Imago (2 page)

“What do you think happened, Jerry?”

He sighed in an irritated manner. “Didn’t you hear the guv? We don’t know anything other than what you just heard.”

Kate said nothing more. Why did she bother? Was she trying to make him like her? Why? She didn’t care about his opinion, did she?

She was relieved to see the other officers exit the tent and make their way back to where she stood.

“Do we have an ID on the victim yet, sir?” Kate asked Anderton, provoking an irritated sigh from Jerry. She ignored him.

Anderton shook his head.

“There’s no ID at all on the body. No cards, no purse, no bag.”

“Really? That’s strange. You’d expect her to have a purse at least, even if she didn’t use a handbag.”

“Exactly,” said Anderton. “It was almost certainly removed from the body by our perpetrator.” He looked at the still surface of the canal. “We’re going to have to have that searched. It could easily be in there, as well as the murder weapon.”

Olbeck was glancing around at the buildings surrounding them.

“Any cameras here?” he asked. “CCTV footage would help.”

“I can’t see any,” said Kate, scanning the scene. “It doesn’t look the sort of place where people would care about vandalism or theft.”

“Right, well,” said Anderton. “We need to start digging. We don’t know whether the murder actually took place here, although from the blood found at the scene, it seems likely. We don’t know who the victim is. We don’t know what the murder weapon was – yes, some kind of knife, but what kind? We’re currently operating from a standpoint of complete ignorance, and that’s not a position I like to be in.” He paused for breath. “Let’s get back to HQ, and we’ll take it from there.”

Chapter Two

“The weapon that created these wounds was unusual,” said Doctor Telling. She was washing her hands as she spoke, speaking over her shoulder to Kate, who had arrived too late for the actual post mortem. “Very unusual in this kind of case.”

“Really? It was a knife, I assume?”

“Oh, yes, that’s without doubt. But a knife with a serrated edge. A steak knife or something like that.”

“A 
steak
 knife?” Kate’s eyebrows rose. “That is odd.”

Doctor Telling finished drying her long, thin fingers. She smiled her unearthly smile. “Yes, I don’t believe I’ve ever come across one used as a murder weapon before. Have you found it, by the way?”

Kate shook her head. “No.  No sign of it.”

“It should be easy to match it to the wounds if you do.”

“Right. Anything else that’s pertinent? I know I’ll get your report but—”

“Quite a lot.” Doctor Telling was taking off her stained white coat. She dropped it into what was obviously a laundry basket. Underneath she wore a rather incongruous floral blouse. “She was a drug user – injection marks all over her. She’d had at least one child. And while I didn’t find any semen, there were traces of condom lubricant.”

“Hmm,” said Kate. “So our perpetrator is savvy enough to cover up. Was she raped?”

Doctor Telling shrugged her thin shoulders. “Possibly. It’s unusual for a rapist to use a condom, but it’s not unheard of. There’s no obvious damage, no bruising or abrasions. It’s hard to tell. Do you have an ID on the victim yet?”

“We’re running the fingerprints through the database now.”

“I think it’s likely that the victim was a prostitute.”

“Based on what you’ve told me, I think you’re right.”

The Abbeyford police station was undergoing something of a renovation. The reception area was now equipped with some fairly convincing wood-grain laminate (Kate deplored the use of laminate but could see that polished wooden floorboards were out of the question, simply as a matter of cost) and had been repainted a fresh and sprightly green. The interview rooms had also been repainted, and Anderton’s office now had new carpet.

The room currently being renovated was the team’s main office, which meant that everyone had been required to grumblingly pack up all their files and office paraphernalia and shift all their computers to a different room. At least it gave everyone the opportunity to complain about the unfamiliar office chairs and the distance to the coffee machine. It also meant that team meetings now tended to take place in Anderton’s freshly carpeted office, which hadn’t really been designed for large meetings. There was always a scrimmage for chairs. Today, Kate had successfully acquired one over by the window. She tried to flex her stiff legs, which were still aching from yesterday’s exercise session.

Now that meetings were held in his office, Anderton was unable to start things off, as he used to do, by crashing through the door like a human whirlwind. He was also clearly unable to pace about as much as he wanted to. It made Kate chuckle inwardly to see him start out with a firm stride only to bring himself up short as he realised the limitations of the space available.

“Right, team, let’s get on. Excuse the by-now-familiar cramped conditions. Anyone know when we move back to the incident room?” No one knew, although Jane tentatively volunteered that it might be next week. “God, let’s hope so. Can’t work under these conditions. Anyway, where were we?”

Anderton came to a stop in front of the much-reduced set of whiteboards that had migrated over to his office during the renovation. Several crime scene photographs were pinned up already, demonstrating the curled shape of the dead woman, one shoe lying beside her pale, dirty foot.

“You’ll be pleased to know that we’re now much further forward than we were this morning – we have ID’d the victim. Amanda Renkin, more commonly known as Mandy Renkin. Twenty-six years old, a known prostitute and drug user. The usual, sad story: chaotic childhood, in and out of care homes. Pregnant at seventeen, baby removed from her care shortly after birth.” Kate flinched, still unable to hear those words without some sort of emotional reaction. Would she ever be able to?

Anderton continued.

“Convictions for soliciting and drug use. Nothing that comes as any great surprise, poor woman.”

“Did she work alone?” asked Olbeck. “I mean, did she have a pimp or something?”

“That’s something we’ll have to find out. We don’t even know if she worked the streets. She may have had a place that she used. Something we need to find out. Talk to some of the usual girls, see if they can tell us anything. Jane, Theo, get onto the CCTV, if there is any in the area. If not, look at what’s nearest, see if you can find anything. Jerry, Rav, if there are any residential areas near the crime scene, talk to people. See if they saw or heard anything.”

Kate raised her hand.

“Shall Mark and I do her address, sir?”

Anderton nodded. “Yep, first thing. See what you can find. Talk to her relatives, talk to her friends, if she had any. Now I’m sure I don’t need to remind you all that the most likely perpetrator in this kind of crime is an ex-partner or even a current partner. Don’t let the fact that she was a prostitute blind you to that. Dig into her background. Did she have a husband or boyfriend? Who was the father of her child?”

Anderton came to the edge of his desk and hoisted himself up, sitting on the edge with his legs swinging. Somehow, the boyish movement went straight to Kate’s heart. Suddenly moved, she blinked and looked away.

That moment, though it had been brief, kept recurring to Kate when she was back at her desk. She had begun the slow, wearisome task of checking her share of the background facts that Anderton had brought up. She’d long been aware of her attraction to her boss and had managed to keep it a secret from him, from the rest of the team and, with surprising success, from herself as well.

She gave herself the usual stern talking to, reciting an inner monologue that pointed out the sad predictability of being attracted to your boss; the foolishness that resulted from such a breach of professional behaviour; and the fact that it could only lead to humiliation, scorn and misery. How pursuing her feelings would be professional and probably social suicide. Staring blankly at her computer screen while the same old words went round and round in her head, Kate could only think one thing: 
I don’t care. I still want him.

With a massive effort, she shoved those treacherous feelings back down into the depths of her subconscious and turned her attention back to the case.

“Get anything?” asked Olbeck from across the desks.

Kate tapped the keys to print out some data.

“Got an address. Looks like some sort of hostel or something like that. Saint Andrews Mission, Church Road, Arbuthon Green.”

“That’s a homeless charity, I think.” said Olbeck, getting up. He perched himself on the edge of Kate’s desk and she realised he was dressed in a tracksuit. “Catholic. Shall we go and check it out?”

“Yes,” said Kate, standing up. She swung her car keys in an ostentatious circle. “And we’re 
driving
.”

“Fine,” said Olbeck, grinning. “Just means we’ll have to do an extra training session tomorrow. No drama.”

Kate said nothing but suppressed a silent scream.

St Andrews Mission was located in what had obviously once been a village school, Victorian-built, with the usual attention to decorative detail and handsome arched windows. What had once been the playground at the front of the building was now paved over to make space for several cars to park. Kate was pleased to see the old school bell still remained up under the eaves and pointed it out to Olbeck as they got out of the car.

The reception area was painted in industrial green. A low, scuffed table sat by the front desk with a variety of leaflets, advertising counselling services, mother and baby groups, drug and alcohol support groups. A small number of battered chairs stood against the wall, and the reception desk was located behind a glass partition. Behind the reception desk, there was a door with a security key code pad on it.

The grey-haired woman, dressed in a white blouse, who staffed the reception desk looked up as the officers approached.

Kate introduced herself and Olbeck. The woman looked apprehensive.

“Oh yes, we did speak on the phone earlier, I remember,” she said. “I’m Margaret Paling.”

“Do you run this place?” asked Kate.

“Oh no, dear, I’m just one of the volunteers. You’ll need to talk to Father Michael, but he’s out at the moment.”

“We’d like to have a quick chat with you, Mrs Paling, if we may. I understand you knew Mandy Renkin?”

Margaret Paling nodded. She was fingering a rather lovely rhinestone brooch pinned to the lapel of her blouse.

“It’s Miss Paling,” she said. “I’m not married. But I’d be happy to have a chat. Would you like to come through, and I’ll make us some tea?”

Kate and Olbeck were ushered through the security door into a lounge-type area, which sported several worn sofas and armchairs. There was a bookcase with a small selection of second-hand books, a magazine rack stuffed with lots of dog-eared celebrity gossip magazines and a box full of children’s toys.

“We’ll go through to Father Michael’s office,” said Margaret. “The residents aren’t normally up this early, but if you want to talk privately it’s best we use the office.” She saw Kate’s expression. “Oh, I know. Ten thirty in the morning is isn’t very early, but these girls – well, they’re not very 
disciplined
, shall we say. Mind you, having said that, a couple of them are actually in work at the moment, and they’re out, obviously, and the children are in school.”

“Children?” said Olbeck.

Margaret nodded as she opened the door to a small office.

“We have two family rooms here,” she said. “Of course, they’re always in use. In fact, we’re full to the brim at the moment.”

She bustled around, making the tea. Kate had expected to see the usual chipped and battered mugs, milk in a plastic bottle and sugar clumped together in a metal bowl. Instead, Margaret set out a rather nice old tea set, complete with milk jug and dainty sugar bowl. A wisp of steam rose from the spout of the teapot.

“What lovely china,” said Kate. “Royal Doulton, isn’t it?”

Margaret looked gratified.

“That’s right,” she said. “Been in my family for years. May as well get some use out of it.” She looked as though she was about to say more for a moment, but she didn’t. She handed Kate and Olbeck their cups. It had been a long time since Kate had drunk tea from a delicate china cup and saucer. It was good tea, hot and strong.

“You knew Mandy Renkin?” asked Olbeck.

Margaret nodded, fingering her brooch again.

“I knew her, but not very well. She hadn’t been here long and it seemed as though—” She faltered, looking awkward. “Well, it’s not for me to say, but it did seem as though she might not have been here very much longer. We’re very strict on our no alcohol and no drug use policy here – we have to be – and, well...”

“Mandy was using drugs?” asked Kate.

Margaret nodded again. “I don’t know for sure, but I know that Father Michael had, well, 
words
 with her to that very end. They had quite an argument, actually.”

“When was this?”

“I’m not sure. I only heard it about it from someone else, one of the other volunteers. Perhaps two weeks ago? I couldn’t say for sure.”

“We’ll speak to Father Michael when he comes back,” said Kate. “He runs the hostel, then?”

“Yes, he’s the supervisor here. It’s a Church-funded charity.”

Olbeck carefully placed his empty cup back on its saucer and transferred both to what was obviously Father Michael’s desk.

“Could we have a look at Mandy’s room, Miss Paling?”

Margaret looked worried but nodded.

“Yes, of course. I’ll take you there right away.”

“When do you expect Father Michael back?” asked Kate, as Margaret led them back through the sitting room, through another door, along several corridors, across a paved courtyard and finally into another building, a modern block of apartments.

“I couldn’t say for sure. Perhaps after lunch?” Margaret stopped before a door numbered 14. She unlocked it and pushed it open gently.