Retribution

by Jay Nadal

  His stomach rumbled. He’d had nothing to eat since breakfast. A less than desirable grated cheese and lettuce baguette that he’d forgotten to eat yesterday would have to do as he flicked through the current case file.

  Mike had already emailed him having finally got past the guardians at the Ministry of Defence. Their service records had all come back clean, no misconduct, no issues with tours of duty…nothing. Scott had hoped that their enquiries would have thrown something up, but he’d hit another brick wall. The team was working on identifying all known colleagues past and present of the victims in an effort to find a breakthrough. The school itself was under guard to protect staff and pupils, a job made easier after a trip to France had been hastily organised for the majority of the lower years, the sixth- formers remaining behind for exams.

  Scott stood and stretched his arms high above his head. His shoulders cracked in approval. On the main floor, Abby was the sole member of his team still around and typing up the notes from their interview.

  “Where’s the others?”

  “Unfortunately, Mike and Raj have officer safety training for the rest of the day, and Sian’s about somewhere.”

  “OST…really? We’re in the middle of a triple murder case, and they’ve been told to do officer safety…for fuck’s sake.”

  Officer safety training was something that all officers went through annually, so there was little he could do about it. It was part of the force’s policy of safeguarding their officers which he accepted was important. However, practising how to apprehend and secure suspects safely and quickly using handcuffs or batons, or how to handle public order incidents was something they all knew how to do competently. In his eyes, bureaucratic time-wasting like this was frustrating.

  Matt Allen from forensics poked his head into the CID main office. His bright red chequered shirt stood out like a beacon against the blandness of the brown doors. “Ah, Scott, thought I’d find you here, mate. Can I have a quick word?”

  Scott nodded towards his office just as Sian appeared. It didn’t matter what the time of day or what the weather was doing, she was always impeccably turned out. A white, short-sleeved blouse and dark grey skirt gave her a smart, professional appearance. A look that Scott felt said a lot about her outlook and approach to work.

  “Sian, do me a favour. Mike’s not around, so can you look at the schooling of our three victims? Mike’s already looked at their time together in the army, and turned up nothing. So let’s go back even further. They all went through Edmunston-Hunt School, so have a look and see if anything else stands out. See if there’s anyone else that they had associations with. Maybe we’ve missed something.”

  Sian nodded, as she chewed on the frame of her glasses. “Yes, Guv.”

  Scott closed his office door behind him as Matt helped himself to a chair and slouched back in it.

  “Make yourself at home…” Scott said, pushing Matt’s shoes off his desk.

  “Oh, I was just getting comfortable.”

  “Not in here, you aren’t, mate,” Scott replied, running his hands over his face. “Tell me you’ve got some news…good news…any news…”

  “Er, well now that you’re unavailable, you’re no longer the most eligible male in the station, so it means I can sidle into the top spot.”

  “I meant proper news,” Scott hissed through pursed lips.

  “Well, yes and no…”

  Scott groaned. “Go on.”

  “Cara’s flat…”

  Scott leant forward, now interested, and alarmed as it dawned on him that he’d not once texted or called her today to make sure she was all right. Shit.

  “We didn’t pick up any identifiable prints from Cara’s flat other than hers and yours I’m afraid.” Matt paused still glancing down at the brown file on his lap. “But we did find traces of semen on her underwear…and the door handle of the bedroom.”

  Scott’s eyes widened. “Don’t look at me.”

  “Don’t worry. I’ve checked your DNA profile already. It’s not yours…yours was only on her lower bed sheet.”

  Scott looked suitably embarrassed, and cleared his throat.

  “The door was levered open with a flat instrument, probably a crowbar, pry bar or something of that nature. That’s all we’ve come up with so far,” Matt said, rising from his chair and heading back towards the door. “We’re running checks now on the semen sample…I’ll give you a shout as soon as I know more.”

  “Okay, keep me posted.” Scott thanked Matt for his swift attention and discreet feedback. Someone’s got it in for her, he thought as he punched out a quick text on his phone to her.

  Hope you’re okay. Sorry for not checking in sooner, bit manic here. S x

  31

  The day had dragged on. Another mind-numbing day of teaching young adults had taken its toll. Over recent years, Laurence Goddard found his patience being tested more frequently. In his eyes, getting delinquent adults in their twenties ready to sit their GCSE English exams was a thankless task. Those idiots should have paid attention in school. But then again it paid his bills.

  Goddard had lost count of the amount of times he’d discussed the concept of themes in Of Mice and Men or Pride and Prejudice. The room felt stuffy. His small office was situated off the main teaching room, with no windows or natural light. The faded white walls seemed to close in on him, crushing him from all four sides, squeezing the breath out of his chest.

  His mind spun, his eyes strained to focus on his best friend Jack. Tonight it was just the pair of them. Jack helped to take away his pain, his fears, but they didn’t stop the trembling in his fingers as he held his hand out in front of him. The trembling in his hands had worsened in recent months. He’d kept meaning to make an appointment with his GP, but fear stole his courage every time. His chair squeaked as he leant forward pushing the untidy mess of files across his desk, an attempt on his part to create some space. But it wasn’t really space he needed on his desk, but space in his mind, space to contemplate and make some sense of the confusion that reigned around him.

  Sweat beaded from his forehead, zigzagging down his temples before racing into his long sideburns. The clamminess of the office and the lack of fresh air made the room feel like a sauna. His back felt damp, beads of sweat ran down the centre of his chest to his navel. He was a mess and he knew it, but there was nothing he could do…nothing anyone could do. They were all gone. If he lay low, he might be okay. If he watched his back, he might live.

  His eyelids fluttered closed, the combination of tiredness and his friend Jack slowly taking him to a place where he could escape his demons. His mouth was bone dry and his breath reeked of alcohol. He’d had enough for today and wouldn’t stay much longer before heading home.

  Home…Did I really have a home? He’d already made the decision to go back and teach his wife another lesson. He’d enjoyed her futile attempts at fending him off. A few slaps and punches would be enough to beat her into submission again. He felt manly, more in control when he had her pinned down. At least that was one part of his life that he could control. At least he didn’t have to pay for it, she would put out whether she liked it or not, he thought.

  There was a pause of a few seconds between the door flying open and his mind registering commotion behind him. His body moved in slow motion as he turned in his chair unable to comprehend exactly what was happening. It wasn’t long before he realised it was his turn.

  His whole body and mind swayed as he stood up, the room spinning like a centrifugal force around him. He was defenceless; he was weak…too weak to even open his mouth. He lazily brought his arms up to his side to surrender in a comical way that would only have been seen in the old cops and robbers movies.

  “Youuu fuckerrr,” Goddard slurred, as his eyes rolled around desperately trying to lock on to the intruder in front of him. “Whooo do you think youuu fucking areee?” he said as his head dropped to one side.

  The intruder, dressed from head to toe in black, stood t
here rigid and rippling with menace. His bravery had grown over the week. Fear once had gripped him, once had ruled his life in equal measures with anger, but not anymore.

  “Ignavus iners timidius tu mori debes.”

  “Come again?” Goddard replied, as his eyes narrowed in confusion.

  “Did you think you could get away with it? Surely, you must have realised that I would come looking for you,” the man said.

  Goddard sluggishly lunged forward. His mind wanted to strike first, but his body was slow in getting the message. His fist lazily swung in the air towards the intruder. He was far off the mark; the momentum of his swinging arm rotated his body in a wide arc that sent him off-balance.

  It was all the attacker needed as he reared up behind Goddard. The flash of white plastic tape caught the light, each end wrapped several times in each hand. He pinned Goddard face down across his desk as he threw the tape over Goddard’s head and dragged it down to his neck.

  He pulled hard, the tape slowly cutting off Goddard’s means of survival. Goddard attempted to steady himself with one hand, the other desperately grabbing and clawing at the tourniquet that slowly starved him of oxygen. He flailed his arms in a dire attempt to free himself. Folders and files were pushed and thrown off his desk, scattering paper across the floor. His teeth snarled as his lips pulled back. With jaws clamped tight, spittle seeped out between his stained, rotten teeth. Red blotches tainted his skin; white spots filled his vision as the world around him started to darken.

  Triumph enveloped the attacker as he breathed in a satisfied sigh. This had been the easiest one so far. Goddard’s body slumped and folded in on itself, falling to a contorted ball on the floor.

  Scott was just about to start an evening briefing when the call came through that a body had been found in one of the serviced offices on the Knoll Business Centre in Hove. Scott, Abby and Sian raced over to Hove, gathering details en-route about the incident. A cleaner had stumbled across the body and paramedics had confirmed the victim was deceased on arrival but still warm. The team was optimistic. The incident was fresh, and with SOCO and Cara en-route, the first few hours after a body were found were critical in any investigation.

  The scene had already been secured by the time Scott arrived, the familiar blue and white police tape cordoning off the entrance to the business park as the outer cordon. Scott had called ahead to instruct uniformed officers to start searching the locality in case the perpetrator was still hovering. Scott had found that in some cases, a perpetrator would lurk about the crime scene, watching from a distance with a macabre curiosity as the emergency services arrived on scene, as if teasing them to come and find me, catch me if you can.

  Knoll Business Centre, situated on the western outskirts of Hove, didn’t have the glamour of modern serviced units. It was housed in an old 1900s boy’s primary school set behind tall railings just off the Old Shoreham Road. The drab and dreary external brown brick façade replaced by modern bright, white interiors, polished wooden parquet floors and funky-coloured furniture.

  Scott had noticed as he pulled up outside the business centre that traffic had started to crawl along the busy dual carriageway as drivers slowed in curiosity at the large police presence. He’d need to get some traffic units to manage traffic flow if an accident was to be avoided.

  Emily Bates, who had found the victim, sat in the back of a patrol car visibly upset. She held a tissue to her mouth, her face puffy, her eyes red and swollen from her crying. Scott instructed Sian to take a statement from her, and Abby to talk to other business unit holders that might still be around. He also instructed her to get onto the caretaker of the centre to see if anything was picked up on the CCTV he’d noticed at the entrance.

  Local officers had directed him to Goddard’s offices. Along the way, Scott had taken note of other businesses that occupied the centre. A cake making business proudly showed off its name across its double doors, The dough knot made him smile. He wondered how people had the ability to be so creative with business names.

  Further along the corridor was a room with desks and terminals. The sign on the outside of the door indicated it was a flexible co-working lounge where individuals could rent a desk. Other signs indicated meeting rooms, light industrial units and studios scattered amongst the two quadrangles that formed the centre.

  An inner cordon of blue and white police tape signalled the location of the Goddard’s unit. There was urgency in Scott’s steps as he peered into Goddard’s office. With the death being so recent, the next few hours were crucial, and hopefully CCTV would be his saviour. Two SOCOs were already present and starting their preliminary analysis, painstakingly photographing the scene, the victim and his surroundings.

  Scott was hit with a warm blast of air from the stuffy room. High temperatures, sweat and the stench of alcohol led him to pinch his nose. Cramped conditions meant the SOCOs had little space to move around the room, let alone around the body. He could see the outline of a man slumped on the floor. The body was curled into a foetal position, his white shirt rippled across his back, still damp from sweat. The end of a red tie poked out from beneath the body, and Scott spotted a pair of thin-rimmed glasses that lay a few inches away from the man’s head.

  He wouldn’t be able to inspect the body for the time being which frustrated him, but he could live with that. Another officer had informed him that the pathologist was on her way but had been held up in the evening rush hour traffic. Cause of death would have to wait, but paramedics had confirmed evidence of a fresh ligature mark around the neck with localised minor bleeding.

  “Guv,” Abby said as she appeared over his shoulder.

  “I’ve spoken to the caretaker. The unit was rented out to a Laurence Goddard. He ran a private tutoring business. He’s been renting it for the past few years, and paid his rent on time,” she said, glancing at her notebook. “He’s getting me a copy of the CCTV footage. Apparently, there are cameras at every entrance.”

  Scott hummed in agreement but still cast an eye over the body. His thoughts over whether this death in suspicious circumstances was connected to his ongoing investigation were soon confirmed as he glanced over his shoulder and behind the door to see a row of certificates and framed photos, presumably of Goddard.

  One particular photo caught his attention. A gold-framed photo hung there, identical to the one he’d seen in Edmunston-Hunt of the current serving teachers. This time it was of a bespectacled man with a large forehead from a receding hairline. The gold inscription beneath the photo read ‘Laurence Goddard, English Teacher, Edmunston-Hunt School’.

  32

  The scenes-of-crime officer had been able to retrieve a wallet from a jacket that hung off the back of the chair. The photo ID on a driving licence seemed to correlate with the victim. Scott’s next task was to get the body formally identified. He stood in a small close just off the Dyke Road. It was a street with modern town houses with bay-fronted windows, and Juliet balconies on the first floor. Low-level laurel bushes framed the front of each house neatly tucking in under the ground-floor window ledges.

  Scott and Abby checked the address to confirm they were standing outside the correct property before Scott poked the doorbell. They could hear padded footsteps in the hallway, and then the flick of a switch, the light from the hallway peeking out from around the edges of the door.

  A woman with brown, highlighted shoulder-length hair answered the door. She was wrapped in a pink, fluffy dressing gown which had small red hearts randomly dotted over it. Scott could see cream-coloured, silk pyjamas. It wasn’t what she was wearing that caught his attention, but what appeared to be heavy bruising on her chin, cheek and around her left eye. She shielded her face with a hand, as she looked nervously between the two visitors on a doorstep.

  “I’m Detective Inspector Baker and this is my colleague Detective Sergeant Trent. We are from Brighton CID,” he said as both officers held up their warrant cards for inspection.

  The woman’s nervous eyes dar
ted between the warrant cards and the officers. “What’s this about?” her voice trembled as she wrapped her arms around her chest.

  “Can you confirm your name for us, madam?” Abby asked.

  She cleared her throat. “I’m…Samantha Goddard…can I ask what this is about?”

  Scott and Abby exchanged a glance. “May we come in for a moment?”

  Samantha Goddard waved them into a modern but narrow hallway. Birch laminate flooring offered a crisp, clean look to go alongside the light cream walls and white skirting and coving. She led them into a room on the left and offered them a seat. It was a warm comfortable lounge with modern contemporary low-back fabric sofas neatly angled, facing a large flat-screen TV fixed to the chimney breast.

  Scott and Abby took the sofa whilst Samantha Goddard sat on the opposite sofa facing them. She rested her elbows on her knees, and cupped her hands beneath her chin.

  “We are here about Laurence Goddard. What’s your relationship to him?” Scott said.

  Samantha wrung her hands, her eyes darting between the two officers. She licked her lips nervously.

  “He’s…my husband.”

  Samantha felt panic rise inside as her thoughts swirled. Were they here about her assault? Had a neighbour called out of concern? Maybe someone had heard her screams? What do I say if they ask me about my bruises?

  “And when did you last see him?”

  “Erm…this morning before he left for work.”

  Abby scribbled notes but couldn’t help but notice how the woman clenched her hands so tight that they paled a pasty white.