Woman in Black (5 page)

‘They’re going to have the envelope and finger to check now too,’ Jessica said. ‘I’m assuming the finger is the one missing from the hand but we’ll need confirmation. I’m guessing that will be a day or so as well. Did anything new happen with the MP’s wife? I’ve not seen the news.’

‘You’ve been lucky. Somehow, we’ve come out of it looking completely incompetent. George Johnson’s wife Christine has been missing for forty-eight hours. Jason is at his house now taking a formal statement but he’s already given an interview to the TV crews and the government have put out a statement of support too. Everyone seems to know more than we do and those rolling news channels have been implying we don’t have a clue what we’re doing. They’re right but only because it hadn’t been reported properly.’

Jessica shrugged. ‘It all sounds a bit dodgy.’

If Cole agreed, he didn’t give anything away. ‘Maybe. These people live in a different world where assistants and helpers do all sorts for them. I guess when you live in the public eye sometimes the obvious answer – for instance calling us – is forgotten because you’re so used to doing everything through the press.’

Jessica wasn’t convinced. ‘I guess. Something doesn’t seem quite right though.’

The DCI was unmoved. ‘From what the news said, they’ve been married for twenty-seven years and have a couple of grown-up children. They reckon he spoke to her on the phone a couple of days ago but returned from Westminster to find she wasn’t at their home. None of their children or friends apparently knows where she is and their bank accounts haven’t been touched. She’s just vanished.’

Jessica couldn’t hide the disbelief on her face. ‘He told all of that to the news stations before talking to us?’

Cole shrugged. ‘I know. There’s not much we can do now except take his statement and get moving. The superintendent didn’t seem too fussed about how things had come out but the bad publicity hasn’t gone down well.’

Jessica didn’t know if she was better off in the middle of media storm that wasn’t her fault or dealing with sliced-off fingers in the station’s reception area. Neither was particularly appealing. ‘I’ll talk to January then speak with you again afterwards,’ she said.

‘Do you think she’s involved?’

Jessica shrugged. ‘I don’t know. She ran at first but maybe she’s had a bad experience with us in the past? It’s hard to tell with some people.’

‘Did she actually try to escape?’

‘Not really. She saw us from a distance when we were at her front door. She didn’t resist but there’s something going on between her and Lewis’ mother.’

‘You could ask the custody sergeant to keep her in overnight while you wait for the results on the hand to come back. If they are a match to Lewis it would be better to have her downstairs rather than risk her running. Whether he’ll agree or not is another matter.’

‘I was thinking that. It seems a bit harsh if the hand comes back as someone other than her boyfriend’s but, with the media already thinking we’re useless, it wouldn’t look too good if we bailed someone who ran that ended up being our prime suspect.’

Cole nodded in agreement but there was little else to say and Jessica returned downstairs. With bail rules the way they were, if magistrates gave them permission, they could keep January for up to ninety-six hours in total which could be used a few hours at a time spread across weeks or even months before having to charge. If they kept her in overnight, that would take at least ten hours out of that period so it had to be weighed up whether that was worth it.

The reception area was quiet, with officers beginning to leave as the day team switched with the evening shift. Jessica could have gone home herself but CID timekeeping was always flexible, even if you rarely got paid for the hours of overtime you worked.

Jessica made her way through the corridors to the interview room where Rowlands was already sitting.

‘Where have you been?’ he asked. ‘I thought you were going to be just behind me?’

Jessica explained about the finger and having to talk to Cole.

‘You let it drop on the floor?’ the constable said.

‘Not on purpose.’ Jessica wanted to change the subject, feeling conscious of her mistake. ‘It’s chilly in here, isn’t it?’

Rowlands nodded to the air-conditioning unit above them. ‘It always is when it’s boiling hot outside. You end up wanting to wear shorts when you’re outside and a thick coat when you’re inside.’

January had been taken downstairs to the cells where she was given access to a phone so she could speak to a duty solicitor. She wasn’t under arrest but would be cautioned for the interview, meaning she was entitled to legal advice. If a suspect had their own lawyer, that guidance would obviously come from them but, for most people, it meant they ended up talking to the duty. In serious cases it would be in person but, in a lot of instances, it was simply over the phone.

As they were waiting for January, Jessica read through the statement Vicky Barnes had given to another officer while they had been out. It was fairly standard information, revolving around dates, but she did claim January had threatened to kill both her and her son in the past. Given the girlfriend’s record of domestic violence, it gave them another reason to keep her in overnight until they knew whether the hand belonged to Lewis.

After a few minutes there was a knock at the door and a uniformed officer led January into the room. With the chase Jessica hadn’t had much of a chance to look at her properly. As she sat in front of them, Jessica could see the woman’s long black hair wasn’t looking as straight and clean as it did in the photo she had seen of her. The heat of the day plus the run and wait around the station were clearly having an effect and it was exacerbated by the bright white fluorescent bulb overhead. January went out of her way to make herself up to look pale, with dark eyes matching her hair that contrasted sharply with her skin. It had begun to wear off, with a few spots around her chin that she had attempted to conceal. Her skin seemed blotchier now it wasn’t quite so caked in make-up.

Despite that, Jessica thought she was a very attractive young woman. Her hips and waist were thin and her arms tiny. Jessica found it hard to believe someone with a frame so small could be capable of killing someone and hacking off their hand so cleanly but she had learned not to be surprised by what some could be capable of.

January said that she and Lewis had lived together for around six months before he went missing. The timings she gave pretty much confirmed what was in Mrs Barnes’ statement.

‘Is it true you first told Lewis’ mother he was out?’ Jessica asked.

January nodded. ‘Yes but it wasn’t really like that. It wasn’t the first time he hadn’t come home for a night. Every now and then he stayed with his friends after being out drinking; sometimes he texted me, sometimes not. You don’t know what his mother’s like, always calling and messaging him. She never gave us any peace. Plus she would try to get in the middle of us because she didn’t like me. When I realised he actually had gone somewhere I did tell her.’

Jessica thought that sounded plausible. ‘You don’t seem too upset he’s gone.’

January’s eyes widened. ‘Why? Because I’m not crying my eyes out? What do you want me to say? I gave you a statement when he first went missing a month ago and you haven’t done anything since then.’

‘What about the allegations you hit and scratched him.’

The woman looked away. ‘I don’t want to talk about that. I was never taken to court.’

Jessica knew that, if the duty solicitor had done their job properly, they would have told January not to talk about previous charges that had been dropped. Jessica couldn’t push it given they hadn’t had enough evidence last time, let alone now their only witness, Lewis, was missing. If it turned out the hand did belong to him, it would be a thread they’d come back to.

‘Why did you run from us?’ Jessica asked.

‘I told you I didn’t. I often go for a jog. As soon as I saw you, I stopped.’

She fidgeted in her seat and Jessica caught a glimpse of what looked like scars from old cuts on her arms. They had largely healed but there were still a few marks that clashed with her skin. To Jessica they appeared to be self-harm scars but January must have seen the officer’s wandering eyes because she turned her arms back over so the blemishes were facing down.

Jessica didn’t push the point or mention the marks, reaching into her pocket and taking out the photo Mrs Barnes had given her. ‘Can you tell me about the cloak you’re wearing here?’

January shrugged. ‘What about it?’

‘We’re looking for someone who was wearing a cape very similar to it.’

‘What’s that got to do with me?’

‘You tell me.’

January spoke defiantly. ‘I have no idea what you’re on about. I’ve been wearing that “cloak” as you call it since I was at school. The only reason I didn’t have it on today was because it was so warm.’

‘Where were you the night before last?’

‘In bed watching TV and sleeping.’

‘Can anyone else confirm that?’

From the woman’s outraged reaction, Jessica realised the question hadn’t come out how she meant it. The girl pushed away from the table, raising her voice. ‘Do you think I’m some sort of slag? My boyfriend’s missing.’

‘I didn’t mean it like that.’

‘Oh piss off.’

For the second time that day, Jessica realised her choice of words had given someone else the wrong impression about what she actually meant. She tried to ask more questions and re-engage but any cooperation had been lost and January reverted to one- and two-word answers. The only time she showed any further emotion was when Jessica said they wanted to keep her in the cells overnight. January swore, hammering the table with her fists, which gave the officers a first-hand look at how aggressive she could be. She was led back downstairs by two uniformed officers as she launched a string of swear words towards Jessica.

‘I don’t think she likes you,’ Rowlands observed dryly.

Jessica couldn’t think of anything witty to say as she knew he was right. She told him he could leave for the day amd then went to tell Cole they had come up with very little. He was waiting for Jason and Louise to arrive back from George Johnson’s house but told Jessica she should go home herself.

Because she had stayed later than she had to, the roads were relatively quiet for Jessica’s journey back to her flat. The sun was still warm on her arms through the driver’s window and she listened to a talk radio station as she drove. She had been so busy, she hadn’t seen or read the news that afternoon but the story about the MP’s missing wife was getting coverage high up the national news bulletin. The report ended with the line, ‘A police spokesman said they would be making no comment at this time,’ which wasn’t exactly encouraging but couldn’t be seen as a total disaster either. As the news ended and the presenter started taking calls from listeners, Jessica changed the station to something playing music.

Her small car was over twenty years old and just about got around. It had limped through its last MOT and the work it needed doing to pass cost more than the car was worth but Jessica paid the money anyway without really knowing why. Now she had been a sergeant for a couple of years she did earn enough to upgrade to something far more reliable but there was something about her red Fiat Punto she wasn’t quite ready to part with. It was the only car she had ever owned and had some sort of sentimental hold over her, even though she didn’t feel too kindly towards it when the weather was colder and it wouldn’t start.

As she pulled off the main road onto the estate where she lived, Jessica heard her phone ringing. She reached into her pocket and took the device out, glancing quickly towards it and seeing it was Cole. She pulled the car over and pressed the answer button. ‘Sir?’

‘Jessica, hi. Sorry for disturbing you, it could have waited until tomorrow but I figured you would rather know – January Forrester has been bailed.’

‘Why, what happened?’

‘The test results came through on the hand and it’s definitely not Lewis Barnes.’

FIVE

The killer wasn’t completely sure but thought the initial part of the plan had gone as well as it could have done. The first hand had been left in exactly the right place and all the scouting had really paid off. Timings were the easy bit; now it was almost the longest day of the year, the sun came up nice and early. It meant there was plenty of light in the early hours but not too many people around to actually witness anything. Most of those who were in the area were either drunk or semi-conscious so there was no real worry.

With the timing aspect not a problem, it then came down to the location. The hand had to be left somewhere as public as possible so it would be found quickly but that had to be balanced with the obvious concern of not being caught. It had taken journey after journey from all directions to finally get a grasp on where the CCTV cameras were. Most were obvious but there were others that belonged to hotels and shops which could have proven tricky. Those scouting trips had taken place during rush hour when hundreds of people poured from the trains and trams into work and back again during the morning and early evening. It was easy to get lost in the crowds and no one would notice someone paying greater attention to the particular security arrangements.

Ultimately, coming up with the list of locations hadn’t been anywhere near as hard as the killer feared – all it took was planning and time. The tougher part was tracking down all of the targets. The first two people were by far the easiest: unassuming and weak and the killer knew exactly where to find them. Not everyone was going to be quite that straightforward but the plan had to be put in motion in order to drive the others out into the open.

The disguise had been a bit of an accident. They had known something would be needed to conceal their identity from the cameras but it had been hard to judge exactly what would be appropriate. Some sort of fancy dress didn’t seem quite right, while anything that covered the face could prove troublesome if something did go wrong and a quick escape needed to be made. The key things were being able to see where you were going and wearing comfortable shoes to run in. The low heels chosen were perfect: comfortable but, given years of walking in them, surprisingly easy to move in. The long black hooded top had been an old favourite hanging in the wardrobe. It seemed so obvious afterwards that it was the ideal outfit and that had been proven by the coverage it had received.