SECRET CRIMES a gripping crime thriller full of suspense (10 page)

He stood in front of the incident board, looking over the images, names, locations and links, musing on the possible explanations for the set of circumstances they were investigating. The phone started ringing. He picked up the receiver and gave a curt greeting. He listened to the message in near-silence, and then went to Sophie’s office.

‘Ma’am, we have confirmation of that message from this morning. Someone called Shapiro left the Hampshire force a couple of years ago. But there was also a rumour that he quit before he could be fired. He was abusing vulnerable women. Ones that he’d met during investigations.’

‘And who is your contact exactly?’

‘It’s Gwen, ma’am. From Southampton. What she told me was unofficial, since we haven’t put in a request yet, but it’s probably saved us several days. She knew about it because he worked in her area for a while before transferring, and he was under a bit of a cloud even then.’

‘I didn’t realise you’d contacted her.’ Were her eyes beginning to sparkle? ‘Ah, I see. How long have you been seeing her, Barry? Not that I’m being nosey. Well yes, I am being nosey, aren’t I?’

He smiled weakly and rubbed his ear, a habit of his whenever he felt embarrassed. ‘We’re not an item. Not yet, anyway. We’ve only been out for one meal together, just last week. But we did talk on the phone late last night. That was when Gwen warned me Shapiro might be a former cop. It’s why I texted you early this morning. I hope I didn’t tell her too much.’

‘I doubt it, Barry. It wouldn’t be like you. And if it helps, I like her. I know we’ve only met once or twice, but she’s the kind of person I feel we can depend on.’ Sophie thought for a while. ‘It’s interesting, but it still doesn’t explain why Sarah was killed. Could she and Derek have been in some kind of relationship? There are a couple of other things we can check right now that might help us think. You phone the hotel and the B and B. Check how long the rooms were booked for. We assumed it was only for the weekend, but I don’t think we’ve confirmed it. I need to find the list from forensics of what Rosemary and Sarah had packed in their bags. Okay? Back here in five minutes.’

Marsh returned to Sophie’s office a few minutes later wearing a frown. ‘How did you know?’ he asked.

‘I didn’t. Guess would be more accurate. I remembered that something didn’t seem right when I saw the clothing lists, but it didn’t register at the time. You can see that Rosemary packed clothes for the weekend. The kind of things that I’d pack for a couple of days away. But Sarah’s list was more than twice as long, with enough clothes for a week. That could be explained if she were a clothes freak who always packed lots more stuff than she’d need. But I didn’t pick up that impression from Rosemary when she talked about their earlier weekend breaks. They both travelled fairly light. So, how long was the hotel room booked for?’

‘Until the end of the week.’

‘So the weekend would progress as normal, but on Sunday Sarah would have told Rosemary that she wasn’t returning to Portsmouth with her. And her room at the hotel was family-sized. I’ve been wondering about that, but it makes some kind of sense. She and Rosemary had a bed each, but there’s a double for her and Derek. But what was she up to? Was she juggling two men at the same time? Did they know? Did Derek tell Shapiro that he was staying on after the weekend? And who was the man called John Renton, who was in the hotel that night? Could he have known Sarah?’ She paused. ‘You know what might help us a bit, don’t you? If we could get more detail on Shapiro somehow, now we think he’s an ex-cop.’

‘I’ve already done it. I asked Gwen to get some facts sent through as soon as she could manage it, so it should be with us in the morning.’

‘Great stuff, Barry. I knew I’d made the right decision when I offered you the job. Now it’s really time to go. If I don’t there’ll be a good chance my dinner will be lying scorched in the bottom of the oven. Either that or Jade will be standing by the kitchen door ready to hurl it at me when I finally arrive home. Think yourself fortunate that you don’t have a teenage daughter who takes her role as Monday’s chef rather too seriously.’

‘You could always blame me, ma’am.’

Sophie laughed. ‘I intend to if it comes to that, don’t worry. She’ll forgive you things that she won’t let me get away with. Tell Rae I’ll be ready in five minutes, will you?’

* * *

In the late evening Rae was in her new home, a small flat in Wool, sipping a coffee. She thought her first day had gone well, and that she had fitted into the team of detectives better than she’d feared. Life had never been easy for her but she’d been so successful at keeping her inner anxieties and stresses hidden that no one knew of the shrieking chaos that often whirled around in her brain. Even her closest family members didn’t know. Most people could be themselves, happy in their own skin at least some of the time. But what if, like her, there had always been a deeply rooted mismatch between the external appearance and the internal sense of self? Well, it was all over now. Here she was, in the kind of role she’d always dreamed about. Now she was somewhere where she’d already been taken seriously, and had been given responsibilities by other professionals who didn’t seem to care about her background. The big boss, the DCI, had acted so naturally that it couldn’t possibly have been a façade. Even though Barry Marsh had been quiet, she’d gained the impression he was always so, and that he’d gone out of his way to be welcoming. She wouldn’t let them down. She switched on her stereo and inserted a disc. She sat and listened to a Mozart piano concerto. It was her late grandfather’s favourite music. In many ways he’d have been proud of her, she knew. He’d been a police officer for most of his working life, having joined up after leaving the army in 1946. But how would he have felt about her new life as a woman? She hoped that, like her parents, he’d have shown at least some understanding.

Rae finished her coffee and sank back into the chair, pondering on the current case. She thought about the weekend music festivals that she knew. One of her cousins played sax in a semi-professional jazz quartet and helped to organise an annual jazz festival in Bath. Would he have any insider knowledge? Would he be willing to speak to her? There was only one way to find out. She picked up the phone.

Chapter 8: Jazz

Tuesday morning

‘So who is he exactly?’ Sophie Allen turned from her position at the window. She’d been watching a ragged-looking crow as it struggled to land on the branch of a tree growing next to the police station car park. It was eight in the morning and she’d been gathering her thoughts ready for the early morning briefing when a tentative knock at her office door had preceded Rae’s head peeping around the frame. The story she related was not entirely welcome.

‘My cousin, Matt Rosewell. He’s a peripatetic music teacher. Clarinet and saxophone, but really he’d like to play jazz full-time. He’s in a small jazz band and helps to organise a local jazz festival in Bath.’

‘I’d have preferred it if you’d cleared it with me first, Rae, before contacting him.’

‘Sorry, ma’am. I realise that now, but last night I just felt that I wanted to make some headway and he was the obvious person to ask. I really wanted to . . .’

‘Impress me?’ Sophie suggested.

‘Well, I guess that was part of it, yes.’ Rae looked crestfallen.

‘So what did you learn?’

‘The organisers of most festivals are aware of the matchmaking that goes on. He said it would be hard to miss, even at jazz events. The stewards at the venues are told to look out for single women or small groups and try to ensure their safety. There have been a small number of assaults on women late at night, mainly when they’ve had too much to drink.’

‘But nothing at the level we’re investigating?’

‘He was aware of one possible assault but didn’t know the details. There were rumours two years ago that a woman had gone to a late night party in a hotel room and had been forced into group sex, but he couldn’t be sure how reliable the story was. That was when the stewards were told to be on the lookout.’

‘How much did you tell him?’

‘Nothing, ma’am. I didn’t mention the case or where I’m based. We spent most of the time chatting about me. I was very careful not to give anything away.’

Sophie sat down and rested her chin on her hands.

‘I’m paranoid about things leaking out to the press, Rae. I admire your initiative and your wish to impress Barry and myself. And I have to admit that you’ve uncovered something that could be potentially useful so the gamble paid off, but in future please check with one of us first. People aren’t stupid, Rae, particularly teachers. I know because I’m married to one. Your cousin will be wondering about your query, I can guarantee it. If he reads the papers or watches the news he’ll have heard about the murder. It won’t take much for him to twig the real reason for your call. All he has to do is to talk to the wrong person and it gets to the press, and then I’ll have to go into damage-limitation mode, and I hate that.’ She paused. ‘I can see you’re puzzled. You’re asking yourself why I’m taking it this way when you found out something useful, aren’t you?’

Rae nodded.

‘Because in most queries like it, nothing useful results. So what, you’d probably say. Nothing lost. But tell me this, if your cousin hadn’t given you anything useful, would you have told me that you’d made the call to him?’

‘No, I suppose not. I wouldn’t have seen the point.’

‘So if a press question had come in from Bath about a police interest in Somerset jazz festivals as a result of your call to your cousin, I’d have been at a complete loss as to the reason. And me being me, I’d have tried to find out what had stirred their interest, and if I’d traced it back to you I’d have been so enraged at the time I’d have wasted that you’d have been out on your ear. Do you understand now?’

‘Yes, ma’am. I’m truly sorry.’

‘But as it happens, you’ve got a lead so you can run with it, once we’ve discussed it with the team.’ She paused. ‘Ignore that. On second thoughts I might take it myself. Normally I’d have left it to you, Rae, but I need to visit Bath in any case. But you can do the background for me. Find out what you can about this supposed assault, but do it through police channels, not your cousin. Well, not unless you fail to make any headway. And keep Barry or myself fully in the picture in future. Understand?’

‘Yes, ma’am.’

‘We’ll discuss it in half an hour with the team. So well done and not so well done, both at the same time. Get yourself a coffee and see what you can discover before then.’

* * *

The incident room was looking lacklustre despite the best efforts of the local officers to smarten it up with some posters. Since the decision had been made to close the police station and move to cheaper accommodation, no money had been forthcoming for sprucing up the doomed Victorian building and it showed.

Sophie opened the briefing. ‘Please chip in as appropriate. We’re still short of a great deal of useful information at the moment, so perceptive comments and questions will earn lots of brownie points. Can we start with you, Barry?’

‘We now know more about Brian Shapiro. He was a uniformed cop in Hampshire, working for a while in Southampton’s east end before transferring to Portsmouth. There he was suspended and charged with abusing his position by having sex with vulnerable women he met while working. The women who made the complaints refused to testify so the cases never came to court. He was sacked. This was about four years ago. A photo of him came through earlier this morning and I’ve copied it for you. I also took it to the Hawthorns and had Mrs Fantini check it. She’s pretty sure it was the man who booked in on Friday evening with the same name, Shapiro. I’ve got the booking details but the address he gave is false. The only way we can trace him is through his credit card and bank, but I haven’t got that far yet.’

‘Can’t we get an address from his time on the force?’ asked Jen Allbright. She had been moved from her normal duties to help with the investigation. Her local knowledge from the time she spent on the beat was second to none. She had excellent observational skills.

‘Trouble is, since he left the Portsmouth unit he’s been seen on the fringes of the criminal community. According to my source he’s moved from his previous address. He and the others have been so careful to cover their tracks the chances are that the address the bank’s got might not be up to date. But we’ll see.’ Marsh settled back into his chair.

‘Jimmy?’ Sophie prompted.

‘Still nothing about a Derek that matches our description on any records. It would be so much easier if we had a surname to work with. But I have found a bit more about Sarah Sheldon. It confirms what you found out on Saturday, ma’am. She worked as a false-claims investigator for one of the big insurance companies. Well, not out in the field. She was doing the clerical side of things, computer checks and the like. She’s only worked there for the past year or so. The offices are in the city centre.’

‘Go and speak to them. Find out from her boss and her colleagues what they thought of her. Have a look through her desk, and if she has a work laptop bring it in. Get a copy of any of her personal files held on the company system, particularly emails. Check if they can get a record of her browsing history, or anything else useful. You may need to see someone from their IT team about that. As soon as we’ve finished this briefing, okay?’

‘On my own?’

‘Yes, on your own. You’re a big boy now, Jimmy. I’m sure you’ll do it right. Just don’t rush it. Once you’re there, take it slowly, carefully and thoroughly and identify anything that might help us build up a picture of her through her work.’ She paused. ‘Rae may have found a prior incident at a jazz festival in Bath a couple of years ago. Any more details, Rae?’

‘Yes. It’s still on record as an open investigation by the local police team. No one’s ever been apprehended for the attack, if it can be called an attack. The details seem to be that a forty-five year old woman, who may have had a bit too much to drink, was invited back to a small party in a hotel room. She thought she was with one man who’d been chatting her up, but once there she was given more drink then pressured into group sex with several men. She reported it the next day and claimed it was against her will. The local force never got anywhere because the men had gone by the time they got to the hotel and the address given for the booking was false. They’d paid the bill in cash so there were no bank details to check up on. Her descriptions of the men were a bit hazy, so they didn’t have much to go on. And the results of a medical examination carried out late the next morning weren’t clear. There was no evidence of violence being used. She admitted she had expected to have sex with the man she’d paired up with, but not with others.’

‘How many?’ asked Sophie, tucking some stray strands of short, fair hair behind her ear.

‘She wasn’t sure. Either two or three in total, she thought. But her memory was hazy.’

Sophie thought for a few moments. ‘I’ve decided that we need to follow up on it. It seems uncannily similar to the picture we’re building up of Saturday night. The one big difference, of course, is that no one was killed. Rae, I want you to build up a list of all the jazz or blues festivals in the South West or central South. Get dates for them, stretching back, say, four years. Then get onto the local police in each case and see if there were any similar incidents reported during the festivals. Also contact the festival organisers in each case and see if they heard any rumours of incidents of this kind. Could you help where you can, Jen?’

The uniformed officer looked pleased. ‘Of course, ma’am.’

Marsh spoke. ‘Should one of us visit Bath and speak to the victim there? And the police who interviewed her?’

‘Yes, of course. I’ll do that, Barry.’

Sophie studied her notes, not looking him in the eye. Marsh nodded slightly.

‘The formal results of the post-mortem on Sarah are in and they back up what Benny Goodall told me. She’d been sexually active, probably with two or three men, and had enough booze in her system to have clouded her judgement. The blow to her head would have rendered her unconscious and she died from drowning in tap water. There are sets of faint finger-sized bruise marks on both sides of her neck, consistent with her head being held tightly from behind. I’d guess that was while she was being held under water. By the way, I’ve asked the forensic crew to check all the waste pipes in the hotel room, just in case some fluids are still trapped in them. It then looks as though her body was smuggled out of the hotel through the door to the garden. They must have had a car there. Our two suspects claimed they didn’t have one when they checked in to the Hawthorns. However, we think they parked one in the Victoria Avenue car park instead of taking it to the guest house, though it was gone the next morning. We’ve a possible sighting of the vehicle on Friday evening in that car park, and the witness reports a couple of men getting out and taking some luggage from the boot. Apparently it might have been a small, red car. I’ve asked Tom here to put some uniformed officers onto a house-to-house to see if any of the local residents noticed a car coming out of the Ballard View Hotel’s parking area in the early hours. Then the same for the lane out to Peveril. We might be in luck and find someone who spotted a suspicious vehicle, but don’t be too hopeful. It was fairly misty and drizzly after midnight on Friday night, so visibility was poor. So let me sum up. Jimmy’s following up on Sarah Sheldon and her work. Rae can finish off her probe into previous music festivals. Barry, you and Jen are going to concentrate on the men, starting with Shapiro. I’m off to Bath to see if I can track down the woman Rae mentioned. Have I forgotten anything?’

Marsh spoke. ‘We ought to make copies of that photofit of John Renton that Jimmy made up with the staff at the hotel, then check it around the pubs. You know, Brodie the gay guy, and the roadie with the band. They seemed observant. And maybe with the bar staff at the Red Lion?’

‘I can organise that, Barry,’ said Tom Rose, the station’s senior officer. ‘I expect this will be the last big case I’m ever involved with before I leave. I’ll get Jack Holly onto it and, if necessary, I’ll help him out myself.’

‘I’m sure he’ll thank you for that,’ Sophie said. Jen Allbright was Holly’s usual partner, and knew his idiosyncrasies well. The rather staid constable would not welcome having the town’s chief of police accompanying him on his investigations. ‘And our Mr Brodie is going to really enjoy being questioned by someone as straight-laced as you, Tom. Or even Jack. Be prepared, that’s all I can say. He’s a very entertaining guy.’ Sophie smiled. She tidied her notes together and stood up. ‘Let’s try to meet up at six this evening. Happy hunting, everyone.’

* * *

The drive to Bath took longer than Sophie had anticipated. The road runs almost due north from Wareham, twisting and turning through rolling agricultural land. The driver who is unlucky enough to find herself behind a slow-moving vehicle can do little but sit tight and curse. Sophie did plenty of cursing. Tractors were replaced by lorries, followed by late-season caravans. She calmed herself by listening to some Bach on the car’s stereo.

She’d phoned before setting out and an officer was waiting for her. It took less than an hour to gather all the information she needed. Then she asked her contact to point her in the direction of the fraud investigation offices. Lydia Pillay looked up from her desk at the sound of approaching footsteps. Sophie saw the worried frown that settled on the young DC’s dark face.

‘Hello, Lydia,’ Sophie said. ‘I was hoping you’d be here. How are you?’

‘I’m fine, ma’am.’ She put down her pen and gave Sophie a guarded smile. ‘I half-expected you’d appear one day. I suppose you want an explanation?’