Pulse (A Kate Redman Mystery Page 10

  “Oh, shut up!” She found herself yelling out loud. She looked around in embarrassment before realising thankfully that the car windows were closed and there was nobody around to see her shouting at herself like a maniac. Taking a deep breath and trying to calm her trembling hands, Kate forced herself to concentrate on driving and made her way slowly to the car park exit, beginning her long drive back to the Fenlands.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Rhys Neal was bored. He’d spent most of his money already, and there was nobody in the pub that he could realistically tap for a pint. He’d not come into this place before – it was all right, not like some of the dives he’d frequented lately – but there were a few too few lasses in here for his liking. Not really a fit looking girl in the place. And if he couldn’t get a shag, then he wanted to get pissed. He thought for a moment of getting another pay day loan – it was too easy to tap into the app on his phone – but he told himself that the ones he already had were growing at an alarming rate. He’d have to get some more overtime at work or something, pay some of them off.

  He was miserably contemplating the thought of actually going home and feeling even more depressed at the thought of spending Saturday night home and alone. Why the hell was he so poor? It just wasn’t fair. I should have studied something else at university, he thought, heading to the bar to spend his last couple of quid. Should be good for a half, anyway.

  He was pushing his way through the crowd when he spotted a face that seemed familiar although for a second he couldn’t place it. Then he got it – the hair was different. It was that guy from university, the dealer – what had Rhys and his mates called him? Something funny. Not his real name, Rhys had no idea what that was. Diabolo, that was it. The guy had loved that, he was into all that kind of shit; dark stuff, goth music and things. Rhys had never had any time for that kind of bollocks. But the guy had been a good dealer, always plenty of pills and cocaine. Diabolo had had long purple hair, piercings in his eyebrows and nose and he always dressed in black. That was why Rhys hadn’t recognised him now – all of that was gone. The guy looked quite normal now.

  He pushed his way through to where Diabolo was standing, alone by the wall, a glass of red wine in his hand. Rhys wondered whether he still dealt. Surely for an old mate, he might cough up a pill or a couple of lines? Rhys could cope with a night in if he had a bit of chemical stimulation.

  “Diabolo, my man. Long time no see.”

  He could see the bloke recognised him straight away. Diabolo smiled. “Rhys? Christ, haven’t see you for years.”

  They chatted for a bit. Rhys, desperate for another drink, said “I’m going to get a drink, mate, I’d offer one by the way but I’m down to shrapnel, ha ha.”

  “No worries, mate. I’m good.”

  “You here with anyone?” Rhys remembered that at university, Diabolo had always had a bit of a group of fit chicks that hung around him. After the drugs, probably, although who knew what girls actually wanted? Not Rhys. He liked to sleep with them but the female mind remained a mystery.

  “No. I’m off to a mate’s house in a bit.”

  “Oh, right.” Rhys felt a bit despondent. Diabolo was a bit weird but at least he was someone he knew. For a moment, Rhys realised how lonely he had been lately; moving to this town in search of work, knowing no one, living in a shitty bedsit because that was all he could afford. A mum he barely saw, since she moved up north, and he’d never had a dad. No girlfriend. No mates.

  There must have been something in his face or his voice because Diabolo looked at him quite kindly but keenly and said, “You want to come?”

  Rhys tried not to sound too eager. “Yeah, I might. Not much cop in here.”

  “Okay, cool.”

  “Where’s your mate live?”

  Diabolo did a one-shoulder shrug. “Not far. My car’s outside.”

  He would have a car. Rhys could just imagine it, the flash bastard. He choked down the resentment and thought about what the night could hold. Free booze, free drugs. At the moment, he’d take whatever he could get.

  “Sorted.”

  Diabolo tossed the last mouthful of red wine into his mouth and swallowed. “Right, come on, then.” He began to walk away and Rhys followed him. Diabolo turned his head back to talk to Rhys as they made their way through the crowd. “We’d better hurry up. He doesn’t like to be kept waiting.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  Kate had spent an informative afternoon with the staff of the Locksbrook Care Home in Norwich. As she’d driven up there and got stuck in yet another traffic jam on the M25 – or as she liked to privately refer to it ‘the ninth circle of hell’ – Kate had wondered whether it would be a monumental waste of time. After all, she could have simply spoken to the staff on the telephone and followed up any queries by email. But, as Kate said goodbye to the manager of the home and walked thoughtfully back to her car, she knew once more that she’d been right to come all this way. There was so much more you could glean from a face to face interview; all the body language, nuances of expression and the other tiny but crucial little pointers that told you more than mere words and conversation could.

  There had been something odd about Robert Pound, that was the underlying impression she got. Kate had spoken to the manager, who remembered the man working at the home all those years before, and there had been a flicker of uneasiness in the way she talked about him, despite not saying so much in words. A much more definite outcome had been through the photo-fit. The manager had recognised him immediately.

  Unfortunately for Kate, the employment records at the home didn’t stretch back as far as when Robert Pound had been employed. But she still had a notebook full of scribbled notes and the impression once more that this was a serious lead. This could be something.

  She was staying overnight in Norwich, at another budget hotel, and she was looking longingly forward to a hot shower, an evening meal and perhaps a glass of wine. But before she could do any of those, she had a phone call to make, important both professionally and personally.

  Anderton answered almost on the first ring of the phone. “Kate—”

  Kate cut across him, excited to give him her news. “I’ve got loads on our guy. He definitely worked there and—”

  It was Anderton’s turn to cut across her. “Kate, we’ve got him. We’ve found him.”

  Kate’s throat seized. “You’ve got him? In custody?”

  “Ah, no, not that yet. But we’ve tracked him down and we’re bringing him in for interview. He was using an alias, that’s why it took so long to find him. He’s local, fairly local.”

  “Well, that’s great,” exclaimed Kate. “Oh, God, I wish was back there so I could sit in.”

  “Calm down now – he’s not even under arrest yet. Until we actually have him under lock and key in the station, nothing’s going to happen. You’ll probably be back here before we do.”

  “True.” For a wild moment, Kate thought of cancelling her hotel reservation, getting back into her car and driving back west tonight. A second later, the sensible part of her told her not to be so ridiculous. “Okay, well, I’ll set off early tomorrow. Hopefully you’ll have pulled him in by then.”

  “I hope so too. Just don’t drive back like a lunatic tomorrow, okay?” Anderton’s voice lowered. “I miss you.”

  “I miss you too,” said Kate, feeling a pang. “Depending on what happens, shall we—” She stopped herself, remembering she’d agreed to meet Olbeck tomorrow night. Well, that might be off too, given the situation with the case. She opened her mouth and then shut it, thinking better of suggesting a meeting. Who knew what was going to happen? A small part of her was relieved that difficult conversations could once again be kicked into the long grass, something for the future, not the present.

  They said goodbye, lingeringly, and then Kate put her phone away. She drove slowly and tiredly to the hotel and chec
ked in, thinking longingly of her own bed at home, Merlin curled warmly on the mound of her feet under the covers. That was another source of guilt – she knew Chloe would have popped in to feed and water him while Kate was away, but still, he was her cat and she should be the one taking care of him. She thought even more longingly of Anderton’s bed and his cottage, but that longing was tainted too, mixed up with guilt and worry and uncertainty about the future.

  Bloody hell. Kate slumped through to the budget bar and restaurant, ordered a meal she didn’t expect to enjoy and sank her face into a glass of red wine. Please God let them find this Robert Pound. She was again assailed with doubt. Were they concentrating too much on this man when there could be other suspects out there? She thought with compassion of the two dead men and hoped that she and her colleagues would be able to bring them justice.

  Her food arrived, looking surprisingly tasty. Kate took another sip of wine, picked up her knife and fork and made a gargantuan mental effort to start thinking about something else.

  *

  “You’re back,” observed Theo as Kate made her way into the office late the next morning, having set off from Norwich straight after an early breakfast.

  “How very observant of you, Theo. I can see why you became a detective.” Kate, giggling, dodged the paperclip he threw at her and went over to her desk. “Anyway, I hear we’ve got our man?”

  “Yep. Pulled him in late last night. Anderton’s interviewing him.”

  Kate glanced over to look at Olbeck’s office. It was empty. “Is Mark in with him?”

  “No, he’s not in yet,” contributed Chloe. She was frowning down at a report on her desk. “I’ve biked the DNA swab from Pound over to the labs for the quick turnaround.”

  Kate nodded approvingly. “Presumably though, we’re not able to hold him long enough to still keep questioning him until the results come back?”

  Chloe looked unconvinced. “Doubtful. The lab can do a twenty-four-hour turnaround but we’ve already had him here for—” She glanced at the clock on the office wall. “Twelve hours or so.”

  “Anderton might apply for an extension,” suggested Theo.

  “He might,” said Kate. “But we can help if we can get some more evidence that this Robert Pound is linked to both murders. What about CCTV, witness statements, um—” She thought for a second. “What else?”

  “I’ll do the CCTV,” said Rav. “I’ve got his car details.”

  “Great.” Kate stood up. “I might go and have a peep at him. What’s he look like?”

  “Ugly bugger,” said handsome Theo. “He looks like his e-fit, that’s for sure.”

  Kate grinned. “Does he have fangs?”

  Theo threw another paperclip at her. Smiling to herself, Kate picked it off the floor, handed it back to him, and headed for the door.

  She made her way to the video room and settled herself by the monitor showing the interview room containing Robert Pound. Privately, she agreed with Theo’s assessment of his looks. Pound’s lank, blonde hair was thinning, although he wore it long, almost to his shoulders. His cheeks were badly pitted with old acne scars. He wore an old black T-shirt and faded jeans, and his arms were heavily tattooed. Kate couldn’t see the details of the tattoos but she hazarded a guess that they weren’t of dolphins and flowers. One of the duty solicitors sat next to him, one of the middle-aged men that Kate always found hard to tell apart.

  “Steve, could we have the sound up on this one?” she asked PC Boulton, who was supervising the recording equipment.

  “Sure, Kate. Here, plug these in over there.” He handed her a set of headphones and indicated a jack by the TV monitor.

  Headphones on, Kate could hear Anderton’s voice with uncanny clarity.

  “Do you know Keith Farmer?” he asked Robert Pound.

  Robert Pound stared at him. Kate couldn’t work out if he was acting stupid or was actually stupid. “Who?”

  “Keith Farmer, a nineteen-year-old boy from Bristol. You were seen leaving the Rose and Crown pub on the night of October the fifth, the night before Keith Farmer’s body was found in the graveyard of Saint Ethelred’s church.”

  The duty solicitor shifted slightly. Robert Pound stared ahead and then said, “No comment.”

  Kate sighed. Once the suspect started with the ‘no comments’ the interview was normally on a heading to nothing. It made it even more important for the team to find some actual physical evidence, anything that might make bringing a murder charge more likely. She shifted on the edge of her seat, wanting both to see how the interview progressed but also knowing that she should be working with the others to try and find the evidence. After a moment of vacillation, she plucked the headphones from her ears and handed them back to Steve Boulton with thanks. She had to trust in Anderton’s vast experience and skill with interviewing criminals that he might be able to get some sort of confession out of the man. That was, if there was one to be had.

  *

  Back in the office, silence reigned as Chloe, Rav and Theo bent industriously over their keyboards or pored through stacks of paper on their desks. Kate fortified herself for the upcoming slog by making herself and everyone else a coffee and then sat down again at her desk.

  The abrupt ringing of the phone on Chloe’s desk made everyone jump. Or perhaps it wasn’t the sound – perhaps it was some sort of intuition, a sixth sense as to what the call was going to be about. Chloe answered it rather more hesitantly than normal.

  She didn’t say much but Kate saw the expression on her face and found her stomach clenching. She waited, while Chloe spoke tersely, scribbling down notes, her fingers clenched on the sides of her chair. Then Chloe put the telephone down and looked up.

  It was Theo who broke the silence. “They’ve found another one, haven’t they?”

  Chloe nodded, and Kate, despite expecting it, found herself gasping. “Another young man, another one in a graveyard.”

  “Christ.” Theo got up and started pacing around the room in a manner reminiscent of Anderton. “So who’s going to tell the boss?”

  “I will,” said Kate. She felt an urgent need to see her lover.

  Rav looked like a small, scared boy. “When is this going to stop?”

  “That’s up to us, isn’t it?” Chloe snapped. She too stood up and put her hands up to her forehead, as if she had a sudden headache. “Oh, God. Go on, Kate, you go and tell the boss. I’ll start organising things here.”

  “I’ll ring Mark,” said Theo.

  “Look, I’ll keep on with things here,” said Rav, pulling himself together. “We still need to try and find something that will let us hold Robert Pound.”

  “That’s true.” Kate paused in her run to the doorway. “Hang on a minute—”

  They all looked at her. Kate said, “It all depends on the time of death for this new body, doesn’t it? What time did we pull in Pound last night?”

  Quick-witted Theo got what she meant immediately. “Yeah, I see what you mean. If Pound was in here, and the vic died while he was, then that means—”

  “He couldn’t have done it,” finished Kate. Then she continued on her hurried route down to the interview rooms.

  Chapter Twenty

  The sun was high in the sky by the time Kate and Chloe arrived at the most recent crime scene. This was a graveyard more remote than the other two, a small country church surrounded by its churchyard, with the whole of it set against a backdrop of rolling green hills and woodland, the green of the trees touched here and there with the red, gold and orange tints of autumn. Over in the far distance, Kate could see a tractor trundling industriously up and down the dusty gold of a hayfield. Harvest time. For a moment, she remembered being at school; the Harvest Festival that had taken place at the local church, the embarrassment of being one of the only children not to have brought anything to give to the church, because her mother had
been far too feckless to have remembered anything as mundane as that.

  As she and Chloe ducked under the crime scene tape, Kate looked towards the charming little country church and knew if she pushed the door open and looked, there would be a little clutch of harvest gifts and donations up at the front. Golden sheaves of corn, red apples, the inevitable tins. And what was that song the school children always used to sing at this time of year? Something about scattering seed and the goodness of the land…

  The sight of the forensic tent was like a slap in the face. Kate sharply brought herself back to the job in hand and braced herself for the sight of the body. She followed Chloe’s black-clad back into the tent, taking a deep breath.

  The young man’s body was laid on its back, arms crossed on his chest, his face slack and white. Just like the others. Kate came closer, realising that the pathologists had already arrived and were hard at work. This time, it was Kirsten Telling and the young trainee again, Joshua Garton. Kirsten looked up and smiled a brief hello before concentrating on her work again. Kate saw Josh do the same and saw the briefest flicker of disappointment on his face which made her wonder a little.

  Dismissing the thought, she stood and watched. Chloe went to talk to the rest of the officers who were organising the scene. Kate, knowing that medicos didn’t like to be pushed so early on in the investigation, nevertheless needed to know the potential time of death as quickly as possible. She said as much to Kirsten.

  “Well, I can’t give you an accurate figure at this time, Kate,” she said, sounding annoyed. “You know how it is.”

  “I know that, but it’ll help us eliminate a suspect if you can give an idea.”

  Kirsten obviously relented. “Well, if it helps, this victim has been dead at least a couple of days.”