An Unfamiliar Murder (17 page)

“He is.”

“Well then, you are very lucky to have him.”

“I guess.” Anna put down her mug and raised her arms, smoothing back
loose strands of her hair away from her face before letting her hands fall idly
to the table. She could feel her eyes warm as they started to fill up. “It
feels like everything is broken and can’t be mended, and in the meantime I’m
suspended in limbo, not knowing who I am.”

Helen’s maternal instincts took over. She reached forward, took her hand.
“Why not look on this as if you are turning a corner, a new opportunity in your
life. Nothing has been taken away, just new people to meet and get to know.
It’s like a new chapter. It doesn’t have to be one or the other, just an addition.”

“I’m sorry. You don’t want to hear this,” Anna said, retrieving her hand,
fighting the tears that pricked her eyes.

 
“It’s fine, Anna. Really. You can
talk to me anytime.” She looked away and sipped at her coffee to give her time
to compose. She needed to keep Anna calm. Calm enough to talk freely. Confide information.
This way, something, somewhere, may drop into the conversation, an inadvertent
comment that could eventually lead them to the killer.

Helen loved this part of police work. She found people fascinating,
watching their body language, their eye movement, their mannerisms, using
silence to induce conversation. As she had moved through the ranks the
opportunities for face to face contact had reduced dramatically. Very few DCIs
interviewed these days. That is what made this particular job so attractive -
the people contact. She felt bad for Anna, it was a kind of manipulation, but
in a case this complex, she needed to keep probing . . .

 
“Do you have a new suspect?” Anna
asked finally, dabbing the napkin beneath her eyes.

“We have lots of leads we are following up. Don’t worry, Anna, we’ll do
everything we can to catch them.”

“Them?”

“Him or her, the murderer . . .”

Silence followed. Anna took a deep breath. “I’ve even argued with Ross,”
she said.

 
“He’s probably just concerned for
your safety. That’s understandable. I’m sure you’ll make up.”

 
“I guess.” Anna blew her nose
noisily, placed the napkin in her pocket and looked up. “Why do you think this
has happened to me?”

“We’re looking into that. But you need to be completely honest with us.
If there is anything you are not telling us, anything at all, however
insignificant you might think it is, you must speak up quickly.”

Helen sighed. She knew that meeting Anna like this was a very unorthodox
approach, one that could easily be misconstrued by her colleagues. But, her
father’s experience had taught her two things: always keep your witnesses
close, and sometimes you don’t get results without bending the rules ever so
slightly.

 
“I’ve already told you everything
I know. There isn’t any more.” Anna sneezed suddenly, the noise eating up her
words.

Helen pulled a tissue out of her pocket and handed it across the table.
She watched as Anna took it gratefully, and blew her nose. They sat in silence
for a moment.

“What do you know of your biological father’s background?” Helen asked
finally.

Anna shook her head. “Nothing. I didn’t even hear his name before this
weekend. You could try my parents, I guess.”

“We have spoken to them. They say they’ve never met him, only knew his name
through court records.” Helen lifted her coffee to her lips and sipped it. The
cream stuck to her top lip and she licked it away quickly.

“What about your brother?”

“I thought that he wasn’t a suspect?”

“We’re just trying to build up a background picture on the
McCafferty
family members. Did he talk to you about his
relationship with Jim?”

“He mentioned that they didn’t live together much while he was growing
up.” She pressed her lips together and furrowed her brow, deep in thought. “Told
me that he was an alcoholic.”

“But they kept in contact?”

“Yes, I believe so. And he saw him a month ago. He visited him when he
was on home leave . . . You don’t think he did it?” Anna leant back in
disbelief.

“I have no reason to think that,” Helen replied reassuringly. “As I say,
we are just trying to build up a picture of the family, friends, acquaintances
– something that will lead us to the killer. It wouldn’t hurt for you to be
cautious though.”

Anna shuddered. “Do you think that they will come after me?” she asked,
quietly.

“We have no reason to think that you are in danger.”

“But what if I am? I mean, his dead body was in my flat. There must be
some reason for that?”

 
“It could mean something, or
nothing. I don’t want you to worry Anna. We’re doing everything we can to find
whoever is responsible and in the meantime you have my mobile number, you can
call me at any time. However insignificant you think it is. I’m only at the end
of the phone. If I’m in a meeting one of my team in the incident room will pick
it up.”

As if on cue, the buzz of Helen’s phone startled her and she reached down
and pulled it out of her bag, examining the illuminated dial. “I have to take
this.” Anna nodded, as she got up and walked out into the street beyond.

Helen pulled her suit jacket across her chest, cursing herself for not
throwing her long coat over her shoulders before she descended into the cold
evening. The air was icy and she was relieved to finally end the call and
return to the warmth of the Cafe.

“Everything OK?” Anna said, as she approached the table.

“Yeah, I think so,” she replied gingerly. “I need to go I’m afraid.” She
sat down, picked up her bag, rummaging for her purse.

“Work again?”

“Home business this time.”

Helen removed a ten pound note and placed it on the table between them.
She looked across at Anna. “You’re a teacher aren’t you?” she said suddenly.

Anna met her gaze. “Afraid so. Do you have kids?”

“Yes, two boys, thirteen and fifteen.”

“Challenging ages.” She gave a knowing nod.

“You could say that. Robert, my thirteen year old is a saint, but Matthew
is going through a,” she pressed her lips together and hesitated to find the
right words, “difficult phase at the moment.”

“Can I help with anything? I am the Year 10 counseling contact.”

Helen inwardly shook herself tall. She liked Anna.
Maybe in different circumstances . . .
There was a fine line
between keeping Anna close, keeping an eye on her, finding out who she has been
with, why, when; and friendship. The conversation was becoming too personal.
Right now, it just wouldn’t be ethical.
Such
a shame.
There was a side of Helen that genuinely liked Anna, and she would
certainly appreciate some professional advice at this stage.

“Nothing I can’t sort out.” She smiled, keen to change the subject. “Can
I give you a lift?”

“I’ve got Ross’ car. It’s just outside.” She pointed towards the High
Street.

“I’ll walk you to it.”

“There’s no need.”

“I insist. It’s on the way to mine.”

When they reached Ross’ car Helen held out her hand, a gesture so simple
but so defined. Suddenly, their easiness became awkward as the professional
relationship between them reinstated itself. Anna shook it. “Take care and keep
in touch.”

“Thank you. And good luck with Matthew.” As Helen watched her drive away
a thought nagged at her. Anna’s mother - ‘She’s had a difficult life.’ Helen
wondered why she hadn’t been alerted to any anomalies in Kathleen’s background?
She made a mental note to check with the team first thing in the morning.

*
* *

Even before
Anna had reached the Cross Keys roundabout, she could see the smoke rising up
into the moonlit sky. She stared up at it. The closer she got, the bigger the
smoke cloud became. By the time she was within a few streets of Ross’ house,
she had to slow right down as people were huddled around, coming out of their
houses and standing in the street pointing at the roll of smoke. Driving became
futile. There were just too many bodies to navigate through. She abandoned the
car and continued on foot, making her way through people idly watching the thick
smog in the sky.

As she approached the end of the street and saw the police tape cordoning
off the area, she gasped. Her chest throbbed. She pushed towards the front of
crowd, squashing between heavy bodies, the smoke in the air making her lungs
feel dry.

Her eyes focused on the house generating the heat, the house the fire
fighters were striving to battle against.

She fought her way through the remaining people, lifting the tape. Her
head was in a vice, the grip tightening by the second.

Suddenly, there was a strong pair of hands on her shoulders. The feeling
of her body being pulled back.

Instinctively, she struggled, turned to face the tall, uniformed
policeman, a reflection of flames dancing in his eyes. “That’s my boyfriend’s
house!” she cried.

 
She pulled away from him, shouting, “
Rosssss
!”

Chapter Fourteen

The call came
at half past nine and took Helen by surprise.

“DCI
Lavery
, this is DI Connell from the
Control Room.”

“I’m not the Duty DCI this evening,” she replied quickly, lifting the
newly poured glass of red wine to her mouth.

“I realize that, ma’am,” he said, “but there has been a fire at

“Do we know how the fire started?”

“Not yet, ma’am, but the fire fighters are treating it as suspicious.”

“I’ll get straight down to the scene. Thank you for letting me know.”

When she arrived at

Helen headed for the first familiar face and held out her hand, “Alison?”

DS
Strenson
turned to face her. “Hi, ma’am.”
She smiled, shook her hand. “Control room told me they called you.”

Helen smiled back at her. She had worked with Alison
Strenson
a couple of years back, on a project to centralize the Control Room across the
Area, and they retained a good, professional, friendship. “How are you?”

“Fine thanks, and you?”

“Good.” Helen nodded, then cast her eyes back across the scene.

“I hear you’ve got Op. Marlon?”

“For my sins.” She raised her brows. “That’s why I’m here.” She pointed
towards the smoky street. “What do we know?”

“Not much at the moment. A neighbor was putting some rubbish out at
around eight thirty and noticed the smoke billowing into the back garden of
number 21. He called the fire service who alerted us.”

“What about Ross
Kendle
?”

“Not accounted for as yet. His girlfriend, a Miss Cottrell, was staying
with him. She went out just after seven.”

To meet me
, thought Helen.

“She returned around nine o’clock,”
Strenson
continued. “Mr.
Kendle
was at home when she left. She
has given us contact details for friends and family, but we can’t locate him at
the moment.”

“Where is Anna now?”

“She made a brief statement but was suffering from shock. Refused to go
to hospital, so we took her back to her parent’s home.”

Helen looked around her. “Who’s in charge?” She nodded her head backwards
towards the fire engine.

“James Campbell is senior on scene,”
Strenson
said. She pointed to a lean man with a shock of orange hair sticking out from
underneath his helmet.

“Thanks, Alison. Good to see you again.” She patted her on the shoulder. “Keep
me updated will you?”

“Sure.”

Helen wandered over to see Campbell who was speaking into his mobile
phone, his voice loud. “Get him here as soon as possible.”

She arched her forehead and flashed her badge as he ended the call, “Helen
Lavery
.”

He shook her proffered hand. “James Campbell.”

“What can you tell me?” she asked.

“We think the fire started around eight o’clock. We got here around eight
thirty. It took us about half an hour to get it under control.”

“I understand you are treating it as suspicious?”

“Yes, judging by how quickly it spread and how difficult it was to get
under control, I’m pretty sure there’s been an accelerant used.”

“What about the resident?”

“Can’t get in there to check at the moment.” Campbell shook his head seriously. “Having
said that,” his eyes grew grave, “if he
was
there he wouldn’t have survived.”

Helen nodded. “How long before we know?”

“Terrace houses have a timber roof structure which has collapsed. It’s
not safe for my guys to go in at the moment. I was just on the phone to a building
structural engineering company we deal with and they’re sending somebody
straight out. He’ll be able to advise on safety and help us search the debris.”
He shook his head. “I don’t think we’ll have much more news for you before the
morning.”

*
* *

Townsend felt
deeply disappointed. Despite leaving home at five this morning, a jack-knifed
lorry on the M6 had meant tailbacks which delayed his journey to the West
Country considerably. It was nine o’clock before he arrived at the small market
town of Ripley. He cursed bad drivers, lorry drivers in particular. Surely
spending day and night in a truck would teach you how to handle it properly?
Now, most working folk would have left home on their journey to the office, the
shop, the bank, the school – whatever their occupation. So much for the early
bird . . .

 
He sipped his coffee and tucked
into the fried bacon, eggs and tomatoes on his plate, the yolk oozing out of
his egg as soon as the knife caught it, spilling across the plate. Somehow now
the time didn’t seem to matter so much. And he needed to eat didn’t he? Placing
the last mouthful of bacon in his mouth, he grabbed the corner of buttered
bread he had saved until last and mopped his plate with it.

When he finished, he wiped his fingers on his napkin and leant back in
his chair. The waitress was leaning over to clean the table opposite, her black
trousers stretched across tight buttocks.
Nice
,
he thought. She moved away and he glanced at his mobile phone. There was a
missed call from the station. He could live with that. Right now he wanted to
concentrate on the task in hand, to make sure that he could find something that
would back up his gut feeling. The DCI had said that she thought the clue to
solving this murder lay close to the family. Well, he felt sure that the answer
was
within
the family and he was
about to do everything he could to prove that.

Since the Detective Support Officer had highlighted the name change in
Kathleen’s history he had worked hard, applying for address details from the
Department of Work and Pensions, searching through Birth, Deaths and Marriages
in the Ripley area. It was laborious work, usually carried out by support
staff, but he didn’t want anyone else involved. Not yet.

 
He licked the last of the tomato
ketchup from his lips and narrowed his eyes smugly as he stared at his mobile
phone. Yes, he would find the key to this murder. Then the snooty DCI would
have to admit what a good detective he was. Maybe he would get a commendation,
maybe even promotion? That would teach her.

*
* *

Anna could
feel strong beams of light across her forehead. She tossed her head from side
to side and scrunched up her closed eyes.
Leave
me alone
, she thought. But the light persisted, forcing her to raise her
arm to cover her face.

She was awake now and suddenly aware that her nostrils felt raw,
compelling her thoughts to return to the night before. The night before . . .
Every muscle in her body ached with a mixture of fatigue and anguish at the
thought.

She remembered the feel of the cold, leather seat in the police car, as
she sat next to the uniformed officer, feeding him details of Ross’ friends,
his family. Anyone Ross may have visited that evening. She had sat, head in hands
whilst the officer made call after call: to Ross’ parents; his brother, Phil;
his best friend and colleague from school, Mart;
each one a negative result. Ross hadn’t been there, they hadn’t
seen him for several hours, days, weeks in some cases. Nobody would know for
sure until many hours later if Ross had died in the fire, the flames had still
been far too virulent for the fire fighters to penetrate and check. So she
clung onto hope, like a baby with a comfort blanket, knowing that it was highly
likely that his charred body lay amongst the remains of his broken home.

Anna lifted her arm just enough to allow her eyes to open slightly,
resting it behind her forehead. As her pupils focused she realized that she was
back in her bedroom at her parents’ house. The flickers of light she felt were
those battling to break through a tiny gap where the curtains weren’t drawn
together properly at the top. She blinked several times and frowned. She had no
idea how she had got there.

Maybe it was all a bad dream.
Cold now, she tucked her stray arm back underneath the covers and suddenly
jolted, every organ in her body feeling displaced by the shock. She was fully
dressed, still wearing her jeans and Ross’ top from the night before.

Anna sat up in bed, pushed back the duvet and lifted the blue
Helly
Hanson sweat top to her nose. She could smell Ross,
his Armani Pour
Homme
after shave. But there was
another smell, battling to drown out all the others. The unmistakable, strong
smell of smoke.

She heard the ring tone of her mobile, the same plain standard ring that
she hadn’t changed, hadn’t amended because it was only temporary. But being
only temporary meant that few people had the number – Ross! She reached over
and grabbed the phone, her heart immediately descending as she looked at the
illuminated screen.

She clicked to answer, raising the phone to ear. “Hello.” Her voice was
barely a whisper.

“Anna? Is that you?”

“It’s me,
Rab
.”

“Sorry, for a moment there I thought I’d dialed the wrong number. It
didn’t sound like you.”

It’s not a good time
. But she
couldn’t afford to shut him out now. What was that saying? ‘Blood is thicker
than water’ - even if he was practically a stranger. “I’m sorry,
Rab
, something bad has happened.”

“Oh . . .” A silence followed, as if he was unsure what to say next. “Umm
. . . Can I help?” His light hearted, friendly tone was replaced with a tight,
serious inflection. Anna didn’t know what to say, where to start.

“Anna, are you still there?”

“I’m still here.” She took a deep breath.
Come on, spit it out – he’ll find out soon enough anyway.
“There
was a fire last night.” There she had said it. She closed her eyes and exhaled
heavily through her mouth.

 
“I heard about it on the local
News. Other side of town. Someone you know?”

“It was my boyfriend’s house. I’ve been staying with him since . . .” Her
voice faltered.

“Oh my God! Anna? Are you OK?”

“I’m not hurt. I was out at the time.”

“That’s a relief . . . I’m sorry. I had no idea.”

“How could you have done?”

“What can I do?”

“Nothing, thank you. There is nothing anyone can do.”

“Your boyfriend . . .” He broke off, as if he were afraid of continuing.

“Ross.” He had a name and for some reason it seemed important to use it.
It still made him real. “I don’t know yet . . . I’m still waiting to hear . . .”

“I’m so sorry!” Silence again. “Where are you now?”

“Back at my parents, for the moment anyway.”

“Would it help if I came over?”

“I’m not sure they’d appreciate it.” She flinched the moment the words
left her mouth. “Sorry, I mean . . . Well, as much as I’d love to see you, it’s
all a bit awkward isn’t it?”

“I guess so.” He sounded dejected.

“It’s early days. We’ll get together soon. Somehow.”

“I want to help.”

“Thanks, I really appreciate that. Just stay in touch for now. OK?”

“Whatever you want. Call me anytime.”

“Sure, bye.”

A lump rose in her throat as she ended the call. Talking about it,
smelling it and remembering last nights events made it all seem so real. Right
at this moment she had never felt so alone.

*
* *

Back in her
office, Helen read the email marked ‘urgent priority’ over again. Fire officers
had assessed heat damage, burn patterns, and their sniffer dog had found traces
of petrol at

For the present, the incident was being investigated separately by Area
CID. DS
Strenson
had launched a missing person’s
enquiry and promised to keep her updated. But she knew that their enquiries
would be limited. Ross was a grown man, not a minor, or a vulnerable member of
society. If he had wanted to take off for a few days – and people did
occasionally without telling friends or colleagues – then so be it. Many a
missing persons or ‘MISP’ enquiry had cost the police gravely in terms of
resources and time, only to find the person, whether due to relationship,
financial, work or other pressures, returns in a few days. And these days the
police had to prioritize. Budgets were tighter than ever.

The only information they had so far was that a neighbor of Ross’ had
seen him leave the house with a man around seven twenty the previous evening.
The description at the end of the email was brief: excessively tall, around 6
ft 3ins with thin, white blonde hair combed back from his face and blue/grey
eyes.