Songbird

by Peter Grainger

  DCI Reeve was better at this than her superior officer, Detective Chief Superintendent Allen. With him, finding and detaining the perpetrator was just one of the priorities that had to be juggled – at least this was Waters’ impression – whereas with the DCI there was a clearer and more single-minded focus on catching the evil bastard who did it. Those were not Waters’ words, of course – he could always hear another voice saying them.

  Reeve was saying ‘… family members have just arrived, the husband and the brother-in-law, Michaela Fletcher’s husband. We’re giving them a bit of private time, and then I’ll start the process of formally interviewing Mrs Fletcher.’

  She wouldn’t do that alone, and Waters wondered whom she would take in with her. His guess was Serena Butler, who was standing right next to him and paying close attention to what the SIO was saying. In these cases, where there might have been a serious sexual assault as well as a killing, the unwritten policy seems to be to put female officers in front of the bereaved. Waters wondered whether there was any data to show this was operationally more effective, and then brought himself back to the briefing.

  ‘…ask DI Terek to report on how the DNA testing is going. As I’m sure you all know, this isn’t something we’d usually do in such a hurry but under the circumstances, with everyone on the site leaving within the next thirty-six hours, it was decided to go ahead with it. DI Terek?’

  Terek, Waters’ own line manager, still stood up whenever he had to address a group, and everyone was used to it now. He hadn’t taken off his tie or his jacket all day, even though everyone else had succumbed at some point, and despite the stuffiness in the caravan, he still had an air of grim sartorial determination – he could outlast the lot of them when it came to the wearing of a suit.

  Terek explained that they had managed to get samples from seven of the eight men who had been due to leave the Pinehills site today. The missing man had left with his wife early in the day without speaking to Mrs Salmon, and the keys to his caravan had been found posted through the letterbox of the main office. Waters had already been told this but he saw its possible significance noted by some of the other officers now, including the other member of his team here, Richard Ford. Terek went on to explain that once again Mrs Salmon had been most helpful – having no spare caravan available herself, she had found a vacant one on a neighbouring site and transferred to it the booking for the coming week. This meant the police could examine the missing man’s caravan closely over the weekend if necessary.

  ‘In addition to that,’ said Terek, with the over-the-spectacles look that meant he was about to say something of significance, ‘one person has refused to provide us with a sample or to come to the main office to explain why. When this was reported to me, I went back with the uniformed men concerned to speak to the individual. We won’t go public here with the name but we have confirmed his identity. He says he is taking a stand to defend individual liberty against, er, I have it written down here… Against the ever-encroaching powers of a totalitarian state. You will not be surprised to learn that we already have officers at Central looking into the matter. That’s all, ma’am.’

  The detective inspector sat down, and the DCI thanked him and the officers concerned for what had been done so efficiently that afternoon. Then she said, ‘Following on from that, I’ve also got Central working up a list of known offenders in the county. This will be a long list when it’s done – I mention this now so no one needs to point out to me later, when they are presented with it, that it is a long list. At some point, we might need to work our way through it, so be prepared. The site owner has told me that the gentleman who reported finding the body this morning is also due to leave tomorrow, so he needs to be interviewed tonight as well. DI Terek will be allocating that job in a moment. Finally, DCS Allen has told me this is already in the public domain and that there will be an item on the BBC local news this evening. In view of that and the nature of the site where the body was discovered, we’ll be putting up notices appealing for the help of the public. You know the sort of thing – a serious offence was committed nearby on the evening of Thursday the 26th. These are being printed in Lake and should arrive here later today. Again, DI Terek will be giving someone the job of getting those put up in the right places. Any questions?’

  Serena Butler raised a hand and asked whether there was any CCTV. Reeve handed that to Terek, who explained that apart from the camera outside the site office, there was nothing other than on the gates of one private house on the road back towards the town. They had not been successful in contacting the owners yet. This seemed to jog Terek’s memory and he went to Reeve to mention something while the rest of them waited for her to end the briefing. It wasn’t like Allen’s briefings which sometimes concluded with people wandering off in uncertain fashion.

  Serena looked up at Waters and said, ‘Alright, sarge? Busy day?’

  This had begun as a joke, the “sarge” thing, but now it had become a fixture. Before he was promoted, they had been equals in rank which meant she had often taken charge because she was a few years older, a few years more experienced, and, as she had regularly pointed out to him and to anyone else who happened to be nearby, a lot of years less naïve. As soon as he was promoted she had changed tack, naturally, but there had been a few awkward moments, and the situation would probably have been worse if at the same time she had not been made a part of the squad that sometimes formed up to investigate very serious crimes against the person – for some reason they were still not officially calling it the murder squad. But since February there hadn’t been a proper murder in north Norfolk, just a couple of near-misses. Waters could not be alone in wondering why this one had not been handed straight to Detective Chief Inspector Cara Freeman.

  ‘Yes, busy. And hot. I feel like I’ve been char-grilled. Is my face red?’

  Serena peered up at him and said, ‘Yes. You should’ve had at least a factor thirty on. Did you know that in people with fair skins, even a single episode of sunburn can produce dangerous conditions later in life?’

  Waters felt around his face as if to check he didn’t have one of the rapidly developing sorts, and said, ‘Yes, I probably have heard that. Thanks for reminding me, though.’

  ‘No problem. Was it a bad one?’

  He knew she meant the murder scene, and the state of the body that had been found – she would be disappointed she hadn’t seen it all first-hand. Serena Butler wasn’t ghoulish, but ever since she’d worked on the Sokoloff case she’d had an interest in this, the very worst of crimes. Thank goodness someone else had recognised it and made his, Waters’, life a little easier by giving her the prospect of working in a specialist unit from time to time.

  He said in reply, ‘They all are. But no, it wasn’t what anyone would call a mess.’

  ‘I spoke to a uniform who was up there. He reckoned she was strangled.’

  This was a question to him, of course, and he wasn’t surprised that Serena was investigating the investigation.

  ‘I thought so, too. I suggested it to Robinson and he didn’t disagree.’

  ‘And that her clothing was pulled about. Had she been raped?’

  There was a directness about Serena Butler that some people found disconcerting.

  Waters said, ‘I suggested that to Robinson as well. He was non-committal on that one. We won’t have an answer until Monday. Someone will need to be present at the autopsy if you fancy it. You could be the first to find out.’

  It’s a part of the job that most CID officers avoid if they can but Serena had already done it – she’d been present at the post-mortem of Bernard Sokoloff and made a good job of reporting the results to meetings. There were other possible benefits. It might make it easier for Dr Robinson and his technician Olive Markham if they were working with a familiar face, it would be useful for Serena in her career development as a member of the not-murder squad, and it would mean that he didn’t have to be there himself; Waters had done it without the nau
seous complications that some detectives have but he wasn’t desperate to repeat the experience.

  She said in an offhand way, ‘Yes, OK, I don’t mind,’ but Waters was guessing she’d volunteer anyway if he didn’t put her name forward for the job. He said to her, ‘So, where’s your other boss? I thought this would land up on her desk, to be honest.’

  ‘She’s in Lake today, but she’s at some conference in Birmingham for three days next week. She’s very good at communication, we get a weekly memo and emails and everything. And she has a laugh with us every time we have a meeting. That’s how management should be done, isn’t it?’

  She was frowning at Terek and Reeve as if she was trying to lip-read what they were saying, but Waters knew her game by now; this was an attempt to wind him up like a clockwork toy. DI Terek wasn’t a caring, sharing sort of manager. He viewed his people as resources to be deployed, to be moved around the board of an investigation as a general behind the lines pushes models across paper maps. Sometimes this was efficient, even effective, but it didn’t often foster loyalty and the sort of out-of-hours commitment to a team that other management styles can create. Serena had decided that Detective Sergeant Waters ought to be setting an example for his own line manager, but Waters shuddered inwardly at the thought of seeing John Murray’s face when he received his first weekly ‘Hi there, team’ memo on a bleary Monday morning.

  He glanced at Serena then, and not for the first time understood that, surprisingly, of the three of them, she missed Smith the most. She noticed him looking and pulled her ‘What?’ face before she said, ‘When this is finally over, is there any chance I can nip up and have a look at the scene?’

  ‘Fine by me, though I could probably describe every bush and blade of grass if you wanted me to… But it’s my guess you’re going to be busy. We’re about to find out.’

  Terek was on his way. Serena muttered, ‘Why?’

  ‘I think the DCI wanted you here for a reason.’

  ‘Talent will out in the end, I suppose.’

  Waters nodded as Terek arrived and began to deploy his resources. Yes, he thought, talent will out but on this occasion it’s as much about what you are not as what you are. You are not a man. Conceivably, there could be a time and a place at which these things could be pointed out to Serena Butler but at this moment he could not envisage when or where either of them might be.

  ‘So I’d said to Molly, come on you lazy thing, get up. She didn’t want to go, and if I’d given in, I never would’ve, you know… They suffer in this heat, but you have to make sure they get some exercise, so I take her for a walk late in the evening and early in the morning.’

  Detective Constable Richard Ford smiled uneasily at the woman in a wheelchair who sat next to Mr Norman Jackson, and then, luckily, her husband leaned down and stroked the fat, brown spaniel at his feet as he said, ‘Don’t I, girl?’ Mr Jackson had talked about Molly and Patricia interchangeably and there had been moments when an awful mistake could have been made. This was the first time Ford’s sergeant had given him the opportunity to lead with the questions – what a start that would have been, the detective who couldn’t ascertain the difference between a witness’s wife and his pet dog.

  ‘So, Mr Jackson, if you could tell us what happened this morning when you took Molly for her walk?’

  Waters watched and listened, allowing Ford to make some superfluous notes because it was all good practice. A certain kind of killer likes to be involved in some way with the investigation other than by being a suspect – that’s why you always take a close look at whoever reports the discovery of a body. But he had already seen and heard enough of Mr Jackson to begin ruling him out of that category. Some of his reasons, if he’d needed to explain them, were self-evident. Norman Jackson was elderly and frail-looking himself, despite the fact he was his wife’s carer; in a fight to the death with Michelle Simms, one would have backed the young woman. Also, when Ford asked whether Mr Jackson had walked the dog along the same path the previous evening, he’d been told no, they’d driven up to Cley beach for a change. Patricia had sat on the shingle and enjoyed the sunset while Norman walked the dog. Waters knew the place. There was either a warden on duty collecting the parking fee, someone who would remember a woman in a wheelchair, or there was a machine doing the same thing, the sort that requires you to input your vehicle number. Sunset must still be after nine in the evening – it was unlikely that Norman Jackson had driven back quickly enough to get his wife and dog settled before nipping out to murder a young woman he’d never met.

  But Waters was aware that he had also developed some of the instincts of a detective. There is no mystery to this. Intelligent people tend to reflect on experiences and draw conclusions for future reference. With regular practice, the neural pathways become established and begin to operate so rapidly that we have to employ words like “intuition” and phrases like “a sixth sense” to explain what’s going on – the reality is more mundane but in its own way still remarkable. And Waters’ instincts were telling him they wouldn’t need to speak to Norman Jackson again.

  ‘… twice I called her back but the third time she wouldn’t come away, so I had to go and have a look. She was growling, too. Never does that normally, does she, Pat?’

  The woman shook her head and looked at Waters – it was a look that said, I know he goes on a bit… He’d learned to smile professionally, too, and the woman was grateful for that and for their patience with her husband, who had clearly got over the shock of the morning and was now rather enjoying himself.

  ‘We’ve been coming down here for twenty years or more and never in all my days did I expect to see anything like that. Poor thing. There she was, all…’

  The old man stopped, glanced at his wife and said to the detectives, ‘Well, I imagine you’ve seen more than enough of it without me going into detail. I knew straight away she was dead.’

  Waters said, ‘I’m sorry, sir, but I have to ask – did you touch the body? People sometimes do, they try to check for a pulse, that sort of thing.’

  ‘No, I did not! Like I said, I could see she was cold. Her eyes were open. Molly had gone right up close but there was no sign of movement. I went back to the path and called nine, nine, nine. I always have my phone when I’m away, in case Pat needs me. Then it was awkward because the operator or whoever it was told me to stay close by, which I did, but I was thinking I ought to get back. But they were very good, they turned up in less than fifteen minutes. People are always going on about the police and public services but-’

  ‘Thank you, Mr Jackson, you’ve given us a very clear account. And you didn’t meet anyone else on your walk this morning?’

  ‘No, it was early, crack of dawn, didn’t see another soul until the boys in blue turned up. Very professional, they were. Will I have to go to court, give evidence, all that sort of thing?’

  Waters said, ‘I don’t think so, sir,’ bringing evident disappointment to the face of Norman Jackson, but things brightened up when he added, ‘However, we will print a statement based on what you’ve told us this evening which you will be required to read, sign and date.’

  ‘Fair enough, detective sergeant. I mean, I tried to do what was right, you know. If there was anything else I ought to have done… Was there? Just for future reference. You never know, do you?’

  Waters stood up, followed by Ford.

  ‘I wouldn’t worry, Mr Jackson. Statistically, I think it’s highly unlikely you’ll find yourself in this situation again.’

  Again, Norman looked slightly disappointed, and for a very fleeting moment the detective sergeant thought, I haven’t misjudged him, have I? The only way to be a serial discoverer of bodies would be to… No, don’t be ridiculous, Waters. It’s been a long day. Pull yourself together.

  The Jacksons’ caravan was only two rows back from the edge of the dunes where the footpath began. When they got outside, Waters glanced at his watch and said, ‘I think if we cut through here, we’re close to
where the woman was found. I’m going to take a quick look, make sure everything was left in order. Come on.’

  He couldn’t remember this being on the list of duties of the crime scene manager but it felt like the right thing to do. They found the road and turned left towards where all the vehicles had been parked in the morning, but it was empty now. Long ago there must have been a fence and a gate here; one upright wooden post remained, and pinned on it was one of the police notices printed and laminated in Lake that afternoon. They stood and read it in silence. Waters thought, and that’s it – the murder of Michelle Simms has become “a serious incident”. Somehow it seemed inadequate, a criminal understatement of the enormity of what had happened here less than twenty-four hours ago.

  The patch of grass a few yards in and on the right-hand side had become considerably more flattened by the work of the SOCO team. Waters pointed it out to Ford, feeling uncomfortably like a tour guide, but this did begin a useful conversation about why the killer had moved the body – always assuming the attack had actually taken place here.

  Waters said, ‘She would have been too easily seen. Anyone coming along the path would have spotted her and raised the alarm.’

  ‘But, sir, he – we have to assume it was a “he”, don’t we – he wasn’t trying to permanently hide the body when he moved it, was he? Not from what you’ve told me about where it was found. I mean, he must have realised she’d soon be found anyway, so why go to the trouble of moving her?’

  The day had been taken up gathering evidence about a death and recording the movements of the living as they had done so; with that completed, the next phase was beginning – the logical exploration of what a murderer has done and why. Waters had no doubt that Reeve and Terek had been over this aspect of the investigation but experience had already taught him that the most significant insights are not necessarily confined to those in charge of a case. Ford had asked a good question, and it deserved an answer.