Two Wrongs (Detective Inspector Ross Reed Book 1)

by Nathan Sayer

  Reed finished it up anyway, made a show of wiping his mouth with the back of his hand before saying, “Oh I'm savouring it alright.”

  They both smiled, Reed feeding off Kate's happiness. For a few moments, they just looked at one another; it was comfortable enough for the pair of them, having shared silence together numerous times. Reed was leaning on his shoulder against the door frame between the lounge and the kitchen, Kate was leaning back against the kitchen unit, sipping at her wine, savouring it, peeking at him from behind the rim of the glass. Then they were interrupted by the flash of headlights coming in through the lounge window.

  “That'll be the food. The money's on the table.” Kate said, still savouring her wine. Reed watched her for a second more as she took another sip; he was hanging on to the moment the best he could. What he was feeling he couldn't really say but it was a nice one. A good feeling for a change.

  Realising he was fighting a losing battle, knowing the delivery driver would soon interrupt them, he gave in and made his way across the lounge. He ignored the money on the table and reached for his own wallet so he could play a part in Kate's gesture by paying for the food. It was the least he could do as she had gone to the effort to order it for them both. He didn't know why she had done it, but he was determined to enjoy this current feeling and hoped that it would last.

  As he walked through the lounge, just a few steps away from the hallway, he was interrupted by an almighty crack.

  The first thing he registered were the shards of glass hitting his face. Then he heard Kate screaming...

  Chapter 15

  Reed had managed a grand total of three hours’ sleep before his phone had started ringing. It was now 4.43am.

  “It's Nic Anderson, he's been arrested.” Plumridge panted down the phone. Reed was rubbing his eyes, trying to force some life into them. “Sir?”

  “Yes, I'm here. What's he done?” Reed asked.

  “He was found at Carmella Chapman's murder site, he was masturbating. Can you believe that?”

  “No, not really. I also can't believe that this couldn't have waited.”

  “Sorry, sir. Whitehead phoned me and said you weren't answering your mobile so could I try and get hold of you.”

  “Well you've got hold of me now. Well done.”

  There was a slight pause before Plumridge found the courage to say “Sir, Whitehead wants you at the station now.” There was another pause, then Plumridge thought it was better that he fill the silence, “He said it was your case so it's your problem.”

  “When it bloody suits him it's my case, like when something goes wrong or somebody gets arrested in the middle of the night. It doesn't stop him putting his beak in though, does it?” Reed was wide awake now.

  “Sorry, sir.”

  “I know it's not your fault Plummy. I'm sorry.”

  “Console yourself that I'm awake too and I'm not even in charge.”

  “What does Whitehead want us to do?”

  “He wants us to interview Anderson whilst he's still hyped up.”

  “Oh yes, just what I need, a horny sex offender in the middle of the night.”

  Plumridge laughed out loud. Reed even managed a smile himself.

  First stop when Reed got to the station was the coffee machine. As bad as it tasted, it was a welcome boost of caffeine and very much needed. Plumridge was off somewhere trying to locate the arresting officer. Reed was sat down, enjoying the quiet of the murder inquiry room. He wished it could be this quiet all the time; he'd get a lot more work done. Most days it seemed that he couldn't walk five steps before somebody needed him for something. If he sought a few minutes solace in his own office, chances were that one person would spot him and spread the word. There was no let up at the moment. Work in the middle of the night, a relationship that was breaking down and just to top it off some funny guy had thrown a brick through his lounge window last night.

  Plumridge came back with PC Wilkinson, the arresting officer. Wilkinson had been assigned the laugh-a-minute job of watching the murder site with PC Burn. After a routine check of the perimeter, Wilkinson heard a rustling sound on the opposite side of the cordoned off area. Having watched too many films, Wilkinson turned his torch on and positioned it in a tree pointing slightly away from where the noises were coming from, he and Burn then made their way around the perimeter. Once they had identified that someone was actually there and they weren't just imagining it, Wilkinson executed a rugby tackle while Burn flicked on his torch. The sight that greeted him was one of his colleagues wrestling a man who had his trousers and underwear down by his ankles and was obviously still in an aroused state.

  Wilkinson had pinned the man's arms in such a way and with such speed that the offence appeared to be still going on: Nic Anderson had his erect penis in his hand. Burn had admitted that he wasn't sure whether to help his workmate or take a photo of him.

  Reed felt sorry for Wilkinson, this set of events would follow him throughout his whole career and would go down in policing history. After establishing that Anderson was about fifteen metres from where Carmella's blood was discovered, Reed let Wilkinson go, congratulating him on his work but fearing the worst for his future.

  When Reed and Plumridge entered the interview room, Anderson didn't even look up. His body followed the contours of the chair he was sitting on, knees at right angles and his back vertical, the only part that looked out of place was his head, which was hanging down looking at his lap. He looked like a schoolboy waiting for the headmaster.

  Plumridge did the formalities, putting the tapes in the tape-recorder, introducing everyone present, giving the time, date and stating that Anderson had refused legal representation. Reed got himself comfortable in his seat and straightened out the paperwork in front of him. “Mr. Anderson, you were arrested at 1.38am today at Thetford Common on the Bury Road for a lewd act. This took place just outside a cordoned off area that is believed to be the place where Carmella Chapman was killed. The murder of Carmella Chapman is a case that you have been questioned in connection with, do you agree?”

  Anderson raised his head and locked eyes with Reed. Anderson's hair was as thick with grease now as it had been the last time he had been interviewed. There was still some debris sticking to it from his scuffle with PC Wilkinson, a leaf, a small twig. Some of his hair had escaped from behind his ears and settled directly down the middle of his forehead, running in line with his nose. It gave him the appearance of wearing an old Saxon helmet.

  “Could you answer the question for the purpose of the tape please Mr. Anderson?” Reed said.

  “Yes. But you let me go after interviewing me.” Anderson said defiantly.

  “True, but you were only helping us with our enquiries then, now you’ve been arrested.” Reed countered, leaving a few seconds silence for it to sink in. “Tell me why you were there.”

  Anderson shrugged, “I don't know.”

  “You must know. You drove near to Thetford Common, got out of your car, crept fairly quietly to a specific place, dropped your trousers and started masturbating. Why? It doesn't sound like an impulsive thing to do.”

  Anderson's face had begun to lower again, looking at his own lap. “I... I don't know.” He whispered.

  “You do know, you're just not saying, there's a difference. Are you going to tell us why you were there?” Reed asked. Anderson's head dropped even further, his chin resting on his chest. Reed took this as a sign that Anderson didn't want to talk. It took every bit of Reed's self-control not to blow his top with anger. He wanted this interview over. He wanted to get some sleep before he had to get back to work at his normal starting time. He wanted to call Kate and make sure she was OK. She had gone to stay at her sister's house after their window had been smashed, saying she didn't feel safe. Reed had boarded up the window himself and put the offending stone in a plastic bag. He would pull a few strings in the forensics department and hope for a fingerprint.

  Reed decided he would have one of his wishes right
now. He had asked a question and was waiting for an answer; if Anderson chose not to speak, Reed would just have a little sleep while he waited. He folded his arms on the table and rested his head on top of them. Whitehead might have a word or two to say about his interviewing technique but what the hell, he wasn't rated too highly in that department at the moment anyway.

  Reed wasn't sure how long it had been, it could have been two minutes or two hours. When Anderson did speak though, it was quiet and reluctant. It wasn't the volume at which he spoke that woke Reed, it was the words themselves that had a similar effect to someone firing a shotgun by his ear.

  Had Reed heard him right? One look at Plumridge's face suggested he had but he still looked to Anderson for confirmation.

  “What did you say?”

  “I didn't kill Carmella Chapman and neither did Lee Gulliver.”

  Chapter 16

  Reed sat bolt upright, he was trying to process what Anderson had just said. His head was a little foggy from his snooze. “How do you know that Gulliver didn't kill Carmella Chapman?”

  “I saw him come home that night.”

  “So? He could have come home after he killed her.” Reed said, already trying to pick holes in the story, desperate not to lose his main suspect to someone who obviously knew something he didn’t.

  “No. I don't think so.” Anderson was speaking with a new found confidence. Finally playing what he thought was his trump card.

  “What time did you see him come home?”

  “It was 12.50”

  Reed quickly did the mathematics in his head. If Anderson was telling the truth, Gulliver was unlikely to have had time to kill Carmella, move her body and get home by that time. “How did you see him come home? According to your statement you arrived home at 12.30 and yet you seem certain that you saw Gulliver get home at 12.50. You're lying about something, which bit is it?”

  Anderson didn't answer. “Mr. Anderson, could you answer the question please?” Reed was trying to hurry an answer so Anderson couldn't fabricate an answer.

  “I...”

  “What?!” Reed slammed his fist down on the table in frustration.

  “I was watching his flat.” Anderson finally spat out.

  Reed calmed himself and gathered his thoughts, “Why were you watching his flat?”

  “I just... I watch his flat because of the girls. He has girls round there.” Anderson hung his head down, ashamed at his own words.

  Reed believed him. It made sense, Anderson was a sex offender trying to keep on the right path but needing to get his thrills somehow, so it seemed feasible he would spy on somebody else to get them. Reed also remembered David Jones voicing his concerns about Gulliver's interest in young girls.

  “Is it fair to say you admired Gulliver a little?”

  “I suppose so.” Anderson answered.

  “Or were you more... jealous?” Reed probed.

  “No!” Anderson said, his head flipping up again. Reed tilted his chair back a little and let the silence work on Anderson's conscience. Reed tried to keep eye contact with him but Anderson's eyes were flitting around the room. Something wasn't sitting right with all this but Reed couldn't put his finger on it. Something about tonight.

  “Look Nic,” Reed started, trying the friendly approach. “I know you've had your problems in the past but all I'm interested in is the here and now. I believe what you're saying about watching Gulliver. Are you sure about the time you saw him?”

  “Yes.”

  “How?”

  “I make a mental note of the time so, you know, I can keep an eye out next time.”

  “Fair enough.” Reed paused, tapped his fingers on the table. “Is there anyone else you keep an eye out for? Or admire?”

  “No. I never meant to watch him, it's just that one night when I came home I heard some giggling and popped my head round the corner to have a look and there he was with a couple of girls going into his flat. I walked past his window a couple of times and saw them... having sex. The three of them.” Anderson said, showing signs of enjoying the story as he told it.

  “Was Carmella one of the girls?”

  “No, I don't think so. This was ages ago. He never keeps the same one for long, Carmella was just his latest one.”

  Reed nodded his head in an almost understanding way. “OK. Let's leave it there for now and get some rest, we'll pick this up again in the morning. You'll have to stay here I'm afraid.”

  Anderson nodded, sensing he had Reed on side. Maybe that he even had a friend in all of this, which was exactly how Reed wanted him to feel.

  Reed arrived home just before 6am. He lay down on the sofa, just about mustering enough energy to set the alarm on his phone for 8am. He would have gone to bed but there was nothing there for him. He had never spent the night on a sofa with Kate, so he couldn't miss her there. If he went to bed, he'd expect to feel her soft, smooth skin next to his and it wouldn't feel right without it.

  It felt like only five minutes had passed when his phone started vibrating on his chest, he switched it off quickly before the ascending volume of a cockerel really kicked in. Reed started to get himself up before being halted by what felt like someone cutting the muscles on the right-hand-side of his neck with a spoon. This is why you shouldn't sleep on a sofa; he had obviously got himself in some unnatural position during his short sleep and would pay for it for the rest of the day.

  He had about an hour before he was scheduled to sit down with DCI Whitehead and tell him about Anderson's interview. It had been Whitehead who had insisted on Reed conducting the interview in the middle of the night and then he had arranged a briefing for 9am. Reed couldn't help thinking that this wasn't a mistake on Whitehead's part.

  Reed managed to peel himself away from the sofa and climb wearily up the stairs. Catching his reflection in the full sized mirror at the end of the landing, he stopped. His clothes were crumpled, he needed a shave, his hair looked as though it had been rubbed with a balloon, and there were big black bags under his eyes. He looked just as bad as he felt.

  As he brushed his teeth he had a sudden wave of joy wash over him. Rather than tidy himself up, he would show Whitehead the results of what he had missed whilst tucked up in bed. After changing his underwear, Reed took great pleasure in putting his creased clothes back on. With a quick spray of deodorant for his own self-respect, he felt good to go.

  After receiving a few curious looks from people who were too polite to ask about his appearance, Reed gave Whitehead a rundown on the interview with Anderson. Surprisingly, he didn't have too many complaints. That might change if the tapes were required to be played in court. Audio or visual, they were both likely to pick up any snoring. After rejecting Whitehead's offer to go home to ‘freshen up’, Reed started to feel better by the minute.

  Plumridge had just delivered Reed's third coffee of the day when Nic Anderson was led into the interview room. He beamed a smile in Reed's direction which wasn't returned. Anderson looked offended. The two officers waited for permission to remove the handcuffs before sitting Anderson in his chair.

  “Sleep well?” Reed began.

  “Yes. Fine.”

  “I didn't. Something's troubling me. If Gulliver was the only one you admired or whatever you want to call it, why were you pleasuring yourself at Carmella Chapman's murder site?” Reed held out his hands palm up for effect before continuing, “Here's my theory: you think Lee Gulliver took Carmella there, had sex with her and then killed her.”

  “No!” Anderson's eyes expanded to a fixed stare.

  “I haven't finished yet.” Reed stated while imitating Anderson's wide eyed stare. “You did see Gulliver, I believe that much. I'm not so sure about the time though. I think the fear of seeing your hero; your only friend of any sorts being arrested and taken away from you has forced you to bend the truth a little.”

  Anderson's face was the colour of hot embers, rage shining through his eyes like torches. There may even have been the beginning of a tear f
orming.

  “Well?” Reed shouted.

  There was enough force in the question to break Anderson's stare. He blinked sporadically as his eyes returned to human proportions. Reed's didn't. A wry smile came across Anderson's face before he said loud and clear, “I think he fucked her, yeah. And good on him.”

  Reed was out of his chair before Anderson had even finished his sentence. Life was about choices; choices that could affect your whole future. Reed could jump across the table and pummel Nic Anderson to the floor like he wanted to, leading to his career going much the same way as his marriage, or he could leave.

  Chapter 17

  Reed headed straight for the main exit so he could light a cigarette and try to calm down. A journey which was made longer than it needed to be as he had been forced into a detour from his normal route after hearing Whitehead's voice booming down one of the corridors. Other than that it was a clear run. It had taken all of Reed's restraint not to react to Anderson's comments about Gulliver and Carmella.

  Once he was inhaling greedily from his cigarette, Reed admitted to himself that he was well and truly addicted again, but in truth, he wasn't overly concerned by the fact. It felt good to add to the destruction of his life. Punishment to himself for not doing the right thing by Carmella's memory. He wasn't having much luck through the correct channels of police work and he had been too much of a coward to do it through any other.

  If Anderson was telling the truth about when he saw Gulliver arrive home, and it was a big if, then Gulliver would have been hard pushed to have killed Carmella and dispose of her body before returning home. Time would have been tight but Gulliver's car didn't exactly scream ‘sensible driver.’ A fact that was reinforced by him being caught speeding on the night that Carmella was killed.

  Nic Anderson had also been caught speeding just a few minutes after Gulliver. Had he followed them to the end of Carmella's road and taken her? Had he been familiar enough to Carmella from around the town and the block of flats where Gulliver lived for her not to be alarmed? Maybe he fabricated a story about Gulliver in order to gain her trust.