The Soul Killer

by Ross Greenwood

  Cox moved to the front of the room. She had a new suit on and appeared energised by the fresh intel.

  ‘Listen carefully. I have a lot of information to dispense and frankly, repeating it would be inconvenient.’ The muted chatter died down instantly. ‘First, and most importantly, we paid the premium for the GrayKey and unlocked Rowe’s phone.’ A small, cautious cheer erupted. ‘For those who don’t know, Grayshift sell an ultra-expensive plug-in called the GrayKey, which gets you in despite Apple’s best efforts. We had little choice because Rowe’s laptop, workplace, friends, and family gave us nothing. Before you celebrate, Rowe’s phone wasn’t used in the Wisbech area the night his car was there, but neither was it in Ailsworth. Text messages between him and someone named Franco went back a year. We found texts agreeing to a meet last Boxing Day.

  ‘That number belongs to an Alun Franco, who is a businessman with some gravitas. Married, fifty-four, three kids, lives in Tunbridge Wells, which is south of London, and who has a bolthole cottage in Ailsworth when he visits his factory here in Peterborough. UK Border Force checked and revealed he has made numerous trips to Vietnam, Cambodia and the Philippines over the last few years. There’s no evidence he’s there for the sex trade, but it’s unlikely he just enjoys long flights.

  ‘The Border Force also warned us that he was due to arrive at Heathrow late yesterday evening. I can confirm we have him in the custody suite below.’ Much louder cheering echoed around the room. ‘Steady on now. I doubt he’ll confess. We need to find more proof of any involvement. A DNA swab has been sent for testing, but that takes up to five days. We can’t hold him that long, so we’ll have to release him unless he gives us anything. John?’

  Barton acknowledged the silence. ‘That’s right. The only case we have at the moment is on Rowe, and I don’t think he did it. Not on his own anyway. We triangulated Franco’s mobile, and it was turned on and taking calls near Ailsworth on Boxing Day. Nothing in Wisbech. His car; a 7 series BMW, was not picked up by number plate recognition.’

  ‘They obviously used Rowe’s car,’ said Zander.

  ‘Maybe. Who’s to say there wasn’t someone else involved? We’ve managed to find four grainy pictures of Rowe’s red car from CCTV that night. Two are useless, from the rear. One is from the side and shows a man in a white baseball cap. The final shot is head-on from distance. It seems there was only one driver.’

  A few swear words and the odd groan rumbled through the room.

  ‘That’s right. Rowe could have had help to lift the body into the boot, but, unless his accomplice hid on the rear seats, he’d have had to remove Stone on his own. Zander, visit Rowe in his prison cell and check if he has a hernia.’

  Cue groans, mostly from Zander, and laughter this time.

  ‘Team, we’re almost there. A cadaver dog – apparently some prefer the term human remains detection dog now – indicated that Rowe’s boot has had dead remains in it, but we need more. Keep thinking about this case. There are more twists and turns, I can feel it. We have most of the DNA evidence back and it brought up another oddity. Forensics and pathology taught us little we didn’t already know, but some low-copy DNA identified someone else. Any guesses?’

  ‘Alan Titchmarsh,’ joked Malik.

  ‘Charlie Dimmock,’ from Ewing, whom Barton noted had come out of his shell recently.

  ‘Yeah, baby,’ shouted Zander.

  ‘Isn’t she ginger?’ said Malik.

  ‘Too wild for you, boy?’ replied Zander.

  Barton shot Cox an apologetic half-smile. ‘Very good, everyone. I get it as well: allotments, famous gardeners. You all really are wasted here. No, you’re all wrong. It has nothing to do with the allotment. The DNA gathered from Stone’s house matched a sample extracted from the fingernails of our drowning victim in the rowing lake.’

  63

  DI Barton

  Barton smirked at the confused expressions on his team’s faces.

  ‘Ewing, talk us through it,’ he said.

  Ewing rose to his feet. ‘Yes, sir. Right. I’m sure I don’t need to tell you professionals this, but DNA under the fingertips usually signifies either an attack or defence against an assault. Rape victims often scratch their attackers, and it puts the case beyond doubt if the DNA from the fingernails matches the DNA of the accused.’

  ‘Correct. Go on.’

  ‘That means that the person under the fingernails was also in Stone’s house.’

  ‘Yes. What does that mean?’

  ‘Stone drowned him?’

  Barton pointed his finger at those who made Homer Simpson ‘Doh’ noises. ‘Ignore them, they were rookies once. We have Stone’s DNA and it wasn’t his.’

  Clavell put his hand up. ‘It’s possible that whoever killed Stone drowned Somerville in the lake.’

  ‘Pass the man a cigar, or maybe a carrot and some houmous if we don’t want to get sued further down the line.’ Barton stared around the office as the penny dropped for the others. ‘We also got a match with DNA from Rowe’s car.’

  ‘That means the same person was in Rowe’s car and Stone’s house, and they had a fight with Somerville,’ said Zander.

  ‘Two carrots for the handsome fella! So, what do we do?’

  Barton detected Clavell’s rising arm, but he scanned the room until he got back to him. Clavell wore an expression of satisfaction.

  ‘We arrest them,’ said Clavell.

  ‘And who is it?’

  Clavell leaned back in his seat and smiled. ‘David Whitlam.’

  64

  The Soul Killer

  Barney’s campervan drives pretty smoothly now he’s fixed it. I’ve driven it to my Professional Standards meeting at Thorpe Wood police station. I drive down Thorpe Road and into the quiet well-to-do area of Longthorpe and park on Holywell Way. From there, I can sneak over the pedestrian’s bridge to the station, so no one will see me in the van. It will do for transport over the next few months while I decide what to do. The fewer people know what I drive, the better.

  I wear my only suit. Detectives tend to be pretty casual. I like one for funerals and weddings, even though I haven’t been invited to many of either. This is a nice fitted dark blue one. It’ll do for my own wedding, although Claudia will probably want everything new. The road towards the station is quiet. I suppose most people have already gone to work. They’ll be sitting at their desks worrying about spreadsheets and meetings, while I have concerns over my entire future.

  As I stride out, I find myself relaxing. It’s a fresh day and I feel good. Work had lost its sheen since I met Claudia. We could start a business ourselves with her inheritance. Barton’s not too bad to work for as he’s reasonably good at his job. Obviously, people like me make him look good, but taking orders from some of the other idiots they have there is frustrating.

  I recognise the woman at reception. She’s relatively new. Her blank face and dismissive point at the seats mean I made little impact on her. That’s odd, I’m sure she was flirting with me a few weeks back. PC Leicester walks past. We worked for years on response in C Division together. He’s desperate to join Major Crimes and often bugs me about how to get in. He gives me the smallest nod imaginable and disappears through the doors. A bloke from Traffic who I see at the gym walks by looking anywhere but at me.

  My good mood filters away. I’ve become a pariah. Well, that didn’t take long. These people were more than happy to chat when they wanted something, but when I need the offer of friendship, or even just a supportive smile, they walk on by. It’s school again; another place where I became invisible.

  I massage my head to keep cool. Is it any wonder people do bad things to others, when this is how they behave? My mother said it was a cruel world. I think of dying Barney. We had a good chat last night. He helped make things clear. I asked him straight, and he was honest.

  ‘Do you have any regrets?’ I asked him over our takeaway.

  ‘I regret not eating more of these.’

  I’d bough
t him a battered sausage from the fish and chip shop. They’re foul things. An actual squirt of grease came out on his first bite. His chin glistened and dimpled as he smiled. Apparently, he was never allowed them when he was growing up. He forgot for all those years. We realised that as an adult you want the things you didn’t have as a child.

  In Barney’s case it was narrowed arteries. There was a lot missing from my childhood. I tried to place one word on the thoughts I was having, but struggled. I want people to listen when I speak. Nobody should be able to tell me what to do. Claudia will realise what’s best for her, but the others might need to be told. If they don’t catch on, they will be made to understand.

  Everything is clearer now. I recall seeing my mother as she was the night she died. The disguise had gone. She couldn’t stop me from doing what I wanted then in the same way the authorities can’t prevent me from doing what I want now. Unless they turn up with guns, of course.

  I pressed Barney again.

  ‘Really? You said that people dismissed you most of your life. Managers took advantage of you throughout your career. Women cheated and stole from you. Don’t you wish you had stood up to them? Told them it was enough? Why should you always have been the victim?’

  Barney popped the last piece of sausage in his mouth and wiped his chin with his fingers. I noted he hadn’t touched the chips or mushy peas. ‘My parents taught me to respect my superiors. My mother taught me to respect women. I don’t have much anger in me. I never have. I’ve tried to lead a quiet life, taking small pleasures on the way.’

  ‘And now what? You haven’t been to church in years. Do you go to heaven?’

  ‘I’d rather you scattered my ashes at a Norfolk beach.’

  I paced the room, frustrated with him. ‘I should drive you around your old boss’s house now with a carving knife and you should cut off chunks. You’ll feel good and it won’t affect anything if you’re going to cease to be.’

  Barney shook his head. ‘Your mother believed in eternal life, not me. She said God would cause Armageddon and only those he loved would survive. Afterwards this planet would be heaven. It all seemed rather cruel to me.’

  ‘Was that the church where you met her?’

  ‘Oh, I never really listened in any of those places. The people made me feel welcome, at least until it was time to leave. And look, I have you in my life, so good has come of it.’

  Barney grinned at my confusion. He tapped the seat next to him with his shiny fingers. ‘Sit down.’

  I pulled a different chair up and faced him.

  ‘Some people are Buddhists,’ he began. ‘They spend their entire existence in prayer. Others rape and pillage their whole lives. Who knows what’s next? I like to think we answer for our sins, and I’ve lived my life accordingly.’

  ‘And if it’s nothing afterwards, you’re okay with that?’

  ‘I’ll be gone. My life will be over. Nothing will bother me again.’

  I stood to argue and shout down his view, but it didn’t matter to me what he thought. This life isn’t the end. It can’t be. I haven’t waited all these years to meet my soul mate to have her disappear while I die alone. My life won’t be meaningless. I must be one of the chosen ones. Barney might be happy to turn the other cheek, but that’s not me.

  A loud voice pulls me back to the present.

  ‘DC Whitlam, can you follow me?’

  I look to the security door where a plain woman in a horrible green suit is waiting. I’m not sure if she smiles or has wind. I sense the receptionist looking at me. Our eyes meet and I detect a glimpse of pity. My glare unsettles her and she glances away.

  I recall The Terminator film where Arnie walks into the police station and blows everyone away. He must have enjoyed it.

  65

  DI Barton

  Barton sipped from his cup during the shocked silence.

  ‘Very dramatic, Mr Clavell. But yes, we need to speak to David Whitlam about this. Before you rush off and construct the gallows, let’s also remember that he knew Malcolm Somerville and had contact with him the night he died. Whitlam had also been inside Stone’s and Rowe’s houses. He lived next door, so his DNA will be present in many areas.’

  The team grumbled at those points.

  ‘He’s due in now for a Professional Standards meeting. I’ll pin this on him afterwards. It doesn’t mean he is responsible for either death, but he is clearly a person of interest.’

  Cox returned to the front.

  ‘DI Barton and Sergeant Zander will interview Franco after this meeting. We’ll see what he says. If he’s evasive, we wait until the DNA checks. Do not jump to conclusions.’ She looked pointedly at Clavell.

  ‘John, make sure you ask if Franco’s been in Rowe’s car.’

  ‘Will do.’

  ‘Shame. It could be Whitlam or Franco, or even Somerville’s wife at this point. It might just be Rowe, or someone else we don’t know about. Keep open minds.’

  Cox allowed those facts to sink in for a few moments. ‘John, after your interview with Franco, stop by my office and we’ll talk to Whitlam together. I’ll make sure PS don’t let him go after their little chat. Zander, wait and see if these interviews raise anything new, then take Clavell to the prison this afternoon and shake Rowe up. Show him those pictures of his car with what I assume is him driving. If Franco denies everything, maybe Rowe will drop him in it to save his own neck.’

  ‘Yes, ma’am.’

  ‘We’ll have all the tests and reports back soon, then I expect this investigation to be near its conclusion. Get to it, team. Remember, together, those who uphold the law are smarter than those who break it.’

  66

  DI Barton

  Barton had no time for people who used their wealth to exploit the vulnerable. Men like Alun Franco bought what they wanted and to hell with any consequences, as long as they were all right. Despite the fact he’d been plucked off a flight and retained in custody, his chinos and polo shirt still looked clean and Franco retained an air of privilege.

  Barton expected nothing from the interview, though. Rowe’s solicitor had been efficient, but he was Sunday League football compared to the crumpled fellow who sat next to Franco. Some top legal eagles displayed their success in outrageously expensive cars and by wearing the best of everything. But Barton worried less about them than the ones who arrived in creased suits after studying past cases until the early hours.

  Barton hadn’t recognised Alastair Drayton, but the receptionist told him that she’d seen the man in front of him on TV.

  Clavell was desperate to be involved in the questioning, but it wasn’t a time for learning. There could be no mistakes when playing in the Premier League. Zander did the introductions and statements, following protocol to the letter. Barton checked his watch.

  ‘Interview commenced at 11 a.m. Please explain your relationship with Robin Rowe, Mr Franco.’

  As Barton expected, Franco said nothing. His brief smiled.

  ‘My client has been under some extreme conditions over the last twenty-four hours and isn’t fit for questioning. I insist he’s released. We will come back at a future date and help you if we are able.’

  Barton almost laughed at the predictability of it all.

  ‘I’m not in the mood to pussyfoot around the truth today. Your client will only have to answer a few questions, and then we can perhaps find him somewhere to lie down and rest.’

  The solicitor picked up on the threat. Franco analysed the back of his hand. He’d learned money bought most things and wasn’t unduly concerned.

  ‘You haven’t charged my client, Inspector.’

  ‘I refrain from charging people with murder until I’ve given them a chance to talk.’

  The man inclined his head with respect. He cupped his hand and whispered to Franco. Drayton grinned again.

  ‘Here’s a statement. That’s all you’ll get from us today.’

  This time it was Barton who nodded.

  ‘My
client saw the news. He is aware you arrested an acquaintance of his in connection with the murder of the acquaintance’s next-door neighbour. Mr Franco has never spoken to the victim and barely knows the accused. To hold him in this manner is an outrage.’

  ‘He does know Rowe though, doesn’t he?’

  ‘Yes, he has spent time with him on the odd occasion. He met him at a local bar one evening with some other friends. They got on well. Mr Rowe seemed a troubled soul. He may even have been a little infatuated with Mr Franco. It was nothing more than that.’

  Barton cut to the chase. ‘Did your client see Mr Rowe on Boxing Day last year?’

  ‘Yes. Rowe came around my client’s house, had a cup of tea, and left. That’s it.’

  ‘Mr Franco didn’t go anywhere with him?’

  ‘No. Nowhere. Mr Franco kindly paid for a holiday some time ago. He hoped the young man could get his head together among the beautiful temples of Angkor Wat, but he seemed stressed for much of the trip. They only met a few times after. My client has only been inside Mr Rowe’s house once or twice.’

  ‘Would you like to tell us about their holidays? Were the locals friendly?’

  The solicitor looked at them in the same way a cat disregards a stupid dog.

  ‘That’s all, gentlemen. You took my client’s DNA sample to prove his lack of involvement. Release him, please. If you had more, you would have mentioned it.’

  Barton terminated the interview and stepped outside with Zander.

  ‘There’s a word for this,’ said Barton.

  ‘Does it rhyme with duck?’ said Zander with a grimace.

  67

  DI Barton

  Cox had ordered Zander to take Clavell to visit Rowe in Peterborough prison but Barton decided he’d take Clavell himself as he was keen to observe him in action again.