He paled visibly. “You mean people were killed here? My God.”
“I’m afraid so. What was on this land before McAteer bought it?”
Liam Russell rummaged in his briefcase and retrieved a document. “Three shops and a small block of flats. The flats had been here since the sixties and were deemed unsafe.”
“When was the site purchased?” she asked.
“Mr McAteer bought the site two years ago. The existing buildings were demolished, the land cleared and then it was left untouched until recently.”
“How recently?”
“Building work started three weeks ago,” he said.
So the older of the two bodies was left here before then.
Chapter Five
When Rachel and Elwyn returned to the station, they found Detective Chief Superintendent Harding standing in front of the incident board, staring at the photos of the two victims.
“I’ve had a call from Mr McAteer,” he told Rachel. “He’s concerned about the time it’s taking to complete the search of his land. He’s working to a tight schedule and is keen to make progress.”
The warning bells sounded. She did not want McAteer having any contact with Harding. “He rang here? Spoke to you direct?” Rachel shook her head. “He’s got some nerve, going behind my back. I’m the SIO on the case, he should direct all enquiries to me.”
“I’m sure he didn’t mean to circumnavigate protocol. The man’s worried, that’s all.”
Rachel felt her temper rise again and took a deep breath to calm herself. It didn’t work. “It’s all about bloody profit with the likes of him! Well, he’ll have to wait. One of the bodies we found has been there a while. For all we know, there could be more. We’re far from finishing our search of that land,” she paused, “sir.”
Now she’d done it. She’d raised her voice, ranted at him. Given the mood he’d been in recently, he wasn’t likely to react very well, was he?
“I take your point.” Nodding, he turned and left the office. “Should he phone again, I’ll direct him to you.”
Rachel and Elwyn stood gazing after him, open-mouthed.
“What’s up with him?” Elwyn asked. “He was actually reasonable for once. He didn’t get on his high horse, he even sounded helpful. Is he on medication?”
Rachel laughed. “There are times when you crack me up, Elwyn. Let’s hope he stays like that. McAteer could give us a problem.”
“I think I’ve got somewhere with the donor aspect, ma’am,” Jonny called from the next office. “Just over a year ago a woman donated a kidney to her sister. She fits the description, and the transplant was done at the MRI, like you thought.”
“Do we have names?”
“The recipient was a Miss Anthea Moore. Her sister is one Agnes Moore. Anthea lives in Audenshaw.”
“We’ll go and see what she has to say. Have you tried to contact her?” Rachel asked.
“Yes, and she’s at home all day. I didn’t say anything about the body, as we’re not yet sure if it is her sister.”
“Good work,” Rachel said. “The second body had been there a while. It will have been dumped after the site was cleared but before the builders moved in.” She turned to Amy. “Anything on the CCTV?”
“The service provider will give us a backup copy. They’re made hourly, so we still might get something.”
“Good. When it comes through, get onto it straight away. And check any CCTV on the roads in that area. Concentrate on six thirty to eight last night. Come on, Elwyn. Off to Audenshaw.”
* * *
Almost halfway between Manchester and Ashton, Audenshaw had good wide roads and a tramline that went right through to the city and the towns beyond.
“She lives along here somewhere,” Elwyn said. “Take the next left.”
The houses were pleasant semis with gardens, the only fly in the ointment being the noise from the busy A road they’d just driven in on.
Anthea Moore opened the front door and regarded them with a questioning stare. She seemed ill at ease. “What’s this all about? Your young man didn’t say much, just that you wanted to see me.”
She was about fifty, tall, straight-backed with greying hair. She wasn’t smiling.
“I’m DCI King and this is DS Pryce. We’re from East Manchester CID.” Rachel paused for a moment, seeking out similarities between this woman and their victim. As far as she could see, they looked nothing like each other. Their victim had been an attractive woman, Anthea looked hard. “We’re here to ask you some questions about your sister, Agnes.”
The woman eyed the pair with suspicion. “What questions? What do you think Agnes has done?”
“Possibly nothing, but we’d like a word anyway.”
“You’re wasting your time. Agnes isn’t here, she’s on holiday.”
Her voice faltered — nerves, Rachel decided, as she watched the woman rub at the sleeves of her sweater.
“Perhaps you could help us to get one or two things straight.”
Anthea Moore nodded. “If I can.”
“I believe you received a kidney from Agnes about a year ago.”
“Yes, and I was truly grateful, it was wonderful of Agnes, doing that for me. There’s just the two of us you see, so we’re especially close.”
“Did she live here with you?” Elwyn asked her.
Anthea didn’t seem to pick up on his use of the past tense. “No, Agnes has a flat in town, that development in New Islington. It’s more convenient for her work.”
“Have you seen Agnes recently?” Rachel asked.
“No, I told you, she’s on holiday, a tour of the Algarve. She left on Tuesday, and she’ll be gone another week.” Anthea shifted from foot to foot and rubbed at her side. “What’s this about? All these questions about Agnes, what’s happened?”
“When did you last speak to her?”
“Monday night. She dropped her cat off — I’m looking after it for her.”
“Do you have a photo of Agnes?”
“Why?” She looked from one detective to the other. “Agnes is fine, she’s not in any trouble.”
“We hope so, Anthea, but it would help to see a photo.”
“You’d better come in.”
They followed Anthea inside.
She picked up a framed photo from the coffee table. “This is us a few months ago, at a friend’s wedding.”
This was the part of the job that Rachel disliked the most, having to deliver bad news. She was already picturing this woman’s horror when she heard the news. Staring back at Rachel, and smiling happily, was their victim. There was no use wrapping it in cotton wool. Straight out with it was always the best way.
“I’m sorry, Anthea, but your sister was found dead this morning. We believe she was murdered.” Rachel gave her a moment or two to take this in. “I’m really sorry for your loss. I’m going to need your help to catch her killer.”
There was a look of utter disbelief on Anthea Moore’s face. She stared back at Rachel, her eyes blazing. “Agnes? Dead? I don’t believe it! She can’t be, not my sister. I don’t know why you’ve come here with this pack of lies, trying to frighten me.” She picked up a mobile phone that was lying on the coffee table. “I’ll ring her now. You’ll see — Agnes is out in the sun, enjoying herself. Anyway, who would want to kill her? You’re off your heads. You people have no idea what you’re doing, do you?”
Rachel and Elwyn stood back and waited. Anthea had the phone clamped to her ear, her eyes growing wider with each passing second.
After what seemed an age, she shouted, “No!” and threw the phone to the floor. “Why Agnes? It doesn’t make any sense. She’s never harmed anyone.”
“She was killed here in Manchester, on a patch of land in Beswick.”
“She works — worked — in Beswick.” Anthea dabbed at the tears running down her cheeks. “Agnes was a nurse at a GP practice, the health centre on Ashton Old Road. Been there years, she had. Knew everyone in the area.�
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“You saw her on Monday night.” Elwyn was busy writing all this down. “When was she due to fly out?”
“Tuesday morning. Early, she said.”
“We’ll need her address,” Rachel said gently. “And a key if you have one. How old was Agnes?”
“Forty-five.”
“Was she married or in a steady relationship?” Rachel asked.
“No. Neither of us ever met the right man.” Anthea looked away and began fiddling with her sleeves again. “Mind you, Agnes could be secretive. There may have been someone she didn’t tell me about.”
Rachel wondered why her question had made Anthea so nervous. “We’ll have to speak to you again. Do you work, Anthea?”
“I teach at the academy in Ancoats. School hours that’s where you’ll find me.”
“Thank you, that’s very helpful.”
“Can I see her?” Anthea asked in a small voice.
“Yes, of course. One of my officers will accompany you. I’ll send a car round to pick you up this afternoon. Do you have anyone who can be with you?”
“The woman next door will come in. She’ll sort me out.”
Rachel and Elwyn left Anthea standing in the middle of the room, absent-mindedly rubbing the back of her neck.
“What d’you think?” Elwyn asked, once they were outside.
“She’s hiding something, but I’m not sure what. She was certainly nervous. We’ll let her get over the shock and then talk to her again.”
Chapter Six
“Our victim is Agnes Moore. She was forty-five, and a nurse at a GP practice in Beswick.” Rachel looked up from her notes to see that Harding had come in and was standing at the back. He never did this, so why all the interest now? He looked thinner than usual and pale. Was he worried about something, the case perhaps? It crossed her mind that Jed might have offered him a backhander to speed things up, but dismissed the notion. All her instincts told her that Harding was straight.
“Her sister will identify the body later today,” she continued. “I’ll visit Agnes’s work place and speak to her colleagues. Meanwhile, I want forensics at her flat in New Islington and a complete background check.” She looked at Jonny. “Did we get the plans for that site from the council?”
“Yes, they emailed them. I’m no expert, but it looks like the bloke from McAteer’s was correct — flats and shops, all long past their sell-by date. Are we proceeding on the assumption that the killings are linked, ma’am?”
Harding was still standing there. His presence was making her twitchy. “Can I help you, sir?”
“Yes. You can meet with me and Mr McAteer later today. My office at six.” Having dropped that little bombshell, he left.
Rachel had to remind herself that Harding didn’t know. He was simply reacting to an annoyed punter who was losing money because of their investigation. But that didn’t help the nerves. What the hell was Jed up to? Plus, there was no precedent for this. Rachel could not recall any instance in the past when a senior officer had invited the owner of a crime scene in to reassure them.
Rachel shook herself. Back to the investigation. “Both bodies were found within a spit of each other, so they’re quite possibly connected. But until we know a great deal more about Agnes and her life, we can’t be sure.” She looked at Amy. “Agnes and Anthea Moore are your project, Amy. Agnes was a nurse at the health centre, Anthea’s a teacher at Ancoats Academy. Find out everything you can about them. Anthea told us that neither of them was in a relationship but dig into that, and make it thorough. I suspect Anthea’s hiding something. I want to know who their friends were, where they spent their free time — the lot. Agnes appears to have been whiter than white, but she upset someone badly enough for them to kill her. There were no belongings at the scene. Check her bank account and find out if it’s been used since she was murdered.”
Rachel glanced at her watch. It was after four p.m. and she’d had nothing to eat. “Elwyn. Canteen. A quick bite and then we’ll visit Agnes’s workplace.”
They took the stairs to the canteen. “It’s good to see your appetite back after all the events of the last few months,” Elwyn said on their way up.
“I’m fine. I just wish that Jed would butt out of my life. What’s he up to, Elwyn? I feel like the man’s stalking me.”
“It could be a genuine beef. He does stand to lose money if he doesn’t meet his deadline.”
“I know him,” Rachel said. “That development isn’t the sort of thing Jed usually bothers with. I’ll lay odds he took it on knowing the deadlines were so tight. It’ll be a tax dodge. He loses money and offsets the amount against the huge profits he rakes in elsewhere. The apartments in that block he built in Castlefields are changing hands for a million plus. I know he hung onto two of those as an investment. He doesn’t go for the cheaper end of the market, Elwyn, so there must be something up.”
They sat at the back of the canteen, against the wall, watching the comings and goings. Jonny Farrell had followed in their wake and was at the counter ordering food.
“What is it with him?” Rachel asked. “Have you noticed the clothes? He dresses like he’s got money to burn.”
Elwyn smiled. “What? You mean you don’t know?”
“Know what?” Rachel had her eyes on the menu.
“His dad’s Bobby Farrell, the footballer.”
Rachel shrugged. “Soz, Elwyn, you know I don’t do football.”
He laughed. “This city has two of the biggest teams in the country, and you don’t do football!”
“Do you?” Rachel asked. “I’ve never heard you going on about matches, goals and so on like the others do.”
“You’ve got me there. Guess I’m always too busy.”
“Go on. This dad of his — good, is he?”
“He played for both City and United in his time. He must have made a fortune. And that’s why our bright young thing is so spectacularly dressed. It’ll be Daddy’s money he’s spending.”
“With that behind him, I wonder why Jonny wanted to join the force in the first place,” she mused.
“Why did any of us?”
She smiled. “As for you, it’s in your DNA. Your dad was CID. In my case, I always wanted to chase criminals. Ever since my teens, I could never see myself doing anything else.”
“What you having?” Elwyn took the menu from her.
“A sandwich and coffee will do for now, then we’ll get off to that health centre in Beswick.”
* * *
The health centre wasn’t what Rachel had expected. In her own village of Poynton, the local practice would be full of mums and tots at this time of day. This one was full of individuals who looked as if they needed a damn good meal and a wash. A number of men and a couple of teenage girls were waiting their turn, staring at nothing. In the corner, a man was slumped over a newspaper, snoring.
Rachel approached the receptionist and produced her warrant card. “Do you have a practice manager we could speak to?”
“Yes, Lorraine Hughes. I’ll get her.”
“What d’you reckon’s going on here, Elwyn?”
“If I had to make a guess, I’d say rough sleepers come here to get some shelter and warmth.”
“I wonder whose idea that was?”
The receptionist beckoned to them. “Lorraine’s office is just down here.”
“Well, this is very mysterious,” Lorraine Hughes said. “Is there something wrong?”
“I’m DCI King and this DS Pryce. We’re here about Agnes Moore.” Rachel produced a photo from her pocket. “I understand she worked here?”
“Yes, but you won’t be able to talk to her. She’s on holiday.”
“I’m afraid that’s not the case,” Elwyn said.
“I don’t understand, did she miss her plane or something?”
“I’m very sorry but Agnes has been murdered,” Elwyn said.
Lorraine looked away. Her eyes seemed to be searching the room for something to fix on, anything
but the two detectives. Rachel wondered why. Was she hiding something?
After a lengthy silence, Lorraine said, “Are you sure it’s our Agnes?”
“Yes, we are,” Rachel said. “When was the last time you saw her?”
“Monday teatime, as usual. We were both on the early shift. After work she came to my house to borrow a suitcase. I only live up the road. We had a chat and a coffee. She left about five, as I recall.” Lorraine Hughes frowned. “You surely can’t think I had anything to do with her murder?”
“No. We’re simply trying to build up a picture of her last movements,” Rachel said. “Was Agnes popular?”
Lorraine looked away again, frowning, apparently considering how to answer the question.
“Not always. She could be harsh at times.”
“What do you mean?” Rachel asked. ‘Harsh?’ What didn’t she want to say?
Lorraine continued to avoid her gaze.
“Mostly people liked Agnes because she was helpful. She got on with the job. I can’t think of anyone who’d want to harm her,” she said.
“Well, someone did,” Rachel said bluntly. “But it still doesn’t answer the question.”
“People didn’t always appreciate Agnes’s help,” Lorraine said. “Sometimes it got her into trouble — and I was held responsible. Some of the other staff thought her methods a little odd.”
“What d’you mean?” Rachel asked.
“You saw that lot in the waiting room today. That’s down to Agnes. She visited the homeless hostel up the road and a couple of other places, did health checks and the like. Unfortunately, it backfired somewhat. We don’t treat people unless they are registered here as patients. We don’t turn people away, you can always register as a temporary patient, and we’ll even give this address as your temporary home. But we have to follow the rules, our funding depends on it. Agnes didn’t always go by the regulations, and it often got her into trouble. Apart from which, all the homeless people who are feeling the cold come and sit in the waiting room. It puts the other patients off.”
Two Victims Page 3
