The TV Detective (7 page)

Chapter Five

H
OW AGONISINGLY ELUSIVE CAN
be the promised land of sleep. Dan twitched and fidgeted, rolled and itched, and finally managed to get some rest in the small hours. Even then, his dreams were interrupted as his mind fixated on ridiculously petty worries about what to wear and exactly what time to turn up at Charles Cross Police Station.

Adam Breen had said to be prompt. So he would have to be early. But not so early as to look hopelessly keen.

And as for clothes – that was even worse. His wardrobe was entirely tuned to his days covering the environment, all hardy walking boots, chinos and rugged shirts. With some luck, urgent ironing, and a bit of rummaging at the back of the cupboard, Dan thought he could just about put together a suitable outfit, but it would only endure for a couple of days at best.

And then there was the thought of the evening. It was ages since he'd last been out on a date. He'd have to remember not to talk too much, and, if they decided to have some dinner, keep his mouth closed as he ate.

Living on your own could be fatal for your manners.

To shift some of his morning lethargy Dan took Rutherford for a run around Hartley Park. The weather was overcast and chilly, but at least it was dry. Dawn broke as they jogged, the ink of the night slowly diluting to the dull light of the day. There were a couple of other dogs out with their owners, but Dan let the Alsatian off his lead, content in the knowledge he'd never shown the slightest interest in fellows of his species.

The roads around the park were quieter than usual, probably some people had already stopped work for Christmas, the children too had broken up from school. Dan wondered what he would do with his time off. Most likely the usual; make a reasonable effort at some passable cooking for once, get Rutherford a turkey, see Nigel and play surrogate uncle to James and Andrew, go out for a few beers with El. It was how it had been for years aplenty now.

Dan increased his pace for a final fast lap of the park. Rutherford ran effortlessly alongside, occasionally darting away to sniff at a tree or bush. They stopped by a bench, Dan catching his breath and stretching out his muscles before putting the dog back on his lead and walking over to the flat.

As he got dressed into his unfamiliar attire, Dan noticed he felt as jittery as on his first days at work when he was a young trainee journalist.

He got to Charles Cross at twenty to nine, way too early for any appearance of nonchalance. Dan drove around the corner, found a shop, bought a paper and sat in the car outside trying to read it. He didn't take in a single story.

A quarter to nine. The base of his back was sweating unpleasantly. The shirt Dan had chosen was formal and well starched, good and smart, and all the more uncomfortable for it. The dusty black brogues pinched at his feet too. As for the unaccustomed tie, it was like a ligature.

He felt oddly as though he was dressed for a job interview.

Ten to nine. Dan turned on the radioand found a news channel. Each report seemed to be about a crime and the police's efforts to solve it. The top story was still the Edward Bray murder; a presenter was talking about the apparent lack of progress in the investigation so far. Dan turned the radio off.

Five to nine. He started the engine, put the car into gear, drove to the back of the police station and pressed the call button by the heavy metal gates.

‘Hello?'

‘Hello, it's Dan Groves, from
Wessex Tonight
. I'm here to see Mr Breen.'

The speaker crackled with laughter, several different voices in the rising chorus, and all finding something remarkably amusing.

In the background, Dan thought he heard someone shout, ‘The glam new boy's here everyone. Ready for a giggle?'

‘Do please grace us, and come in,' said another voice with exaggerated politeness, and the gate began to swing back.

He parked the car in one of the visitor spaces and got out to find Adam Breen striding towards him.

‘Morning, probationer Detective Constable,' he said. ‘Follow me, and I'll get you a security pass and take you up to the MIR.'

‘The MIR?'

‘Major Incident Room. It's called an acronym. Come on, we haven't got time to hang about.'

He turned and made for the rear doors. Dan followed. Of the four floors of windows of the police station, at least half were filled with faces. All were grinning, and there was plenty of pointing going on too.

Dan ignored itand kept his eyes set on the doors.

An insistent tapping from a lower window made him turn. Pressed hard up against the glass was a naked backside with a policeman's helmet on the top. The window was closed, but despite that, Dan could still hear near riotous laughter roaring from within.

Adam Breen was undeterred, kept striding towards the doors. Dan checked he still wasn't looking, lifted a middle finger and waved it at the window.

‘That's enough of that,' came the detective's sharp voice over his shoulder.

‘Err, what?'

‘Just let them have their fun is my best advice to you. The novelty will soon wear off.'

‘How did – how did you know?'

Adam stoppedand turned. ‘Reflections are a detective's friend,' he said, pointing to the plate glass of the police station's back doors. ‘Don't think you can get away with anything. You're being carefully watched, so remember that. Now let's get you signed in, and I can take you through the case. We've got some interesting, and, in fact, utterly bizarre information already.'

The MIR was at the top of the police station, up four flights of stairs. Adam ignored the lift and took them effortlessly, Dan struggling a little way behind. He was tempted to loosen his tie, but as the detective was as impeccably turned out as ever he decided against it. A couple of cops passed them on the way, sly grins and smirks on their faces, but Dan ignored them.

Already, and again in his dealings with Adam Breen, the impression he'd made wasn't exactly the one he'd planned.

The MIR was deserted, apart from Suzanne Stewart, who was working away at a computer. She immediately stood up when Adam walked in, like a puppet summoned by a master's string. Such was the respect in the gesture that Dan wouldn't have been surprised if she'd saluted.

‘Everyone's already out on inquiries,' Adam explained. ‘That's the way I like it. You don't solve crimes on the phone, or at a terminal. You have to get out there and do it.'

The MIR was the size of a large classroom, one wall facing out onto Plymouth city centre and the shell of Charles Church, largely destroyed in the Blitz, now standing as a memorial to those eternal wartime sacrifices. A line of felt boards stood opposite, a picture of Edward Bray in the middle.

Adam noticed Dan staring. ‘I know what you're thinking,' he said. ‘Aren't they a bit outdated in these days of computers doing everything? Well, two points. First I like the team to have a picture of the crime they're trying to solve in front of them, and that means looking the victim in the eye. It keeps everyone focused. Secondly, those boards will set out the web of connections between all the people involved in the case. And seeing those can often give you the key to the crime.'

Already there were pieces of card with names printed on clustered around the photo. Dan took a step forwardsand squinted to look, but Adam coughed pointedly.

‘Let me give you a little warning,' he said.

‘Yes?'

‘All
Wessex Tonight
broadcasts are now being recorded and monitored. Every word you say, and exactly how you say it will be scrutinised. Each vowel, and every consonant. One hint of anything being aired which I haven't approved, one step out of line and …'

Adam didn't need to finish the sentence. But, helpfully, Suzanne decided she did.

‘We didn't want you, let me make that very clear. We were told by our senior officers you were joining us. We didn't have a say and we're not exactly happy about it. You're here on trust, apparently. Which is ironic, given that you're a journalist.'

‘Hey, come on,' Dan protested. ‘Give a guy a chance.'

‘We have. Otherwise you wouldn't be here at all.'

‘I could be useful you know,' Dan bridled. ‘I'm not daft. I could help with handling the media, offer a different perspective on the investigation.'

The resulting silence was loaded with so much disbelief that a snow plough would have struggled to shift it.

‘Well, thanks for making me feel so welcome,' Dan said finally.

‘My pleasure,' Suzanne replied.

Adam held up his hands. ‘OK, now we all know where we stand, let's get on with the job. So,' he said to Dan, ‘To start off with, do you want to hear the voice of the killer?'

They stood either side of Suzanne while she clicked open a file on her computer. A waveform began dancing on the screen.

From the speakers came, ‘Hello, emergency operator, which service do you require?'

There was a pause, the hiss of the phone line, then a male voice, heavily muffled. ‘Man's body. Lay-by. Three miles east of Plymouth.'

There was another second's crackling of static, then the whine of the disconnection tone.

‘So, what do you make of that?' Adam asked.

‘Me?' Dan replied.

‘Yes, you. Come on. You're here to learn about police work. Start thinking like a detective.'

‘Well – what time was the call made?'

‘5.58. Just a couple of minutes after Bray got to the lay-by, we think.'

‘So only seconds after he was shot?'

‘Yep.'

‘Which means it could be the killer.'

‘Yes.'

‘Or an accomplice.'

Adam nodded. ‘Yes. Good.'

‘So the key question is …'

‘Yes?'

Dan took a second to think. ‘If he, or she, or they have just killed Bray, why bother to phone it in?'

‘Indeed. And the answer is?'

Dan scratched at his back. The shirt was itching unpleasantly. ‘An attack of conscience?'

Suzanne let out a contemptuous snort. ‘What, a few seconds after murdering him? In the hope of an ambulance and a miracle resurrection?'

‘OK, maybe not. To put the police off the track?'

‘As far as I can tell, it put us on the track,' she replied heavily. ‘Straight to the lay-by, to find the body.'

Dan felt his cheeks colouring. He looked to Adam for help, but the detective said nothing, just stood with his arms folded, perhaps a hint of amusement on his face.

‘Well, I don't know then,' he said. ‘What?'

‘Maybe to give us a time of death, nice and exactly,' Adam replied. ‘So we can be sure, more or less to the minute when Bray was killed. And how would that help our murderer?'

‘It would help … if – it would help … I don't know,' Dan replied, trying not to sound tetchy. This was worse than his long forgotten school days, being picked on by a detested teacher in a disliked class for an answer he had no hope of being able to give.

‘An alibi,' Suzanne said, patronisingly. ‘It would help our killer if they'd set up an alibi somewhere else, and needed us to be sure of the time Bray was killed to make it work.'

Dan nodded. ‘OK. I can see that. But …'

‘But?' Adam said.

‘But – it might not be the killer at all.'

‘Go on.'

‘It might just be an innocent person who happened to be in the lay-by at the time of the killing. Someone who witnessed it.'

Another snort from Suzanne. ‘And yet this witness disguised his voice, and hung up as soon as he'd told us about the body?'

‘Sure,' Dan said, trying to keep calm and thinking fast. ‘Maybe he didn't want to get involved. That happens.'

‘And why would he report the crime if he didn't want to get involved?' Suzanne asked sarcastically.

‘Maybe he was up to something he didn't want found out. Like some meeting place for sex or something.'

Suzanne was shaking her head, but Adam looked thoughtful. ‘All interesting ideas, and all possible,' he said. ‘At this stage, we rule nothing in or out. The phone our mystery witness – or our killer– used to call us is a pay as you go mobile, so it can't be traced to an owner. The labs tell us that apart from knowing the voice is that of a male, it's too muffled to match against any suspects we might find. The man was probably talking through a blanket, or something like that. So, on that score, all we have at the moment are theories. Right, that was the interesting information I told you about earlier. Now, do you want to hear the bizarre bit?'

There was no surprise in the labs' headline conclusion about the murder. Edward Bray had been killed with a shotgun. The relatively concentrated pattern of the wound in his chest indicated it was not sawn off, and none of the pellets were rifled in any way that could be matched with the barrel. In short, there was nothing distinctive that could reveal which gun was used.

Also, in a rural region like the South-west, so full of farmers and country landowners, there were hundreds of shotguns in circulation. Getting hold of such a weapon would present few difficulties.

Both these facts, Adam explained, would not help them find the murderer. But there were, however, two peculiarities to the killing, which might.

Firstly, Edward Bray was shot in the heart.

‘It's not exactly fair to test your detective potential on this,' Adam said to Dan, ‘so I'll just tell you. That our killer went for the heart is unusual. Most will aim for the head, as that's more likely to guarantee a kill. It suggests this was no professional job. The choice of weapon backs that up. Professionals use pistols, not shotguns.'

Dan tapped a finger on the table.

‘Yes,' Adam asked, sharply. ‘What are you thinking?'

‘You don't miss much, do you?'

‘I try not to miss anything. So?'