by JANICE FROST
“Ray Irons might not agree with that,” Neal said.
“Hmm . . . even then it was Mitchell’s sense of injustice that made him act. He was furious about how Irons had bullied Leon.”
“I’ve raced through the reports. I’d like you to go through them in more depth. Look for connections, anything that might be significant.”
“I’ll get right on it, boss.” Ava stood up.
Neal cleared his throat. “How was the Wrenwood?”
“No idea. We had to cancel. Joel was working all weekend.”
“I’m sorry,” Neal said. His voice was gruff.
Ava shrugged. “C’est la vie.”
“Aye. Get back to me as soon as you can on that. We’ve eliminated one suspect this morning, but we’re still a long way from solving this case.”
It was a long, slow morning, propped up by so much caffeine that, by midday, even Ava was starting to feel jittery. She wondered if she should go for a quick run in her lunch break, but instead she asked PJ to bring her a sandwich. She carried on working at her desk, staring at the forensics reports and copies of Mitchell’s emails and Internet searches until her neck and shoulders ached and her concentration was splintering. Even then, she continued well into the afternoon. She discovered his fondness for silly cat videos and his passion for the theatre. He supported, not just gay rights, but other humanitarian causes as well. And then, at the dog end of the afternoon, something incongruous came up. Mitchell had done a series of searches for crimes that had occurred in the Midwestern states of the US in the early nineties. It was as if Mitchell had been searching for something specific but couldn’t quite pinpoint what it was.
Like most inexperienced researchers, Mitchell seemed unaware of how to refine his searches. Time and again, he had typed in a vague or too general search term. Ava rubbed her tired eyes and turned her attention to Mitchell’s email correspondence. She decided to start with his sister, Carrie, and she spent the next hour ploughing through their recent exchanges.
In the final paragraph of an email dated a few weeks before his death, Ava found something that seemed to tie in with his true crime searches. Mitchell was asking his sister if she could find out about a crime that had been committed somewhere in the Midwest around twelve or thirteen years previously. It involved the murder of a teenage girl. He’d remembered hearing about it when he was touring in the Four Corners region.
Ava did a quick Google search and discovered the Four Corner states were Colorado, Arizona, New Mexico and Utah. She was momentarily distracted by pictures of visitors to Four Corners. They placed themselves at the spot where the four states met and contorted their bodies so as to be in all four states at once.
Mitchell couldn’t recall which of the states the crime had occurred in. All he remembered was that there had been something unusual about the crime, or the perpetrator, but he couldn’t remember what it was.
Ava sifted through more emails, keeping an eye out for Carrie’s replies to Mitchell’s request. A few emails later, Ava thought she had uncovered something promising, but it was only a link to a newspaper archive. Ava sighed. She had a vague sense that she was somehow in transit from an unknown unknown to a known unknown, even if she still had no clue what it might be.
At times like this, Ava regretted that she wasn’t a computer geek. She rubbed her tired eyes. She was about to look in on Neal with what little she’d unearthed, when PJ signalled her over to her desk. She was on the phone and wanted Ava to listen in.
Minutes later, Ava knocked on the window of Neal’s office. He looked up from his report to hear what was so urgent.
“I’ve just had a call from the duty officer in the nick. Laurence Brand’s got himself into trouble again.”
“What’s he done now?” Neal asked, wearily.
“Assaulted a police officer. Guess where?”
“Well?”
“Outside Angie Dent’s flat.”
“And?” Neal asked.
“He was looking for Marcus Collins. Apparently, the lad didn’t turn up for his Latin lesson yesterday and Laurence was concerned.”
Neal was all attention now. “Why would he go to Angie’s place looking for Marcus Collins?”
“No idea, boss, but Brand’s asking for us.”
“Let’s go.”
On the way, Ava told him what she had learned from trawling through Gray Mitchell’s correspondence with his sister.
“I don’t see how we could obtain information through any of the main police databases. Bit too vague, I think. I imagine there are truckloads of cases over there that would fit that description. It might be worth speaking with Carrie Howard again. She might have come up with something, but I can’t see that it would be relevant to our case,” said Neal.
“If it’s okay with you, I’ll speak to her again, sir.”
“Rather you than me,” Neal said. “Go ahead, by all means.”
* * *
The duty officer showed them to Brand’s cell. Brand rose stiffly, from a bare wooden bench.
“Thank you for coming, Inspector. Sergeant,” he said, looking from Neal to Ava. “They said I could make a phone call and I asked for your number. The duty officer kindly said he would let you know so that I could use my phone call to speak with Maxine.”
Neal nodded. He was trying not to gag. It was always the same when he came down here. An evil stench of urine, faeces and vomit permeated the air, overwhelming him. He glanced over at the rank-looking stainless steel toilet two few feet away.
Next to him, Ava was wriggling her nose.
“I’m sorry to drag you down here to such insalubrious surroundings,” said Brand.
“Mr Brand, can you just get on with it,” Neal said. “You asked to see us and here we are, but we haven’t got all day. What were you doing at Angie Dent’s flat?”
“I was looking for Marcus. I’ve been worrying about him since he failed to turn up for his Latin lesson yesterday morning.”
“Aye, we already know that. Why did you think he’d be at Angie’s?”
Laurence handed Neal a screwed up piece of paper that he’d retrieved from his trouser pocket. It was green. Unfolded it resembled a leaf. Someone had written Angie Dent’s name and number on it in and encircled it in red, adding a red question mark outside the circle.
“So? What’s this?” said Neal.
“I found it in Marcus’s room yesterday morning. Marcus hadn’t been home. His bed hadn’t been slept in, so I . . .”
“ . . . You thought he might be at Angie’s house because he’d written her name on a post-it?” Neal’s question dripped sarcasm.
Laurence Brand looked at Ava, but there was no encouraging smile. “I . . . that is . . . Marcus and I talked the other night. We both knew we weren’t guilty . . . and before you ask how we could possibly know that, Inspector, it’s a matter of trust. Marcus was determined to show he had nothing to do with Caitlin’s death. He was very fond of her, you know.”
“Funny way of showing it — sending her a hate-filled text,” said Ava.
“He was drunk and feeling hurt. It’s not in Marcus’s character to do something like that normally,” Laurence said.
Neal rolled his eyes. Every vitriolic troll on the Internet used alcohol as their defence.
“I said to Marcus that we had to prove our innocence,” Brand said. “I think he took me literally. Maybe he saw Angie as a potential suspect.”
“What makes you think that?” Neal asked.
“I . . . I . . . don’t have a tangible reason. Call it a hunch, but maybe Angie was jealous of Marcus’s relationship with Caitlin. I saw the way she looked at him sometimes. Marcus didn’t say much, he’s not the type to gossip, but he did once say that Angie manipulated Caitlin. Then, there was that row between Angie and Caitlin at Gray and Leon’s soiree. The more I think about it, the more I wonder if Angie had just found out about Caitlin’s relationship with Marcus. Maybe Caitlin was a bit drunk and got up the courage to broach the s
ubject with her? I know this is what you people call speculation, but what if I’m right?”
Neal sighed. The row again, the one that no one but Laurence seemed to have noticed. “I’m sorry, Mr Brand, but I can’t help feeling you’re building up a story around your conviction that Angie’s dangerous. You have nothing to back this up and you do have a bit of a track record of . . . distorting reality.”
Brand looked dejected. “Please. If you do nothing else, at least check whether Marcus is okay. That boy is like a son to me . . .” His eyes welled up and he turned away. “I’m truly sorry I hit that policeman. I was so worried about Marcus I couldn’t control myself.”
“Aye, well you need to learn to think before you act, Mr Brand. I doubt that the arresting officer will be as forgiving as Leon Warrior, and maybe that’s not such a bad thing.” Now it was Neal’s turn to look away, unable to bear the sight of Brand’s abject misery.
As he and Ava turned to leave, Neal said, “We’ll check into Marcus’s whereabouts, if only to stop him doing anything stupid.” He took out his mobile and called Vincent Bone. Neal asked Vincent if the boy had turned up for work that day. Then he asked if Angie Dent had been in the shop. He waited while Vincent checked.
“They weren’t there, were they?” Brand asked.
“It doesn’t mean something sinister is going on, Mr Brand. Quite the opposite, in fact. Mr Bone saw the two of them together on Friday and from what he said, it seems likely that Marcus and Angie are finding consolation in each other. Seems to me that Caitlin had good reason to feel jealous of Angie. Marcus obviously wasn’t heartbroken enough to be deterred from making a move on her best friend.”
“Oh.”
Neal was at the end of his patience with Brand. “If anything turns up regarding Marcus, we’ll let you know, but I don’t expect you’ll be hearing from us soon.”
Ava gave Brand a sympathetic smile as she hastened after Neal. “Another minute in there and I think I’d have had to vomit,” Ava said outside the cell door. “You must have been gagging, sir.” She wriggled her nose.
Neal was aware that his intolerance for unpleasant smells was legendary. Someone had let off a stink bomb at the pub once and he’d made the mistake of covering his nose with a handkerchief, to the amusement of his colleagues.
“Where are you at with looking into Caitlin Forest’s background?”
“I gave PJ some information to follow up.”
“Chase her up,” he said.
“D’you think Brand’s delusional again?”
“Possibly. But jealousy is a powerful emotion. It’s been a motive for murder since time immemorial. Have you never read Othello?”
“Totally different scenario, sir. If I remember rightly, Othello had that other bloke, Iago, wasn’t it, feeding him false information.”
“Something like that.”
“Is it okay if I go see if Carrie Howard is at her hotel? I might as well see if she can shed any light on Mitchell’s interest in an old murder case he could remember nothing about.”
Neal considered this a waste of time, but he nodded. His sergeant was fidgety and needed to be doing something other than staring at a computer screen.
“Let me know if she says anything worth repeating.”
Chapter 19
Marcus Collins yawned and stretched, then gazed down at the woman lying next to him, remembering the amazing sex they’d enjoyed the night before . . . and the night before that . . . and much of the previous day. They’d spent the time in the Premier Inn, with the Do Not Disturb sign hanging on the outside door handle.
How had this happened? Only a week ago, Marcus had been pleading with Caitlin not to break up with him. Now here he was, in bed with Angie Dent, and randy as hell.
Angie stirred and woke up. She was always wide awake in an instant. They were both naked. His desire was making a tent of the sheet, but when Marcus reached out for her, Angie slid out of bed.
“We have to go to work today, Marcus,” she said. “We didn’t even phone in sick yesterday. People are going to be asking questions.”
Marcus sighed. He watched Angie head for the shower, then slid out and joined her. “One for the road,” he said hopefully. Angie didn’t object when he stepped in beside her.
* * *
Marcus and Angie left the hotel separately. Another secret romance, Marcus thought, but Angie said it was only temporary. It was so soon after Caitlin’s death that their affair would be seen as disrespectful. Was he doing the right thing? And if so, why did he feel guilty? Laurence Brand had assured him that there were plenty of other girls who would jump at the chance of dating him. He was following Laurence’s advice, wasn’t he? Getting back out there. But — Angie of all people.
* * *
Marcus walked into the stonemasons’ workshop.
“What happened to you yesterday, Marcus? We even had the police phoning up asking if you were okay,” Vincent Bone said.
“I’m sorry. I know I should have called, but I felt really unwell,” Marcus lied, clumsily. “Literally couldn’t get out of bed.”
“No,” Vincent said dryly. “Must be catching. Angie Dent was unwell yesterday too. Seems she couldn’t get out of bed either.”
Marcus avoided Vincent’s eye. “I’ll get to work, then,” he said.
“Marcus, did you speak to Laurence Brand over the weekend?”
Marcus reddened. He had meant to apologise for missing his lesson on Sunday, but somehow he’d never got around to it. “No. Why? Is Laurence okay?”
Vincent made a face. “Not exactly.” He told Marcus where Laurence had spent his Sunday night, but was unable to tell him what had happened. All he knew was that Laurence had assaulted a policeman.
“Take an early break,” Vincent said. “Go see Maxine in the café and find out what happened. It was something to do with you, I think. Laurence thought you’d gone missing or something.”
“Thanks, Vincent.” Instead of going straight to the café, Marcus took a detour to the gift shop. Angie was pricing decorations and hanging them on a Christmas tree. She didn’t seem overjoyed to see Marcus, and she already knew what he had to tell her.
“You don’t know the half of it,” Angie said. “Your nutjob friend was arrested outside the door to my flat. He was yelling your name over and over.”
“Why? Why would he do that?”
But Marcus knew the answer already. When he had visited Laurence after his release from hospital, they had talked of doing some investigating of their own. It might help clear both of them of suspicion. It was the reason Marcus had approached Angie in the first place. It seemed that Laurence had homed in on Angie too and convinced himself she was the killer. Marcus kicked himself for missing his Latin lesson without informing Laurence. He had set Laurence on another course of reckless behaviour.
Angie’s fingers tightened around a bauble and it broke in her hand.
“Shit! Look what you made me do.” Angie’s hand was bleeding.
“Here.” Marcus passed her his handkerchief.
She threw it back at him. “Just go and see your ‘friend,’ Marcus. I think he’s after your ass.”
“Are you jealous?” Marcus tried to slip his arm around her waist, then withdrew it. Angie wasn’t in the mood for teasing.
* * *
Maxine saw him the minute he walked through the door to the café, and came towards him.
“I’m sorry I didn’t call on Sunday, Maxine. Was it my fault Laurence got locked up?”
Maxine looked as if she was about to hug him. She patted him on the arm instead. “Of course it wasn’t your fault. Laurie was worried about you and got it into his head that Angie had kidnapped you and meant to do you harm. It was a classic case of Laurie’s imagination taking him to places no one else would think of.” She looked Marcus over. “You are okay, aren’t you?”
Unexpectedly, Marcus gave her a bear hug. “You guys are so sweet, the way you care about me. I wish I’d called Laurence on Sun
day.” He was grateful that Maxine did not ask where he had been.
Maxine related the woeful tale of Laurence’s arrest. “He’s going to be charged this time, I’m afraid, but I don’t think they’ll lock him up. He’s still adjusting to his new meds. They’ll take that into consideration.” She sighed. “I’m going to make sure he stays safely indoors for the time being.”
“I’ll call him,” Marcus said. “Can I do it here?”
“Go into the alcove. I’ll bring you a cup of tea.”
When Marcus sat down to make the call he discovered he didn’t have his mobile. He and Angie had called at her flat before going to the Premier Inn. He must have left it there. He had not missed it during his weekend of wild sex. He borrowed Maxine’s mobile and called Laurence. His friend was so pleased to hear that Marcus was okay that his voice broke. Marcus apologised for missing his lesson without calling. Then he asked, “why did you think Angie would hurt me, Laurence? Surely you don’t think she had anything to do with Gray or Caitlin’s murder?” A long pause. “Laurence?”
“I . . . to be honest, I don’t know, Marcus. I went to your flat-share and found a piece of paper by your bedside with Angie’s number on it. Then my thoughts started to race. Before I knew it, I was banging on her door. By the time the police arrived, I’d convinced myself you were in there, bleeding to death or worse.”
Marcus reddened. “I’m sort of seeing her.”
“Yes,” said Laurence. “I can’t say I’m happy about that, but I may be overreacting — it does seem to be a weakness of mine. I’ll apologise to Angie. I just wish this whole unpleasant business was over. I can’t bear the thought of the police thinking you or I had anything to do with it.”
“I know,” Marcus said. “Feel better, Laurence.” Marcus, too, was choking up a little.
“Thank you,” said Maxine when she brought his tea.
Marcus looked at her.
“For caring about him too,” she explained.
* * *
“How are you getting on with tracing Caitlin Forest’s next of kin?” Ava slumped into the chair next to PJ, invigorated after her early-morning swim. She had not, after all, been able to track Carrie down the day before and was hoping PJ might have come up with something on Caitlin.
