

  Mrs Barratt gave a nervous laugh. ‘That’s rather a strong word for it. But no, I don’t usually respond to threats of any kind, but Christie wasn’t really that sort of girl, and she was a valued member of staff. I genuinely didn’t want to lose her.’

  ‘Doesn’t make any sense at all,’ Knox reiterated, when they were outside on the street again. ‘The promise of a future promotion and pay rise, even if it’s only temporary, would surely have made her happy. So why kill herself twenty-four hours later? Where to now, boss?’ he wondered aloud.

  ‘The last place we know Christie was before she died. The Golden Cross. We can walk there. What about this other man?’ Mariner said, as they walked.

  ‘Yeah, where did he come from? No one else has said anything about him.’

  ‘An older man, possibly not available—’ Mariner stopped. ‘You don’t think—?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Christie helps us with the abduction investigation which, you said, she seemed really keen on. She builds a bit of a rapport with you, even mentioning you to her nan. As you say, you had something in common. Then, on your advice, she leaves her boyfriend. Maybe this is all about her developing a crush on you. She phones to tell you that she’s left Jimmy and that she’s free.’

  ‘And then throws herself in front of a train because I’m not? Thanks a lot. That makes me feel a whole lot better.’

  ‘Yeah, sorry, you’re right. It’s a big conclusion to arrive at.’

  They’d also arrived at the pub, one of those that had begun opening all day and now, in the middle of the afternoon, held a smattering of customers watching Sky news on the huge flatscreen TV. Mariner could remember a time when people went to the pub to socialise. Not any more. Instead, dead eyes gazed at the screen. There was one barmaid, of about Christie’s age, in jeans and low cut T-shirt. Knox showed her the picture of Christie.

  ‘Yes, I do remember her,’ the girl affirmed. ‘She’s been in a few times, usually with her mates. I think she’s one of the girls from the nursery up the road. She sat here, at the bar, and she hadn’t got a watch, so she kept asking me the time. I got the impression she was waiting for someone and that he’d stood her up. Git. They’d arranged to meet at eleven.’

  ‘Is that what she told you?’

  The girl shook her head. ‘I guessed, because up until that point she was on soft drinks, but after that, she was knocking back Bacardi Breezers like there was no tomorrow and she stopped the clock-watching. By the time she left she’d had a skinful; could hardly stand up.’

  ‘What time did she leave?’

  ‘About midnight. I wanted to call a cab for her because I could see what a state she was in, but she wouldn’t let me. She’d spent all her money and couldn’t pay for it. I offered to lend her but she didn’t want to know.’

  ‘Did she seem upset that she’d been stood up?’

  ‘She wasn’t in tears if that’s what you mean, but nobody happy gets hammered alone, do they? I’ll bet it was one of those Internet dates. We get that all the time these days. Still, maybe he was a psychopath and she was better off without him.’

  ‘She’s dead,’ said Mariner, bluntly.

  ‘Oh God.’

  Outside the pub, Knox and Mariner studied the A-Z Knox had retrieved from the car. ‘She should have been going back to her nan’s house, so the most logical way for her to go would have been this way.’

  ‘Which makes no sense at all because the railway bridge where she was found is beyond that.’

  ‘And a hell of a long way too. What is it? About three miles?’

  ‘She was pissed. Maybe she started
out and lost her bearings. ’

  ‘Where does Jimmy Bond live?’

  ‘That’s more like the direction. Maybe she forgot herself and was walking back to Bond’s house,’ said Knox.

  ‘Is that the kind of thing you forget?’

  ‘If she was that far gone.’

  ‘Wait though, her nan’s a Jehovah’s Witness, isn’t she? They don’t approve of drunkenness.’

  ‘Or masturbation.’

  Mariner shot him a look.

  ‘What? It’s just something I read, that’s all.’

  ‘And totally irrelevant. What I’m saying is, maybe Christie knew she’d be in trouble if she went back to her nan’s, and if she knew that Bond was away, his house was a safer bet. She probably still had keys.’ But all they could do was speculate. ‘Let’s go and have another look at the scene.’

  A light rain had begun to fall and it was the kind of dull late afternoon that would merge seamlessly into dusk and then night. The SOCOs were finishing off when Knox and Mariner arrived at the bridge. The distinctive tape had been wound round the wall but, despite the presence of a bored-looking uniform standing guard, the damp weather had seen off the onlookers.

  Making himself known to the constable, Mariner walked to the middle of the bridge and peered over the stone parapet and down on to the track. It was a long way down. Amid the green of the surrounding trees, it didn’t seem like the scene of a grisly death. Further down the track were signalling lights. The line had been reopened and as they stood there a train approached, slowing and squealing to a halt as it reached the lights. After a ten-second pause it creaked into life again gradually gathering speed as it disappeared under their feet, but even then it would only have been doing about ten or fifteen miles an hour. That was how the driver had spotted her, slowing at the lights.

  ‘This is the approach to Kingsmead station,’ said Mariner as Knox walked over to where he stood.

  ‘So?’

  ‘The trains would be slowing down or starting to gather speed. Not the best place if you want it to be quick.’

  ‘That’s what the driver said. But she wouldn’t have thought about that, would she?’ Knox said. ‘If she was in enough of a state to take her own life, I doubt she would have considered that detail, even if she knew it. To most people a railway line is a railway line.’

  Mariner couldn’t help thinking about Kenneth McCrae’s attention to detail, even though a jury had concluded he was mentally ill. ‘But what I’m saying is: a train wouldn’t have killed her going at that speed.’ Moments later there was a deep rumbling and the high speed express train roared by beneath them.

  ‘That would do the trick though,’ said Knox. ‘Question is, was it accident or intention?’

  Mariner stood back to survey the wall. The brickwork was smooth, with nothing in the way of hand or footholds. ‘How tall d’you think she was?’

  ‘Bit shorter than me,’ said Knox, who stood at five feet nine. ‘About five six or seven?’

  The top of the wall was level with Mariner’s chest. Stretching out his arms he heaved himself up to look over onto the line below. He was just about able to get the leverage to pull the upper half of his body on to the top of the wall, and from there he would have been able to scramble over, but even at his six feet it wasn’t easy. Staring down at the receding track thirty feet below gave him slight vertigo. How desperate must Christie have been feeling to bring such a violent end to her life? He shuddered, before jumping back down, catching his breath. ‘The wall’s too high for it to be an accident,’ he concluded, knowing that it wasn’t what Tony Knox wanted to hear.

  ‘So you’re saying that it’s suicide, even though she had things to look forward to and even though she was making plans?’

  ‘She was a mixed up kid,’ Mariner reminded him. ‘She’d been knocked about over time, just split with her boyfriend and finished up back living with her nan. She blamed herself for Jessica’s abduction—’

  ‘That turned out okay though.’

  ‘Alcohol distorts things too, doesn’t it? It can make you depressed. Maybe leaving Bond hit her harder than we think, and getting stood up in, let’s face it, what’s a pretty bloody awful pub made her realise what she was missing. It could be why she was headed back to Bond’s house.’

  ‘She’d walked quite a distance to get to here, though. Wouldn’t she have sobered up a bit?’ Knox was morose. ‘Christ, if only I’d met her as planned.’

  ‘You never did tell me what the better offer was.’

  Knox told him.

  ‘Ah.’ It wouldn’t have been the first time Knox had been led by the trousers. ‘You really couldn’t give that up?’

  ‘I suppose I saw it as an unmissable opportunity. Her ten-year-old son was—’ Knox broke off.

  ‘Was what?’

  ‘There’s something wrong here, boss. Christie can’t have been hit by a train on this line in the early hours of Sunday morning. There were no trains running. The line was closed for maintenance.’

  ‘You’re sure about that?’ said Mariner.

  Knox told him about the conversation with Jean. ‘We’ll have to verify it, of course, but she was pretty anxious about her dad’s driving. If she could have put Michael on the train she would.’

  ‘And the Transport Police didn’t mention it?’

  ‘Why would they? We didn’t have a time of death when I spoke to them. They would have assumed that Christie was killed during Sunday night after the trains had restarted. It was Croghan who told me she’d been dead more than twenty-four hours. It’s not the sort of thing he gets wrong.’

  Back at Granville Lane, Knox phoned the Transport Police who were able to confirm what he already knew; that the line had been closed from ten o’clock on Friday night until ten on Sunday night. It took them back to Stuart Croghan. ‘We now know that there were no trains running at that time. Is it possible that Christie was dead before she was hit by the train?’

  Croghan was doubtful. ‘I can’t see how. The impact injuries have to have been made when she was alive, because of the extent and nature of the haemorrhaging.’

  ‘The SOCOs didn’t find much blood at the scene,’ Knox remembered Olsen telling him.

  ‘Yes, and came to the conclusion that she’d been carried some distance by the train and that they were looking in the wrong place.’

  ‘There is another alternative of course,’ said Mariner. ‘That she wasn’t hit by a train at all, but by a car.’

  ‘Well, that’s possible,’ Croghan agreed. ‘She died from impact injuries and because she was found on the railway track the natural conclusion is that a train caused them, but it’s not certain. In any case we’ll find out before long. There were paint flecks in her clothing and hair that I’ve sent off for analysis. Those will be able to tell us what kind of vehicle struck her.’

  ‘Is there anything else?’

  ‘Well, there are no signs of sexual assault, as you’d expect. Also she had very high levels of alcohol in her blood.’

  ‘She was pretty drunk when she left the pub.’

  ‘As the proverbial newt, I’d say. And there are traces of gastric juices in her mouth, while her stomach is nigh on empty. I’d say she threw up somewhere along the way. We haven’t had any rain to speak of since the weekend, so if you’re trying to trace her last movements you could do worse than look for a pool of vomit.’

  ‘Oh lovely.’

  ‘There’s also the missing shoe. If she was that drunk she might have lost it before she got as far as the railway track.’

  ‘Along with her handbag and phone,’ Mariner added. The immediate area around the bridge and that end of the park had also been searched without a result. ‘We can put out an appeal for them.’ He and Knox adjourned to his office, where Mariner pinned up the photo of Christie next to the photo of Madeleine. Two young lives ended for no clear reason.

  ‘If Christie was hit by a car we can probably rule out suicide. It’s not the most obvious or effective
method.’

  ‘Unless she deliberately stepped out in front of a vehicle.’

  ‘It’s messy though and by no means certain death. If you’re serious about killing yourself that way you choose a busy road, something like a motorway. If she’d done that, even during the night it would cause chaos and we’d have known about it. It makes it more likely to have been an accident, doesn’t it? She could just have been the victim of a hit and run. She was drunk, staggered out into the road and is hit by a car or lorry. The driver panics, bundles her into his car or van, drives to a quiet spot on the railway line and throws her over the bridge to disguise what’s happened.’

  ‘In which case, it could have happened anywhere in the area between the pub and the railway line.’

  ‘Any reports of RTAs on Saturday night?’

  ‘Not that I remember, but I’ll double-check.’

  Mariner put together a press release including an appeal for anyone to come forward who may have witnessed or been involved in a hit and run. He put with it descriptions of Christie’s handbag, phone and missing shoe.

  ‘Witnesses are more likely. If someone went to the trouble of disposing of a body, I don’t think we can count on them giving themselves up. Now we sit back and wait.’

  Anna was ‘out with friends’ according to the note left on the kitchen table when Mariner got home that evening, so he made himself beans on toast and was enjoying the quiet when he heard the unmistakable twang of a text message arriving. Mariner didn’t do texting, so it could only mean that Anna had left her phone behind. He should and could reasonably have ignored it, but something compelled him to look. He found the phone in the pocket of one of her many jackets and didn’t much like what he saw. The message was from Gareth of all people, urging her to have a good time tonight. Did he know where she’d gone? It was more than Mariner did. He’d signed off with four kisses.

  Mariner felt the first tickle of unease. He should have stopped there, but curiosity dictated that he check Anna’s inbox as well. Opening and deciphering the messages was a laborious process, as he’d never really got used to text-talk, but what he found turned his stomach. Since they’d come back from Herefordshire only yesterday, there were half a dozen more messages from Gareth that Anna hadn’t bothered to delete, all flirtatious to varying degrees and with kisses all over the place. Anna had replied to them all in the same tone. A lot of them referred to the planned move that she seemed to be discussing in far more depth with Gareth than she ever had with Mariner. The last in particular caught his eye because of the enigmatic title: Progress? Anna’s response shredded his heart. Nochance2talkyetBp8tient2gethersoonxxx.