Down to the Woods: DI Helen Grace 8 (Detective Inspector Helen Grace)
Page 4
‘And I’m Brad Pitt.’
‘Sorry?’
‘I know who you are and why you’re here. So hop it. You’ll have to go through the usual channels if you want any information.’
He was staring at her, arms folded across his chest, oozing self-importance. Emilia was sorely tempted to tell him where to go, but instead replied:
‘Fair enough. You’ve got me bang to rights.’
Turning away, she took stock of the surrounding woodland, wondering how far she would have to go before she could drop out of sight and access the cordon from another angle.
‘And in case you’re tempted to try elsewhere, I should warn you we have officers stationed all around the perimeter. I’m going to radio them now to inform them of your presence.’
Now Emilia really did want to punch him. But reining in her temper, she pivoted and approached him once more.
‘Look, I said hop it –’
‘And I heard you, but I can’t go back to the office empty-handed, so let me ask you a couple of questions.’
‘No can do.’
‘I presume it’s a body you’ve got in there?’ Emilia carried on quickly.
‘I can’t comment on that –’
‘And I’m guessing it’s a murder?’
‘You can guess all you like.’
‘You don’t scramble a CID team to a suicide, do you?’
Now the officer faltered, wrong-footed by Emilia’s knowledge of their deployment.
‘How bad is it? What are we looking at?’
The officer said nothing, but looked uncomfortable.
‘Had the body been there for some time? This is a pretty remote bit of the forest. Or was it a recent killing?’
‘You’ll get nothing from me,’ the officer countered, darting a look either side of him, as if looking for – hoping for – reinforcements.
‘I appreciate you’re toeing the party line, Officer …?’
‘You don’t need to know my name.’
‘But I’ve said I can’t leave empty-handed and I meant it. Honestly, I can carry on like this for the rest of the morning. So, unless you want to arrest me for wasting police time …’
Clearly this was not something he fancied. There was little to be gained by taking on such a notorious, and spiteful, member of the local press.
‘A body was found this morning, ok? That’s all I can say.’
‘I’m guessing it was found by a camper, or a hiker …’
‘Well …’
‘At the start of the season too. Please don’t tell me it was a family, that there were kids involved –’
‘No, there weren’t,’ the officer responded forcefully. ‘So, don’t you go writing that. It was a forestry worker, if you must know. Nothing more dramatic than –’
‘Man? Woman?’
‘Enough!’ he spat back, taking a step towards her. ‘You’ve got what you came for. Now go!’
He virtually shouted his last instruction. Would his voice carry to the next officer, inviting more scrutiny? Either way, Emilia knew it was time to retreat. She hadn’t got the full picture, but she had got what she wanted – confirmation that a murder had taken place and a means of getting more information on it, without having to go down the usual channels. This was one story on which Emilia was determined to be ahead of the curve.
Thanking the officer, she turned on her heel and hurried away, disappearing from view amid the dense woodland.
13
‘The victim’s name is Tom Campbell. He’s twenty-nine years old and lives in Winchester with his fiancée, Melanie Walton.’
Helen and the team were now back at Southampton Central, huddled around the incident board. DC McAndrew was still at the crime scene, supervising the fingertip search, but Helen had pulled every other officer back to base to review the latest developments.
‘He is a senior biochemist with the Nexus group, which may have a bearing on his murder.’
‘Who are Nexus?’ DC Bentham asked gamely.
‘They manufacture petrochemicals and oil products. Fourth-biggest company of its kind in the world. Their new headquarters in Lyndhurst caused a lot of controversy when it was built a year or so back –’
‘I remember,’ DC Osbourne overlapped. ‘We had to send uniform down there to break things up.’
‘There were protests by environmentalists and local pressure groups,’ Helen replied, nodding, ‘because of the amount of forest clearance the new base required. Some of the protests were peaceful, some were not, but in the end Nexus got their way, because of the jobs they would bring to the area.’
‘Money talks,’ DC Reid drawled, to general agreement.
‘Hampshire Council have approved a number of controversial planning applications recently,’ Helen continued, talking over the murmurs, ‘allowing developers and businesses to develop on or near the New Forest Park. They’re trying to build their way out of the downturn and, on the whole, they’ve been pretty successful, but the encroachment into previously protected woodland has provoked a strong reaction.’
‘And Robinson’s campsite was one of these new businesses?’ Charlie asked, picking up on Helen’s theme. ‘He seems to have been pretty liberal with his use of the chainsaw.’
Helen nodded, turning to pin some photos up on the board.
‘I counted at least two dozen trees that had been cut down, but the three in these pictures have been “spiked”.’
She indicated the close-ups of the metal spikes, driven hard into the tree.
‘It’s a staple technique of eco-protection, or eco-terrorism, depending on your point of view. It makes it impossible to cut the trees down, as you risk breaking your saws and endangering your workers, as the spikes splinter on contact.’
‘Do we know who’s responsible?’ DS Hudson asked, cutting to the chase.
Helen turned to the board once more, this time pinning up an e-fit of a man’s face. Instinctively, the group craned forward to take in his features – the unkempt beard, the craggy forehead, the piercing eyes.
‘Contrary to his initial testimony, it turns out that Nigel Robinson has had trouble on his site since day one. It started with threatening letters, then escalated to a dead fox left hanging in the site office.’
‘Jesus.’ DC Edwards winced.
‘Then things got serious. Construction workers were threatened and a log cabin was burnt down. Robinson should have contacted us at that stage, but instead he hired some heavy-duty security to protect the site. Things went smoothly after that, but before paying guests arrived Robinson had to dispense with the heavies.’
‘Making the site vulnerable again,’ Charlie concluded.
‘Robinson glimpsed this man on a couple of occasions recently, loitering in woodland near the site,’ Helen continued, gesturing at the e-fit. ‘He’s ninety-nine per cent sure it’s the same guy who threatened his workers, left the rotting fox.’
‘Do we think that Tom Campbell was also targeted by this guy?’ DC Bentham piped up. ‘Was specifically chosen because he worked for a company who’d created environmental carnage elsewhere in the New Forest?’
It was a good question. One which Helen couldn’t answer.
‘That’s what we need to find out. DS Hudson will lead further examination of the victim’s private and professional life. Campbell doesn’t seem to have any obvious enemies and, apart from a minor possession charge, has a clean record. He’s not a local, journeying down from Winchester to camp in the New Forest, so let’s find out who knew he was coming, who might have known his plans. Let’s also see if he was involved in any of the clashes at Nexus.’
Hudson nodded, as Helen turned to DC Reid.
‘DC Reid will co-ordinate a wider search of local weapons enthusiasts, shooting clubs and the like. We need to know if anyone’s been making threats recently, been expelled from clubs, been arrested for threatening behaviour. The rest of you will assist myself and DS Brooks, as we take a look at this guy …’
‘Nathaniel Martin. Fifty-two years of age. Convictions for drugs, hate crime and aggravated assault – he attacked a police officer with an iron bar during a protest in the late nineties. Did time for it, but came out even more extreme. Graduated from Greenpeace to more aggressive groups advocating direct action, before cutting his ties with them a few years back. Been a solo player ever since, sending letters to developers and council members with choice phrases such as …’ Helen consulted her file. ‘… “If you build, we will burn” and “If you harm the Mother, her children will strike back.” He is currently wanted for questioning about an assault on an official at City Hall, on a warrant dating back over two years.’
‘Where the hell’s he been?’ Reid queried, sounding genuinely stunned. ‘He can’t have just vanished.’
‘We have a last known address for him – a former girlfriend – but beyond that nothing. No ATM withdrawals in the last eighteen months, no benefits claimed, no phone calls, no tax returns, no new offences. Perhaps people thought he’d gone soft, or died, or lost his mind, but I think he dropped off the map intentionally, turned his back on his old life –’
‘There have been rumours of a hermit, a wild man, living in the forest,’ Charlie interrupted.
‘And if it’s Martin, we need to bring him in. This guy is dangerous, possibly delusional, and has an animus against Robinson, Tom Campbell and others like them. I want him in custody before things escalate. So, let’s go to work.’
The team sprang to their feet, hurrying off to their stations. As they did so, Helen turned to look at the sketch of Martin once more. Executed in stark black-and-white, the image was particularly haunting. The sallow features, lifeless eyes and hooded expression combined to chill the blood.
It was a face from your worst nightmares.
14
McAndrew suppressed a shiver as she watched the paramedics wheel the body away. She hadn’t relished remaining on site – she’d have preferred to be back at base, rather than in the shadowy, sinister clearing – but she had executed her duties professionally, organizing the search teams and liaising with Graham Ross about his coverage of the crime scene. And while she had been surrounded by familiar faces, she’d managed to ignore the growing disquiet she’d felt ever since she’d first set eyes on the devastated corpse. Now, however, she was all alone and distinctly ill at ease.
Was it the memory of the victim’s hideously contorted face that made her anxious? Or was it the creaking of the ancient branches, the murmuring of the leaves? The latter sounded like a chorus of whispers, as if a group of unseen beings were out there, watching her. She wasn’t prone to flights of fancy, but today the forest seemed to be alive, full of mystery and menace. McAndrew was a city girl and, truth be told, she’d never much liked woodland. She had always found it unnerving, rather than beautiful, could never shake the sense that if you came to grief here, no one would be the wiser. Even as she thought this, her eyes were drawn to the crimson stain on the forest floor.
‘Come on, girl, get it together.’
Attempting to shrug off her anxiety, McAndrew checked her watch. The search teams had been picking their way through the forest for over two hours now, starting a mile away and working inwards towards the crime scene. They would shortly be returning to report what, if any, evidence they’d uncovered, but before they did so McAndrew wanted to do one last circuit of the crime scene. DI Grace and Meredith Walker had done preliminary inspections on arrival, but it was her job to make sure nothing had been missed. Grace valued the input of CSI operatives – their evidence had been crucial on many occasions – but she also put great stock in the experienced eye of a seasoned detective. Which was why McAndrew, one of the longest-serving members of her team, had been left in charge.
Sticking closely to the common approach paths, McAndrew moved swiftly round the perimeter of the clearing. Previously, her gaze had been riveted to the body and thereafter the forest floor, looking for footprints, discarded weapons or snagged clothing. Having found nothing of any interest, she allowed her eyes to wander, taking in the branches, the trunks, the birds, even the forest canopy, which continued to sway in the breeze.
She moved forward briskly but carefully, her eyes constantly roving, hoping to find something, however minor, that might shed light on this brutal crime. But there seemed little out of the ordinary in this quiet, bucolic setting and the forest background seemed to blur into indistinctness the more she looked at it. Now she understood what not seeing the wood for the trees really meant.
She was halfway round the perimeter, already thinking forward to finishing her circuit and connecting with her teams, when she spotted something away to her left. Many of the trunks had creepers running up them – the trees here were several hundred years old – and they all had a similar brownish hue. But one particular tree seemed to have an unusual addition – it looked like a creeper, but the colour was wrong. It was too green, looked manmade, and McAndrew hurried over to it, her curiosity aroused.
It was a cable. Bending down, McAndrew pushed aside the foliage at the base of the tree to reveal a small plastic box from which the cable originated. From here, it ran twenty feet up the trunk, before vanishing into a hollow. Straightening up, McAndrew followed its progress with her fingers, feeling the tacks that held it in place. This had obviously been put in place recently, given the unblemished nature of the cabling, but this was not the work of their killer. It was a bird cam.
Suddenly, McAndrew felt a shiver of excitement. There were several such cameras dotted about the forest – was it possible that this one had been recording last night? That it might have captured something? Stepping back, McAndrew surveyed the tree, trying to work out her line of attack.
There were several low branches and McAndrew was soon on the move, stepping onto the thickest and hauling herself upwards. The next obvious branch was thinner, so she paused to check it could bear her weight. Reassured, she pushed down hard, climbing higher. The hollow was only another five feet away now, but the branches were more spread out, necessitating a little leap onto the next one. McAndrew knew hesitation would be fatal – she wasn’t keen on heights – so she took flight, landing safely on the branch and clinging on to the trunk for safety. Exhaling with relief, she craned up to peer into the hollow.
There, as expected, was a small bird’s nest, with two eggs tucked inside, and just above it a tiny camera. Generally, the cameras were behind the nest, pointing outwards to record the mother’s arrival, as well as the eggs themselves. And that would have been the case here, offering McAndrew the tantalizing possibility of CCTV-style footage of the forest below, had the hinge of the camera mounting not been damaged. Instead, the camera was pointing uselessly down into the depths of the hollow, recording only darkness.
15
‘My name’s Annie Brewster. I’m calling from the Southampton Evening News …’
The lies tripped effortlessly off Emilia’s tongue.
‘I work for the Social Affairs team here. We’re currently doing a Southampton-wide survey on productivity levels in the workplace. Could you spare me two minutes of your time to answer a couple of questions?’
The HR manager at the New Forest Park Authority seemed unsure – Emilia sensed there was a lot going on at their HQ today – but soon consented, under the weight of Emilia’s enthusiasm for the subject.
‘Can I ask you how many of your workers are currently off sick?’
There was a brief pause, as records were checked. Emilia listened to the computer keys being tapped with a sense of satisfaction – a successful deception was always fun.
‘We currently have seven employees on sick leave,’ the manager eventually said, in her office monotone.
‘And how many of those are long term?’
‘Five’ was the swift reply, as if each one was a malingerer costing the organization.
‘I see. So, the other two –’
‘Short term, usual stuff,’ she replied crisply, shutting down that avenue of enquiry.
‘Male, female …?’
‘I’m not sure I see how that’s relevant,’ the manager replied, suspicion creeping into her tone for the first time.
‘I just want to get the most accurate picture we can of long-term trends in productivity.’
‘Both female, but I wouldn’t say that signifies a trend.’
‘And are these field officers or clerical staff?’
‘Field officers.’
‘I’m guessing they work unusual hours, are out in all elements, more prone to bouts of illness?’
Emilia continued to ask questions, but was barely listening to the answers. She was too busy crossing off names on her list of Parks Authority staff. The organization was still dominated by men, especially when it came to field work, making her task considerably easier. There were only five women who regularly went out into the field and Emilia was confident it wouldn’t take her long to find out which one of them had been signed off work, following their unpleasant discovery this morning. In the age of social media, shared databases and the (occasionally inappropriate) use of private data, digging into people’s private lives had never been easier.
Which was one of the many reasons Emilia loved being a journalist. In her world, nobody was safe.
16
Eleanor Brown watched on nervously, as Helen prowled the cramped space.
The dingy attic was piled high with books, treatises, pamphlets and manifestos, many of them dog-eared and defaced by erratic, spidery handwriting. It was like walking into someone’s brain – the small room was a treasure trove of environmental radicalism, dozens of tomes on Gaia, Mother Earth and the New Utopia, mingling with manuals on anarcho-primitivism, ‘rewilding’ and anarchy in action. Prominent on top of the nearest pile of books was a biography of the Unabomber – the daddy of all eco-warriors. Leafing through it, Helen was not surprised to find that many of the pages had been heavily annotated, passages underlined in thick blue biro.