DARK CRIMES a gripping detective thriller full of suspense (4 page)

Vitols did as he was asked and left the room.

Sophie met Melsom in the foyer. A uniformed man was now stationed outside Berzins’ room in the staff block at the rear of the hotel.

‘When Barry arrives I want the two of you to start taking statements from the staff, Jimmy. He should be here soon. Did you get a description of Berzins from the chef?’

‘Yes, ma’am. He’s about five foot nine with short, dark hair. Clean-shaven. I’ve got a copy of the staff photo of him and it’s a pretty clear one.’

‘Good thinking, Jimmy. Get it sent down to the station for circulation as soon as you can. Apparently he likes to wear blue. And he walks along the seafront. Could you phone that across to the station and ask all teams to keep a lookout? Could you sort all that? I’m going to take Lydia with me to Donna’s mother.’

She was about to leave, but stopped abruptly.

‘Jimmy, were there any wet clothes in Berzins’ room?’

‘No, ma’am. Not as far as I could see.’

‘Check again carefully, then have a look in other likely places in the hotel. If he was standing around waiting for Donna last night, he’d have got soaked. Oh, and when you speak to the staff find out who saw her last, just before she left. I want to know whether she had an umbrella with her.’

The other two detectives arrived. Sophie gave her orders and drove off with Pillay.

* * *

They were soon in Corfe and driving slowly along West Street to its far end. The house they were looking for stood back from the road along a short track. It was set apart from its neighbours, and not overlooked. Like many of the other houses in the village, it was a low, two storey cottage, made from the local Purbeck stone. They parked the car and made their way through the low, wooden gateway. There was a small flower garden in front of the building, although by this time of year there were no blooms left. The two detectives could make out the edges of a well-worked vegetable garden to the rear, as neat and tidy as the flower garden. They walked to the door and rang several times. There was no answer.

‘Shall I have a look around the back?’ asked Pillay.

‘Yes. I’ll check with the neighbours. There’s someone in the last cottage on West Street. I spotted a woman at a window as we passed.’

The neighbour, an elderly woman leaning on a stick, expressed surprise that there was no answer at Brenda Goodenough’s cottage, since she hadn’t seen her going by her window that day. Brenda always drove past on her way to work as a cleaner in one of the local hotels. She had not done so this morning. Sophie began to feel a slight unease and asked the neighbour for the name of Mrs Goodenough’s employer. She phoned the hotel and was dismayed to learn that she hadn’t turned up for work that morning. Sophie walked back up the lane and found Pillay waiting at the door.

‘No sign of life, ma’am. There’s a back door, but it’s locked. There’s an insecure window just beside the door. I can give it a go if you want me to.’

‘Yes. I’m worried about her. Have a look, if you can manage it. Put gloves on, Lydia.’

Pillay clambered on top of a nearby bin, and pulled at the window. It opened easily.

‘I’ve got it open, ma’am. It wasn’t really secured. Shall I go in?’

‘I want to see how she is, so yes. Go ahead. But try not to disturb anything.’

Pillay was slim enough to slide easily through the window. She unlocked the rear door from the inside, and the two detectives passed through a small, neat kitchen into the hallway of the cottage. There was no answer to their calls, so they continued through the house. The other rooms on the ground floor consisted of a sitting room that had windows looking out onto both front and rear gardens, and a small dining room next to the kitchen. Both rooms had been kept clean, with polished furniture that gleamed in the late-afternoon light.

The stairs were old and creaked as they climbed. They found Donna’s mother in bed, still in her nightclothes. Dead.

CHAPTER 3: The Working Girl

Early Tuesday Evening, Week 1

In the late-afternoon chill, Sophie leant against the cottage wall. The drizzly rain had stopped in the middle of the afternoon, the damp air-mass replaced by colder, drier air from the north. She was warm enough, in a fashionable but thick woollen coat, black trousers and boots. She warmed her hands on a cup of coffee from a flask she kept in the car. She looked back towards the village, where the sun was now sinking behind the striking ruins of the castle. The odd, brooding shapes of its walls and towers dominated the skyline, looking forbidding in the fading light. Perfect for a photograph, she thought. Martin, her husband, would drool over a shot like this.

It had been one of the busiest days Sophie could remember, and the pace showed no sign of slowing down. A forensic team had arrived soon after her phone call reporting the murder, to be quickly followed by Benny Goodall, the pathologist. The team were in the cottage now, taking photos, examining the surfaces with their ultraviolet scanners, looking for any evidence that the murderer might have left. Sophie held out no great hopes. He’d already proved to be very efficient at removing all identifying clues. The only possible exception had been the cigarette butts found beside the wall at Spring Hill, but Sophie was not optimistic that they would yield any evidence. What were the chances that a couple of sodden fag ends would even be connected to the murder, or yield any useful evidence?

‘I’d better be off,’ she said to Pillay. ‘Find me when you get back, or call me earlier if they find anything you think I should know about. I’ll be interviewing Berzins in about an hour, once I’ve digested all the facts.’

She was about to return to Swanage to interview Vilis Berzins. The young trainee chef had been picked up by a transport police officer at Bournemouth railway station, just as he was about to board a train for London. Sophie thanked her good fortune and the sharp eyes of the watchful policeman. If Berzins had managed to disappear into the London immigrant community, it would probably have been impossible to trace him again. Now they had their main suspect in custody. The problem with the case was going to be finding the evidence to convict him. The crime scenes suggested meticulous preparation. Like Donna’s flat, each room in her mother’s cottage had been thoroughly searched by the intruder. Just as in the flat, no diaries or address books had been found. This worried Sophie. It would make the job of tracing and interviewing friends, family and acquaintances much slower.

Above all, there was a nagging doubt in her mind that a twenty-year-old, particularly one from a foreign country, would be so ruthlessly efficient. A telephone call to the police in Latvia might prove to be useful, once she’d interviewed Berzins.

* * *

As soon as she met him, Sophie’s doubts resurfaced. Vilis Berzins stood up as soon as she and Barry Marsh entered the interview room. No one had prompted him to do so. Sophie told the slim dark-haired young man to sit down.

‘You are Vilis Berzins from Riga, Latvia?’ she asked.

‘Yes.’ He seemed calm but wary.

‘Currently working at the Ballard View Hotel as a trainee chef?’

‘Yes.’

‘I’m Detective Chief Inspector Sophie Allen from the Dorset police. This is DS Barry Marsh. You may be able to help us with our inquiries concerning a recent serious crime. We have been taking statements from all of the hotel staff. I understand that you weren’t at work today. I also understand that when you were approached by the police officer at Bournemouth railway station, you were happy to accompany him. You came back here to Swanage quite voluntarily. Is that the case?’

‘Yes. I am always happy to help the police. My older brother is a policeman in Riga.’

Sophie made a mental note of this fact. If he was the murderer and was familiar with police techniques, it might explain his apparent lack of apprehension.

‘How old are you, Vilis?’

‘I am twenty. I will be twenty-one in January.’

‘Why were you in Bournemouth rather than at work today?’

‘I received a phone call this morning just after breakfast. It was from the embassy in London. They said that there was a problem with my passport and work permit. I was to go to Bournemouth where one of the staff would bring me a new document to complete. This person would be travelling to Poole to get a ferry to France, so could meet me in Bournemouth before travelling on to catch the boat.’

‘Why didn’t you tell the hotel staff before you left?’

‘I was told not to do so. He said that if the hotel suspected a problem with my permit, it would put my job at risk. It was better for them not to know.’

‘And did you meet this man?’

‘No. He didn’t come. They told me this might happen, and if so, I was to get a train to London to collect some new papers from the embassy. I am now worried that it was all a trick. It is all too strange and I don’t think there is a problem with my papers.’

‘How did you travel to Bournemouth?’

‘On the bus.’

‘And how did you get to the bus terminus this morning?’

‘I walked there. It is only a few minutes.’

‘So you saw the police tape across Spring Hill when you went out?’

‘Yes. I would go that way, but I saw a policeman there. I used the Town Hall Lane instead. What has happened?’

‘A young woman was murdered in the lane last night, Vilis.’

‘Oh.’ He sounded surprised and perplexed. And then he suddenly turned pale.

‘Not . . . Donna?’ he whispered.

‘The body hasn’t been formally identified yet, but it is very likely.’

Berzins’ breathing became fast and shallow, and tears ran down his colourless cheeks.

‘She didn’t deserve this. She was such a good person,’ he finally said.

‘She was your girlfriend, Vilis?’

He didn’t answer. He held his head in his hands until his sobs began to subside.

‘You think I did this?’

‘We cannot say until we have more facts. We are not questioning you under caution at this time, Vilis. Now answer my question please. Was Donna your girlfriend?’

‘Yes.’ He looked hollow and empty. ‘For the last two months, we have been seeing each other.’

‘Have you slept together?’

‘Yes.’

‘Did you ever meet her mother?’

‘Yes, about two or three times.’

‘Vilis, I am going to terminate this interview now. We will contact the duty solicitor, unless you have your own that you wish to use?’

He shook his head.

Sophie continued. ‘You are now a suspect, and you need legal guidance. Do you understand that?’

He nodded.

‘Your English is very good, Vilis. Normally I would have to arrange an interpreter at this stage. Do you want one?’

‘No. I studied English at college before coming here. Also my parents speak English well and taught me when I was growing up.’

‘The Latvian embassy should be informed of your whereabouts. We will arrange for you to do that. Sergeant Marsh here will contact them shortly and explain the situation, but you must also speak to the embassy officials yourself. You must tell them where you are and how you are being treated. And now, have you eaten since breakfast, Vilis?’

He shook his head weakly.

‘I will arrange for some food and drink to be brought in. You must remain here meanwhile. If you need to use the toilet, ask the constable at the door. I will be back later.’

The two detectives left the small interview room.

‘This is a difficult one, Barry. There are no obvious clues in his demeanour, are there?’

‘I have my doubts, ma’am. His reactions seemed very genuine. He’d have to be a really good actor to put all that on. He went as white as a sheet.’

‘It can all be planned in advance, you know. I’ve heard of suspects who hide a tiny sachet of a drug in their mouth. They bite it open and go pale. It’s staggering what people will do. What I do know is that we have precious little evidence at the moment. Nothing really, apart from those two or three cigarette butts.’

‘Why didn’t you keep questioning him for a while longer? Don’t you think we could have got a bit more out of him while he was surprised?’

‘If he is our man, then all that was just an act anyway. If he isn’t, then we haven’t lost anything. And I don’t want to chance losing on a technicality later. He’s a foreign national, Barry. Their embassy would have a field day if I broke the rules, and so would the CPS. He’s our prime suspect, and he probably knows it. Next time I speak to him it will be under caution, with a brief present. By the way, when you put him through to the embassy, make sure that he speaks in English. Make that clear to him. It’s not playing entirely by the rules, but I want you to listen in. He was brought in when? Three thirty? That gives us until mid-afternoon tomorrow to get some evidence. I’ll chase up forensics about those stubs. If there is a DNA match, we’ll have clinched it.’

* * *

Sophie sat in her office in the incident room. She hadn’t revealed her own doubts to Marsh, but she agreed with his observations about Vilis. The young man seemed so mild-mannered. Was he capable of a hatred deep enough for murder? And even if he was, had he known Donna long enough for such a hatred to develop? But then seemingly random assaults of terrible ferocity occurred all the time. Sophie pondered her next moves. Jimmy Melsom came into the room, breaking her reverie.

‘Finished getting all the statements?’ she asked him.

He nodded. ‘But I can’t say that anything striking came out of them, ma’am.’

‘What about the damp clothes I asked you to look for? Any sign?’

‘No. We took another look at his room. Nothing wet. And nothing hidden anywhere. The place is a bit of a rabbit warren, but we did our best.’

‘Jimmy, have you had experience with tracing mobile phone calls?’

‘A bit. Mainly cyber-bullying with teenagers, but there was one assault case last year where we had to trace some calls.’

‘Berzins claims that he got a call this morning on his mobile from the Latvian embassy in London, about a mix up in his papers. He says that’s why he left Swanage. I’ve just been on to the embassy and they deny that any such call was made. Could you get on to his phone company and try to trace that call? His phone is on Barry’s desk. I’ve got the embassy calling me back shortly when they’ve traced any records they have on him. If I’m out when you’ve finished, call me on my mobile.’

She contemplated the incident board for a moment, then called Melsom back. ‘Jimmy, did you find out whether Donna had an umbrella with her last night when she left?’

‘Yes, ma’am. The night porter was fairly sure she did have one. Apparently it’s quite eye-catching. Lydia knows more about it than me. She stayed to ask Maria more about it.’

* * *

Just after six thirty that evening Sophie arrived at the county police headquarters at Winfrith for a meeting with her boss. She got on well with Superintendent Matt Silver, but she knew he had his limitations. He was a little unimaginative, and sometimes his decision-making was slow. But he always provided a sympathetic ear, and he was proud of Sophie’s achievements since he’d appointed her a year earlier.

Silver stood up as she entered his office. He welcomed her, indicating a seat in his usual friendly manner. The other person in the room remained seated. She recognised Silver’s own boss, Area Chief Superintendent Neil Dunnett. She had not expected him to be present. She was expecting an informal discussion, to bring Silver up to date on her thoughts.

Silver started by asking for a review of the day’s events. Sophie sensed tension in the air as she recounted the details. It felt as if there had been some disagreement between the two men before she’d arrived. Dunnett was very new to his post. He was an unknown quantity, having been appointed from outside the county force. Sophie completed her summary, and Silver questioned her about the lack of evidence at the crime scenes.

Dunnett intervened. ‘Are you sure everyone was looking hard enough?’ He had sat silently up to now, watching Sophie as she spoke.

‘With respect, sir, the forensic team here is one of the best I’ve ever worked with. They do everything meticulously.’

He looked at her coldly. ‘No. I meant the detectives at each scene. I didn’t mention forensics.’

So this was what he was like.

‘We examined everything we could that wouldn’t jeopardise forensics at each location,’ she said.

‘Your team were first on the scene at both houses, yet you spotted nothing. I find that difficult to understand. In almost every murder case I’ve been involved with something has been noticed at the scene. Murders of this type, of a mother and daughter, are usually not well planned. They’re killed by family, a boyfriend or someone like that. They always leave clues.’

Sophie knew that Dunnett was arguing from a position of ignorance. When he’d been appointed, she had looked up his record, and had spotted his lack of experience in violent-crime cases. He’d come through an almost entirely administrative route to his current job.

She kept her voice calm and controlled. ‘Sir, I have been involved in more violent-crime cases than anyone else currently serving with this force. I know this for a fact, but you might want to check. I learned my trade in my five years under Harry Turner at the Met, then with Archie Campbell in the West Midlands. You’ll already know from my record that I have the highest clear-up rate for violent crime of any officer at my rank in the south west of England. I resent the implication that I don’t know my job.’