SECRET CRIMES a gripping crime thriller full of suspense (24 page)

Chapter 25: Blood on the Steps

Monday evening

It was very dark, but at least the weather was dry. Sophie switched her torch on again: nine thirty-five. Barry had said he needed five minutes to work his way around to the back of the house, look through the French windows, and return to where she was waiting on the front porch. Eight minutes had now passed. A twig snapped, and Marsh’s face followed the dim light from his torch.

He whispered, ‘there’s a light on in a back room, but there’s no sound. It could just be a security light. There’s also a small window open in one of the upper floor rooms. I’m guessing it’s a bathroom. All the rear doors are locked.’

Sophie was puzzled. ‘If there is someone in, why aren’t they answering? And if the place is empty, why has that window been left open? He doesn’t seem like the kind of person who’d go out leaving his house unsecured. All these bushes and shrubs in the garden — the place is too tempting for thieves.’

‘And what a place. How does an NCO in the army afford a house like this? How much do you think it’s worth, ma’am?’

‘Four hundred thousand? And it was the parents’ house, Barry. Rae did some more background checks on him. He bought out Sarah’s share when their mother died. It’s all totally genuine, as far as she could tell. It corresponds to the time when Sarah bought her flat. She didn’t need a mortgage for it because she’d just sold her share of this house to her half-brother. She paid cash.’ Sophie looked around. ‘Did you see anything else interesting on your little walk?’

‘There’s a garage with a car in it. I could see it through the window. I might be wrong but it doesn’t look as though it’s been moved for some time. But that would fit, wouldn’t it? He’s been in Afghanistan for a good length of time and didn’t he say they were going to hire a car? Maybe this one needs a service if it’s been sitting for months.’

Sophie stepped back and stumbled slightly as her heel caught in a groove between the paving stones. She grabbed Barry’s arm to steady herself, then drew her hand back. The skin on her fingers was damp and sticky. She shone her torch on her hand, then onto Marsh’s jacket.

‘Barry, why is there blood on your sleeve?’

He looked down at the damp stain with a grimace and started to wipe it off. Sophie grabbed his arm.

‘Don’t. Leave it.’ She radioed through to the uniformed snatch squad waiting in a van parked in the road outside. The vehicle turned into the driveway and came to a halt, disgorging several officers in black.

‘Okay, Greg,’ she said to the tall, burly squad leader. ‘Do your thing.’

He nodded happily, swung his arms back and hurled the heavy-duty ram at the front door lock. It bounced open with a crash and the team spilled into the hallway. The first officer through the entrance turned on the lights. Nothing seemed amiss in the rooms at the front of the house, but there was a pool of blood on the kitchen floor. A bloody trail led to some French windows set in the rear wall of the lounge. They could see streaks across the timber decking towards the lawn, as if someone had crawled out through the doors and into the garden. Sophie tried the doors but they were fastened, the key still in the lock. She put on a pair of thin, latex gloves and opened the door. She peered out into the dark. Barry noticed a switch on the wall behind the curtains. A set of floodlights illuminated the back garden, but nothing moved. Sophie ordered the squad to spread out and search the dense, shadowy mass of shrubs and bushes surrounding the lawn. Minutes later one of the team called out to her. She shone her torch down at a figure lying prostrate under a dense patch of bushes. It was John Renton, with blood smeared over his apparently lifeless features. She reached down and felt gingerly for traces of life at his neck.

‘There’s a faint pulse,’ she said. ‘Get an ambulance here as quick as you can. Tell them we’re dealing with severe blood loss, probably due to a stabbing.’ She turned to the sergeant. ‘Greg, do you keep one of those foil space-blankets in your van? Can you get it? Judging by the amount of blood around, he’s lost far too much and we need to keep him alive.’ She looked down at the white face of the man who had been their prime suspect. What did this latest twist mean? She took off her coat and laid it gently across Renton. She took his wrist to pull his arm down under the coat. And then she stopped. She suddenly realised with icy certainty who Renton’s assailant had been, and who had murdered Sarah Sheldon and Paul Derek. Oh, God. Why hadn’t she seen it earlier? Now it would be a race to catch up with him before he could flee the country. She glanced at her watch again. Still not ten o’clock. Maybe they wouldn’t be too late. Sophie’s mobile phone vibrated in her pocket. She took it out and looked at the caller display.

* * *

The only officer still at work in the incident room, Rae had been doggedly cross-checking the information they’d accumulated during the previous two days, looking for a link that might bring it all together. Surely, if she kept probing, something would give? She found some large sheets of paper and drew a series of interlinked diagrams of the victims and suspects and all their acquaintances that the police knew about. When she started it looked like the simple chart on the incident board, but as she worked it grew into an intricate web.

The office phone rang. It was an official at Passport Security, responding to a request from Barry. Apparently she too was working late, double-checking John Renton’s passport. Rae opened the original passport.

‘So you can confirm that the passport in question is in the name of John Renton and that it’s genuine? . . . And you say that the town of birth matches? Portsmouth? And the date of birth matches the one DS Marsh gave you?’ She listened to the replies. ‘Fine. Can you give me the number? Can you read it out again? Are you sure?’

Rae paused. What did it mean?

‘Look, we’re really grateful for the time you’ve given us, but I really don’t understand. The number you’ve just given me doesn’t correspond to the number the airline has recorded. Could you check the number they gave us? I’d be really grateful.’ She read out the passport number that had taken so long to obtain from the airline. She waited. When the response came, Rae almost stood up in shock.

‘What? But it can’t be a mistake, surely? If it was a typo it would be one character wrong, two at the most. But the whole number? So you’re saying it doesn’t exist? Yes, I can wait. Of course I can.’

Rae drummed her fingers on her desk. Ah. Finally. ‘And there’s no doubt? It is on that list of suspected fake passports? So the man on that flight could have been anyone, even someone posing as John Renton?’ She listened. ‘Well, that’s fantastic. I’m so grateful for your help, and I know that DS Marsh will be too.’ She replaced the phone and sat thinking before writing down the new findings in her notepad. It made sense. Earlier that evening she’d managed to make direct contact with Renton’s immediate superior, and he’d been adamant that Renton had been in Afghanistan throughout August and much of September. He hadn’t left for Europe until two weeks previously, so he couldn’t have made that flight to Barbados. And he couldn’t have used his credit card in the places logged on the bank’s records. Was the credit card a forgery too? She thought for a while. Should she phone the boss immediately? Rae looked at her diagrams. There were only two witnesses who claimed to have seen the supposed John Renton in Swanage on the evening of Sarah’s murder. One was the young man who thought he’d seen someone watching Shapiro and Derek. Timothy Brodie. He’d been interviewed before she joined the team, but she remembered her colleagues’ story about him. But the receptionist at the Ballard View Hotel who had checked this person in was a different matter. She’d have been face-to-face with him. According to the boss, she’d been upset and very anxious when she was interviewed. Could she have overlooked something? Rae phoned the hotel, hoping that Maria was on duty. Her luck was in.

‘Maria, it’s DC Rae Gregson from DCI Allen’s team. Do you have the time to answer a couple of questions? You do? Good. I’d like you to think back to that Friday afternoon when you checked John Renton in. I want you to take me through the few minutes he was there. Describe each step in detail. Is that okay? Start from the first moment you saw him. Where was he, and what were you doing?’ Rae listened intently. ‘Stop for a moment. Was there anyone else at the desk or in the reception area? No? So what did you say? What did you ask and how did he respond?’ She waited. Maria described a man obviously intent on saying as little as possible. ‘What about his face, Maria? What was he wearing? Tell me your impression of him.’ She listened again. ‘Well we all form instant judgements of the people we meet, Maria. We can’t help doing it. What thoughts went through your head when he was so uncommunicative?’

Maria recounted her impressions during the brief encounter. As she continued, she recalled new details. Rae noted everything down.

‘So. He was across the desk from you, Maria. You asked him to sign the check-in form. How did he do that? Did he use his own pen or did you offer him one?’ She waited. ‘So he must have reached across to take the pen from your hand. Which hand did he use? Can you remember?’

Rae heard a gasp and listened to the words that followed. After a few more questions she ended the call.

The man Maria had checked in had a small tattoo of a heart on his left wrist. She had completely forgotten about it until she spoke to Rae. Rae checked with the post-mortem report on Sarah Sheldon. Yes! There it was. A small heart-shaped tattoo on her right wrist. In a wedding ceremony, those two tattoos would have touched when the couple held hands. The boss had been right all along. That wedding photo had been the key to it all. And she, Rae, knew who that man was. It all made sense. She reached for the phone but then hesitated. There was one more check she could make. Jimmy Melsom had left the phone number of a couple who had occupied the cabin next to Sarah Sheldon’s on the cruise. Melsom hadn’t been able to get an answer earlier in the evening. Rae dialled the number. It was answered almost immediately. Rae explained her reason for calling. She asked five questions: had Sarah Sheldon married on the cruise? Had it been in Barbados? Did they recall any photos being taken? Could they remember the name of the groom? Did he have a tattoo of a heart on his wrist that matched hers? Yes, yes, yes, yes and yes. She should have spotted it at the beginning. Why would someone wear spectacles with plain lenses? It could only be part of a disguise. Rae pumped the air. Got it!

Now she was ready to call the boss.

Chapter 26: Floppy Hat and Sunglasses

Tuesday morning

From her vantage point, Sophie looked around at the various members of the team, all trying to blend in with the crowd at Gatwick’s busy terminal. They’d worked until just after midnight checking details and formulating a plan to snare their quarry. None of them had slept much. Sophie glanced down anxiously at the distant figure of Rae, hoping that the young detective would last the morning. She’d insisted on being present at the arrest, almost shedding tears of exasperation when Barry had suggested that she take the day off. Rae deserved to be present. It was her first big case. She had made an enormous contribution to it, and she was being asked to miss the climax? She had to be there. Now Rae was sitting on a plastic seat in the general waiting area. She wore an out-of-season sun hat to cover her bandages, an enormous pair of heart-shaped sunglasses perched on her nose and she was reading a magazine. Sophie smiled. That floppy hat, those sunglasses and the iPod earphones dangling from her neck gave her exactly the right look. She was nothing but a young woman leaving the chilly weather for a holiday in the sun. Amazing to think that Rae had only joined the team a week before. The first day or two, Sophie had had serious misgivings. And now? She’d have to thank Sandie Blake. The head of HR had turned up a true gem. Rae had brought real flair to the team. And she had been through such a difficult time. Just look at her down there, thought Sophie. Who here could possibly guess her background? People criss-crossed the concourse with luggage, shopping bags, snacks, or cartons of drinks, and no one gave Rae a second glance. Sophie could see the person sitting next to Rae make some brief comment, then return to her book. Rae was a natural. And she must have gone through such torment in her previous life as a man. One thing was certain: after her efforts of the previous evening, her place in the team was secure for as long as the young DC wanted to stay. Sophie recalled the pride and excitement in Rae’s voice when she called them the previous evening. Sophie had sensed her triumph as she’d said, ‘I know who it is, ma’am.’ Rae had reasoned it all out without any help. Rae’s conclusions had matched her own perfectly, but the advantage of extra corroborating evidence was with the younger woman. Those other details had clinched it.

Her mobile beeped. It was a text message from Jen Allbright, stationed outside. “He’s here.” Sophie glanced at tall, burly Greg Buller, and nodded. He spoke briefly into his phone, turned back and nodded at Sophie. They were off.

Nothing seemed to happen for several minutes. Then she became aware that the team members she could see were all advancing unobtrusively in the same direction. Greg Buller was moving down an escalator, towards the centre of the check-in area. Sophie caught her first glimpse of their quarry, making his way through the clusters of people gathered in the vast concourse. She could just make out several members of the team, closing in on him slowly.

Then things went badly wrong. A group of people, obviously a choir, suddenly stood up and broke into song at one side of the concourse. A second group, some yards away, also stood up, singing a response. Naturally, people’s heads turned towards the sudden musical distraction and several started to clap along with the unexpected entertainment. From where she stood, Sophie could clearly see what happened next. Their man slowed and looked around uneasily. He must have seen that a number of people had not switched their attention to the singing. They were all straining to keep him in view as they made their way through the surging crowd. He’d seen that he was being watched.

The reaction was instant. He turned and ducked away, bending his tall frame so that he could be seen less easily. He headed into the thickest part of the crowd, now gathered around one of the singing groups. Then he doubled back towards the nearest exit. Even Sophie was having trouble keeping him in sight.

* * *

Down on the concourse Rae realised instantly what was happening. She could see their quarry pause. She guessed he must have realised that there were security officers and police personnel in the concourse, all looking out for him. She slowly rose from her seat and moved diagonally across the open area towards him, all the time pretending to read her magazine while she surreptitiously undid the clasp of her shoulder bag and fumbled inside it. So, when it happened, she was in the right place and fully prepared.

* * *

Sophie was beginning to feel panic herself. She knew there were officers outside who would prevent his escape, but the whole idea had been to detain him quickly and efficiently when he wasn’t expecting it. He now knew. What would he do? Would he attempt to escape by himself, or grab a nearby person as a hostage? A hostage situation was every officer’s worst nightmare. So much depended on the reaction of the hostage taken. It was impossible to plan for every eventuality. Who knew how a terrified member of the public would react to being held against their will? She looked again. What was Rae doing? She seemed to be wandering towards their man, her eyes on the magazine held in front of her. And then Sophie understood. Rae was putting herself forward as a potential hostage. Her disguise was perfect. She was just a slightly dozy tourist, who happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. And it worked.

* * *

An arm snaked round Rae’s neck, pulling her in close. She gasped and then relaxed into his movements, giving no resistance. He pulled her back towards an exit doorway.

As the police and security team closed in he shouted, ‘I’ve got a knife at her back!’

They stopped. Greg Buller was closest. His fists clenched and unclenched in helpless anger. Barry Marsh stood still beside him.

‘Do what I say or I’ll use it. Clear a path to the door and let us through.’

He started to move backwards towards the exit, one arm around Rae’s neck. She gasped. Then she saw his feet. Soft suede shoes. Rae was wearing high, wedge-soled sandals with a small, hard heel. It was now or never. She stamped down hard onto the front of one foot, grinding her heel into the toes. She felt his body stiffen but, before he had time to react, she jabbed her elbow into his midriff with all the force she could muster. Then she spun around and kicked him hard in the groin. He crumpled to the ground. Rae kicked out again, knocking the knife from his grasp. She pulled a can of incapacitant spray from her bag and pointed it at his face.

‘Just don’t,’ she panted. ‘Don’t make me use it.’

By now Marsh and Buller were beside them. They turned him over and fitted the handcuffs. Rae replaced the unused canister into her bag, just as Sophie arrived. Rae’s boss looked down at the figure with grim satisfaction, then across to Rae, still panting hard from her exertions.

‘You do it, Rae. You deserve it.’

Rae looked around her at her fellow officers, the crowds of gaping people, and finally at her new boss who had given her the chance to show what she could do. Rae, still breathing rapidly, looked back at her and nodded. She calmed herself for a moment before speaking.

‘Patrick Adams, I am arresting you on suspicion of murder. You do not have to say anything. But it may harm your defence if you do not mention, when questioned, something which you later rely on in court. Anything you do say may be given in evidence.’

Rae turned to Sophie and gave a broad smile. Greg Buller gave her a bow. Barry Marsh shook her hand. The crowd, silent until now, broke into spontaneous applause. Rae had never felt happier in her life. It couldn’t get any better than this. She walked across to Sophie Allen and gave her a hug before breaking into tears, her head buried in the older woman’s shoulder.

* * *

Talking to Adams was like trying to communicate with a serpent. Gone was the carefully-controlled, moderate manner of Sunday morning. His eyes burned, smouldering with pure hatred.

‘Why?’ Sophie asked. ‘Why did you do it? What was the point of it, for goodness’ sake?’

His lip curled, but no words came out, just a slight hiss.

‘You know why you’re here, Mr Adams. There are two people dead, another is hanging onto life by a mere thread. We don’t even need to question you, not really. We have all the evidence a court will ever need, with more due over the next few days. We have your fingerprints all over John Renton’s house, even in the bloodstains on the knife you used to stab him. All I want to know is why. How did it come to this? How did you, an educated, apparently rational man allow yourself to reach this state? Why did you have to take such a barbaric course of action?’ She shook her head.

His eyes glittered. He didn’t speak.

‘And last night? Did John finally work out who’d been masquerading as him? How did it happen? Were there a few questions? Some half-baked explanations on your part? Gradual realisation? And then a knife in the gut as a reward. Stabbed by the man he considered a close friend, but in reality his sister’s killer.’ She stared back across the table at him. ‘You don’t intimidate me, you perverted creep.’

She spoke to Marsh. ‘Let’s get him back to Dorset, get the duty solicitor in and charge him.’ She turned to Adams. ‘You’re looking at thirty years at least. How old will you be when you get out? Eighty? Eighty-five? Ninety? Is it likely, really, that you’ll ever get out?’ She let her words sink in. Was any of it worth it? When you stand back from it all, Mr Adams, and consider what you’ve done, you have to ask yourself that question. Was it worth it?’