by Jack Probyn
‘They’re coming. They’ll be here any minute now.’ Pemberton held her hands in the air. But her attempt to allay Candice’s fears was having little effect.
‘Do you know anything about golf?’ Jake asked openly.
Candice hesitated before responding. ‘Only that there are eighteen holes in each game.’
‘Then at least you and I are on the same page. Is there a golf club nearby?’
Candice nodded and pointed towards the sun. ‘That way. About five minutes away. Farnham Golf Club. You can’t miss it. My husband knew the owner back in the day.’
‘Thank you,’ Jake said.
At that moment, Bridger returned, holding his phone in his hand. By now he’d removed his latex gloves and had stripped down to his shirt and tie. Behind him was an entourage of scenes of crime officers clad in white scrubs, their heads concealed by hoods and protective goggles. Jake didn’t envy them wearing that in this heat. It was bad enough that he’d worn it for ten minutes; he could only imagine how long they were about to spend sifting through the entirety of the property.
‘Finally!’ Pemberton exclaimed before marching towards the SOCOs. She made it a few steps before turning and heading back to Jake. She stopped in front of him and placed a hand on his shoulder, then leant closer to his face and brought her voice down to a whisper. ‘I need you to stay here with Candice. Make her feel more comfortable, at ease. Get her talking. But don’t tell her anything she doesn’t need to know. I’ll be back in a minute.’
Before Jake was able to respond, she and Bridger had left him alone with Candice, and he watched them disappear round the other side of the house with the forensic team. For a long moment, Jake just stood there, staring at the building, as though he were a child pining after its parents, patiently waiting for them to return. He swallowed before adjusting his attention to the garden. Without Pemberton or Bridger, the atmosphere was quiet, eerie – the sounds of the driveway muted as if they were coming from miles away – and all he could hear was the rustle of leaves in the soft breeze that flittered in and around him. Pivoting on the balls of his feet, he faced Candice, his gaze falling on the device on her chest.
‘How old are you?’ Candice asked, her voice calm, neutral, almost as if she’d suddenly come to terms with her fate.
Her question took him by surprise.
He hesitated, stammered. ‘Twenty-f-four. How old… how old do I look?’
‘You’re young. I didn’t think they’d send someone your age into a job like this.’
‘Sorry?’ Jake lifted his right arm and scratched the side of his cheek.
As he did it, Candice’s eyes widened. ‘My son has that watch,’ she said.
‘Excuse me?’ Jake held his arm in front of his face. On his wrist was the watch Elizabeth had bought him for his birthday last year. It had come at great expense given the little finances they had, and he’d begrudged her for feeling obligated to buy him something so nice for something that was over so soon, but he was appreciative nonetheless. It was a G-Shock GLX-5600-1JF. And it was one of his most prized possessions.
‘Your watch,’ Candice repeated. ‘My son has that watch. You wear it on the same arm as him. The right. Few people do. Are you left-handed?’
Jake lowered his arm to his side slowly. What is she talking about?
‘I’m right-handed,’ he corrected. ‘I’m just awkward. I like to wear it on the right side. Always have done.’
‘You look like him.’
Jake held his breath. ‘Like who?’
‘My son.’
‘How old is he?’
‘Similar age to you, in fact,’ Candice said. ‘He was taken from me when he was very young. Social services.’
Jake didn’t know what to say. In the end, he settled on the only thing his instinct would allow. ‘I’m sorry to hear that.’
‘You’re going to get me out of this, aren’t you, Detective?’
‘I’m going to try.’
‘You know what you have to do, otherwise you know what will happen if you don’t.’ Her finger pointed at the collar bomb.
Jake took a step back.
‘If you need help, you know who to go to, right?’
Jake said nothing.
‘I heard on the news that there’s one of them in jail, isn’t there? One of The Crimsons. If you need help with what they’re planning next, I’m sure… I’m sure he’ll be able to help.’
‘Freddy?’ Jake whispered to himself, his attention moving away from the conversation.
Before he could say anything loud enough for her to hear, the sound of gravel moving underfoot distracted him. It was Pemberton. Running back with Bridger in tow.
‘SOCOs are in the building now, conducting a full sweep of the house,’ she said. ‘Nobody else is allowed in or out until they’ve finished their investigations. Now, I want you both to go to the golf course. We’ve got to find this other key before EOD get here.’
Jake and Bridger sprinted over to Bridger’s car.
‘You’re the directions boy,’ Bridger said as he slipped the gearstick into reverse and pulled out of the driveway.
‘Shouldn’t be too hard considering it’s only round the corner.’
CHAPTER 23
HEATHCOTE & SONS
Roger Heathcote had been found outside the Dawson Veterinary Clinic. He’d made it less than a mile from Candice Strachan’s house before sprawling across the pavement and passing out while the blistering sun burnt seven shades of tan into his skin. He’d been found by a visiting customer, who’d hoped to get their dog’s testicles removed rather than find an unconscious man on the concrete. After a quick check from paramedics he was brought in to Mount Browne for questioning.
‘It’s nothing to worry about,’ Danika told him. ‘Just routine. We need to know what you know.’
She was sitting in Interview Room 4 with Roger opposite her, in a relaxed setting, a standing fan circulating cold air around the room. Roger’s face was tomato red, and Danika didn’t know whether it was from the heat or whether it had anything to do with the physical movement he’d exerted in running for his life. Probably both. He reached for his cup of water and downed it. His fourth in as many minutes.
‘I’ll get you another.’ Danika left, hurried to the water filter and returned with another cup. If he had any more, he’d soon be able to finish the tower he was creating. After she’d given it to him, she opened the MG11 witness statement form and clicked the end of her pen. ‘I just want to gather a few things about you first, if that’s all right? The preliminary stuff.’
‘Yes… of course, anything. I understand what you need to do.’ He grabbed the water and polished it off in one.
Danika decided that this was his last one for now. There was a job to do, and information to pry, so she spent the next ten minutes ascertaining everything about him: name, date of birth, address, next of kin, place of work.
‘I work for a solicitors. Well, I’m actually one of the firm’s owners.’ He reached into his pocket and produced a business card from his wallet.
Danika inspected it. The small piece of card was flash, much more highbrow than hers. The card was cream, textured, and the lettering was embossed gold, reflecting the light as she wiggled it in her fingers. In the centre was Roger’s name; beneath it his contact details as well as the office’s address. At the top was the business’s logo:
‘I run it with my sons,’ Roger said. ‘Family business.’
‘Lovely.’ Danika had no interest in it; now it was time to move the conversation along. ‘Can you explain to me what happened this morning? As much detail as you can remember?’
‘Certainly, of course.’ Roger shuffled further to the edge of the seat and knitted his fingers together, and for a moment Danika felt like she was the one about to be questioned regarding her connection with a murder and armed robbery and abduction.
‘Where to start… where to start? I was with my wife. We’d gone out for a morning walk at about
8 o’clock – something we’ve done for years to get the legs working, keep ourselves healthy. She and I are partners in the firm, so we usually discuss the latest cases we’re involved in – domestic law mostly, before you ask. Sadly, lots of cases involved, always sad to see couples going through what they do.’
Fancy giving me a freebie in exchange for this?
‘We’d left our house at about eight, as we usually do every morning like I said, walked into town and grabbed ourselves a coffee from The Coffee Company. It’s our favourite place to go, and we’re always happy to support local businesses. We were on the way down to the coffee shop when I noticed a black van roaring up the high street. I thought it was a bit strange—’
‘Why?’
‘Because the driver’s expression was sullen, furious, like he was ready to just hurt whoever laid eyes on him. And… they were all wearing these weird overall things. I thought they’d all just broken out of prison.’
‘Then what happened?’ Danika’s wrist was beginning to ache from the speed at which she was writing; Roger’s lips were too fast for her.
‘On the way back from The Coffee Company, I noticed the van was parked up outside the jeweller’s. And then I heard all this screaming and shouting, followed by a gunshot. The whole street panicked, and people started acting weirdly. Then the robbers came out, three of them. One was carrying a woman. They had guns and they were dressed in the red overalls, but they had masks on that made them look like the devil. As soon as I saw what they were about to do to that woman, I dropped the coffee and tried to help her.’
‘Why?’ Danika lifted her gaze from the paper.
‘Why? Why did I stop something happening to this woman? Why do you think?’
‘You said that everyone else ran away. Why didn’t you?’
Roger tilted his head to the side like a dog trying to understand a new phrase, then leant back in his chair and folded his arms. ‘That response is indicative of what’s wrong with this country. No one cares about anyone else. They’re only worried about what happens to themselves – they’d rather see others get hurt and stand on the sidelines than do something about it.’
And you’d rather make money out of people’s misery than do anything about it.
‘That’s not what I’m suggesting at all,’ Danika said. She set her pencil down. ‘Why don’t I get you another drink?’
She stepped out of the chair and returned a few seconds later with another cup in hand, hoping that the brief interlude had been enough to settle Roger’s temper. Fortunately, it had.
‘What happened after you’d tried to help?’ she asked.
‘They threw me into the back of the van.’
‘Then what?’
‘They closed the doors and pulled away.’
Danika chewed the end of the pen. ‘Explain to me what you heard, what you felt, smelt, saw, stuff like that.’
Roger hesitated for a moment. His brow creased and he closed his eyes as he transported himself back to that time. He kept them shut while he spoke. ‘It… it was dark. Very dark. And cold, despite the heat outside. I was on my back against the floor of the van, and things were digging into me. There was one of them in the back of the van with us, and he kept shouting at us, telling us to be quiet, and that he would shoot us if we didn’t.’ Roger opened his eyes and sniffed heavily, as if sucking in his emotions. ‘Naturally, I did whatever they told me. I’d heard the gunshot from the shop and didn’t think they’d hesitate pulling the trigger again.’
‘Did you hear anything from the other robbers?’
Roger shook his head. ‘Their voices were drowned out from the sound of the exhaust and the other one shouting at us.’
‘What about the woman who was taken with you?’
‘Hysterical. Crying. Begging them not to hurt her. She was becoming a liability.’
Danika looked up again. ‘How so?’
‘Because…’ Roger bit his lip. ‘I hate to say it, but I thought… if she didn’t shut up, they were going to kill us. I was sure of it.’
‘Is that why you left her in the mansion alone?’
‘Excuse me?’
Regret washed over her. She’d spoken too soon and out of turn. Grateful that no one else was with her, she backtracked, apologised and continued, even though it did strike her as hypocritical that he would leave a woman defenceless after claiming that that was the very thing wrong with society in the first place.
‘What happened when they stopped driving?’ Danika asked, hoping her apology was enough to placate Roger for the time being.
‘They got us out, took us inside this mansion and threw us on the floor.’
‘Then what?’
‘They pulled out this… this thing. I don’t even know what it was.’
‘Did they not say?’
Roger shook his head. ‘Maybe. I don’t remember. But they put it around the woman’s head. One of the robbers disappeared upstairs for a brief bit and then they left.’
‘Just like that?’
‘Just – like – that.’ Roger slowly dipped his head.
Danika finished writing the last of the explanations and, after rotating her wrist a few times to get the movement back into it, set the pen down. There was no doubt that Roger Heathcote had been through a terrible ordeal – abduction, held at gunpoint, disorientation, outright fear and panic – but there was also a seed of doubt beginning to creep through the recesses of Danika’s mind, weeding its way through her thoughts.
‘Just a few more questions for you,’ she began.
‘Go ahead.’
‘Does the name The Crimsons mean anything to you?’
Roger pursed his lips and shook his head. ‘Should it?’
‘Does the name Candice Strachan mean anything to you?’
Roger shook his head again. ‘Anything else?’
Danika tidied her documents up – including Roger’s business card – and grabbed her pen. ‘No, that’s everything for now.’
‘Great.’ Roger leapt out of his chair. ‘I can’t wait to see my wife.’
As soon as she returned to the Incident Room, DI Mark Murphy pulled her aside.
‘How was it?’
‘Interesting,’ she replied. Her mind was still trying to process everything Roger had told her, and she wasn’t sure she was ready to share any of it.
‘What were the main takeaways?’
Danika hesitated. ‘I mean… his version of events coincides with the witness statements taken from the employee and the customer. But…’
‘But?’ His voice sounded forceful, like there was something he wanted to hear.
‘He was giving me this speech about nobody rushing to Candice’s aid, but then as soon as they were left alone together, he deserted her.’
‘Right. Totally. Anything else?’
‘I don’t know,’ she said. ‘There was just something off about him. When I asked him if he knew anything about Candice Strachan, he seemed to hesitate almost.’
‘Really?’
Danika nodded, even though she wasn’t sure herself. She thought she’d noticed the slight discrepancy, the slight hesitance in Roger’s response to the million-dollar question.
‘I thought maybe he’d known her through work. He’s a partner in his own solicitor’s firm.’
‘Which one? I’ll get one of the guys to check it out.’
Danika opened the folder of documents. Roger Heathcote’s business card was sitting in the crease. She handed it to him, and Murphy inspected it, his thumb running over the grooves of the lettering. His impression of the card was evident: flash prick. Danika had felt the same.
‘Hold on a second…’ Murphy said and instantly turned his back on her before she could reply.
While she stood there, she felt a yawn coming. She stifled it, and by the time it was gone, Murphy returned, document in hand. He shoved it under Danika’s nose.
‘This is the letter of instructions given to Candice Strachan.’ Murphy poi
nted at the top of the document. ‘H&S. I wondered where it was from.’
Danika held the document close to her eyes. At the top of the page was the H&S logo of Roger’s firm with the relevant contact details beside it. The only problem was it was faint, barely discernible.
‘Is this the original?’
‘A copy. The original’s with the graphologist. She reckons it’s been printed from a Word document. The letterhead suggests the logo and everything is on the other side – that’s why it’s so faint.’
Danika lowered the paper as the insinuation settled on her like lead falling to the ground. ‘You think Roger Heathcote may have been involved with this?’
‘I didn’t until you just told me this. Good work, Danika.’
CHAPTER 24
CHARACTERS
The bedroom was a mess, that much was apparent to Charlotte Gibson, the first of the three SOCOs that had been positioned in the focal points of the mansion: the entrance, the bedroom and the black van stationed outside the house.
Charlotte had been in the job for seven years, and never in her experience had she encountered a critical incident as jaw-dropping as this. The device wrapped around Candice’s neck was unfathomable. But she had accepted the call to say that she would attend – it might have been the most diabolical case she’d worked on, but it was also the most interesting, the one that would put her name in infamy. This case – if she could prove herself during it – would skyrocket her career. Call it narcissism, call it vanity, call it whatever you want. She didn’t care. And if she helped solve it, then no one else would either. She had dreams of achieving stardom with a slight hint of celebrity. How? The logistics of it needed ironing out, but there was a process, and with each opportunity she had to shine, she could climb further up the ladder. She could maybe even write a book about it one day. Something that would put her name out there in the public domain, and then she could pursue what she really wanted to be doing.
Standing in the door frame of the master bedroom, she gazed about the vast expanse of space, lost for ideas of where to begin. There was too much choice, and the overflowing wardrobe to her left looked like the least appealing option. Work smarter, not harder, she told herself. In her hand, she held her camera, and dangling by her leg was her side bag full of everything she needed. Spare pair of gloves. Tweezers. Evidence bags. Brush. Powder.
