by Jay Nadal
“Let him sweat for a while, Abby. Where’s Mike now?” he asked, sniffing the air before deciding an odour was coming from Abby’s direction.
“Where do you think?” she replied, rolling her eyes. “Filling his belly. He moaned about missing breakfast this morning. He’s in the canteen getting a sausage and bacon butty.”
Scott sniffed again, smelling perfume. “Did he get anywhere with the MOD enquiries?” he asked, taking a step closer to Abby before leaning in, much to her consternation, causing her to lean back as far as she could to keep her distance.
Abby was forced to push back her chair the closer Scott got, unsure about the invasion of her space and the curious look on Scott’s face, not to mention the heavy waft of Hugo aftershave that shot up her nose.
“Not yet, Guv, getting through to the right department last night wasn’t easy. The pen-pushers at the ministry have a unique knack of delay and distraction. They send you from one extension to another and keep you on hold whilst some garish music tests your patience. The hope is you eventually hang up.
“Our Mike isn’t gifted with patience as you know,” she said with a shrug and a raised brow as Scott continued to sniff the air around her, circling her chair. “He did finally get through to the right department, but ended up going round in circles with some AO, and as an administrative officer, they didn’t have the authority to release details of past service. He was going on about how only a grade six and seven had the authority to divulge such information.”
Scott looked at Abby, a small smile breaking on one side of his mouth. “Are you wearing perfume?”
Abby looked sheepish. Suddenly the tea in her mug looked far more interesting than looking at Scott. Her cheeks flushed with embarrassment.
“You are, aren’t you? You never wear perfume…” Scott played with his chin as he folded his arms, before wagging a finger in her direction. “Don’t tell me. You’re in lurve…with Jonathon. Things getting serious?” he teased.
Abby couldn’t help but smile, a smile that said it all, but nevertheless, she was reluctant to admit that Scott may be right. “I’m not. We’re just getting on really well, that’s all.”
“Well enough to roll out the perfume, Miss Trent? You must be keen. Do I need to pick a hat?” he joked.
Abby was never one to publicise her private life. Her Facebook page only ever showed the occasional funny quote or pictures from the gym every few months. She certainly didn’t fall into the prolific Facebooker category, and there was never any reference to her kids or personal life. Feeling a little exposed to Scott’s fishing, she swiftly cleared her throat and changed the subject. “So as you can guess, Mike didn’t really get anywhere.”
“Don’t tell me…a grade six or seven wasn’t available?”
Abby nodded as she stared at the odd trail of steam that spiralled upwards from her cup, waiting for her flush to fade.
“We’re expecting a call back this morning, Guv.”
“Not good enough, Abby. Get Mike to chase them as soon as he gets back. We could be waiting hours for a call, and that’s being optimistic.”
Scott was disappointed with the news. He’d hoped to have had something to explore further with Collier in the interview, and feedback for Harvey. She’d be chasing him any minute for a progress report, and the last thing he wanted was to tell her that nothing new had been uncovered. For the time being, he needed to stay off her radar.
Collier sat impatiently with a hand wrapped around a cup of tea, the fingers of his other hand strumming away in sequence on the table. He’d reluctantly agreed to accompany Mike to the station and had waived his opportunity to have a solicitor present. Mike had an imposing, heavy build and weathered face which often meant he got what he asked for and many dared not to question him.
Abby set the recorder up and covered the formalities as Scott sifted through his file. He noticed that as Abby went through the introductions for the tape, Collier didn’t avert his gaze once towards Abby. The guy has a serious hang-up about listening to women.
“Mr Collier, did you enjoy your time in the armed services?”
Scott’s question caused Collier to look up from his tea. His eyes flickered left and right as he processed the question. The direction of questioning took him by surprise. Abby hadn’t picked up on it, but Scott had. Through years of experience and training, he’d become adept at picking up on eye accessing cues.
Through his training in neuro linguistic programming, he’d been taught to imagine that the brain is a computer and the eyes were the filing system. It had helped him to understand that when the brain was asked a question, or asked to recall a piece of data, the brain went on a search. A person’s eyes would move in many directions depending upon the type of search and what they were thinking or recalling.
As an officer, it was essential to create an environment that would facilitate the extraction of information and evidence. Scott excelled and relished interviews more than most of his colleagues because of his fascination with human behaviour and the mind. He had found that using words more aligned to a person’s way of processing information often helped him to glean more. He had put himself to the test on more than one occasion by asking questions in multiple ways to see which approach gave him the best results.
Collier had diverted his eyes ever so slightly up to his left, and that indicated he was accessing his stored visual memories. He then looked down towards the table to his left. Again Scott picked up on this small movement. He’s having a chat with himself.
“Can I ask why you should need to know about my military service? I was led to believe that I was attending the station to help you with the death of my teaching staff.”
“You are, Mr Collier. I’m just trying to build a timeline of those involved.”
“I see.”
“Clearly, well?”
Collier cleared his throat. “I had an excellent career in the forces. I wouldn’t swap it for anything. You learn a lot about yourself, what you can handle…and how far you can push yourself,” he said with a measured nod as his confidence returned.
Abby watched the exchange, choosing to let Scott lead.
“And did you see it as a hard thing to push yourself?”
“Not particularly,” he replied, shaking his head confidently.
“You led soldiers if I’m not mistaken?” Scott asked.
“Yes, that’s correct. Very well, I hasten to add.”
“How did you find that?”
“It was an honour and a privilege to command a troop. To turn boys into men…fighting men. We don’t have room for whingers and cowards.”
“Cowards?” Scott repeated with a raised brow.
Collier didn’t answer.
“Cowards…did you come across any in your military career?”
Collier sat back in his chair, crossed one leg over the other and locked his fingers together before resting them on his knee. He casually looked upwards towards his left and then right.
“Not that I recall.”
Scott leant back and mirrored Collier by crossing his legs and locking his fingers over his knee. “You see, Mr Collier, I have a dilemma. I’m dealing with a triple murder investigation. Two of your staff have been murdered, a third retired teacher, also from your school, has been murdered, and that’s no coincidence? Don’t you agree?”
Collier looked down towards his left, deep in conversation with himself, before he looked up he said, “It certainly looks that way.”
“Is there anything that happened during their military careers that could be connected to their deaths…or even prior to their careers in the military?” Scott paused for effect.
Abby furiously scribbled away in her notepad as he spoke.
Collier’s eyes danced the Irish jig now. One moment they were down to his left, and then they were up to his right, before darting left to right. Scott had him scared.
Collier shook his head without a reply.
“For the tape, Mr Colli
er shook his head. Before their deaths, did you have any conversations with any of them? Did they say anything that may have suggested they were concerned, worried or fearful about their lives?”
Collier’s glare remained firmly fixed to a small spot over Scott’s shoulder. A slight adjustment in his eyes from centre to top left and then right went unnoticed by Abby.
Another shake of his head.
“Mr Collier, for the tape, can you say your answers, please.”
“Not that I recall.”
Liar.
“What can you tell us about John Morecombe?” Scott asked, changing direction.
“Excuse me?” Collier said, a deliberate mask of unfamiliarity painted on his face.
Scott smiled and glanced over to Abby. “Oh, I think you know exactly who we’re talking about. Ex-teacher, John Morecombe. You sacked him about a year ago after he stood up to you about the bullying culture.”
Collier raised a brow. “Ah, yes, we clearly had a difference of opinion. We came to the conclusion that it was in his best interests to seek a more appropriate position elsewhere.”
“That’s a diplomatic way of putting it,” Abby said as she crossed her arms.
“Have you had any contact with him at all since his departure?”
Collier shook his head in response to Scott’s question.
“No texts, phone calls, letters, nothing?”
Collier shook his head again. “Actually, now you come to mention it, I did get few letters of the hate mail variety.”
“What did they say?”
Collier stared up towards the ceiling, strumming his fingers on his kneecap. “I can’t remember to be precise, something along the lines of I won’t get away with it.” Collier chuckled to himself. “It didn’t bother me, frankly. I’ve been called worse and threatened far worse than that. Staring down the barrel of a gun whilst on a tour of duty gives you a bit of a tough skin, Inspector.”
“Where are they?”
“I threw them away a long time ago. He’s doesn’t scare me,” Collier replied as he stiffened his stance and pulled his shoulders back in defiance.
“We believe that he may be heading back towards Sussex or may already be here. Is there any reason why he may do that?”
“I have no idea, Inspector. Maybe he’s missing us all,” Collier said, a smug smile dancing at the corners of his mouth.
Scott concluded the interview not long after and arranged for Collier to be taken back to Edmunston-Hunt.
“He was as tight as a duck’s arse.” Abby sighed as they made their way back to the CID office.
“Far from it, Abby, he was lying. The victims and Collier had had conversations recently. I’m certain of that.”
Abby shot Scott a confused glance. “How do you know that?”
Scott paused in the corridor just outside the doors of the office. “It’s quite simple. When I was asking questions about cowards in the army, and whether he’d had conversations with the deceased recently, if you’d watched his eye movements, he just casually glanced up to the left and then right of his peripheral vision.”
“I didn’t see that, Guv.”
“That’s because you weren’t looking for them. When someone does that, they look up to their left to remember a picture or a scene, and then they access a part of their brain when they look to the right which helps to create a lie or make up the scene in their head.”
Abby looked perplexed, as she too was now looking up to her left and tracking back through her memory to picture the interview and what she missed.
“He lied about the cowards and he lied about not having conversations with the deceased.” Scott had excitement in his voice as his mind raced. “He’s connected to the three murders in some way, and he was running scared in there,” he said, pointing back down the corridor.
30
DCI Jane Harvey stood by her window looking out over the front of the station onto John Street. Her attention hadn’t been drawn to anything in particular, but her thoughts pulled her into a void of deep contemplation. To her left, a large office block offered an interesting distraction. It was the new premises of American Express. Encased in glass from street level to roof, she could see the many workers scurrying around from room to room, floor to floor unaware of how their lives were being played out for all to see like some voyeuristic attraction.
To her right stood, ‘The Wedding Cake’, the popular name for Amex House, the former HQ for American Express. The unique white concrete bands and dark blue rings of glass windows on each floor were how it acquired its name. The structure was a distinct landmark on the skyline of Brighton, and one that could be seen from any tall vantage point. Harvey reflected on what the landscape would look like once the building was demolished and replaced with flats and smaller offices.
Harvey was so deep in thought that she hadn’t heard Scott knock on her open door. Her head snapped up at the loud banging. “Ma’am?”
Scott’s arrival jolted her out of her reverie that saw her spin around on the heels. “Sorry, Scott. What have you got for me? The chief super is on my back,” she said as she sat down with a heavy thud behind her desk, fiddling with her fingernails and waving him towards the chair opposite her. “Time flies when you’re having fun, doesn’t it?”
The randomness of both her behaviour and off-the-cuff remark took Scott off guard. The fact that she wasn’t even looking at him was surprising.
“Following our last conversation, I had Collier, the principal, in for an interview. He is definitely implicated in some way. He is adamant he didn’t know anything to suggest that victim’s lives were in danger. But he’s lying out of his back teeth. There’s a connection between all of them. Whether that’s linked to their days together in the army, or before that, is something we’ll be working on.” Scott paused for a moment when he realised the DCI wasn’t paying attention to anything he was saying.
“Ma’am, tell me if I’m speaking out of turn, but you seem a little distracted. Is everything okay?”
Harvey looked up, dropping her head to one side, before looking reflectively in Scott’s direction through narrowed eyes. “I may not be here for much longer, Scott.”
“Sorry, Ma’am, I don’t quite understand. Are you not well?”
Harvey shook her head dismissively. “The ACC thinks it’s time I hang up my gloves. It seems my methods and approach don’t fit in with the modern stance on policing. He’s asked me to seriously consider taking retirement.” She sighed.
“Has the ACC spoken to you directly?”
“No. His views were communicated via the chief super.”
“And how do you feel about that?”
Harvey paused for a moment, unable to find the right words to express her frustration. “Well, between you, me and the four walls of this office, I’ve given my whole working life to the police, serving the community to the best of my capacity. Policing isn’t what it used to be. Now it’s about figures, meetings, pleasing crime commissioners, budgets and endless bureaucratic form filling. We were supposed to be impartial, but I’m not entirely sure we are these days,” Harvey replied, as she swivelled in her chair to gaze back out of the window again.
The helplessness of the situation resonated with Scott. On the one hand, Harvey was a copper’s copper, but she hardly fitted into the stereotypical image of a senior officer in the modern-day police force. She was cantankerous, argumentative, hated management meetings but was fiercely protective of her staff. She pretty much left him to get on with his job, which was a quality he did like in her, but she was hardly forward-thinking, progressive or dynamic, essential qualities the force were keen to identify.
“What are you going to do?”
“I’ve been asked to take some time out to consider my position.”
Scott knew her position was untenable. They were effectively asking her to leave under her own steam with dignity, or be booted out in humiliation.
Confused as to what would be the best option
for CID, he considered with a slight tinge of guilt that perhaps fresh new blood wouldn’t be such a bad thing. “Of course I wouldn’t want you to go, Ma’am, I…we value your leadership, but I will support you in whatever decision you take.”
Harvey didn’t reply, her gaze firmly fixed through the window as she contemplated the situation.
Scott rose from his chair feeling less than comfortable with the stony silence in the room as he left Harvey with her thoughts. His slow walk back to CID, left him pondering whether or not Harvey was still going to be his commanding officer in the coming weeks.
The morning was racing away from Scott. Even though the triple murder investigation was taking up much of his team’s time, a bundle of other case files sat in his in tray waiting for reviews and instructions. He had no choice but to prioritise the workload, leaving many of the cases to take a back seat. That was the problem with modern-day detective work, far too much work, and not enough time.
Each case file took him a few hours to review. He’d closely review the action steps that his officers had taken on that case and identify if they had missed anything before leaving instructions over what action to take next. With more than a dozen files, he just didn’t have the time to review them all now.
It always played on his mind. He felt personally responsible for the outcome of all the cases his team handled. Budgetary cuts across the force meant overtime wasn’t an option, so they had to make do with the resources that they had available to them. Frustration tinged with guilt always sat heavily with him because there were victims and concerned loved ones waiting on any snippets of news. Their pain carried on every day, they couldn’t walk away and close the door like Scott could at the end of his shift.
One other case plaguing him was that of a series of sexual assaults on students at Sussex University. A series of random attacks over the past three months had started to cause panic amongst the student population. Scott promised himself that as soon as his current murder investigation was wrapped up, he’d focus all his attention on catching the sexual predator loose on campus.
