Читать книгу West of the River - David Dalby - Страница 2

CHAPTER TWO

Hazel Vernon looked at the slim file on her desk. “This is it?” She said. She prodded it with her finger. “Where’s the rest?”

“That’s the medical report.” Ruth Bergan put it beside the other file. The difference was immediately clear, and very suggestive. “Sandra was very thorough.”

“Doctor West is always very thorough.” said Hazel, who suspected the pathologist didn’t really like her. “I’m more concerned about this.” She opened the inadequate first file. “This is supposed to be a file on a murder investigation.”

Which meant it should take her pretty much all afternoon to read it. “They haven’t even made a pretense at padding it out.”

“Ruth pulled up a chair, “We should consider ourselves lucky the Elm Street CID sent us that much. They didn’t want to co-operate.”

“I don’t blame them if this is an example of their work.” Hazel said. “I have three short….very short…witness statements here and a couple from the police. Arresting officer’s report, if you can call it that, and the responding officer. Stanger. I know that name.”

“Constable Stanger.” Ruth said. She was eight years older than Hazel and a head and shoulders shorter. Today she was bundled up in a chunky knitted white sweater with a big roll neck. Unlike Hazel, who favoured jeans, Ruth wore a purple calf length skirt and black zip sided boots. She was new to the crime squad, but then who wasn’t these days.

Ruth had been transferred in from the fraud squad. Hazel, herself, having been rescued from a life of dull monotony serving Southfields in uniform. Whatever Ruth Bergan’s story was Hazel was willing to bet she hadn’t had to be rehabilitated to please the senior management.

Two months Hazel had to spend re-learning how to be a detective. Even then the management hadn’t wanted her back. If it hadn’t been for Superintendent William Thomas Church she’d still be in a police sergeant’s uniform doing paperwork in the Southfield sub-station.

Ah, yes, but if it hadn’t been for Bill Church she wouldn’t have been sent there in the first place.

“Wasn’t he one of ours?” Hazel said. “Stanger, I mean?”

“He was transferred to Elm Street.” Ruth said. “I think there was something or other, I don’t know. You know how secretive the bosses can get.”

Hazel wished they could have been secretive about her own fall from grace. Not that they had any chance. The pictures had been splashed all over the internet thanks to the gutter press.

The Caneston Star, the local tabloid. Thank you, photographer Jason Knight and editor Jimmy Marsh. They made a huge thing of it all in both the newspaper and on their website.

Top Cop and the Dyke Detectives.

Three in a Bed Cop Romp.

There were a few other headlines, mostly tasteless remarks about truncheons. Knight and his long lens had proven to be very good at taking clear and sharp images. The real culprit was one of Bill Church’s former girlfriends who had wanted to get back at him.

Ironically Church, a detective chief inspector at the time, had suffered no ill effect of the fall out. Indeed, the press proclaimed him to be “A top bloke” and he’d been promoted for reasons Hazel had never been very clear about.

She had found herself guilty of professional misconduct and spent the last four years in uniform. First as a constable, then, six months ago, a sergeant.

At least Ingrid Thompson had the sense to get out of the police altogether. She went to work for the private security sector.

Triple S as it turned out. Shepherd Security Services. It wasn’t as big a coincidence as it seemed. Triple S was the largest private security firm in the city. They snapped Ingrid up in a moment. Hazel had been sent a very lucrative offer also, but, like an idiot, she’d ignored it.

Hazel read the report. “Stanger might have been with us at one time but he’s learned some bad habits over at Elm Street.” Brevity might be encouraged with some things but not police reports. Those need to be highly detailed. Stranger’s just wasn’t. “Have you read this?”

“Yeah.” Ruth said, “He’s not got a lot to say.”

“He hasn’t anything to say. He was called to Keys Court. Doesn’t say who by.

Met the security guard. Entered the house….Called for assistance. At least he put the times in.” Hazel shook her head, “The arresting officer’s report isn’t much better. Detective Sergeant White.” She looked at Ruth who just shrugged. Hazel didn’t know him either. She’d made a conscious decision not to know who was at Elm Street and what happened there. By the look of things nothing happened because they never bothered writing out decent reports.

“We should have got this case.” Hazel said. She noticed Ruth said nothing. Of course when this all happened the crime squad wasn’t taking any cases because that was the time it has been disbanded.

Black Thursday the press called it with all their expected subtlety and inaccuracy. A criminal gang came to the city (from Liverpool the crime squad found out, and identified the members, not that the press bothered to print that.)

And took the city for four bank raids, several stolen cars and three jewellery shop robberies. The biggest crime spree the city had ever known.

The press were furious, or at least produced headlines that suggested they were.

The public were outraged, at least according to the press. Something had to be done, so said the press. Our police were hopeless….the crime squad may be corrupt, the press suggested.

Detective Superintendent Chris Fisher, who headed the crime squad at the time, decided to hold a press conference. That was a disaster. An embarrassing one. Fisher, whom Hazel never met, but supposed was very good at his job, had a rather military style of leadership. Which he took to the press conference. The press immediately took a dislike to him.

The pressure was on and, somewhere at the top someone buckled. The crime squad was first suspended, ten disbanded.

Finally it was reconstructed with wunderkind Bill Church, at thirty two the youngest superintendent of detectives on the force, as the new commander. Church was so liked by the press, ah, top bloke, great with the ladies, that he pretty much could pick his own team.

Hence Ruth Bergan. Several others. And Hazel.

“You’re going to have to speak to them.” Ruth said.

“Hmmm?”

“Elm Street. You’re going to have to speak to them.” Ruth said, “And don’t look at me, I’m backed up with reports.”

“Everyone is.” Hazel said, about six months of reports that had been re-directed. Now they had to be checked over. The whole things was insane. Not as insane as having to go see anyone at Elm Street, however. “Yes, I’ll see to that, sometime.” Hazel said, ensuring that particular little job went on the back burner.

So she turned her attention to the reports. As inadequate as they were they did offer some kind help. She could construct a rough timeline.

Gloria Kelsey, a divorced woman of forty four years of age, lived at number 8 Keys Court. Hazel knew The Keys as it was known locally. It was an affluent area. Rather nice, expensive houses. It was a cul-de-sac with an enclosed play area at the far end and a funnel shaped entrance that was wide enough to turn round a forty tonne Euronaut lorry. It lay just over the bridge, West of the river.

Gloria had been a photographer. She had a studio on Lenzi Street. GK Studios. Hazel tried to think if she’d ever noticed it. She couldn’t say for certain. As far as she could tell the local police had searched neither the house nor the studio.

Sloppy work, no wonder they couldn’t get a conviction.

Sandra West provided the more reliable information in a very detailed medical report. Hazel had to wade through endless photographs and medical terminology to discover Gloria Kelsey had been fit and healthy right up to the time someone stuck a knife into her neck. Doctor West then went on, in great detail, to explain why the blow was almost immediately fatal. Surgical precision was the phrase she used.

Hazel tapped on her keyboard and pulled up the file on suspect number one, Hannah McShane. Seventeen year old school drop out with a string of cautions for soliciting.

Surgical precision?

Not very likely.

Of course the police didn’t see the blow as surgically precise. To Detective Sergeant White it was a “lucky blow.”

Not lucky for Gloria Kelsey.

Hazel considered. It was possible, she supposed. Gloria had been sitting down at the time. The attack came from behind. It was possible Hannah just happened to hit the right place.

Time of death occurred around one am to two am.

Again….What was happening at that time of night….day…whichever you chose it was an odd time for people to be up and around.

What was Gloria doing?

The medical report mentioned she was sitting down, but that didn’t help. Sitting down, doing what?

Neither the responding officer, nor the arresting one had anything at all to say about that.

Hannah McShane had arrived at the house prior to ten pm. Otherwise the security guard would have seen her.

Would he? Hazel wondered. In his statement the guard, Andrew Simpson, stated he didn’t see her arrive and that he had a clear view of the street. So far as Hazel could see no one had bothered to check on that.

Simpson had not seen Hannah McShane arrive, but he had seen her leave. Just after two in the morning. He saw her running away from the house and called the police.

Hazel couldn’t find a time for the police logging the call. Evidently Simpson had called the local station at Elm Street. Was that standard practice? Hazel didn’t know. Neither did anyone else either as there was no reference to it.

That Simpson hadn’t chased after her was unsurprising. These private security guards looked fine and good on paper, but in the real world they were just private citizens in uniform. They had no powers beyond those anyone had. Also, they were only insured for the area they covered.

If the guard had chased Hannah, and caught her outside Keys Court he could have been injured in the struggle, in which case he wouldn’t receive compensation. Also, if she’d been injured and sued, the company wouldn’t consider itself liable and Simpson would be in serious financial trouble.

Hazel looked to the other eye witness reports. Those that the prosecution had so relied on.

Thomas Mitchell, retired school teacher.

Helen Trent, assistant bank manager.

They both stated they saw Hannah McShane, pursued by the security guard, running down the street. Hazel checked the times, just after two am.

Why were they up?

What made them look out of the window?

Did they know Hannah McShane?

None of those questions and more hadn’t been asked.

“This is all useless.” Hazel said, and looked up at the other detectives, all looking back at her. She sighed and stood up, “If anyone wants me I’ll be doing Elm Street CIDs job.”

“Detective Sergeant Hazel Louise Vernon.” The red haired woman in the business suit looked up at the senior detective from Elm Street. “Who is she and why did you make such a mess of the investigation.” The first part was the question. The second was a statement and not one that went down well.

“What mess? We followed the evidence. We got the girl who did it. We had witnesses. It was an open and shut case. No problems.” Detective Chief Inspector George Raeburn sat back in the client’s chair and folded his arms.

Solicitor Camilla Ruthven let out a long sigh, “As far as I can there were nothing but problems. Hannah McShane was acquitted.”

“Yes, but I assumed you’d have ways to solve that problem.”

Camilla looked at Raeburn for a long time. Then she said, “I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear that, George. Mostly because I’m going to pretend you never said it. You say this McShane girl is guilty.”

“We have eye witnesses. Two of them. Three if you count the security guard.”

“Why wouldn’t we count the security guard, George?”

“I meant we have enough eye witnesses to get a conviction.”

“You didn’t get a conviction though did you. What you got was an acquittal.”

“I know but….”

“I asked around, George. It did take me a while but I discovered it was not just an acquittal. It was a unanimous one. No one on the jury believed she was guilty.” Camilla shook her head. “This isn’t good, George.”

“I don’t see the problem.” Raeburn said. “So she got off, who cares?”

“You have no idea, George. But let’s say more people care than you imagine and those people are very highly placed. We were told, by you, that you had evidence linking the McShane girl to the murder of Gloria Kelsey. We were told, by you, that it was solid evidence. No one could dispute it. Well it seems at least twelve people did dispute it and now the investigation has been kicked upstairs to the Crime Squad. People we don’t really know since the re-shuffle. People, if I’m brutally honest, we have no reason to know and have no desire to know at the moment. We have someone following Sergeant Vernon. It’s early days yet but she does seem rather more intelligent and able than anyone in your department.”

“There’s nothing wrong with any of my people.”

“George, they are incompetents who do what I…we…tell them to do. That’s about the limit of their abilities. With any luck Sergeant Vernon will actually discover who the real killer is. I’m fairly confident no one working for you will.”

“We found the killer. Hannah McShane. We had witnesses.”

“You keep saying that, George. But no one believed your witnesses. They were not credible. I don’t know why they weren’t credible. Not yet, but no one believed them. You had no murder weapon. No blood on Hannah McShane. No DNA or finger prints. No evidence at all.”

“She had a shower or bath, changed her clothes, threw the knife in the river.”

“George, I could destroy that assertion in my sleep, and she did have decent legal representation.”

“She did it. She killed the woman.”

“Gloria.”

“Yes, whatever.”

“Did she? Or was she just someone picked up in the general area by your people? George, I want you to understand we take this seriously. We’re not looking for a scape goat. We don’t some random person for this. We want whoever did it.”

“Hannah McShane did it!”

“Then I want evidence of that. I don’t want supposition and guesswork. Maybe she did do it. Maybe she is guilty and got away with it. We want to know one way or the other. It’s not going to be you or any of your squad who find out. We can’t trust you to do anything that simple.”

“My squad did find out. It’s Hannah McShane.”

“You are to work with Detective Sergeant Vernon.” Camilla said.

“I’m not going to….”

“You are to work with Detective Sergeant Vernon. I expect full cooperation with her. Give her any information or help she asks for. Be polite. Be helpful. Don’t mention me or Victor Monk or anyone else you may know around here. If you have to insist Hannah McShane did this…”

“Of course she did. There’s no one else.”

“….then do so, but don’t expect her to listen to you. It’s her investigation and the results we’re interested in.”

“You want to know what she finds out.” Raeburn said, nodding.

“Yes but we can find that out without any help from you, thank goodness.” Camilla said. “OK you may go.”

Annoyed, Raeburn stood, shoving his chair back. The thick carpet absorbed the sound making his angry exit less than he would have liked.

The door of the conference room banged behind him. A moment later another red haired woman in a dark suit stepped out of a side room.

“You never did think Hannah was guilty, did you?” Camilla said.

“I thought it was unlikely. Tell Victor I’m grateful he hasn’t done anything.”

“He still might if this isn’t resolved. Do you know this Sergeant Vernon?”

“I know of her. I’ve never met her and what I do know comes from the newspapers, so it’s questionable to say the least. She seems, however, to be intelligent and capable, as you said earlier. We should leave this in her hands.”

“For how long?”

“For as long as it takes. This is a proper investigation. Not a bunch of halfwits looking around for someone they can find just to make life easier for themselves. I don’t know why you had to rely on the Elm Street CID anyway.”

“We had to because they were there, we know and can control them. And the crime squad was having problems of its own. Anything else you’d like to tell me?”

“Yes.” The other woman said, “Make sure we get the right person this time.”