Paula had phoned ahead and spoken to the head teacher, explaining that they needed to interview Elsa Jackson as a witness and they were bringing her father with them to act as appropriate adult.
‘Thanks for not embarrassing her,’ he’d said brusquely.
Paula didn’t explain that she wasn’t trying to spare his daughter; it was simply that they were so far down the road of unorthodoxy that there was nothing for it but to keep going in the hope that they’d find an acceptable destination. She hoped Lorna Meikle wasn’t around. The last thing she wanted was for Jackson to clock that she was responsible for a fellow pupil of his daughter. Because that would get very messy. ‘So long as you don’t start prompting her,’ she said. ‘You start coaching her answers and you’re out of there.’
Once the two women produced their IDs, the school receptionist directed them to the head teacher’s office. Luckily, in a school with fifteen hundred pupils, only Torin’s teachers were likely to recognise her as a parent. Their footsteps echoed on the vinyl floor of the side corridor. Nobody was going to creep up on this woman, Paula thought. The door at the far end stood ajar and when Stacey tapped on it, a deep Scottish voice invited them to enter.
Dr Anna Alderman stood up as they walked in. She was in her forties, tall and sturdy, dressed in a black V-neck sweater and a grey tweed pleated skirt. As she made the introductions, Paula thought not for the first time that Dr Alderman would have made a formidable hockey player. ‘I’ve put Elsa in one of the guidance rooms,’ she said. ‘I told her someone needed to have a word with her. As you asked. Can you give me any more information as to what this is about?’
‘It’s all a misunderstanding,’ Jackson blurted out. ‘The sooner we sort it out, the better.’
‘As my colleague said, Elsa is a witness,’ Stacey said repressively.
‘Very well. I suppose since Mr Jackson is here… I’ll show you the way.’
They followed her back through reception to a long corridor, empty apart from a couple of lanky boys with prefect’s braid heading towards them. ‘Where are you boys going?’ Dr Alderman demanded as they drew closer.
‘Mr Merton asked us to set up the experiment for this afternoon’s lab,’ one said.
‘Nevertheless, you shouldn’t be in this corridor at lunchtime, as you very well know.’ They mumbled apologies and hurried off. ‘Sorry about that. We have strict rules about where students are allowed to be during breaks.’
‘Good to see you run a tight ship,’ Paula said.
‘One has to. They’re teenagers. They’ll run rings round us, given half a chance.’ She paused at one of the closed doors that lined the corridor. ‘Elsa is in here.’ She waited expectantly, her fingers straying towards the door handle.
‘Thank you. We’ll take it from here,’ Stacey said firmly.
‘If you’re sure. This does seem a little…’
‘You’ve been very helpful,’ Paula said, grabbing the handle and interposing herself between Dr Alderman and the door.
‘If you need anything, I’ll be in my office.’ She walked off, giving one last look over her shoulder.
Paula opened the door and walked in, followed by Jackson. Stacey brought up the rear and closed the door behind her, standing with her back against it.
Elsa was sitting at a table, dark head bowed over her phone. She looked up at the sound of the door. Confusion then consternation crossed her face as she registered her father’s presence. Then she took in the two women. Paula produced her ID and got as far as, ‘I’m Detective Sergeant McIntyre —’ before the girl burst into tears.
Jackson started forward but Paula grabbed his arm firmly. ‘Leave her.’
Elsa sobbed for a few moments, covering her face with her hands. Then gradually she subsided. She looked at them, a piteous expression in red-rimmed eyes. ‘I’m sorry, Dad,’ she gulped.
‘Your dad’s under arrest,’ Paula said. ‘For blackmail, among other things. We need to ask you some questions.’ She pulled out a chair opposite Elsa and gave her a hard stare. This was not the Paula McIntyre who gentled criminals into confession. This was an angry woman defending one of the people she loved.
Elsa gave her father a beseeching look. She ran her hands through her short spiky hair, clutching the side of her head. ‘You can’t do this. You’ve got it all wrong.’
‘There’s some misunderstanding going on,’ Jackson said. ‘Just answer their questions and we can get it all sorted out. Tell them what happened to the credit card I bought for you. That you lost —’
‘Enough,’ Paula snarled. ‘You’ve been warned not to interfere, Mr Jackson. Any more of that and we’ll be doing this down at the station with social services sitting in instead of you.’ It was amazing how inventively unpleasant she could be once the rules were relaxed, she thought. ‘Now sit down and be quiet.’
He obeyed, wringing his hands, his tattoos contorting as his muscles twisted. ‘Just explain, Elsa, love.’
‘Elsa, do you have the credit card your father bought for you?’ Stacey asked, softening her voice. Good cop to Paula’s bad.
‘Yes.’ It was barely a whisper.
‘No, that can’t be right,’ Jackson said, jumping to his feet. ‘Check your wallet, you must have lost it or it was stolen or something.’
‘Mr Jackson,’ Paula thundered. ‘I’m not going to warn you again.’
‘It was me, Dad.’ Elsa’s eyes were brimming with tears again. ‘I’m so sorry. I never meant it to go this far.’
Jackson fell back into his chair as if his muscles had failed. An expression of utter bafflement slowly spread across his face. ‘I don’t understand,’ he said.
‘You blackmailed Torin McAndrew,’ Paula said flatly. ‘Is that what you’re saying? You forced him to pay you five hundred pounds so you wouldn’t spread indecent images of him all over the internet?’
Elsa nodded. ‘I wanted to humiliate him like he did to me.’
‘Wait a minute,’ Jackson said, suddenly indignant. ‘What do you – How did he – Where did you get indecent images of this lad from? If he’s sending dirty pictures of himself to my Elsa, how come he’s not the one you’re arresting?’
‘He was conned into sending the images. He thought he was engaged in an online relationship, but the truth is your daughter used sexual images of another girl to trick him into thinking she was someone quite different,’ Stacey said. ‘And we will be questioning him about the images, you can rest assured on that point. There may be wrongdoing on both sides in that respect. But Elsa is the only one who’s been engaged in extortion. Five hundred pounds is a lot of money.’
‘So where did this lad get his hands on that kind of money? He doesn’t sound so lily-white, does he?’ Jackson was becoming belligerent now.
Paula turned on him. ‘Where did he get the money? He sold his dead mother’s jewellery. She was murdered a few months ago and he inherited the few bits and pieces she had. And he had to sell her favourite piece to pay off your daughter. Because she was threatening to destroy his life.’
A long moment of silence. Then Stacey said, ‘Why did you do this to Torin, Elsa?’
The girl screwed up her face. ‘I really like Torin. I wanted him to ask me to the prom. But he didn’t. Everybody was pairing off and he hadn’t asked anybody yet. I tried being subtle, but he wasn’t taking the hint.’ Once she started, she found her momentum and her worlds tumbled over each other.
‘So this day we were all hanging out under the library bridge and I kind of went, “Hey, Torin, you’d better ask me to the prom since I’m the only cool girl left.” And he looked at me like I was a piece of shit and went, “No way.” Can you imagine how totally humiliating that was? He could have made a joke out of it, or whatever, but no, he had to say something that made me look like an utter dog. And everybody was laughing at me. It went on and on for days. Stupid girls going, “Hey, Elsa, I hear Jimmy Barker from the special needs group wants a prom date. Better get in there quick, girl.” And so on an
d so on. You have no idea how completely crap he made my life. So I decided to get my own back.’
‘So you stalked him online and made this poor lad think a beautiful, sexually experienced young woman wanted to be his lover?’ Paula knew she was being harsh but she didn’t care.
‘All this over a stupid prom date?’ Her father was incredulous. ‘Over some dickhead who didn’t fancy you?’
‘I didn’t mean it to go this far,’ Elsa wailed. ‘I didn’t think he’d go through with getting hold of the money. I thought he’d just beg for it to stop.’
‘You could have stopped it any time, Elsa. But you didn’t. That boy was almost suicidal because of what you did to him.’ Paula was giving no quarter.
‘I’m sorry,’ she whimpered. ‘I’ll give the money back. I promise I’ll delete all the pics and the videos.’
‘Videos?’ Her father sounded as if he’d be the next one in tears.
‘That’s not how it works,’ Paula said. ‘You’ve broken the law. You can forget about going to university and having a good career. You’re going to have a criminal conviction.’
‘DS McIntyre?’ Stacey interrupted her. ‘A word outside?’
Reluctantly, Paula followed her, aware that father and daughter were leaning towards each other, exchanging low bitter words. As the door closed, Stacey said, ‘You’re getting a bit carried away, Paula. We can’t charge her. We’ve broken every rule in the PACE code. Not to mention a formal charge means Torin being dragged through the courts. And as Mr Jackson astutely pointed out, technically he’s guilty of committing the offence of distributing indecent images. Plus, at some point Jackson or his daughter is going to see you at a parents’ evening or a careers fair and realise you’re related to Torin. And then it’ll go tits-up and we’ll be hauled before the Internal Complaints Department.’
Paula leaned against the wall, squeezing her eyes shut. ‘I got carried away.’
‘You did,’ Stacey said.
‘But she’s got to pay.’
‘I know. And I think I’ve figured out a way to see that she does.’
60
S
tacey had been back at her desk for half an hour by the time Karim returned with Denise Chowdhry’s formal statement. Long enough to have made a start on discovering who Tom Elton was. But she was interested in whether Karim had anything to add that would make her work any easier.
He was already at the multi-function printer, scanning in the written statement. He glanced up. ‘I’ve got a digital recording as well,’ he said hastily.
‘I sent you the photograph from Elton’s driving licence. In a six-pack. Did you get it in time to show Mrs Chowdhry?’
He nodded. ‘It’s all in the statement. We uploaded the six-pack on to her office computer so she could see them properly. And she picked Elton out straight away. Not a moment’s hesitation. But bloody hell, that woman can talk. I thought I was never going to get out of there.’
‘Observant, though.’ She turned to go back to her research.
‘Is the boss coming back?’
‘On her way. So’s the rest of the team.’ Apart from Paula, who would be having an interesting conversation with Torin round about now. Stacey settled in front of her screens and carried on researching the digital footprint Thomas Jonathan Elton had generated. She already had the obvious ones – driving licence, the cars registered to his company, current address (which, interestingly, was not the same as the one he’d given to Freshco), details of his company and its finances, and a handful of media articles about the company that mentioned Elton and his business partner, Tricia Stone. The dossier was growing; by the time Carol got back from North Yorkshire there would be something worth presenting to the team.
Kevin and Alvin were not far behind Karim. Having first checked that Elton was out of the office, Kevin had posed as a garden centre owner considering advertising. In the course of the conversation, he’d gleaned a little about Elton which he proceeded to type up for the file. Alvin had been back to visit Kathryn McCormick’s workmates. Almost all of the half dozen who had claimed to have seen the man called David had picked Tom Elton out of the six-pack. Slowly but surely, the circumstantial was building. Tony ambled in, peering over people’s shoulders as they worked, gleaning what they had gathered.
When Carol finally swept in, everyone except Paula was ready and waiting. ‘Brilliant work, everyone. Getting a name is a huge step forward.’
‘We’ve got a lot more than a name now,’ Kevin said, ebullient as he always became when the chase grew hotter. ‘We’ve got a man whose business is looking a bit wobbly since his business partner walked out on him about three months ago. She was also his live-in girlfriend, so his life’s had a bit of an upheaval lately.’
Tony perked up at this revelation. ‘I’ve been wondering who he really wants to kill. You might have answered my question.’
Kevin consulted his notes. ‘Tom Elton runs a company that produces glossy magazines with a very precise local circulation. There’s a handful here in Bradfield. Harriestown Huddle. The Vale Voice. Chevin Chatterbox. They come through your letterbox for free. A couple of local columnists, a few recipes, gardening tips, restaurant reviews, that sort of thing. In our house it goes straight in the recycling. Anyhow, they’re paid for by advertising. And Tricia was the one who smooth-talked the advertisers and also organised the copy. Even wrote some of it herself. She joined the company when Elton was starting out six years ago and they got together as a couple about four years ago.’ He looked up with a cheeky smile. ‘The lass in advertising didn’t need much encouragement to gossip. Nobody in-house knows what happened between Tricia and Elton. One Monday, she just wasn’t there any more. She came in when Elton was out seeing clients, and emptied her office. She told her team it was time for pastures new. And that was that. No forwarding address or anything. And she changed her mobile number too.’
Stacey scribbled a note on her tablet. ‘I’m on it,’ she said.
‘Well done, Kevin. So what does Elton do in the business?’
‘He does the design and layout and deals with the printers and distributors. He used to take care of some of the advertisers, the ones who had been with him since the very beginning. But now he’s having to do all of that, plus the editorial, so he’s a very busy boy.’
‘That’d annoy you, if you’d got things set up so your workload felt comfortable,’ Tony observed. ‘Another reason to resent Tricia.’
‘However.’ Kevin raised one finger in a cautionary gesture. ‘Apparently he had a meeting this week with some local businesswoman and afterwards he was very chirpy. He said things would be looking up soon and somebody else could worry about content.’
‘Bloody hell, Kev,’ Alvin said. ‘I’d always wondered how you got your Stella to marry you, but you’ve obviously got a hidden chat-up line to charm the birds out of the trees.’
Kevin grinned. ‘I wouldn’t waste it on you, Alvin.’
‘Excellent,’ Carol said. ‘We need to talk to Tricia Stone, I think. If you can track her, Stacey, maybe Paula…’ She looked around, puzzled. ‘Where is Paula?’
‘On her way,’ Stacey said. ‘She had something to take care of.’ Her fingers flashed over the keyboard but nobody paid any attention. Stacey was always tapping and swiping and scribbling. She hit send on the urgent message to Paula, warning her to get into the office asap. Torin was important, for sure. But murder trumped everything in their private lives.
‘Another thing, now we have a name?’ Tony chipped in. ‘If you remember, I said that if he was this forensically aware, he wouldn’t be taking his own car anywhere near his killing zone. Stacey, I’m assuming you’ve got his driving licence details?’ She nodded.
Carol picked it up. ‘Karim, check with every car-hire firm in the Bradfield area. We know the dates when he saw the women. Tie him to hire cars on those dates and we’re another step closer.’
‘We’ve already got positive six-pack IDs that put him in contact w
ith Claire Garrity, the woman whose account he stole to mess with his victims on RigMarole. He knew she was dead, so he could assume her ID.’
‘And according to her husband, her password would have taken a small child about five minutes to crack,’ Stacey said.
‘And I’ve picked up positive six-pack IDs from five people at the wedding where he called himself David and picked up Kathryn,’ Alvin added.
Carol smiled, her eyes lighting up as they hadn’t for a long time. ‘This is all good intel,’ she said. ‘Stacey, do you have a little treasure trove for us?’
‘He’s forty-four and he’s a Scorpio.’ A chuckle rippled through the group. ‘November sixth. Born in the Simpson Wing of Bradfield Cross Hospital to Doris and Kenneth Elton. She died two years ago of breast cancer and Kenneth now lives in Eyam in Derbyshire.’
‘The plague village,’ Tony said.
‘What?’ Carol, distracted, stared at him.
‘The plague arrived in the village carried by the fleas in a bolt of cloth from London. The vicar persuaded them to cut themselves off from the outside world to prevent it spreading further.’ He gave an awkward smile. ‘Sorry.’
Carol groaned. ‘Stacey?’
‘Elton did a degree in graphic design at Manchester School of Art. He got a job in Dundee working on a range of magazines, came back down here to work on the Dales Living magazine, and also worked with a community magazine in Leeds called Chuffin’ Heck. Then just over six years ago he started Local Words magazine company. He’s got seventeen titles based in Northern cities. He targets prosperous areas that like to think of themselves as having a “village feel”.’ They could all hear the quote marks and the disdain. Stacey thought there was nothing clever about living in a village when you could choose a city.