Читать книгу Missing Pieces - K L Harrison - Страница 8

Mid-June

There was a growing feeling of anticipation amongst the thousands of people who had gathered. The hum of conversation was getting louder. Young girls were calling out to each other while serious middle-aged men had their cameras set up to take their time-lapse pictures. Few had managed to get any sleep since the midnight ceremony, “the darkest hour”. As they awaited the dawn ceremony, the rising of the sun behind the Heel Stone, the excitement mounted. This year’s summer solstice at Stonehenge was blessed with perfect weather. As the dawn broke and the sun appeared, there was wild cheering.

Constable Christine Jones had never attended a summer solstice ceremony before. She had only recently arrived at the Amesbury station and she loved it. Amesbury was less than thirty five miles from her home in Swindon, but it seemed a world away. The open space of Salisbury Plain was a far cry from the cramped flat she had grown up in on the Walcot Estate off Queen’s Drive in Swindon. And now here she was with the Druids, the hippies, the new-agers and the just plain inquisitive watching the sun rise.

“Look at them Chris, a load of bloody loonies.” Christine Jones’ partner, Sean Masters, did not share her fascination with what was happening.

“Oh come on Sean, I thought your lot were into voodoo and all that stuff.”

“Just because my parents are Jamaican does not mean we believe in black magic.”

Christine Jones laughed, and gently pushed him; she had learned quickly how to get a reaction from her partner.

Sean Masters got the joke, smiled, and said, “Okay, well done again. Anyway, we are supposed to be mingling, come on.”

There were police present but the crowd was well-behaved, and no trouble was expected. Alcohol had been banned but there was a strong sweet smell in the air that suggested that alcohol might not be needed to get this crowd in the mood. The police had been instructed, “informally”, to turn a blind eye to the presence of marijuana but to keep a look out for any harder stuff.

Sebastian McPhee stood on his platform, his white robes flowing in the light breeze as he spoke to the crowd.

“Behold the rising sun. Let us pay homage to this life force.”

Sebastian McPhee was a member of the Druid Grade that dealt with rituals, judgments and ceremonies. He was in his element. However, his fifteen minutes of fame came to a sudden halt.

Just south of the main circle of Stonehenge is a small area known as the South Barrow. The attention of McPhee and many of the crowd was suddenly drawn towards screaming that was coming from there. Christine Jones and Sean Masters raced over to the source of this noise. They found two teenage girls crying and yelling at the top of their voices, hugging each other. The two young officers were soon joined by some of their colleagues, and together they did their best to keep the crowd back.

On the edge of the South Barrow was the body of a man. He was about thirty, was badly overweight, had a thick dark beard and his hair was in serious need of some shampoo. However, the condition of his hair was no longer of any importance. His throat had been neatly slit from one side to another.

“Bloody hell, what is this, a human sacrifice?” Sean Masters was not joking this time.

Late November

Monday morning. Almost a week since the murder of Roger Davidson and Spence was beginning to feel concerned. By this stage he expected his gut to be telling him something, pointing him to certain lines of inquiry. But his gut was telling him nothing.

Spence liked to work in a collegiate manner. He was in charge, and he knew he would get the kudos from a result, and he knew he would earn the opprobrium of failure. However, he encouraged what might be called an esprit de corps. On this Monday morning he had his key team sitting around a large circular table that he used for such meetings.

“Right, let’s bring everything together. I’m sure that you don’t need me to tell you that we are not getting anywhere. I don’t mind telling you I do not have any idea what is behind Roger Davidson’s murder. So, this morning we are going over everything. And remember, you know the drill, speak up, argue, speculate, and disagree with each other. In this room this morning I expect your honest answers. If you think I am talking crap, I want to hear it. Let’s start with you Traynor, fill us in again Constable on the Davidsons’ financial affairs.”

“As you know Spence, Felicity Davidson’s father is loaded. Stockbroking, going a long way back, and he came out of the GFC rather well.”

Ferguson piped in.

“You should see his place outside Marlborough. Massive. Two four-wheel drives, a Porsche, horses. You get the picture.”

Traynor continued:

“So there’s no real mystery about where the money came from. The father bought them the Merton Ave house and little Rebecca is already signed up for the Badminton School near Westbury.”

“So no money problems, no debts, no gambling issues,” said Spence.

“That’s right Spence. Though I did discover one thing. There were obviously lots of deposits and withdrawals over time, but I noticed a pattern. There were regular withdrawals of £150 or £200 from a separate account Roger Davidson had in his own name, not jointly.

Spence asked, “How far back does this go?”

“Almost two years. It was £150 for almost a year, and then over the past few months it was £200.”

Spence paused for a second and then asked, “Okay everyone, what do we make of that?”

Ferguson spoke up, “Do you think he was being blackmailed? Paying someone off to keep quiet about his affair with Patricia Patel perhaps?”

Traynor agreed.

“He had a lot to lose Spence: his father-in-law’s favours, the house – which was in Felicity’s name incidentally – not to mention his career move.”

“Maybe, but I think no. Anyone blackmailing Roger Davidson would know how high the stakes were and they would know that they could get a hell of a lot more. And as far as we know, Patricia Patel has only been on the scene about six months. Have another look at that Traynor, see if there are any direct transfers, that sort of thing. WPC Grant, what are you making of Felicity Davidson?”

Joanne Grant enjoyed these sessions. Spence might tease her a lot of the time, but she knew Spence was sincere when he said he valued everyone’s contribution. Including hers.

“Perhaps I shouldn’t say this sir, but I don’t think I like Felicity Davidson very much?”

Spence stood suddenly.

“WPC Grant, that is a totally unacceptable attitude. If you cannot approach this case with objectivity I shall have you placed back on traffic duty.”

He paused for a second.

“Yes, seems as cold as ice doesn’t she? So WPC Grant, what’s your problem with the delightful Mrs Davidson?”

“As I told you the other day, I am pretty sure she was putting on the distraught wife act for our benefit on the night of the murder. When we talked to her on Friday, she seemed totally without emotion. She also seemed… uninterested. She didn’t ask us about the actual murder, how we were progressing. And when she said that she would now have to cancel the trip to Spain over Christmas, well….”

DI Ferguson then spoke up.

“I guess to be fair to her, she had good reason to be cool to her husband. She is pregnant, and her husband has been having an affair with Patricia Patel. And maybe this was not the first one.”

Spence now steered the discussion towards Patricia Patel.

“Ah yes, Miss Patel. I do not think that Patricia Patel is used to being rejected. Now when we were at the school, we learned that she and Roger Davidson had been having a torrid affair but it was also clear that he had ended things. So, could Miss Patel have done it? Motive is clear: rejection, humiliation. Means? He would have let her in last Tuesday. She could easily have drugged him and then let hell break lose. So people, am I right?”

Ferguson spoke up.

“No Spence, it doesn’t fit. Motive, entry to the house yes. The drugging? Quite possible. But what about the violent nature of the murder. It wasn’t just the slitting of the throat. What about the other injury? Is that the behaviour of a rejected lover?”

Spence looked at his DS with severely raised eyebrows and a look that said “you bet it is”.

WPC Grant now intervened. “And there’s something else sir we have not been thinking about. What about the caning marks on his buttocks? Who did that to him? Is it relevant?”

“Well done WPC Grant. Did Roger and Felicity have a domme-slave relationship? Not impossible from what we know of Mrs Davidson. Did he and Miss Patel enjoy a bit of kinky stuff? I want Patricia Patel down here this afternoon. Ferguson, you and WPC Grant can interview her. I’ll watch. I’ll tee things up with Bob Hamsby. Which of course brings us to the staff. Any thoughts people? Give me something interesting. Did anyone seem odd? Did you pick up any feelings about the guy? Any gut feelings?”

Traynor spoke up first.

“I’d hate to be the boss in that place Spence. There are some pretty strong personalities in the staff room. Lots of rivalries, petty disagreements, resentments, and a few odd characters hanging around.”

Spence smiled.

“Sounds like the Swindon nick Constable Traynor. But okay, seriously, what stood out for you?”

Traynor continued.

“There were obviously people who liked him a lot. The humanities teachers seemed to think he was doing a good job. But there were people like Charlie Page who couldn’t stand him. There were some like Deidre Palmer who just didn’t think he was up to it. But are these murder suspects Spence?”

“Ferguson?”

“Shane Tott seemed an odd one, very taciturn, but from what I was told his teaching is fine and he is well organised. He was reluctant to say much about Roger Davidson at all but I sensed he was not keen on him. Martha Cox, Geography teacher of the old school, now she certainly would not be taking crap from the kids. Janice Turner, PE, about to go on maternity leave. She said Roger Davidson was really helpful organising her leave.”

WPC Grant then intervened, “One of the maths teachers, Cynthia Wicks, was obviously besotted by Roger Davidson, but I got the impression that she had never even got up the courage to even speak to him.”

Traynor continued.

“I had a bit of a chat with Miss Tims, the headmaster’s secretary.”

“Very brave Constable,” said Spence.

“I’d say this woman knew more about the school than even Robert Hamsby. She didn’t think too highly of Roger Davidson. She thought he was a nice enough person but she also believed Robert Hamsby had erred in appointing him deputy. However, she thought it inconceivable that one his colleagues could have murdered him.”

Ferguson now spoke.

“There was Barry Cotter, young PE teacher, bit of a martial arts freak. Not too many brains if you ask me. Tony Watkins in Maths, hates his job and can’t wait to get into a stockbroking firm. Juan Rodriguez, the ethics teacher.”

“Ethics, bloody hell.” Spence was not impressed.

“Actually I rated him rather highly Spence. This guy cares about his students. He liked Roger Davidson, praised him for getting the tougher kids into their studies.”

Spence stood up again.

“Okay, well done everyone. So, we still don’t have a bloody clue. I can sense Superintendent Marks breathing down my neck; she has already been on my back for our slow progress on this one. But that’s my pleasure. Get your reports on my desk as soon as you can so I can have another look. I’ll get Patricia Patel in here this afternoon. Meanwhile, Traynor, check those finance figures again and have another look through Josie’s report. WPC Grant, go over the information uniform gathered after the door-to-door enquires. Ferguson, widen things a bit, start checking to see if there has been anything similar to Davidson’s murder a bit further afield.”

As they all broke off to work alone, Spence punched Bob Hamsby’s number into his phone.

“Bob? Winston. First of all, thanks for last Saturday night; I had a great time. How did someone like you end up with a gem like Jill?”

There followed a few minutes of friendly banter.

“Bob, I am going to have Patricia Patel brought in for questioning this afternoon. Can you get her off class for me? Great. Give me some background on her will you?”

After about ten minutes, Spence had what he wanted.

“Thanks Bob. I’ll need to come out to the school again in a day or two.”

Spence eyed the notes he had just taken. Patricia Patel was 28, fluent in French and German, and of course Hindi. Parents came to the UK in the early 70s after Idi Amin had expelled the Asians from Uganda. Usual migrant story, industrious, ambitious but keen to keep their culture which is why Patricia Patel could speak Hindi. But they were progressive. Patricia Patel was obviously very smart and a clever linguist, honours from Manchester University, been working at Woodlands for three years. Previous to that interpreter work in Paris for a British company.

“Gives up Paris for Cirencester and Swindon. Takes all sorts I suppose,” Spence mused.

Later that afternoon

“Officers, this seems just like a scene from a television police drama. Can I assume DI Hargreaves is watching through the glass.” She smiled in Spence’s direction and crossed her legs so that her skirt was deliberately pulled up. She had Spence thinking of Sharon Stone in ‘Basic Instinct’. This lady was not the least intimidated.

“Should I have legal representation Detective Sergeant?”

“Do you think you require it Miss Patel?”

She smiled. She was clearly enjoying herself.

“Fire away Sergeant.”

Ferguson got straight to the point. “Miss Patel, could you please describe the nature of your relationship with Roger Davidson?”

“As I told your Inspector, Sergeant, Roger and I had an amicable working relationship. I respected him. He was easy to get along with.”

Joanne Grant now spoke up. “How often did you and Roger Davidson see each other outside of school?”

“Oh clever,” thought Spence. “Force her to duck around a direct answer.”

“Well as I said, we had a working relationship. I never saw Roger outside of work, except when we had school functions. I think his wife kept him on a rather short leash.”

WPC Grant persisted.

“So you did not meet outside of school? Roger Davidson never went to your home?”

“No, of course not. He did give me a lift home once after a parent-teacher evening, but nothing more.”

Ferguson was not having any of this.

“You do realise that we are carrying out a murder investigation Miss Patel. You do realise that lying to the police during our investigations is a serious offence. Now I will ask you again? What was the nature of your relationship with Roger Davidson?”

Patricia Patel knew how far to push her luck. She stared at the two officers for a moment and then spoke.

“I felt sorry for Roger. He was married to that awful woman, Felicity. He was obviously crying out for some affection and passion. I found him very attractive. Very. He was good looking, intelligent, good company and as I was to discover, he was fantastic in bed. Pent-up frustrations I presume. We saw each other for about four months but he ended things when he gained the Deputy’s job.”

Ferguson persisted.

“How did you feel when Roger Davidson dumped you Miss Patel?”

Patricia Patel leant forward and spat out her words.

“I burned inside with anger and humiliation, Sergeant. From that moment my sole aim in life was to bring down that man. He would regret having, “dumped” me. I planned to make sure that he would rue the day he cast me aside.”

She leant back and smiled.

“I assume that is what you wanted to hear Sergeant. You’re new at this aren’t you?”

Ferguson’s icy coolness was diminishing by the second.

“And before you ask me for an alibi, Detective Sergeant, on the night that Roger was murdered, I was staying at the Menzies Hotel in town, shagging one of your superiors.”

She looked towards the glass.

“And no Sergeant, it was not DI Hargreaves. I am a woman who has very high standards.”

The interview continued for another fifteen minutes but was going nowhere. Obviously Patricia Patel had tried to keep her relationship secret; obviously she had failed miserably. Eventually Ferguson told her she could go. As she was about to leave, Ferguson had one more question.

“Miss Patel, did you and Roger Davidson ever indulge in any bondage and discipline activities?”

“Oh no, that’s not for me. Roger was obviously into it, and so I guess that must also have been Felicity’s sort of thing. Why, does it interest you Sergeant?”

And with that she was gone.