Guilty as Sin (11 page)

“No.”

She knew this was a double-edged sword. Physically, of course, she was empty. Barely hours before she had been carrying her unborn child, her hopes, her future. Now she was carrying nothing but grief.

“Wendy, I really do think it would be beneficial for you to take some time off work.”

“I told you before, I don't
do
time off work. I don't do moping, I don't do daytime TV and I don't do rest. Work takes my mind off things just fine, thank you.”

“Do you not think work is a little too close to what has happened?”

“I'm sorry, but my job is a little different to yours. You might be happy sat in your little office with your stuffed toys, being all perceptive by telling people that they're upset because bad things have happened to them, but my job isn't quite like that. I catch killers, Dr Street. Do you not understand that?”

“I understand perfectly, Wendy, but I just think that...”

“Oh, you think fuck all! You don't
need
to think! I wish I had that luxury, but unfortunately I don't.”

“Wendy, I just...”

“Save it, doctor. The session's over.”

DCI Culverhouse was incredulous at the slow progress of the investigation. Two bodies, one possible link to a cold case and two potential suspects. The only problem was, Gary McCann had, at best, a very weak motive for wanting Danielle Levy dead and Shane Howard had no reason to want to kill Bob Arthurs. He was sure, absolutely convinced that the two must be connected. The same MO, the same hallmarks. In Culverhouse's experience, it was extremely unlikely that the two murders could have been committed by two different people. Even if they had worked in tandem, or with some sort of connection, the likelihood of that happening was fast approaching zero.

As he lay back on his settee and closed his eyes, he tried to clear his mind of all extraneous noise and find some sort of purchase on his thoughts.

No fingerprints, no DNA evidence, and nothing to tell the families of the two victims. As much as Culverhouse cared little for the human race in general, he hated – absolutely loathed – not being able to give families closure and explain who had killed their loved ones and why. He knew how it felt to need answers.

*

She turned and looked back at the child in the back seat of the car. Her hands splayed on the window, her white breath swelling and shrinking on the cold glass as she mouthed,
Mummy
.

This was it. This was the place she'd been told. She meandered up the short driveway, skirting the edge of the lawn and careful to avoid crunching the gravel underfoot with her heels. When she had reached the front door, she stepped lightly onto the terracotta tiles and listened carefully, her ear pressed against the door. The only sound, and one which made her heart momentarily jump, was the sound of a solitary bang on the car window. She raised her index finger to her lips in order to silence the child.

There was no other sound. She tip-toed around to the front of the bay window and glanced furtively around the edge of the curtain. She had to position herself more perpendicularly than she would have liked, but she had to see for herself. The concrete felt cold through her shoes, hardening with every moment.

As she peered in through the bay window, she could see him there, hands lain across his chest, which heaved with every breath. Good, his eyes were closed. She could take a few moments longer. She crouched down and watched. Just watched. It was definitely Jack. And he had aged.

It was becoming all too common an occurrence for DS Knight and DCI Culverhouse to be visiting 101 Heathcote Road. The home of Danielle Levy had never quite had the same warm, welcoming feel since her disappearance and subsequent death. The pair were grateful for the opportunity, however, to speak to Miriam Levy alone in the absence of her partner.

“Mrs Levy, we appreciate how hard this must be for you. We believe we may have some clues which may lead us to Danielle's killer. We just need to ask you a few questions, is that all right?” Wendy was respected throughout the force for her ability to speak calmly and with respect to bereaved families. It was never easy, but she had always been a natural at it. “Do you know of a man called Gary McCann?”

“Umm … no, I don't think so.”

“Do you know if your daughter might have known him?”

“I don't know. Danielle was very open with us, but she didn't tell us about everyone she knew.”

It struck Wendy that Miriam Levy was a woman of few words, a woman whose natural beauty and youthful looks had given her more than words ever could.

“Do you know if she had an address book or anywhere she might have kept a list of people she knew? Contacts, I mean.”

“Maybe her mobile phone. That's all I can think of.”

“Ah. Well we've not been able to retrieve that yet. Is there anywhere else? Did she back up her phone anywhere?”

“I don't think so.”

The closing of the front door startled the three of them at once as Darren Parker entered the living room.

“Hello again. Can I help?”

“Ah, Mr Parker. We were just speaking to your wife about a possible lead we have in finding Danielle's killer. Do you know a Gary McCann at all?”

“Gary McCann? Well, yes, of course.”

Wendy and Culverhouse glanced at each other, then back at Darren Parker.

“How?”

“He owns the Spitfire pub. He's got a few in the town as well.”

“And what relevance does this have to Danielle?”

Darren Parker looked at Miriam before continuing.

“Well, she had a part-time job there. Glass collecting, mainly, and a bit of bar work as well. I mean, she wasn't far off eighteen and it doesn't really matter too much out of the town centre, does it?”

“When was this, Mr Parker?”

“Few weeks ago now. There was a disagreement and Danielle stopped working there.”

“What kind of disagreement?”

“Well, it's all a bit complicated, really.” Darren Parker sat down in the armchair by the large bay window. “There'd been some money going missing from the till. Danielle and a couple of the other girls were on cash-in-hand, you know, and used to get a few tips and things from some of the old men but Gary McCann was sure someone was nicking from him. Reckons stuff was going missing from the safe at one point, too. For some reason he thought it was Danielle and that was that.”

“He sacked her?”

“Yeah, pretty much. Said he didn't want her in there again.”

“And how did Danielle react to that?”

“Well, she was livid. She knew she wouldn't do anything like that in a million years.”

“Did she say that she was going to take any action?”

“Well, no. Not in so many words.”

“Not in so many words? Why? What did she say, Mr Parker?”

“Nothing. Not really. Just one of those heat of the moment things, you know.”

“What did she say?” Culverhouse repeated, this time more forcefully than Wendy had.

“She said she was going to make sure he lived to regret it.”

Outside the interview room, the tension was rising.

“We've only got a couple of hours, then we've got to charge him or let him go.”

“I'm perfectly aware of how the policing process works, thank you, Detective Sergeant Knight. Now, if you'll stop wasting my fucking time we can use some of those precious moments to interview the cocky, shit-headed—” Wendy opened the door to the interview suite. “—lovely, adorable Gary McCann.”

McCann looked up at him, unsure of quite how to react.

“Just one of my ways of calming down before an interview, Mr McCann. A bit like the old trick of imagining the other person naked, but I use this one for the fatties.”

The pair took their seats and Wendy switched the tape machine to 'record' before Culverhouse stated the legalities.

“Right. We've just been round to speak to Danielle Levy's step-dad, and he tells me you did know Danielle.”

“Well he's lying, ain't he?”

“Doesn't seem like it. He had quite a detailed story, actually. Said she used to work in one of your pubs and got the sack for nicking stuff. Ring any bells?”

“Not especially. I've got a lot of pubs and a lot of businesses. People get fired every day.”

“Maybe this will ring a bell. For the benefit of the tape, I am showing Mr McCann a photograph of Danielle Levy.”

“Nope. Like I said – I've got loads of girls working for me in my pubs. Don't even meet most of them. Just come and work for a few weeks then they're off again. It ain't exactly a job that demands company loyalty, Inspector.”

“So you're saying that you don't remember employing or terminating the employment of Danielle Levy in the last few weeks?”

“Like I said, Inspector. I've got a lot of girls working for me. I don't know all their names.”

“Surely your payroll system would be able to shed some light on it?”

“Don't have one. Pay them all in cash, don't I?”

“Surely you need a payroll system for National Insurance contributions.”

“Nope. All my bar staff work part time hours. Don't earn enough to pay no National Insurance.”

“Well, aren't you a responsible employer.”

“Nothing illegal about it, Inspector. Anyway, are you questioning me for murder or money laundering?”

“I think it's best to concentrate on them one at a time, don't you? Now, Danielle Levy's step-dad tells us that Danielle made some sort of remark about 'getting you back'. Does that ring any bells?”

“Said what, to me?”

“No, to her step-father.”

“Then how the fuck should I know? I don't have microphones in their fucking house. Look, what is this? Are you going to charge me with this girl's murder or let me go? You're running out of time, Inspector.”

“Oh, I have all the time in the world, McCann. Now, tell me, what could a seventeen-year-old girl possibly have on you which would make you want to see her dead?”

Before Gary McCann could even formulate an answer, the knock on the door broke the uncomfortable silence. Pausing for a few moments and barely breaking eye contact with McCann, Culverhouse commanded the knocker to enter. It was Luke Baxter.

“Guv, we've just had a call from someone. Reckons he might have some information which connects Bob Arthurs and Danielle Levy.”

Jack Culverhouse felt more than dishevelled as he knocked on the door of Shaun Jackson's house. It was no time to be called out to interview potential witnesses. Especially not people who'd probably turn out to just be another crank. He swore to himself that he'd have Luke Baxter's knackers in a vice if this one turned out to be a crank as well.

The front door clicked open to reveal a well-built man who appeared to be in his early forties. A tradesman, he presumed. Culverhouse prided himself on being able to tell what sort of person someone was purely based on looks. A copper's instinct, perhaps. Satisfied with his brief summing up, Culverhouse introduced himself and was welcomed into the house, carefully stepping around the St Bernard dog which had barked to signal his arrival.

“Nice dog. What's her name?”

“Holly.”

Culverhouse's bullshit machine was in full swing. He hated dogs. He also hated the noise of games consoles in the background as he tried to speak to witnesses. Fortunately for him, Shaun had picked up on this.

“Aaron, will you pack that in? Go and play upstairs with Hannah or something, will you?”