Payback

by Charlotte Mills

  Helen followed Davies through to the back of the house, and was greeted by the sound of next door’s dog as she entered the rear garden. The muted sound told her it was inside the house. The terrified ten-year-old in her was absurdly grateful. Looking around, she could see the small half-fenced mud plot was littered with car parts in various states of decay. The officer continued through the garden towards a small distressed wooden shed at the boundary line.

  “What’s under here?” Helen asked as she passed the tarpaulin-covered lumps lining the fence on the left.

  “Car engines, Guv.” Looking back inside of the shed, he continued, “We found some bagged-up clothing in here. It stinks of petrol.”

  Helen walked over to the doorway of the shed, spotting the almost translucent, red-and-white-striped carrier bag on the floor. Crouching down, the odour of petrol and smoke filled her nostrils. Using a gloved hand, she carefully moved around the denim and cotton materials. Finding a label in the neckline of a top, she turned it over. It read: Medium. That didn’t tell them anything as all three brothers were similar in size, although the younger one, Curtis, was definitely the scrawniest.

  “Okay. Bag it up, get it to Forensics.” They needed to find out which Whiting brother the clothes belonged to.

  Looking up, Helen scanned the shady inside of the shed, which, in contrast to the garden, was pretty empty. The side opposite the grimy window housed a number of empty shelves made from single strips of narrow timber held up with right-angled, metal brackets. A lonely red plastic beer crate and a scrunched-up black bin bag were the only things that occupied the worn plywood floor. Why was it so empty compared to the rest of the garden?

  “Guv!” PC Davies called as he stepped back from the shed.

  Helen stood, turning to see what Davies was staring at. “What’s up?”

  When she reached the side of the shed, she saw the object of his curiosity: wedged between the shed and the fence was an olive-drab metal petrol canister, a jerrycan, the kind you might pick up from an army-surplus trader, perfect for transporting an accelerant with which to start a fire.

  “Get that to Forensics too, for fingerprints.”

  “Yes, Guv.” Davies stretched, allowing a gloved hand to pull the can free from its hiding place

  Helen took it from him. Shaking it, she felt the swish of liquid inside. As she unscrewed the top, the overpowering smell filled her nostrils. “Petrol.” Satisfaction seeped through her. It was all coming together. “Maybe they can match that to the accelerant at the scenes.”

  Turning back to the house, she saw Kate standing outside the back door, an expectant look on her face. She walked towards her, unable to resist teasing her.

  “Have you cuffed him to a lamppost?”

  Kate smirked. “Uniform are searching him before taking him down the station. Anything?”

  “Petrol-soaked clothing and a jerrycan hidden behind the shed. We also found some beer cans in the rubbish, same brand as the one found at the fire.”

  Kate nodded, exposing a brief grin before looking back at the house. “Anyone else at home?”

  Helen shook her head. “No. Get Uniform to pick up Kyle. He’s a mechanic at Len’s Garage.”

  “Guv,” Kate replied.

  Aware of Maria Whiting lurking nearby, Helen discreetly called Kate to one side. “While you were on your morning jog around the estate, the crime scene techs called; they found paint flecks at the scene on Rutland Lane and on Sandy’s trolley. Silver, apparently. They’re sending the report over.”

  Kate nodded. “Great. The most popular colour there is. It should help to narrow it down a bit if they can get the exact colour, I guess.”

  “So ungrateful.” Helen shook her head as she walked back inside the Whiting house.

  Chapter 16

  Helen took the lead in the interview room, reminding Kyle Whiting that he was under caution before introducing them both. Kyle had a sneer on his face that she wanted to smack off the moment she set eyes on him. He had a strong facial resemblance to Curtis, despite their four-year age difference. But although he was sitting slumped in his seat, she could see his body shape was bigger. His arms, stretched across his chest, were as oily, from working at the garages, as his clothes. She could just make out a small grouping of tattooed stars on the right side of his neck.

  “Would you like a drink, Mr Whiting?” she offered as she pulled a pen from her paperwork.

  Kyle Whiting seemed surprised at the question. Annoyance quickly surfaced. “No. I need to get back to work.”

  “Of course.” Helen’s voice kept her voice calm and unhurried as she shuffled though her paperwork and placed a piece of paper in front of Kyle. “Mr Whiting, we’re investigating a number of arson attacks in the area over the last couple of months. Each of the fires was started with an accelerant in the form of petrol.” Helen looked up, meeting his gaze. “For the benefit of the tape, I’m showing Mr Whiting a list of dates. Can you tell me where you were on the dates shown here?”

  Kyle picked up the sheet of paper. “Working, out with mates…who knows?” He shrugged his shoulders before pushing the sheet away.

  “We’ll need the names and contact details of friends who can confirm your presence on these dates.” Helen paused for a moment, taking the time to straighten the sheet of paper in front of Kyle. “Let’s start with the most recent date, the thirteenth of March, Monday. That’s four days ago. Where were you between the hours of ten and midnight?”

  “At home,” Kyle said smugly.

  “Can anyone confirm that?” Helen asked, knowing that Curtis would be his alibi.

  “Mum. Curtis.”

  Helen nodded. “On the night of the thirteenth, there was a fire at the garages off Green Lane. Do you know where that is?”

  “No,” Kyle said as if bored by the question.

  “You’ve never been there?” Helen confirmed.

  “No,” Kyle repeated, frustration evident in his voice.

  “At the scene of the fire, we recovered a beer can. For the benefit of the tape, I’m showing Mr Whiting a picture of a can of White Hart Lager.” Helen pulled a photograph of the beer can from her file and placed it on top of the first sheet of paper. “We found some of the same brand of beer at your home when we searched it earlier today. Do you drink that brand of beer?”

  “No comment.”

  Helen used her pen to point at the picture. “On this particular beer can found at the scene, we found your fingerprints.”

  The muscles in Kyle’s jaw clenched several times, no doubt as the realisation set in. “No comment.”

  “When we searched your home, we also found some clothing hidden in the shed. For the benefit of the tape, I’m showing Mr Whiting a photograph of some clothing.” Helen placed the photograph on the table for Kyle to see. “Do you recognise this clothing?” She used her pen to point at the photograph of clothes recovered earlier that day.

  “No.” Kyle pushed away the photograph of the jeans and long-sleeved T-shirt.

  “They’re with Forensics at the moment. I already know they have petrol on them.” Helen left the photograph on the table, pulling out another one to join it. “For the benefit of the tape, I’m showing Mr Whiting a photograph of a petrol can we also found hidden behind the shed.” Helen placed the photograph of the can in front of Kyle. “Do you recognise it? We’re checking it for fingerprints, so we’ll know if you’ve handled it.”

  “No comment,” Kyle repeated, the smug look now gone from his face.

  “Do you have access to petrol at the garage you work at, Kyle?”

  Kyle glared at the table, reluctantly nodding his head.

  “For the benefit of the tape, can you verbally answer the question please, Mr Whiting?”

  Kyle slumped back in his chair again. “Yes,” he hissed.

  Helen turned the screw. She could
see the tension on Kyle’s face. “Would you be willing to give us a sample of your DNA to eliminate you from our enquiries?”

  Kyle’s brow knitted together. “What?”

  “We’ve swabbed the beer can for DNA to see who was drinking from it. We just need something to compare it to. It could help to eliminate you.”

  Helen knew it was pretty impossible to tell exactly when that can had been placed at the scene, but this obviously hadn’t occurred to Kyle yet. His reluctance to discuss anything with the duty solicitor was actually working in their favour for once. She knew he smoked; she’d heard him ask for a smoke earlier. Maybe the cigarette butts found at the house fire belonged to him too.

  Kyle avoided the looks from his solicitor. “No!”

  Realising she was getting nowhere, Helen decided not to go any further. Curtis was the one she needed to talk to. “Okay, Mr Whiting, thank you for your help. We’ll be holding you until we can confirm your alibis for the dates in question. I’ll send in a uniformed officer to take some details. Is there anything you want to tell me before we interview Curtis?”

  “No comment.” But Kyle flinched at the mention of his brother’s name.

  Helen cracked a small smile at his words. “Interview terminated at 3:35 p.m.” The look on Kyle’s face said it all. Curtis was the weak link. Helen gathered up the photographs before leaving the room with Kate close behind her.

  Standing in the corridor, she studied Helen’s calm exterior. She had enjoyed seeing her work over a suspect, admired her perception, the way she knew just how hard to push someone.

  “What do you think?”

  Helen held the file close to her chest as she leaned back against the wall and said, “Well, it’s pretty obvious Kyle is trying to cover for his little brother. I’m just not sure why he’s setting fires in the first place.”

  “But Kyle does have easy access to petrol from the garage,” she offered.

  “I know, but he seemed genuinely surprised about his fingerprints being on that beer can. I don’t think he would have made that mistake, and the image on the CCTV looks more like Curtis, don’t you think? Smaller build, longer hair.”

  She had to agree. Having seen them both in person, Curtis was the more likely candidate from the CCTV image.

  In the second interview room, the atmosphere was very different. The smell of perspiration hung in the air. Curtis was slumped forward over the table, head buried in his folded arms. A different duty solicitor was seated next to him, pen and notepad at the ready. Maria Whiting sat behind them, her back to the wall, away from the table. As Curtis was under eighteen, she was acting as his appropriate adult. She just hoped that she could hold her tongue; she’d heard her shouting at the uniformed officers earlier.

  A subtle vibration made its way through the table. Looking to one side, she caught the glimpse of Curtis’s leg working overtime as it bounced on the ball of his foot.

  Helen began in her calm tone, reminding Curtis of his rights and introducing everyone before explaining that he was here to answer questions in relation to a series of arson attacks in the area. She began laying out the groundwork as she had with Kyle, providing him with a list of dates when the fires had occurred before asking Curtis what he had been doing on the date of the most recent fire. Everyone in the room could see the nerves literally leaking through his skin as he reluctantly glanced up at Helen’s gaze.

  “Don’t know,” he said in a jumpy voice before looking back at the table.

  She caught the sneer on Maria Whiting’s face as she sat behind.

  “Where were you between the hours of ten and midnight?” Helen questioned.

  “Out with friends.”

  Pushing a pen and paper in front of Curtis, Helen continued in a composed manner. “Can you write down their names for me so we can confirm that you were with them at the times in question?”

  “I…” Curtis hesitated a second, looking back at his solicitor. “Can’t remember who was there.”

  “He said he was out with friends; what more do you bloody want?” Maria Whiting piped up.

  “Mrs Whiting, please, you are here to observe, not to answer for your son,” Helen growled before focusing her attention back on Curtis. “What sort of phone do you have, Curtis? Is it one of those new smartphones? Do you know they have GPS on them? We can usually pinpoint exactly where you are when they ping off various telephone masts in the area.”

  She noted Helen’s change of method, how she left space for Curtis to squirm.

  “Do you know where Green Lane is, Curtis?” Helen continued.

  He flashed a quick look in Helen’s direction before staring back at the table.

  She tried not smile at the realisation. Helen had him. The guilt was in his eyes as he tried to look away. His hands leaving lines of moisture on the surface of the wooden table as he moved them back to his body in a protective manner.

  “No.” Curtis shook his head.

  “Are you sure? There are some garages there, some used, some empty. There was a fire there on the night of the thirteenth of March.”

  His hands shook as they covered his face. She couldn’t understand why he didn’t just spill. Then it would all be over.

  “We found a beer can at the scene.” Helen pulled the photograph from her file. “For the benefit of the tape, I’m showing Curtis Whiting a photograph of a beer can. We found some fingerprints on it. You were kind enough to provide us with yours when you came into the station. If they’re a match, we can place you at the scene. Do you understand what that means, Curtis?”

  Maria Whiting rolled her eyes as she glared at the back of Curtis’s head.

  Hands still covering his face, Curtis said, “Yes.” The mumbled words made their way through his trembling fingers.

  “Doesn’t mean he did anything.” Maria’s shrill voice filled the room again.

  “Mrs Whiting, please. This interview is with your son. Don’t make me request a replacement.”

  Helen’s tone was fierce, but who could really blame her? Maria was just sticking up for her son, but right now, she was also undermining Helen. Looking back at Curtis, she saw that he was close to caving in. Helen just needed to push a little more.

  “As you know, we searched your house earlier today, Curtis. We found the clothing you hid in the shed. For the benefit of the tape, I’m showing Curtis Whiting a photograph of the clothing we found bagged up in the shed.” Helen pulled the photograph from her file, placing it on the desk for Curtis and Maria to see. “Do you recognise these clothes, Curtis?”

  “They all wear each other’s clothes,” Maria bellowed again.

  She glared at Maria Whiting, who strained her neck to see the photographs over Curtis’s shoulder.

  “Mrs Whiting, if you interrupt again, I’ll be forced to ask you to leave. Do you understand?”

  She noticed Helen didn’t bother to inform Maria that she had just implicated all her sons in the crime. But even with her limited experience, she knew that teenage boys could be territorial about their clothes. Turning back to Curtis, she could see that he was chewing the inside of his cheek as he looked at the photographs. Helen just needed to put the final nail in the coffin.

  “We have an image of you on CCTV, Curtis, wearing that exact top. We can swab it for DNA if we have to. We know they’re yours. For the benefit of the tape, I’m showing Curtis Whiting a CCTV image.” Helen placed the final photograph on the table, like a triptych.

  Curtis looked up. “I didn’t kill him.”

  She tried not to move, waiting for Curtis or Helen to continue, Maria looked totally lost for words.

  “Didn’t kill who, Curtis?” Helen queried.

  “The old guy, in the house,” he said quietly.

  Helen waited a couple of seconds before asking her next question. Her restraint as she waited for Curtis to fill the silence was im
pressive.

  “What house is that, Curtis?”

  “The empty one on Morley Place, at the end.”

  “Can you tell me what happened, Curtis? At Morley Place?”

  “I go there sometimes, to get away. It’s been abandoned for ages. I could smell something as soon as I went inside. He was hidden by some boxes, but I saw his foot poking out.”

  “You found the old man there, for the first time, that afternoon?” Helen confirmed.

  Curtis’s nod was barely noticeable. “Yeah, but he was already dead. Must have crawled in there and died. I just wanted someone to find him. He was starting to smell bad.”

  She resisted the urge to butt in and ask the obvious question about making a phone call. Maybe he was a possible suspect. He could have hit Sandy and then tried to cover up the crime. She’d glanced at his record earlier. He’d been given a street caution for possession of cannabis seven months ago. Nothing car related. According to the DVLA, he didn’t even have a provisional licence, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t drive. She was just about to voice her question when Helen beat her to it.

  “Do you drive, Curtis?”

  Curtis shook his head, frowning. “No.”

  “Not even illegally? Most lads your age can’t wait to get behind the wheel,” Helen continued.

  She saw him clench his jaw, just like Kyle. Must be a family trait. She saw the anger burn in his eyes.

  “I’m not interested in cars anymore. That’s Kyle’s thing, not mine,” Curtis screamed before covering his eyes with his hand.

  Anymore? After knocking over Sandy or something else? She made a note to check out all the cars the Whitings had access to.

  “I don’t blame you there. It’s just a way to get from A to B for me. Can’t understand why people are so fascinated by them; we’ll come back to that later.” Helen cleared her throat. “So, you were at the house on Morley Lane on the afternoon before you started the fire?”

  Curtis nodded.

  “I need you to verbally answer the question please, Mr Whiting?”