Kay snapped her notebook closed, unable to provide the man with the answers he sought. She fished out a business card.
‘My direct number’s on there. Mobile, too. If you do see anything, or perhaps hear something over the next few days, you’ll give me a call?’
‘I suppose so.’
‘Thanks.’
Chapter Forty-Four
Kay sank into her seat and glanced at her mobile phone to check for messages before dumping it on the desk.
The incident room held an atmosphere of despair. News had quickly spread that the four detectives and the team of uniformed officers who had travelled to Amesworth had not succeeded in getting the results that they’d hoped for.
Kay herself couldn’t help thinking that it had been a total waste of time. She couldn’t understand why Harrison had insisted on her travelling to speak with Adrian Webster, when the man had very little information to give them. In fact, it would have been better use of her time and that of the other detectives if an interview had been conducted by phone instead.
Sharp paced the floor in front of the whiteboard, his impatience with the slow progress of the investigation all too evident.
Carys moved between them, handing out coffee she’d picked up from their favourite café on returning to the police station. ‘I can’t understand why someone would want to live somewhere quite so desolate,’ she said, leaning on Kay’s desk and sipping from her own hot drink. ‘God, that’s better. I couldn’t feel the tips of my fingers for a while there.’
‘You’re not kidding,’ said Kay. ‘The heater’s broken in the car Gavin was driving, too.’
She’d elected to swap places with Barnes on the way back, leaving the older detective to travel with Carys so she could catch up with Gavin and listen to his feedback about their door-to-door enquiries prior to the briefing.
She also took the time to ask how he was feeling after the triple post mortem he’d had to attend the previous day. Her instincts had been right; the young detective was struggling.
‘I know I shouldn’t get upset,’ he said, steering the car round a series of bends on the tail of Carys and Barnes’ vehicle. ‘But I can’t get the images out of my head. And the smell…’
‘You’re human, Gavin,’ she’d said. ‘And that’s what’s going to make you a great detective. Having said that, if you’re struggling and need to speak to someone about it, don’t leave it too late, okay? It can be done anonymously. No-one needs to know.’
A faint smile had crossed his face. ‘Thanks, Sarge. I appreciate it.’
They’d said no more about the matter, and now Gavin sat poised and listening attentively as Sharp addressed the room.
‘Did you learn anything useful from these people?’ said the DI. ‘I thought this Adrian Webster chap was the one who called the hotline after the press conference?’
‘He was,’ said Kay. ‘He’s a bit of an insomniac and reports seeing movement at night out on the beach, but couldn’t give us any hard evidence to suggest what he’d seen was a boat landing, and he only reports seeing one person on the beach for a brief moment. Another resident of Amesworth we spoke to, Tom Harcourt, suggested that Webster was imagining things.’
Sharp chucked the pen he’d been holding on to the desk next to the whiteboard and ran a hand over his face. ‘So, he could’ve been suffering from delusions caused by lack of sleep, then?’
Kay shrugged. She wasn’t prepared to add fuel to his foul mood.
‘Or he just wanted to meet Hunter after her television appearance,’ said Barnes.
Kay glared at him, but conceded the point. It had happened before to other detectives; sometimes the public simply wanted to feel a part of an investigation because there was nothing else in their lives.
‘Doesn’t seem to be a close community,’ said Gavin, leafing through the pages of his notebook. ‘When we spoke to a Mrs Greaves at the Dymchurch end of the village, she had no idea who lived two doors up from her, even though she’d lived there for nearly eight years and they were there when she arrived.’
‘It’s because the place doesn’t have a pub,’ said Barnes.
‘What’s that got to do with it?’ said Debbie.
‘Like Gavin said, there’s no sense of community. If there was a pub, people would have somewhere to congregate. Instead, they keep to themselves.’
‘Doesn’t have a church, either.’
‘The pub would have a bigger audience.’
‘It’s a fair point,’ said Kay, catching sight of Sharp’s look of exasperation and deciding to steer the conversation back to the investigation. ‘None of them have a reason to socialise with each other, and they all seem suspicious of what each other is up to – or they don’t care.’
Sharp’s response was interrupted by Kay’s desk phone ringing, and he indicated to her to take the call while he finalised the briefing.
Hopeful that a new lead had eventuated from the press conference or from their conversations with local residents that day, she raced to answer it before the caller changed their mind.
‘Hello? DS Hunter speaking.’
‘Detective Hunter – it’s Jonathan Aspley from the Kentish—’
‘I’ve got no time to speak to a reporter. We’re in the middle of a—’
‘Please. It’s not about your investigation. Well, not directly.’ Aspley exhaled, and seemed to gather his thoughts before continuing. ‘Don’t let on to your colleagues you’re speaking with me, okay? I need to meet you so we can talk in private.’
Kay turned away from the rest of the team, who were now starting to wander back to their desks, the briefing concluded, and lowered her voice.
‘I’m not giving you an exclusive, Aspley. What the hell do you take me for?’
‘This isn’t about you helping me,’ he said. ‘It’s about me helping you. Can we meet? I promise, I won’t waste your time. It’s important.’
Kay checked her watch. ‘Okay. Where?’
Chapter Forty-Five
After making an excuse that she had to pick up some information from Grey’s digital forensics team at HQ, Kay left the incident room and hurried down to the reception desk.
Sergeant Hughes looked up from his newspaper, and raised an eyebrow.
‘In a rush?’
‘Can I have a pool car, please Hughes?’
He sucked in his breath. ‘Well, I’m not sure—’
‘Please. Sorry – haven’t got time to mess around.’
He pushed the paper aside and wiggled the mouse until his computer screen lit up. ‘Where’s your car?’
‘Parked outside the White Rabbit. We went for drinks after work last night.’
‘Revelling in your newfound celebrity status?’
‘Don’t you start.’
He smirked, jabbed at the keyboard with two fingers, and then reached into a drawer and handed her a set of keys. ‘It’s yours for two hours.’
‘Thanks.’
She bolted from the reception area and along the corridor that led to the car park, thanking two uniformed officers under her breath as they stood to one side as she ran past, bemused expressions on their faces.
She checked her watch again before turning the key in the ignition of the small hatchback Hughes had assigned to her.
Aspley had told her he’d wait twenty minutes. After that, he’d take her nonappearance as a sign she wasn’t interested in what he had to say.
His chosen location, Mote Park, was a popular open space in the centre of the town covering over four hundred and fifty acres. With a mixture of grassland, wooded areas, rivers and a large lake, it had been in existence since Mediaeval times.
Kay shook her head slightly to clear the image of a hanged man that had been discovered in the park a year ago.
Instead, her thoughts turned to what the journalist wanted to speak to her about. His insistence that it wasn’t to do with the press conference piqued her interest.
She pulled into the car park ten minute
s later, and hurried from the vehicle towards a figure standing next to the deserted picnic tables.
‘Jonathan Aspley?’
He held out his hand. ‘Detective Hunter. Thanks for agreeing to meet with me.’
‘I don’t appreciate reporters turning up at my house uninvited.’
‘I’m sorry. I needed to talk to you away from the police station.’
Kay frowned. ‘Why?’
His eyes shifted from her to the car park, and then he glanced over his shoulder. ‘Do you mind if we walk?’
She narrowed her eyes. ‘Are you wearing a wire?’
‘No!’ He flicked open his jacket. ‘No, I’m not. You can check if you want.’
Kay shook her head, fought down her frustration at his cloak and dagger attitude, and gestured to him to lead the way.
She let him walk a little ahead of her, to give her time to study him.
She hadn’t had a chance to look him up on a newspaper website, and he was younger than he had sounded on the phone.
A little shorter than she was, he wore his light brown hair longer at the front and she noticed he had a habit of flicking it out of his eyes before speaking. His pale blue eyes gave his already cool features a washed-out look, especially in the weak winter light.
She turned her attention to her surroundings as she trudged after him.
Where in the summer an ice-cream van would be stationary, surrounded by harassed parents and fractious children, the area now stood empty, a smattering of wizened leaves chasing across the broken and pock-marked asphalt.
Gnarled tree roots broke the edges of the path, naked limbs above creaking in the wind.
Aspley waited until they had drawn level with the boathouse before he slowed down, his gaze drawn to a pair of swans on the lake to the right.
Kay hugged her coat to her chest and squinted against the sharp breeze that lifted her hair from her collar.
‘If you need to tell me something, could you hurry up? It’s bloody freezing out here.’
‘Sorry. I wanted us to talk somewhere where I could be sure we wouldn’t be overheard.’
‘What’s going on?’
‘How well do you know Simon Harrison?’
She shrugged. ‘This is the first time I’ve worked with him. He’s from SOCU, so I haven’t had anything to do with him before. Why?’
Aspley blew his cheeks out before responding.
‘I’ve been investigating Harrison’s method of policing for a while now. When I realised he’d relocated to Kent from the Met three years ago, I applied for a position on the newspaper here so I could follow him.’
Kay gestured to a wooden bench at the lake’s edge. ‘All right. You’ve got my attention.’
They moved across to the seat, and Aspley buttoned up his jacket before continuing.
‘While he was in the Met, Harrison gained a reputation for doing anything to further his career. He put a lot of criminals away, but there’s always been a question mark over his methods.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Before he was transferred out, a detective working with him was murdered by a suspect they’d been pursuing for six months.’
Kay swallowed. ‘That must have been terrible for him, to have that on his conscience.’
‘Harrison doesn’t have a conscience. He used his colleague to set up the suspect, and it went wrong. Sound familiar?’
Kay’s thoughts turned to Gareth Jenkins, and a sickness began in her stomach. ‘If Harrison was responsible for his colleague’s death, there would’ve been a Professional Standards investigation, and he would have been relieved from duty.’
‘He made a deal. He took the transfer, and the file was closed.’
‘What’s this all got to do with me?’
‘That’s my point, Kay. He’s using you to bait Demiri. Why else would he ask you to turn up at the press conference?’
Kay snorted. ‘Don’t be ridiculous. It was my idea to be part of his team.’
‘Was it? Or did he simply give you the impression it was your idea?’
She narrowed her eyes at him, then thought of all the times Harrison had disappeared without a trace during the short time she’d been working with him, and wondered how desperate he was to ensure she and the rest of Sharp’s team would be kept at arm’s length from being the ones to arrest Demiri.
Would he go as far as bribing a journalist to try to frighten her off? Try to make her doubt her own assertions that he’d made her an integral part of his investigation, only to seize any chance he could to undermine her capabilities?
Or, was the journalist attempting to cause paranoia, in the hope that she’d confide in him?
She rose from the bench and glared at Aspley. ‘This conversation is over.’
Kay shoved her hands in her pockets and spun on her heel.
‘Wait!’
She stopped, and glanced over her shoulder. ‘What?’
Aspley stood next to the bench, his expression pained. ‘Look, be careful, all right?’
She pursed her lips, and shook her head. ‘Nice try, Aspley. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got an investigation to get on with.’
She turned and hurried towards the car, not trusting herself to look back again, and her mind working overtime.
Chapter Forty-Six
Kay sat bolt upright in bed, her heart pounding, her thoughts confused as she was pulled from a deep sleep.
‘What the—’
A series of loud squeaks hit a crescendo from the kitchen below, and she reached out blindly for the bedside lamp, shielding her eyes as the lightbulb winked to life.
She held her wrist closer to her face and squinted as she tried to read her watch dial, a moment before her mobile phone began to ring and vibrate across the surface of the dressing table.
She groaned and flipped back the duvet, stumbling across the room to pick up the phone before it went to voicemail.
The alarm hadn’t been due to go off for another ten minutes, and yet here she was with two fur-balls yelling for their breakfast, and no doubt a crisis at work.
‘Hello?’ she mumbled.
‘It’s Sharp.’
‘What’s up?’
‘Reg Powers at the garage near Hythe has been found dead. How long until you can get here?’
Kay did a quick calculation in her head. ‘About an hour and a half?’
‘Make it quicker if you can. Bring Barnes.’
He ended the call without waiting for an answer, and Kay cursed under her breath before hitting the speed dial for Barnes.
‘Ughhh.’
‘Morning.’
‘What time is it?’
‘Quarter to six. Reg Powers has been found dead. Sharp wants us to attend the scene. Can you pick me up as soon as possible?’
‘Okay.’
She flicked through the screen on her phone until she found the alarm, switched it off and tossed the phone onto the bed before making her way through to the en suite. Pulling her t-shirt over her head, she stepped under the warm jets of water and wiped the sleep from her eyes as she processed Sharp’s news.
Hurrying downstairs, she threw food into the guinea pigs’ bowl and then swiped her bag off the worktop.
Unlocking the door, she hurried to the end of the driveway to wait for Barnes.
It was already feeling like it was going to be a long day.
* * *
Kay unbuckled her seatbelt as Barnes braked alongside the kerb several metres from the garage, and leapt from the car before he’d switched off the engine.
Her eyes swept over the scene as she approached, and her heart sank.
A television news van was parked opposite the garage forecourt, which had been sectioned off by strips of crime scene tape fluttering in the bitter morning air.
A reporter was risking life and limb by standing in the middle of the road, speaking to the camera trained on her and gesturing excitedly to the white tents that had been set up to act as a scree
n between the street and the garage.
Her bright red suit hurt Kay’s non-caffeinated eyes.
Kay wandered over and waited until the woman had finished her spiel and lowered her microphone.
‘Perfect, Suzie,’ called the cameraman.
‘Excuse me,’ said Kay.
The woman raised an eyebrow that had been plucked within an inch of its life. ‘Yes?’
Kay raised her warrant card, and then pointed to the blind corner in the road behind the woman. ‘This is a main thoroughfare, and has a sixty mile speed limit. To save my colleagues from Traffic having to scrape up what’s left of you when the next heavy goods vehicle comes along, would you mind conducting your interviews on the pavement?’
The woman stuck out her bottom lip. ‘It won’t have the same effect. Joe won’t be able to get the right angle.’
‘Well, Joe’s going to have a bloody fantastic shot of you getting splattered across the road if you don’t do as I say.’
The reporter sighed, flicked her jet black hair over her shoulder and flounced away, grumbling loudly to the cameraman.
‘Making friends and influencing people, Sarge?’
‘Honestly, Barnes. You’d think they’d have some common sense.’
They turned their attention back to the garage, crossing the road and signing a clipboard that a uniformed officer held out to them.
He noted their names, and then lifted the tape.
‘DI Sharp’s over there, with the CSI team leader,’ he said.
‘Cheers,’ said Kay. She paused, and let Barnes walk on ahead of her. ‘Any issues with the reporter?’
He grinned. ‘No – she’s staying well away. More’s the pity. She looks good in a skirt.’
Hell to Pay Page 17
