Mummy's Favourite (29 page)

She rang the doorbell and waited, listening for footsteps from within. Nothing came. She rang again and then knocked, bending down to peer through the letter box. Everything was silent. She swore out loud. Her nice relaxing evening was looking to be in jeopardy. Pulling herself upright, she squeezed behind the wisteria to stare through the window into the lounge. Her eyes scanned the room. Everything seemed in place. Her radio blared into action, making her start slightly. She shifted position ready to move on to the next window and it was then that she saw the body lying on the red, bloody carpet. It wasn't moving. She could see it was a man, though she couldn't be sure whether he was dead or alive. She needed to act fast. She considered the front door; it seemed quite substantial. She didn't think she'd be able to shift that, but time was of the essence. She ran round the back of the house but that was all secure. Returning to the front she signalled to her colleague to stay where he was. The last thing she wanted were the kids wandering up to the house and seeing the bloody scene.

That done, she radioed for more assistance before drawing out her asp and smashing the lounge window, carefully knocking any large jagged pieces out of the frame, before hoisting herself up on to the window ledge. Her heart was pounding with fear and adrenaline as she climbed through. Every sense was heightened, as she listened for any sign that could point to the killer still being present. The man was clearly dead when she reached him. His body was cool and his eyes fixed and glassy. Most of the blood had drained out of him through the mass of open wheals around his face and neck. Christ! He was a bloody mess, quite literally.

She stood up, realizing she needed to check the rest of the house. Her eyes darted about watching for any movement. Apart from the man's body, the room looked relatively untouched, with little sign of a struggle. There was no obvious forced entry either, as the house had still been secure. Whoever had done this appeared to either have had keys, or been granted entry by the dead man, in all probabilities, the children's father. Vaguely she wondered whether her colleague would give in to temptation and come to join her, but she hoped he would stay where he was. She needed to know that the children would be safe from whoever had done this. For a second she thought of their little faces, so excited at the ride in the police car. Who would tell them their father was dead?

She realized with a jolt that their mother was nowhere to be seen, possibly lying dead, or dying in another room. Grabbing her asp and CS spray, she started to move around the house, stopping, after every few steps to listen for any slight sound, any tiny noise, that would alert her to the fact that she was not alone. She moved carefully and swiftly through each room, checking each crevice, each wardrobe, under each bed, anywhere big enough for a person to hide. The silence crowded in on her and all she could hear was the rush of blood pumping around her brain, but, thankfully, there was nothing more to be found.

She was just returning to the lounge when she heard the first sirens exploding in on the air. Her colleague came running up the path towards the house, having grabbed the first arrival, to take his place with the kids so he could join her.

He took one look at the body and swore.

‘Christ, Kazza. Are you all right? I didn't know what the fuck to do. I wanted to leave the children but was worried in case they followed me. Anyone else in the house?'

She shook her head; anxious to reassure him that he had done exactly the right thing staying with the children. If he'd left them alone and something had happened, she'd never have forgiven herself.

‘No, I've had a look and there's no trace.'

‘I presume that's the father? What about the mother? Any sign of her?'

She shook her head.

‘Well, I think we have our suspect then,' her colleague stared down at the cuts inflicted on Greg Leigh-Matthew's face. ‘Fifty quid says those are the actions of a jealous woman. She's caught him out and now he's paid the price. He certainly won't be looking at any other women again!'

A tide of uniforms was arriving outside now. She had to stop them all from coming in and trampling over the murder scene. She went to the front door and waited for the Inspector to arrive, barring the way from the curiosities of the ensuing constables.

‘Well, what do you say then?' Her colleague repeated the bet, offering his hand to shake.

Karen raised her eyebrows as she took in the offer.

‘I hope to God you're wrong,' she said slowly. ‘Because, if you're right, and she is his killer, those poor kids out there will grow up without either parent.'

Bear sat in the cells at Charing Cross and chuckled quietly to himself. Information had been received that he was involved in the assault on Keith Hubbard. Information? Most probably from Hubbard himself then, the snivelling grass. Well he would be paying the dirty snitch another visit when he got out and next time the man wouldn't be able to go running to the filth with his tales of woe. He'd have no tongue.

They were out getting Ratman now or so they'd said; as if that was going to bother him. Ratman would never grass on him. They were, like the saying went, as thick as thieves. He trusted him like he would trust his own brother; more so even. They went back a long way; back to when they were kids in the middle of one of the largest estates in Peckham, glamorized amusingly on TV in
Only Fools and Horses
. There had been nothing glamorous in their existence though. Alcoholic crack-head mothers, non-existent fathers; the two of them had lived next door to each other back in the day when you could rely on your neighbours to help out, if they weren't nicking from you! They had grown up together, scraping what little food and cash they could lay their hands on, thieving from the back of restaurants, pilfering from shops, anything to fill their growing bellies and frames.

Bear was built in the likeness of his street name: huge, muscular, powerful and covered in a layer of thick, black hair across his chest and back. He barely needed to work out; he was naturally powerful.

Ratman was built in the likeness of his street name too: skinny, thin-faced with a way of moving that resembled a rodent, twitching and darting one way and another as if always scared of being spotted. He was, however, fearless and Bear loved him for his courage and bravery in the face of adversaries much larger than he. No, the filth could bring his mate in and they wouldn't get a squeak out of him. He laughed at his own joke.

Lying down on the thin mattress of his cell, he folded his arms up above his head. It would only be a matter of time before they were released on bail or with no further action. Hubbard was a fool to pursue them this way. It wasn't worth his while; in fact it would be more than his life was worth. Bear was amazed he'd gone this far, but he must have. If they were bailed out pending statements and advice, it wouldn't take long before Hubbard was eating his words. He'd make sure of that. He knew from previous experience that bail conditions not to contact the victim weren't worth the paper they were written on.

He peered across as the cell wicket opened and the gaoler, young, naive and fearful, glanced in.

‘Just checking I'm still alive, are you?' he swung his legs round and ran at the door, pushing his face towards the small open square. The gaoler jumped backwards and slammed the wicket shut with shaky fingers. Bear threw his head back and let out a roar of laughter. He loved putting the fear of God into the youngsters; particularly the ones who thought they were it just because they were wearing a uniform. They were nothing; nor were the jumped-up detectives who had treated him with surly arrogance. They would never keep him caged. Nothing would keep him or Ratman caged. It never had and it never would.

He ambled back to the bench and lay down again. They were Teflon, him and his mate; nothing stuck to them – and if something was causing them a little more trouble, then there was always Justin, wasn't there; the slippery snake of a legal rep who Bear hated but admired at the same time. He'd literally got them off murder in the past, and robbery and the odd GBH. The arrangement worked well. Justin Latchmere would use every trick in the book, every technicality he could find, to get them off a charge. In return, they would do his dirty work, settle a few scores, in such a way that he didn't get those precious, manicured hands of his soiled with blood or scandal.

Justin said little of his private life when he gave them a job, even though his reputation for affairs was well known all around the legal and criminal fraternities One day very soon the great Justin Latchmere would be a prime target for blackmail and if things didn't change, he and Ratman would be up there among the list of prime suspects; after all they knew exactly who was organizing all the paybacks and Bear was always careful to keep the proof.

Hubbard had obviously pissed Justin off big time and it didn't take too much imagination to work out why. Bear had watched
Crimewatch
and had recognized Hubbard's case and besides, everyone was talking. Justin had supposedly had an affair with Hubbard's missing wife. Hubbard was apparently stalking Justin's wife. And now Justin's wife and daughter were missing. It wasn't difficult to see why they had been hired.

He could hear a commotion now outside the cell. He wandered back to the door and pressed his ear to it, chuckling quietly to himself as he recognized his mate's high-pitched voice. Ratman liked to argue for the sake of arguing, to question every comment the custody officer or arresting officer made. He revelled in being difficult.

Bear couldn't be bothered. He just took it all in, said nothing and sat the time out until he was released. Still, it amused him to listen to how his little mate made the filth squirm; how he pissed them off without giving anything away.

If they were lucky, he'd be put in an adjacent cell and they'd be able to shout to each other. If not, whoever was released first would wait outside the nick for the other to be released and go out for a few drinks to celebrate their escape from justice again.

And if the worst came to the worst and they were charged, well they'd just go and see their mate Justin and he would get them off their charges.

And they in turn would reward him with their services… again.

‘Charlie, I need you in my office now.'

The phone summons was clear. Hunter was not to be argued with and she abandoned the idea of a quick bite to eat in answer to his command. The whole of Lambeth HQ was in a frenzy of activity. The buzz was almost palpable. Something big was kicking off, but cocooned within the custody suite conducting interviews, she had no idea what.

She climbed the stairs two at a time and almost bumped headlong into Hunter as she threw open the door to their corridor.

‘Charlie,' he shouted excitedly.

‘What's going on?'

‘Well you know Hubbard's slippery solicitor. Her husband, Greg Leigh-Matthews, has been found dead at the family home, and it looks like Annabel has been abducted.'

Charlie fought the urge to be pleased. That woman had helped Hubbard get off assaulting her. She deserved everything she got.

‘And what's more, we've only got a bloody suspect this time.'

‘Who?'

‘Turns out to be some saddo called Bradley Conroy. He was a client of Annabel's some years ago but got sent down for a nasty stranger rape. She and a barrister defended him at court and it seems he developed some sort of crush on her when he was inside, and has waited until now to follow it up. She's reported a stalker recently and we think it may well be this guy. Forensics got hold of a few items from the house to look at straight away. One was a can of beer in the top of the bin which was still wet and appeared to be recent. We didn't know whether it would be Greg's or the suspects but they thought it was worth a try. They got a good enough set of fingerprints off the metal to send them up for a match; which came back to Conroy.There's no legitimate reason for his prints to be in Annabel's house. We're doing some checks with probation and the prison service to find his most recent addresses. We'll be ready to go and look for him shortly.'

*

She felt immediately guilty for her earlier thought. Whether she agreed with Ms Leigh-Matthew's ethics or not, she was, after all only doing her job. She really didn't deserve this.

‘Count me in. Might he be the suspect for all of them?'

‘We don't know yet but the MO's too similar to discount. We won't know for sure until we've got him.'

‘He could be anywhere by now.'

‘Yes, he could be, but we've checked with our psychological profiler who thinks Conroy will have been preparing a place for a while to take her to; a cosy little love nest somewhere. Let's hope it's an address we can identify. We also know Annabel's red BMW is missing, so we might be able to get a lead on that, presuming he's taken it. I've already had the registration number circulated in case it comes to notice.'

‘Wow, I disappear down to the cells for a couple of hours to interview Hubbard's assailants, though I just wanted to congratulate them really, and when I come out, not only do we have a murder on our hands, but you also have the case solved! Do
you
think this Conroy's our main man?'

Hunter shrugged his shoulders.

‘I don't know. To be honest, this guy sounds more like a nutter that gets off on stalking women. I'm not sure that he's sophisticated enough to be our main suspect; leaving a beer can on the bin et cetera, and then there's the fact he didn't take the kids.'

‘It's still a very similar MO though. Maybe he was targeting Annabel and the kids, but her husband came in too early and the guy just panicked, killed him and took Annabel before she had the chance to collect the kids. You never know? Let's hope he is and let's hope we get him quickly.'