Imago Page 8

  The dead woman was Claudia Smith.

  Chapter Ten

  Kate ducked back out into the open air. Despite the warmth of the day, her face felt cold and stiff.

  “It’s Claudia Smith,” she said to Anderton, as if he wouldn’t already know.

  He nodded and indicated for her to walk ahead of him, towards the others.

  They stood in a group, looking at one another. Kate could see her emotions reflected in the others’ faces: anger, guilt, bewilderment.

  “Well,” said Anderton. “This takes things to a new level, as I’m sure you can imagine.”

  “Who found her?” asked Olbeck.

  “A dog walker. He was walking along the tow path, and his dog hared off here and went straight to the body, wouldn’t come when called, so his owner followed him. We’ve taken him down to the station already to take his statement.”

  Kate stood clutching her elbows, her eyes cast down. A memory recurred: Claudia’s look of pride as she watched her daughter clambering about on the climbing frame. Kate winced. She would not think about Madison and how she was now, essentially, an orphan.

  “Kate?”

  Kate looked up. Anderton was looking at her, and there was something tender in his gaze that both warmed and, conversely, alarmed her.

  “I’m all right,” she said.

  “That’s two girls who lived at the Mission,” said Rav. “That can’t be a coincidence. Can it?”

  “Unlikely,” said Anderton. “Now, let SOCO and the docs do their work here. Here’s what we’re going to do. Olbeck, Kate, you come with me to the Mission. Jane, go back to the office and dig up everything you can on our victim. Take Rav with you. Rav, pull all the CCTV footage from a mile-wide radius around this place. Go through it with a fine tooth comb. There must be something from last night.”

  Kate sat in the back of the car as usual, with Anderton driving and Olbeck riding shotgun. She looked at the back of the two men’s heads, Olbeck’s hair just a little too long, curling at the back of his neck, Anderton’s grey mane neatly brushed. She remembered pushing her hands through his hair last night, bringing his face to hers. Kate jerked her gaze away, feeling her face heat up. She wondered what Anderton was thinking. Were his thoughts on the case or was he thinking about her? He met her gaze in the rear view mirror, and she snatched her glance away, knowing she was blushing and hating herself for it.

  Margaret Paling met them at the door of the Mission, as if she’d been waiting for them to arrive. She was pale and wringing her hands.

  “I’m so glad you’re here,” she said in a fervent whisper. “One of our girls is missing. She didn’t turn up for work this morning and her bed’s not been slept in—”

  “Claudia Smith,” said Anderton, sweeping past her.

  “Yes, that’s right,” said Margaret, hurrying after him. “Has someone already told you? Oh. Oh no—”

  She stopped, hands to her face. The police officers were already at the door of Father Michael’s office. Through the glass door they could see that he was sat at his desk, staring unseeingly into space, his hands gripping the edge of the desk as if it were the only thing keeping him from falling.

  He jumped up as the officers entered the room.

  “You’ve found her? Please tell me you’ve found her?”

  Anderton began to tell him of their grim discovery of the morning, speaking gently but inexorably. As he listened, Father Michael’s eyes filled with tears. He turned, stumbled, put his hands out to break his fall and ended up on his knees, grasping his office chair.

  “No, no, it can’t – it can’t be true—”

  Kate and Olbeck exchanged glances. Anderton let them raise the man up to his feet and gently turn him around to face them. Father Michael was blinded by tears, the face of a drowning man coming up for his last gasp of air. He groped for his desk, sat down and buried his head in his arms.

  After a few moments, Anderton asked, quietly, if Father Michael would be prepared to identify the body. He had to repeat the question.

  “What?”

  “Would you be prepared to identify the body, sir? You knew Claudia well.”

  Father Michael burst into fresh tears. He managed to nod over the flood.

  “I’ll do it. I have to – I have to see for myself.”

  He continued to cry, more quietly now, in the back of the car sat next to Kate. She was surprised at the level of impatience she felt for him. He was acting more like a bereaved father than someone who ran the hostel that accommodated the victim. She met Anderton’s eyes in the mirror again but this time, there was no embarrassment. It was a mutual expression of ‘what is going on here?’

  Although it was unusual for Kate, she decided to duck out of the actual identification. She wasn’t sure she was up to seeing the fresh theatrics that the sight of Claudia’s body would produce in Father Michael. Sitting at her desk, she pulled herself up on that thought. Why theatrics? Why did that word come to mind?

  Slowly she became aware that someone was speaking her name. With a jerk, she came back to reality to find Anderton at her shoulder.

  “My office?”

  Kate nodded, aware of Olbeck sitting down opposite her. He looked surprised to see her summoned by the boss. If he only knew, Kate thought as she followed Anderton to his office. Would he shut the door? For a moment, after she sat down, she thought he wouldn’t, but he obviously changed his mind and shut it firmly.

  There was a moment of tortuous silence.

  “Kate—”

  “Can I talk to you about Father Michael?” asked Kate, quickly.

  Anderton blinked, sat back.

  “Of course,” he said, after a moment.

  “What did you think?”

  “Of his reaction?” Anderton watched her face, keeping her gaze. “I know what you mean.”

  “Do you think he could be bluffing?”

  “It’s possible.”

  “Don’t you think it was over the top for someone who’s supposed to have a fairly limited relationship with the victim?”

  “Yes. It’s not – not in character.”

  “Well, then…”

  Silence fell. Kate tried desperately to think of something else to say. She could see Anderton gearing up to speak.

  “Well, if that’s everything,” she said brightly, jumping up and making for the door.

  “Wait. Wait.”

  Kate paused, her back to Anderton, her hand on the door handle. She was very aware of him walking up behind her, standing close enough for his breath to stir the hair on the back of her neck. Her hand slipped a little on the metal door handle.

  “Aren’t we even going to talk about it?” asked Anderton, speaking so softly she could barely hear him.

  “Of course,” muttered Kate. “It’s just that—”

  He leant forward and kissed the back of her neck, where the skin was exposed and her hair swept up into a ponytail. She lost the power of speech entirely.

  “Turn around.”

  She couldn’t move, could only shake her head mutely. He gently turned her round and kissed her, pressing her back against the door. Kate, while glorying in the sensation, was very aware that only three inches of wood and metal kept her colleagues and superiors from discovering what was going on. As soon as the thought flashed across Kate’s brain, there was a knock at the door and Kate and Anderton leapt apart as if propelled by an electric shock.

  Kate, barely knowing what she was doing, went to sit back down at the desk. Anderton ran his hands through his hair and took a deep breath.

  Rav barrelled in a moment later, waving a sheaf of papers.

  “Sir,” he said urgently, taking the spare chair by Kate. “CCTV from the night of the murder. You have to see this.”

  “What have we got?”

  Anderton flung himself down in his chair and reached for the papers. Kate could almost admire the way he was acting, as if he and Kate had merely been talking about the case moments before, rather than press
ed up against one another, panting and groping. It was very convincing. She then had the very unwelcome thought, Perhaps he’s done this before.

  She made an effort to concentrate on what Rav was saying.

  “Look here. And here. The same car.”

  Anderton studied the print-outs alertly.

  “This is last night?”

  Rav shook his head.

  “No. I’ve not been able to get that yet. But this is the night that Mandy Renkin was killed. This car was seen very close to the warehouses and look here—” He pointed to a blurry image of a dark-haired girl sat in the passenger seat of the car in question. “Doesn’t that look very like her?”

  Anderton brought the picture closer to his face.

  “It does,” he said quietly. “Now tell me you know who this car is registered to, Rav.”

  Rav was grinning.

  “Of course. Address of the owner is Twenty six Lavender Street, Charlock.”

  Kate gasped. Anderton’s fist curled, crumpling the paper.

  “I knew it,” he growled. “Father Michael. Is he still here?”

  “No, Jane dropped him back at the Mission.”

  “Well, get him back here. Right now.”

  Rav was already heading towards the door. Kate got up, chewing her thumbnail. Her head was in a whirl: Anderton’s kisses, Father Michael’s car and the small, curled body of Claudia Smith all vied for her attention. She felt dizzy.

  She was at the door when Anderton spoke her name, but this time she looked back, smiled and shook her head before she left the room.

  Chapter Eleven

  Father Michael took the chair falteringly. He looked around at the breezeblock walls painted an indifferent cream, the scuffed linoleum on the floor, the screwed down table with the air of man in a waking nightmare. He kept blinking, as if the harsh light from the strip light overhead hurt his eyes.

  Anderton and Kate sat down opposite him and the duty solicitor.

  Anderton began.

  “Father Michael Brannigan, are you aware of why we’ve brought you in for questioning today?”

  Father Michael was still looking about him. He folded his trembling hands in front of him on the table.

  “Yes. Yes, you want to talk to me about Claudia.” He looked directly at them both, his resonant voice suddenly gaining in strength and assurance. “I assure you that I did not kill her.”

  Anderton ignored his statement.

  “How long have you known Claudia Smith?”

  Father Michael blinked again.

  “She’s been at the Mission for a while. Perhaps six months? I would have to check the records.”

  “Did you know her before she came to live at the Mission?”

  “Yes. Yes, well, very slightly. She used to attend a mother and baby group that the church ran at a local village hall, and I believe I first met her then, when she came along with her daughter.”

  Anderton nodded. His manner changed slightly, became more conspiratorial, more…matey.

  “So you have known her some time, Father? Would you say you were friends?”

  Father Michael smiled, rather tremulously.

  “Friends? Well, I’m not sure that would be the right term. The disparity in our ages and circumstances… I liked her. I felt sorry for her and Madison. There was so much stacked against them.”

  “How so?”

  Father Michael’s smile vanished.

  “She had a tragic past, you know. Not much family support, no real role model at home. She got into a relationship with a man who treated her appallingly.”

  “That was Madison’s father?”

  Father Michael nodded.

  “Have you questioned him? He was a monster, violent, abusive. Has he been questioned about her death?”

  “Enquiries are continuing,” said Anderton smoothly, the usual response to that sort of question. He leant forward a little. “So you wouldn’t say you were close friends with Claudia?”

  “No – not as such, no.”

  Anderton sat back.

  “What about Mandy Renkin?”

  Kate was watching Father Michael’s face closely. He didn’t look shocked or guilty, merely blank.

  “Mandy?”

  “Would you say you were close friends?”

  “No. Not at all. She was a young woman who lived at the Mission, that’s all. I wished her well, I was concerned with her welfare but not – nothing much more.”

  Anderton brought his hand out from under the table. He was holding the print outs from the CCTV of Father Michael’s car taken on the night of Mandy Renkin’s death. He threw them onto the table in front of the priest and the slippery paper slid into a fan shape of dark images on the table top.

  “So what was she doing in your car on the night of her death, Father?” he asked quietly.

  Father Michael looked at the papers, seemingly uncomprehendingly.

  “I – I don’t—” he began.

  “This is your car. Seen in the area of the crime, on the night of Mandy’s death, with Mandy Renkin in the front seat.

  “I—”

  “What explanation do you have for this?”

  Father Michael was silent for a long moment.

  “I – it—”

  Whatever excuse he had tried to come up with was discarded. Kate could see it in his face: the realisation that whatever reason he brought up just wouldn’t wash.

  “Is this your car?” continued Anderton, relentless.

  After a moment, Father Michael nodded wordlessly.

  “Speak up, please.”

  “I’m sorry, yes. Yes, it’s my car.”

  “Can you explain what it was doing in the vicinity of the crime scene on the night Mandy Renkin died? Is that Mandy in the front seat?”

  Again, that moment of wordlessness. Kate could see the man sat opposite her thinking hard. Was he working out his excuse or thinking up a plausible lie?

  “That is my car,” said Father Michael eventually. “But that’s not Mandy.”

  Anderton narrowed his eyes. “It’s not? Who is it then?”

  “It’s Claudia.”

  “Claudia Smith?” A nod from Father Michael. He clasped and unclasped his hands, suddenly an old man. “What was she doing in your car?”

  Father Michael cleared his throat.

  “I was just giving her a lift.”

  “Where?”

  “To – to a friend’s house.”

  “Who is this friend?”

  “She didn’t say. She just – just asked if I could give her a lift. It was a cold night, I didn’t want her to walk, so – so I said I would.”

  “Where did you drop her off?”

  Father Michael was staring at the CCTV printouts as if they fascinated him.

  “I’m sorry?”

  “Where did you drop Claudia off?” repeated Anderton.

  “I – I don’t remember.”

  “Whereabouts?”

  “I’m sorry. I can’t remember.”

  He was lying. Kate pressed the side of her foot against Anderton’s shoe, the usual way she had of communicating with him. A second later, she realised, as she never had before, that she was essentially playing footsie with him and snatched her boot away as if his shoe had been red hot. It had done the trick though; he turned very slightly to her and she communicated her scepticism to him in a direct, wordless look. He nodded very slightly.

  “I want to talk to my solicitor,” said Father Michael, slightly too loudly. “Alone. That’s allowed, isn’t it?”

  Left alone, Kate suddenly felt the awkwardness between Anderton and herself. Or she told herself she felt it. Did she really know what he was thinking? Would she ever?

  Impulsively she turned to him and opened her mouth, but before she could say anything, he gave her a miniscule shake of the head, indicating with his finger the camera in the corner of the room. Chastened, Kate sat back in her chair.

  Father Michael and his solicitor had only been away
for five minutes, but in the silence that swamped the interview room during their departure, it felt more like five years to Kate. She’d never before been so pleased to see a suspect reappear.

  Father Michael sat back down again in the same chair he’d had before. He folded his hands in front of him again, but they were steadier than they had been before.

  “I’ve something to tell you,” he announced with a glance at his solicitor, who gave him a slight nod.

  “Yes?” Anderton sat up a little.

  Father Michael cleared his throat.

  “Claudia and I – Claudia and I were – we were in a relationship. Having a relationship.”

  He pressed his lips together as if he were unwilling to say more.

  Anderton raised his eyebrows.

  “Care to elaborate?”

  The tone of Anderton’s voice must have stung. Kate watched the blood rise in Father Michael’s cheeks, visible even behind his beard.

  “I – well, we – we were in a relationship, like I said.”

  “A sexual relationship?”

  “Yes.” Father Michael’s face was fiery now, and for the first time, Kate felt a twinge of pity for him.

  “How long had this been going on?”

  Father Michael cleared his throat again.

  “Not very long. Several months, I suppose. Perhaps six months.”

  “You can’t remember exactly?”

  “Well, I – no, not exactly.” Father Michael pulled his folded hands under the table, away from their eyes. Kate knew it was because his hands were trembling again.

  He went on, falteringly.

  “We go – we used to go to a hotel near Arbuthon Green. That was where we were driving on the night of Mandy’s death. That was why we were in the area and why Claudia was in my car.”

  Anderton kept his eyes on the man’s hot face.

  “What was the name of the hotel?”

  “It was nowhere very expensive, nothing – nothing showy.”

  “That’s not what I asked.”

  “Yes. Sorry. It’s called The Pines.’”

  “You stayed there how often?”

  Father Michael’s flush had been fading, but now it returned in a renewed, rosy hue.