Songbird

by Peter Grainger

  Freeman opened her phone and read, or rather glanced at a string of messages before closing it again. The she said. ‘The time’s getting on, but I really wanted to call in on Michaela Fletcher. I should, shouldn’t I, as the new SIO and her being the next-of-kin?’

  This was a game – she couldn’t possibly need any reassurance from him.

  ‘That would be the usual procedure, ma’am. It would also put the wind up her husband, I expect, in view of what he told us this morning.’

  ‘Chris, there’s no one else in the car – we can be informal. I hadn’t considered Graham Fletcher’s reaction in the slightest, but now you come to mention it… I’m assuming you have the address?’

  Waters was already opening the satnav.

  He said, ‘It’s sort of on the way back but we’re not going to be in Lake before five o’clock if we visit Mrs Fletcher.’

  ‘We could try. View it as an opportunity to practise your advanced driving. Have you got any of those temporary blue-light things they stick on the roof, just in case?’

  ‘No. I think that’s only in the States, ma’am.’

  ‘Is it? Well, if you decide to join the team – and you’re taking your time telling me you will, I must say – I’ll get you some of the covert ones fitted to this. You do realise that would clinch it for most boys?’

  ‘About that, I-’

  ‘But you have to be able to drive fast and talk at the same time.’

  He took the hint and pulled out into the stream of traffic on the A505. Then he said, ‘How much of your team is in place? Who are the DIs? If you don’t mind me asking.’

  Waters had been in the service long enough to realise it’s the line manager who decides whether your life is going to be interesting, bearable or miserable; perhaps Freeman was also recruiting detective inspectors, and that’s whom he’d be reporting to on a daily basis. If Simon Terek, for example, was moving across to the murder squad in the near future, Waters would opt to stay right where he was, and put up with investigating burglaries.

  She said, ‘If you’re after a record-breaking promotion to DI, no chance. But I see where you’re coming from, so I’ll tell you. I’ve got agreement initially for one DI, not appointed yet. I’ve made an approach, but it’s no one you’ll know.’

  She turned to look at him and he resisted the temptation to glance at her.

  ‘Also, below that person, agreement for two detective sergeants, and six detectives. I’ve got three detectives in place – Serena is one of them – and a shortlist for the others. One of the sergeant’s roles has been filled this week by an extremely capable young woman from Norwich. She’s like you, unattached, and she’ll relocate from county if I can get the set-up I want at Kings Lake. She’s experienced and would give you a run for your money.’

  She was making this sound more like a threat than a job offer, but Waters recognised the psychology at work behind it – if he looked nervous about being outshone, he wasn’t ready. And what about the “unattached”? Was she assuming that because he just looked sort of single, or did she monitor relationships as well?

  Freeman continued, ‘So, the other sergeant’s position is available, and there’s room for John Murray, if he wants it. I could make sure Serena is with you as well, if you wanted that. Remember, always have a lucky one.’

  ‘What about Richard Ford?’

  ‘Not enough experience.’

  A new and unknown DI, a very capable young woman from Norwich, hand-picked detectives to rival Serena Butler and John Murray, and at the helm, a DCI who was simultaneously perhaps a little crazy and one of the few CID officers Smith had handled with care. It could be a murder squad in more ways than one.

  He took a surreptitious, sidelong glance. Freeman had put on her reading glasses and was studying a document on her iPad. Squinting, he could make out what it was – the reports of DCI Alison Reeve’s interviews with Michaela Fletcher. A little crazy, maybe, but she was thorough with it.

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  ‘Look. We’ve got a room full of people and I don’t know most of the voices. Please put your hand up before you shout things out.’

  The effect was immediate, just as the senior investigating officer had intended – a moment of silence. Waters watched as Detective Sergeant John Wilson considered whether to put up a hand before saying again what he’d been shouting above the general hubbub. This was Freeman’s first address to the full team, and no one could be sure about the new rules of engagement. Alison Reeve would have been standing; Freeman was sitting in the first empty chair that had been available to her.

  Eventually Wilson said, ‘Ma’am? The mouth-to-mouth thing – it’s only a possibility. There’s another, more obvious explanation for his DNA being all over her. I know he’s disabled but he can speak, he does communicate with people. So why hasn’t he tried to explain what he did, if he did it? If he tried to revive her, why not say so? The most likely reason is, he hasn’t thought of it. We have, and now some of us are assuming it’s the truth. I’d say it’s just speculation unless they’ve got something more to back it up.’

  Wilson’s opinion had support, particularly from those seated around him. DI Terek was mid-way between Wilson and Freeman, his face immobile. In all the activity since they arrived back from Luton, Waters hadn’t been spoken to by the detective inspector.

  Freeman waited for quiet again.

  ‘John, I don’t disagree. We’re going to need evidence to back up this latest idea, as well as evidence to implicate anyone else. And you’re right, Oliver Salmon hasn’t said a word to indicate he attempted to help Michelle Simms. But then, he hasn’t said very much at all, has he? That’s what this next interview is about. I’m told he’s capable of understanding and answering our questions if they’re put to him in the right way. Maybe we’ve been putting them in the wrong way. He’s been questioned as a suspect – let’s see what happens if we question him as a witness.’

  There were folded arms and fixed expressions. Waters looked at Freeman and thought that Reeve would have made another attempt now to take more people with her. Cara Freeman was plainly unconcerned at the prospect of leaving a few behind.

  She said then, ‘Good. I don’t suppose this has been said very often in the history of Great Britain, but Chris and I have had quite an interesting day in Luton. We don’t have time to update you on all of that now, but I will at eight thirty tomorrow morning. I know some of you are on the nine o’clock start – it’s entirely up to you whether you come in early or not. If you do, don’t bother claiming overtime; as far as I can see, we’re broke. This briefing is over. Can I see Simon, Chris, Serena and Marta before you leave the room, please?’

  Authority is a peculiar thing. We can all draw up a list of the individual qualities needed to gain it – conviction, strength of will, skill in communication, some sort of courage, maybe – but those with natural authority have an indefinable something else. If you dislike them, perhaps it’s arrogance.

  While Freeman talked one to one with Terek, Serena waited with Waters. She said to him, ‘So, the new boss thinks she had an interesting day in your company.’

  ‘Before you ask, no, she isn’t the first person ever to say that.’

  ‘I never thought for a moment she would be. Does she like Fletcher for it?’

  The room was almost empty. Marta Dobrowski was waiting on her own, and Waters raised a hand, inviting her over.

  ‘I hope so. She spent next month’s forensics budget in five minutes. Hello, Marta. Thanks for this. Has the DCI told you what you’re doing tonight?’

  The Polish girl returned his greeting, open and friendly.

  ‘I think so. First we meet with Oliver’s family, we explain some changing circumstances. DCI Freeman says to me she wants a fresh start with all of them. Then we have another interview with him. Hopefully he will talk to us this time.’

  ‘Why do you think he hasn’t spoken to us yet?’

  She took longer over that question.
Serena nudged his elbow – Terek had left the room and Freeman was speaking to someone on her mobile.

  Marta said, ‘Most likely, he is afraid. He thinks he is in trouble, he will deal with fear by closing up. Like a – how you say it, the animal, the hedge thing?’

  ‘A hedgehog?’

  ‘Like that. Don’t come out until he thinks it is safe. That would be my guess.’

  Freeman was approaching, upright, still at a brisk pace, her energy apparently undiminished.

  ‘Thank you all for staying on. I don’t have a clue whose hours are what. Marta, we’re going down to meet Mrs Salmon; Oliver’s with family liaison for ten minutes. I’m going to get their OK for how we’re approaching this interview. I say ‘their’ because the solicitor will be present as well. I haven’t met her yet but I’m told she’s a pain in the backside’ – a glance at Waters – ‘so we should get on with it. Marta, I’d like you in the interview as a familiar face, on the desk with me. DI Terek will be in the room and observing. If you two are hanging around, go into the recording suite and watch the live broadcast. We can all meet up afterwards and write our resignations together.’

  And then she was on her way, Marta at her side and being briefed further on how she was expected to play a full part in the forthcoming interview. Waters watched them go, hands in his trouser pockets, an expression on his face that could pass either for thoughtful or slightly dazed.

  Serena said, ‘As far as I can tell, she’s like this all the time. It’s no wonder she gets results, is it?’

  ‘It’s no wonder she gets through sergeants. Terry Christopher is hiding behind a filing cabinet in Norwich, apparently.’

  ‘Good. He was a creep. I reckon she’s someone to be associated with, a good name on your CV, though. There’s talk of the M squad being made a permanent one. Much as I respect and admire you, Chris, if I’m asked, I’m going.’

  She wasn’t fishing – she didn’t know what her two superiors had been discussing on and off throughout the day. But if he even hinted at it, she’d spot it; there was no doubt of that.

  ‘So you should. But highflyers sometimes get too close to the sun. Remember Icarus?’

  ‘I thought he was a racehorse.’

  ‘No, that was Daedalus. If Freeman does the same, she could take us all down with her.’

  One second, two seconds, three seconds…

  ‘Us?’

  He nodded cautiously, but not cautiously enough to avoid the punch on his arm, which hurt quite a lot.

  ‘I bloody knew she’d ask you! Tell me you said yes.’

  He told her he hadn’t given an answer yet, and she knew better than to push him then. But she couldn’t resist saying, ‘The last time I saw her, she mentioned something about DC. She said that if she couldn’t get him – and she’s accepted it now he’s retired – the next best thing was to get his team. I thought she was joking but I don’t think she often is. I think she’s just relentless. What about John Murray?’

  Waters nodded and avoided another punch.

  ‘See? It’s the dream team, Chris! Sir, whatever… I expect you’d still get to boss me around. You have to say yes.’

  What he said was that he needed a few minutes to make some calls, and that he’d meet her down at the recording suite in a quarter of an hour. Back at his own desk, the office was mercifully empty. He drank some of the vending machine tea and ate a bar of chocolate. This sort of policing was very unhealthy. He’d be home late again and give in to the temptation to get a chicken Balti from the Sunrise takeaway, which was only yards from the front door to his flat. He needed to stock his fridge better if it was going to be as crazy as this.

  If it was… Relentless? How about remorseless and ruthless? Occasional regret, pity and compassion are useful qualities in someone you have to work for, aren’t they? Smith could be seriously focused and didn’t suffer fools or lazy people gladly, but Cara Freeman might be something else entirely. It wouldn’t be dull, Serena said, it wouldn’t be boring, but they have their place – every day lived at this pace would be exhausting.

  It was late but he called Gleneagles Motors anyway, and it was Mr Mancini himself who answered – the police service wasn’t the only business where the managers worked ridiculous hours. Mancini began to bluster again, saying he wasn’t sure he could divulge details relating to the car’s onboard computers, not with the Data Protection Act, and Waters had to intervene. He pointed out that the Mercedes was being advertised as having had a full service, whereas he knew it hadn’t had one in the past eight months, countering with a mention of the Trade Descriptions Act. Mancini said he’d need to make a phone call to find out whether their own technician had wiped the hard drives.

  Waters had ten minutes to himself before he was to meet up with Serena. He allowed his mind to go where it would over the day’s events, and it went to the front door of the Fletchers’ expensive home, waiting for the sister of the murdered woman to arrive after Freeman had rung the bell. Serena had described Michaela Fletcher as more than usually calm and composed on their previous visit, but the face of the woman who opened the door to them was one being slowly consumed by inner grief. There was darkness around the eyes, and the lips were thin and pale – she looked ten years older than her thirty-five. They followed her through into a lounge designed to be bright and airy but which was now only cold and oddly colourless. She asked if they would like some tea, and both detectives declined her offer.

  Waters had then seen something Freeman did have in common with Smith – she was as quick as he had been to sense the mood of the person she had come to see. They had not discussed it on the drive to the house, but Waters had no doubt that in these first moments Cara Freeman had recalibrated her approach and changed the questions she had in mind for Michaela Fletcher. Initially she asked no questions at all, explaining that as they were in the area – was she hoping the woman would ask why? – she wanted to call and introduce herself as the new senior investigating officer. When Michaela Fletcher asked, Freeman explained that DCI Reeve was unwell and wouldn’t be returning to the case.

  There was a pause after that, and Freeman simply waited. Waters looked around the room. He could see into the next, a dining room with a large oak table and eight matching chairs. On the table, were papers and what seemed to be photographs, as if someone was arranging an album.

  Michaela Fletcher had noticed him looking, and she said, ‘For the funeral. The vicar asked. They’ve all been really good…’

  Freeman said, ‘Mrs Fletcher – as far as that is concerned, I would be more than willing to come and represent the police service. It’s something we do if the family would like us to, but I always ask. Some people find it intrusive and inappropriate, others welcome it.’

  ‘I hadn’t even considered it. Michelle wouldn’t have minded… Come in your uniforms. She liked a bit of a show!’

  Her first attempt at a smile since they arrived, just a momentary glimpse of sunshine late on a January afternoon, but Waters could see Michaela Fletcher was close to tears, that she would be crying soon. The true horror of the situation came home to him then – that they now had grounds to suspect this woman’s husband had been involved directly or indirectly in the murder of her sister. The motive for such an act wasn’t yet clear, and he had an alibi, but it was an alibi constructed on the sands of deceit. Infidelity is by its very nature dishonest, and Waters was more and more convinced that Freeman’s instincts were right – he had offered it up to them too quickly.

  Freeman had said then, ‘I get the feeling Michelle was something of a character, Mrs Fletcher. I hope you don’t mind me saying so. I’m not saying it with my police hat on, just an observation…’

  ‘Oh, well, she was! Larger than life, sometimes. But…’

  Freeman’s face was patient as she nodded sympathetically. Was this genuine or was she at work? It was impossible to say. Maybe she could do both simultaneously.

  Michaela said, ‘But it’s the little things you miss. N
o more random texts I have to phone up about before I can make sense of what’s happened. On her manic days, everything was either brilliant or the beginning of the end of the world. You usually ended up laughing, though. And I miss her singing.’

  ‘She had good voice, didn’t she? Different people have mentioned that to us.’

  Michaela Fletcher nodded. Her eyes were filling up.

  ‘It’s what I was doing when you called. You know, for the funeral? We have recordings of her, just ones we made ourselves at different times. I was wondering whether we could play something. I haven’t spoken to the vicar about it yet.’

  She was looking at Freeman with a question, and Waters had thought that every investigation has its own firsts. Now they were being invited to help plan the victim’s funeral. Freeman didn’t blink – ‘I cannot think of anything more appropriate. And if I come, I’ll get to hear her, won’t I?’

  Michaela stood then and said, ‘You can hear her now. I think I’ve made the right choice, but another opinion… It’s already in the player.’

  Another unspoken question which Freeman answered with a nod, but without a look in Waters’ direction as the woman went to the audio system at the other end of the room and picked up a remote control. There was a peculiar sense of growing tension as the seconds passed; how often do you get to hear the murdered person sing?

  The opening chords of the piano warned him. He had heard this melody before but the voice was still a complete surprise. Low-pitched for a woman, sweet but sensuous, and a strong sense of controlled power, of so much more in reserve even though this was a simple love song. As simple as they come and yet the words were magnetic because the singer was delivering them from the heart – “For you there’ll be no crying, For you the sun will be shining…”

  Michaela said, ‘This was one of her favourite songs. She loved Fleetwood Mac.’