Cold Case

by M A Comley

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  After her father dropped her off at work, Sally rushed up the stairs to the incident room. She was eager to share the CCTV image with Joanna.

  “Morning, boss. Everything all right?” Joanna asked.

  “No. My car was vandalised again. The good thing is that I caught the bastard on camera.” She handed Joanna the image.

  “Bloody hell, that’s a great shot of the idiot. Let’s hope he crops up on the system. I’ll get on it right away.”

  “Thanks. I’m going to chase up SOCO, see if they have come up with anything yet. I really want to nail this bastard to the wall. It’s the man who helped rescue Dex the other day. He must have tied Dex up and then pretended to be a caring passer-by—but why?”

  Jack entered the room towards the end of the conversation. “Didn’t I tell you it was probably him?”

  “Yes, I seem to recall you did say something along those lines. I know... I should have listened to you,” Sally admitted through gritted teeth. She hated it when Jack was proved right and she was wrong about a person. “Give me ten minutes, and we’ll shoot downstairs to question Dean. The desk sergeant said he had an uncomfortable night in his cell. The interview could go either way. Either he’ll be pissed as hell at us, or he’ll recognise it’s in his best interest to tell us everything he knows.”

  Jack grunted. “I’m betting the former scenario will be the one greeting us this morning.”

  Sally walked into her office. Ignoring the post, she pulled out her notebook and began jotting down the questions she intended to ask Warren Dean. Ten minutes later, she left the office again and tapped Jack on the shoulder as she passed. “Come on, let’s go get him, Bullet.”

  The unshaven, scruffy Warren Dean was waiting for them in Interview Room One, a large male PC standing alongside him.

  Jack started the recording and recited the relevant wording before the interview began.

  “Hello, Mr. Dean. I hope you slept well. I’m DI Sally Parker, and this is my partner, DS Jack Blackman.”

  His steel-grey eyes held her gaze. “No, I didn’t sleep well, but that ain’t gonna bother you. Do you mind telling me why I’ve been forced to leave my truck in Portsmouth and dumped in a cell overnight?”

  “Okay, I’ll cut to the chase. I’ve been instructed to reinvestigate a cold case from ten years ago. Your name cropped up as a person of interest in that case.”

  His eyes narrowed. “What are you bloody on about? What case?”

  “The case of Aisha Thomas. Do you remember her?”

  “Of course I remember her. She was my neighbour. What about it?”

  “We have reason to believe that you and she didn’t always get along. Care to enlighten us about your relationship with her?”

  “Nothing to tell. Do you get on with all your neighbours?”

  “This interview isn’t about me. Answer the question,” Sally said sternly.

  “No, I didn’t get on with her. That doesn’t mean that I killed the bitch.”

  “Why the animosity? Why did you set out to make her life hell? Was it just for the sake of it, or did you have an ulterior motive that you’d care to share with us?”

  “Ah, I get it. That bloody nosey parker on the other side has put you up to this, ain’t he?”

  “We have it on good authority from several of your previous neighbours that it would appear you had some kind of grudge against Aisha Thomas. It would be good to hear how this woman managed to get under your skin.” Sally had used the word skin intentionally to gauge his reaction.

  Dean flinched. “So we had a few run-ins, nothing major. We can’t get on with everyone in this world.”

  “But why her? As far as we can tell, she was a very kind, compassionate human being. To be honest, I find it hard to fathom why she wouldn’t get on with anyone, especially her neighbours. Was it to do with the colour of her skin, perhaps?”

  “Now wait just a minute. You can’t go around accusing me of being racist.”

  “I didn’t. Again, one of your neighbours overheard an argument you had with Aisha around the time of her death. They told us that you ‘unleashed a torrent of racist abuse’. Why would you feel the need to do that? Please help me understand, Mr. Dean.”

  “That was a mistake.”

  “Why? Because you were overheard?”

  “No... yes... no. She hit my car, and I was furious. It was a spur-of-the-moment thing, which I regretted the second it happened.”

  “I’m glad you realised your mistake. Did Mrs. Thomas accept your apology?”

  His head dropped. “I didn’t offer one. I was embarrassed at getting caught out. I’d had enough by then, couldn’t live next door to her anymore and put in a request to my landlord to leave the property and get out of my tenancy agreement. Within a few days, your lot were crawling all over the place, and the woman was dead.”

  “Did you have anything to do with her death?”

  His gaze met hers, and his mouth gaped open for several seconds before he recovered enough to answer. “No. Definitely not. I might have disliked the woman but not enough to want to bloody kill her. I can’t believe you’re asking me that. Is that why I’ve been imprisoned the way I have? Because you think I’m the one who killed her?”

  “Look at it from our point of view. You showed an open dislike for the woman, and witnesses have told us that you even berated her on a number of occasions. When her death was announced, you fled the scene, moved out of the area. Are you seeing why we should think you’re involved in her death? It’s not rocket science, Mr. Dean.”

  He shook his head over and over and clenched his hands tightly together in front of him. “I swear I didn’t do it. You’re so far off the mark. I heard you lot thought a couple of no-mark petty criminals were to blame. What gives?”

  “What gives is that new evidence has come our way to disprove that theory. After re-examining the facts, we now have three—or four—prime suspects on our list. You’re right up there near the top.”

  His upper lip curled. “That’s bloody preposterous. How the heck would I get in her house? What DNA evidence do you have that I ever stepped foot over the front doorstep? Nothing—that’s what.”

  He was right. They didn’t have a bean of evidence placing him—or anyone else, for that matter—at the scene. “Did you see anyone hanging around on the day of the murder?”

  “You expect me to remember that far back? She meant nothing to me. Why should I care what happened to her?”

  Sally bashed the table with her fist, making Dean and Jack jump. “Stop giving me a hard time! Drop the frigging attitude and just answer my damn question. Ask yourself this, Mr. Dean: do you really think that being so uncooperative is doing your case any good?”

  He held his hands up. “All right, all right, stop tying your knickers in a twist. I was angry with you for hauling my arse in here for doing nothing wrong. Back then, I told the investigating officer that I saw a woman enter the back gate.”

  “Back gate? To the Thomas house?”

  “Yeah. He told me he didn’t want to know. Had his suspects all sorted and it was probably one of her friends visiting her, as they were going out that night.”

  “Why didn’t the woman use the front door?” Sally asked, thinking she’d thought the question rather than saying it out loud.

  “How the fuck should I know? I ain’t a mind reader.”

  Sally ran an anxious hand over her face. Spike Barker had mentioned a woman with either brunette or red hair. “What colour hair did she have?”

  “Ten years ago!” Dean repeated. “How the heck can I remember that? I only saw her for a second or two.”

  “Try. It’s important. Was she blonde?”

  He sighed. “Definitely not blonde.”

  “A brunette? Redhead? Did she have black hair? Dyed purple maybe?”

  “You just don’t give up, do you? I think it was a light brown, maybe a touch of red in there. Like I say, I can’t be sure because it
was so long ago.”

  “Another witness has also highlighted a woman and said that her hair was either brunette or red. That’s why I need you to really think about this.”

  “I just said either brown or red—that’s as much as I can give you.”

  “One last question, and then you can go.”

  “Are you going to give me a lift back to Portsmouth to pick up my truck?”

  “We’ll organise that, yes. Why did you leave the property so soon after Aisha’s death?”

  He shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe deep down, I felt guilty for the way I had treated her. I really can’t give you more than that. But that’s all I was guilty of. I would never set out to purposefully end someone’s life.”

  “And that concludes this interview, Mr. Dean. Thank you for your honesty. Sorry you had to spend the night in a cell. Maybe if you’d been more cooperative in the first place, all of this could have been avoided.”

  “Uncooperative? Are you having a laugh? All I did was hop on a ferry and dock in Portsmouth, then your mob picked me up and threw me in a damn cell—and for what? Having a bloody argument with a Muslim girl ten years ago.”

  “All right, you’ve made your point. Please accept my apologies. You’re free to go.”

  Sally walked the man back to the reception area and arranged with the desk sergeant to give him a lift back to Portsmouth. She rejoined Jack at the bottom of the stairs. “That’s two people who have suggested a woman could be involved in this.”

  “Can I just say I thought you let Dean off lightly?”

  She paused mid-flight and looked at him. “You think? I got the impression he was telling us the truth. He may be a racist shit, but I think that’s as far as his hatred goes. I’m prepared to eat my words if I’m wrong. I don’t think I am, though.”

  They continued up the stairs and into the incident room, where Joanna greeted them, her face lit up with excitement.

  Sally rushed towards her. “You’ve got a hit?”

  “I think you’ll need to sit down first, boss.”

  Sally dropped into her chair and felt Jack’s presence behind her. “Go on.”

  “The man is Frank Little. He’s a petty criminal just come out of prison.”

  “His name doesn’t ring any bells with me. What about you, Jack?”

  “Nope, nothing.”

  Joanna raised her finger, asking for them to be patient. “Here’s where it gets interesting: he’s just come out of Norwich Prison, and his cellmate was your ex, Darryl.”

  Sally’s hand covered her mouth, and hot tears pricked her eyes. Jack gripped her shoulder tightly before he walked over to the vending machine. Sally was momentarily stuck for words. She swallowed the bile clawing at her throat and whispered one word. “Why?”

  Jack handed Sally a cup of coffee and sat on the desk beside her. “This isn’t about you, Sal,” he said, forgetting her rank and speaking to her as a friend. “This is about him trying to maintain his control over you.”

  “But why? Does he really hate me that much, Jack?”

  He shook his head. “He’s sick in the head. We’ll make sure the parole board hear about this, and that’ll put a nail in his coffin regarding any early release coming his way.”

  “We need to pick this guy up. I better ring Mum and Dad, make sure they’re safe.” She tried to stand, but her legs refused to hold her upright, and she flopped back down in her chair.

  Jack took control. “There’s no rush. Call them on your mobile. I’ll get an arrest warrant actioned for Little. Have we got an address for him, Joanna?”

  “Yes, I’ll organise it if you like.”

  “Do that. We need to get this clown off the streets and banged up again before he causes any real damage,” Jack said.

  Sally withdrew her mobile from her pocket. “Dad, it’s me. Is everything all right there?”

  “Yes, love, the same as always. What’s wrong?”

  “We’ve identified the man causing the damage. Looks like he was Darryl’s cellmate. I need you to lock all the doors. Don’t leave the house until we have him in custody, okay?”

  “Dearie me, that is bad news. I’ll get on to that straight away, love. Let us know when you pick him up. How could Darryl do this?”

  “I have no idea, Dad. Stay safe. I’ll be in touch soon.” Sally hit the end-call button and took a sip of her coffee. Relief swept through her when she overheard Joanna organising the warrant for Little’s arrest.

  Joanna hung up and smiled at Sally. “I have some good news to combat the bad you’ve just received, boss. The warrant for Drake’s home address has been issued.”

  “That’s fantastic. Jack and I will go over there right away.” Buoyed by the news, she leapt out of her chair—and tipped sideways into Jack. “Work properly, legs,” she cursed under her breath.

  Jack gripped her shoulders and righted her. “Take it easy. Another ten minutes won’t make any difference.”

  “I can rest in the car.” She turned gingerly and walked slowly towards the exit. “Are you coming, Jack?”

  He tutted and marched across the floor, a scolding expression pulling at his features. “You are as stubborn as my bloody teenagers at times.”

  “You say the nicest things to your boss.”

  “I know. I like to keep you on your toes.”

  Sally swiped his arm as they walked slowly down the stairs. She held on to the handrail, willing her legs to support her weight at least until she got to the car.

  When they arrived at Drake’s flat, Sally noticed the curtains twitching in the neighbours’ flats on either side. She waved, and the twitching stopped.

  Jack rang the bell, but again, there was no reply.

  “Do your stuff, ex-soldier man.”

  Jack inhaled a large breath and shoulder charged the door, which immediately gave way under his burly fourteen-stone frame.

  They climbed the stairs and knocked on the door at the top, but it remained closed. Jack shouldered that door open also.

  Inside, the flat was an utter mess. Every conceivable surface was cluttered with either newspapers, takeaway cartons, or thick layers of dust.

  “Jesus, anyone would think this place hasn’t been occupied in months instead of days. Put your gloves on, Jack, more for our benefit than in case we leave any DNA behind.” The flat consisted of an open-plan living room-cum-kitchenette, a medium-sized bedroom, and a small shower room. “You search in here and I’ll take the bedroom.”

  “Any idea what we’re actually looking for?”

  Sally shrugged. “Your guess is as good as mine. Anything kiddie-related or to do with Aisha Thomas. Call me if you’re in any doubt.”

  Sally walked into the bedroom. Her stomach lurched as the smell of stale body odour attacked her nostrils. “How can people live like this?” she muttered under her breath in utter disbelief. After tossing aside everything in the bottom of the wardrobe and finding nothing of relevance, Sally got down on her knees and searched under the bed. Amongst the dead flies and dirty underwear, she saw the edge of what appeared to be a photo album. “Jack... in here.”

  Her partner joined her in an instant. “This place is bloody insane. I thought living with a couple of teenage daughters was bad enough, but this place is the absolute pits. What have you found?”

  Sally flipped open the album and soon wished she hadn’t. “Fucking sick! These bastards need castrating.”

  “For fuck’s sake! I agree with you. There’s no need to keep punishing yourself, Sal. Don’t look at any more.” He snatched the album from her hand and threw it on the bed.

  “My God, do you think they were pupils at the school?”

  Jack shrugged. “I don’t know. Why don’t we just hand it over to forensics? I couldn’t stomach flicking through it to find out.”

  “Good call. Have you found anything?”

  “Nope. I reckon I’m going to go away from here with more than a dozen flea bites, though. I think we should get out of here pronto.
Hand it over to SOCO, maybe?”

  “I’ll place the call. I can’t see any links to Aisha anywhere. To me, he’s guilty of kiddie fiddling. However, that doesn’t mean Aisha wasn’t onto him. He might have killed her if he thought she was about to spill the beans.”

  “Maybe, maybe not. It still doesn’t explain the two burglars or the woman seen going into the victim’s house,” Jack replied.

  Sally nodded as she placed the call to alert the SOCO team. They waited for the team to arrive twenty minutes later before they headed back to the station.

  “What next?” Jack asked.

  Sally contemplated his question for a millisecond. “I’m going to speak to the husband again, tighten the screws there a little, see if he comes up with a name for the woman the witnesses have mentioned.”

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  After checking with the desk sergeant to learn if Patrick Thomas was on duty, Sally requested his company in Interview Room One within the next ten minutes.

  “That should scare the crap out of him if he’s guilty of anything,” Jack noted.

  They settled down at the desk and drummed their fingers as they waited for Constable Thomas to appear.

  The door opened, and a hesitant Thomas poked his head into the room. “You wanted to see me, ma’am?”

  Sally intentionally didn’t offer a smile. It was time to get serious. “Come in, Constable.”

  Patrick sat in the chair opposite. “How can I help?”

  “Our investigation has lead us to some surprising developments regarding your wife’s death, and we need your help clarifying a few points.”

  “That sounds promising and ominous at the same time, ma’am. Obviously, I’ll do what I can to assist you.”

  “Glad to hear that. I need you to cast your mind back to our last meeting. When I asked you about the money you borrowed from the loan shark, you said a friend lent you the money to repay that loan. Do you mind telling me who that person was?”