Cross and Burn

  ‘Good thinking. That’s one less action for our squad. Appreciate it. Any joy?’

  ‘A little bit. I ran it through a few times, to make sure I wasn’t imagining what I wanted to see, you know what I mean?’

  ‘I know exactly what you mean.’ She didn’t want to hurry him but she wished he’d get to the point. ‘So what did you see?’

  ‘I think Ms McAndrew must have parked a row over from the outside of the car park. It looks to me like her car is just out of shot. As the bus drives by, I saw her walking up the space between the rows of cars, then she moves off to the side and out of shot. I’d say she’s walking quite fast. She’s got her head down because it’s raining. Next thing is, a few seconds later, another figure comes up the same way. I’d guess it’s a man, but it’s hard to be sure. He’s wearing a waterproof jacket with the hood up. You can’t see his face at all, except a bit of light glinting off glasses. He was carrying a case. Looked like it was made of aluminium, like photographers have. About the size of a pilot’s case. And he carried it like it was quite heavy. Anyway, he goes the same way as Ms McAndrew, only he speeds up as he gets closer. Almost running. You’d have to say he was following her. And then he disappears out of shot, right where she did. It’s not a lot of video. Only about fifteen seconds.’

  ‘You did well to get that, John. Now, how would you describe this figure? Was he tall, short? Build?’

  ‘Not tall. Medium height, I’d say. Not more than five feet ten. He was slim to medium build. It was difficult to tell. I couldn’t be sure how thick his jacket was. And like I said, he’s got his hood obscuring his face. The only distinctive thing is I think he might have a bit of a limp. It’s hard to be sure. The quality isn’t great and the weather doesn’t help.’

  It was a tiny shred of corroboration, but Paula’s heart leapt at Okeke’s words. ‘That’s very interesting, John. Can you say which leg he’s limping with?’

  He paused for a moment. She could hear him breathing. ‘I’d want to look again, to be certain. But I think the weakness was in his left leg.’

  Bingo. Not that it was exactly a break in the case. But it would help if it came to issuing an appeal for witnesses. Unless the killer was smart enough to fake a limp to throw them off. They already knew he was forensically careful. If he suspected there was any chance of being picked up on camera, he may have deliberately chosen to create a false image. ‘I’m going to need you to make a formal report of this, John. File it with the incident room team, but send a copy directly to me and to DCI Fielding. I don’t want this to get lost in the white noise.’

  ‘Will do. You’ll have it within the hour.’

  Smart lad, she thought, readying herself to brief the forensic team. Once they were here, they could move the body. The way Bev was lying, it was impossible to see either the scar on her ankle or the tattoo on her shoulder. Those identifying marks would enable them to formally identify the body without having to wait for DNA. And then it would be time to break the news to Torin. Paula thought her chances of dodging that bullet were nil.

  She walked across to the roadway and lit a cigarette while she waited for the specialists to suit up. Fielding got out of the car and Paula took the opportunity to bring her up to speed on what Okeke had discovered. ‘There’s no doubt about it,’ Fielding said. ‘We’ve got a single perp and two victims that we know of. Chances are he’s got a record for violent offences, which means as soon as we do get some forensic evidence, he should show up on one of the databases.’

  ‘Let’s hope so.’

  ‘Once we get her turned and we confirm the tattoo and the scar, I want you to talk to the son. You know him, it’ll be better coming from you than a stranger. Presumably you know where he goes to school?’

  Paula nodded. ‘Kenton Vale. You don’t want to wait till the end of the school day? Or until his aunt gets here?’

  Fielding looked at her as if she was mad. ‘Paula, this is the twenty-first century. There’s no such thing as a hermetically sealed investigation any more. I don’t want this kid finding out his mother’s dead from Twitter or Facebook. As soon as we know for sure, we need to move on it. Line up an appropriate adult. What about the friend he’s staying with? Presumably there’s a parent in the picture?’

  Now she was in the shit. ‘Actually, the friends he’s staying with are me and Elinor. My partner.’

  Fielding surprised her again, given her child-minding jibe the day before. ‘Why didn’t you say so? It’s no big deal, as long as the family’s happy with that.’ She sounded more exasperated than angry. ‘Frankly, I’d rather he was safe under your roof than camping with some mate we know nothing about. Can you get your girlfriend to come and hold his hand?’

  ‘It depends on her schedule. She’s a registrar at Bradfield Cross; if she’s got a clinic or ward rounds, she can’t just walk away from it.’

  ‘When does the aunt arrive?’

  ‘Not until this afternoon.’

  ‘I don’t want you tied up till then. See what you can do.’ She glanced at the white-suited CSIs, lugging their boxes of kit across the bleak car park. ‘Looks like we’re getting some action.’

  She set off in their wake, but Paula’s phone rang and she hung back to answer it. The screen told her it was Dave Myers. ‘Hi, Dave. I hope you’re ringing me with some good news,’ she said. ‘We’ve got another body and it’s looking like the same killer. So any help would be really welcome right now.’

  ‘I’m sure it would,’ he said, sounding unusually downbeat. ‘Can you swing by the lab? There’s something I want to show you.’

  ‘That sounds intriguing. You want to give me a clue?’

  ‘Not on a mobile.’

  Paula wasn’t used to Dave in worried, cagey mode. ‘Will it take long? I’ve got to drive into Bradfield soon, but I won’t have much time to spare.’

  ‘It won’t take long. What might take longer is figuring out what to do about it.’

  Forty-five minutes later, Paula was climbing into a white paper suit at the forensics lab once more. Once they’d confirmed it was Bev’s body that had been abandoned in the moorland car park, Fielding had despatched Paula back to the city. On the way, she’d managed to get hold of Elinor and arranged to swing by for her after she’d seen Dave. The police car had dropped her at home so she could pick up her Toyota; she was running on her own clock again.

  When she walked in, Dave was in front of his laptop, pecking at the keys with two fingers. She placed the two polythene bags on the counter beside him. ‘A gift from West Yorkshire police. If there’s any issues of contamination, blame them.’

  Dave stood up and lifted the bags one by one, peering into them. ‘They’ve been out all night?’

  ‘We don’t know when they were dumped. The clothes and the handbag were shoved in a rubbish bin so they’ve been pretty well protected from the elements.’

  ‘But who can say what they’ve picked up from the contents of the bin.’ He sighed, prodding the clothes bag with a finger.

  ‘The victim is Beverley McAndrew. She was a friend of Elinor’s.’

  ‘I’m sorry to hear that. Tell her I’ll do everything I can.’

  ‘You always do, Dave. So, what’s this mysterious thing you want to show me that you can’t talk about on the phone?’ Paula said, perching on a stool.

  ‘The blood sample I recovered from Nadzieja Wilkowa’s jacket. I extracted DNA from it without any difficulty. And I ran it through the NDNAD. There was no hit. This sample belongs to someone who isn’t on the national database. But I didn’t stop there. I decided to run a familial DNA search. You know what that is?’

  ‘It tells you if there’s someone on the database who’s a close relative to the person whose sample you’re testing, right?’

  ‘Right. There have been some spectacular results since we started using it. Cold cases being solved. They’ve even caught serial killers with it in America. Some people bleat about human rights and privacy, but personally I think it’s my hu
man right to live in a world where murderous bastards don’t get to roam unmolested in my community.’

  ‘Here endeth the sermon.’

  Dave conceded with a rueful smile. ‘Yes, but here beginneth the lesson. So, I ran a check for familial DNA. Basically, the computer analyses the alleles and comes up with a list of people who have a degree of commonality. So, number one on the list has most alleles in common, and so on, right down to number one thousand, three hundred and forty-nine, in this case. Now, experience shows that if you’re going to get a familial match, it’s going to be in the top thirty. We’ve got a little formula that incorporates the genetic match, the ages of the people concerned and their geographical location, and that gives us a likelihood of a particular relationship. But even before I had to use the formula I spotted someone in my top three who lives within a dozen miles of where your sample was taken. When I looked more closely, what do you know? I got what I consider a definite hit.’ He neither looked nor sounded happy about it. ‘The family member is a woman. It’s my opinion, based on the DNA analysis, that this woman is a close relative of the man – and it is a man, by the way – whose blood was deposited on Nadzieja Wilkowa’s jacket.’ He leaned across the desk and clicked a tab on his screen. Up popped a pair of the familiar DNA profiles, one above the other, with their jagged peaks at irregular intervals. ‘See for yourself. Where the alleles align, that’s the key factor. So, how close is this genetic relationship? Now, we all have around five alleles in common with any given person. But the direct relationship of mother to offspring means there would be at least ten alleles from the crime stain which must have come via the mum.’ Dave tapped each of the allele peaks with the tip of his pen. ‘Eleven, you see?’

  ‘I believe you, Dave. And so will a court. You seem really anxious about this. I don’t know why. It’s not like it’s ground-breaking science.’

  ‘The integrity of the science is not what’s bothering me. Well, it is, but not for the reasons you’re thinking.’

  Paula shook her head. ‘I’m a simple copper, Dave. I can’t do cryptic crosswords. Just tell me straight. What’s the issue?’

  He looked pained. ‘The identity of the person on the database. It’s a woman called Vanessa Hill.’

  Paula gawped at him, her mouth open. She couldn’t quite credit what she’d heard. ‘Did you say “Vanessa Hill”?’

  Dave nodded, his expression miserable. ‘I did.’

  ‘What’s her DNA doing on the database?’ Paula clutched at what she knew was a broken straw.

  ‘She was arrested and charged over the stabbing, remember? Even though the charges were dropped pretty much overnight, the DNA stays on the record.’

  Paula shook her head, disbelieving. ‘Could it have been transferred by someone else? Planted, even?’

  ‘It’s very doubtful. The way it’s soaked into the threads and the cloth around the button – it would be hard to replicate that unless you had a liquid sample. And if you were trying to fit him up, wouldn’t you leave the bloodstain somewhere more obvious? We could have missed that, even on a detailed second pass. If you hadn’t been counting buttons, it could easily have gone unnoticed.’

  ‘There must be a mistake. You’ve got to run the test again.’

  ‘I will, of course. But I’m confident the answer will be the same. And I’ll also run a mitochondrial DNA test. That’s the DNA that comes direct from the mother to the child. If that’s a match, there’s no room for doubt.’

  ‘What if she had another child? A sibling he doesn’t know about?’

  ‘You’re reaching, Paula. That hypothesis breaks down as soon as we test his DNA, unless it’s his secret identical twin. Which starts to sound like The Man in the Iron Mask.’

  Paula stared at the screen, willing it to metamorphose into something different. ‘Can we keep this to ourselves?’ She saw the look of horror on Dave’s face. ‘Not completely, obviously. But at least till you’ve double-checked that there hasn’t been a cock-up with the test. Or with the database. And you’ve checked the mitochondrial DNA. And’ – she pointed to the evidence bags she’d delivered – ‘you expedite the evidence from this latest murder and see whether that gives us a more viable suspect.’

  He sighed. ‘I’m not happy with this, Paula. This is important evidence in a murder inquiry.’

  ‘Evidence that we both know makes no sense.’

  He rubbed his soul patch between finger and thumb. ‘The science doesn’t lie, Paula. The blood on that jacket – you can’t get away from it. That blood came from Tony Hill.’

  35

  Marie was on her way back from the bathroom when she heard the raised voices. If she needed any help in working out where they were coming from, she’d only have had to follow the eyes of everyone who worked within earshot of Rob Morrison’s office. Even with their headsets on, they could clearly still pick up the sound of aggravation.

  As she got closer, she recognised Ralph Lauren Man’s arrogant tones. ‘And I’m telling you, we’ll fall flat on our arses if we put this out to Gareth and his merry men in marketing now. It’s going to take at least another six weeks before we’re ready to roll it out to civilian punters.’

  ‘That’s not what you promised me two months ago,’ Gareth protested. ‘You said it was only a matter of tweaking the front end. Making the user interface more idiot-proof, you said.’

  ‘And that’s what will happen. It’s taking a bit longer than anticipated, that’s all. How many times do I have to put that in words of one syllable?’

  ‘“Anticipated” is five syllables,’ Rob muttered.

  ‘What’s all the bloody rush about anyway?’ Nigel demanded as she pushed the door wider. He had his back to the door but even so, he should have registered the consternation on Rob’s face and the amusement on Gareth’s. ‘Is it the new boss? You’re crapping yourself over a woman? Do you think she’ll even understand what we’ve put together here? Give me a break, she’s only a bloody skirt.’

  ‘A bloody skirt who outranks you, Nigel,’ Marie said sweetly. ‘And who fully intends to get to the bottom of why your department can’t deliver its promises on time.’ He spun round, fury on his face.

  ‘What are you doing, sneaking up on us?’ His right hand curled into a fist.

  Marie shut the door behind her. ‘I never sneak. I don’t have to. Next time you decide to throw your toys out of the pram, do it behind closed doors, please. There’s a room full of workers out there absolutely agog. Generating water-cooler gossip doesn’t help any of us to achieve our goals. We’re all after the same thing. Success is what makes the world go round. We’ll get there much quicker if we help each other.’ Her smile was as warm as she could make it. Even Nigel seemed to settle down, shifting across the room to lean against a filing cabinet with his hands in his pockets.

  ‘Boys will be boys,’ Gareth said.

  ‘Speak for yourself,’ Nigel sneered.

  ‘I’d like to get to the bottom of this, but not while you’re all wound up. Why don’t you each write me a memo explaining what all the fuss is about? In words of one syllable, obviously.’ She pulled the door open again and walked briskly to her office, feeling quite pleased with herself. There was nothing like finding out where the fault lines were in an office community. And then you could exploit them to the full.

  Marie smiled. She had to admit, she enjoyed the exercise of power.

  36

  Carol was at the top of a ladder, prising a reluctant chunk of mortar from the stonework, when the dog started barking. She looked down to see Flash hunkering before the door, front paws splayed in front of her, haunches bunched and ready to spring, head jerking back and forth in a frenzy of noise. ‘Shut up, Flash,’ Carol yelled, only now realising that she didn’t have a command for quieting the dog.

  She climbed down as quickly as caution permitted and hurried to the door, clicking her fingers at the dog, who obediently stopped barking and fell in at her side. Whoever was on the other side of the door, sh
e’d bet it wasn’t George Nicholas. But apart from the postie, he was the only person who had visited since she’d moved in. Cautiously, keeping one foot firmly behind the door, she cracked it open.

  If she hadn’t recognised the looming presence on her doorstep, his size alone would likely have provoked her into setting the dog on him. Whatever command that was. But it only took seconds for her to make the connection. After all, this had been the place where she’d last seen DCI John Franklin.

  The corners of his mouth lifted in a smile without warmth. ‘DCI Jordan,’ he said, dipping his head in a curt nod.

  ‘Not any more,’ she said.

  ‘No, I know. I was…’ He tailed off, and this time, the smile had a twist of sardonic humour in it. ‘I was using it as an honorific,’ he said. ‘Like when officers retire from the regular army and march around in their Barbour jackets and tweed caps calling themselves “captain”. Cops like us, we never really think of ourselves as civilians, do we?’

  ‘I don’t think of myself as a cop, DCI Franklin. So what brings you to my door? And how did you know it was my door?’

  Franklin ostentatiously turned his collar up against the wind. ‘Are you not going to invite me in? This is Yorkshire, we believe in hospitality. Come in, sit down, have a cup of tea.’

  ‘I don’t remember that aspect of my relationship with West Yorkshire Police.’ What she remembered was blood and death and nobody ever listening to a word she or Tony said. What she remembered was bloody-mindedness and prickliness and men who used words like bludgeons. What she didn’t remember was cosy cups of tea and slices of parkin. The dog picked up on her mood, grumbling gently at her side.