On Cold Ground (Detective Karen Hart) Page 14

  Karen twisted around to face him. ‘What do you think the chances are of Sam Pickett’s father taking the law into his own hands?’

  She’d only managed to speak briefly to Morgan at the station about the possible link between the hit-and-run and Lloyd Nelson’s murder.

  Morgan sank back down on to the sofa. ‘Will Pickett is angry. Very angry, and he’s beside himself with grief.’

  ‘Angry enough to kill the man who knocked Sam off his bike?’

  ‘Perhaps, but Will Pickett would have had to find out Lloyd was behind the accident, track him down and then brutally murder him in the cathedral. And why would he have cut Lloyd’s forehead?’

  ‘Murder is the ultimate sin?’ Karen suggested. ‘Are the Picketts religious?’

  Morgan exhaled a long breath and looked up at the ceiling. ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘But they seemed like a normal enough family?’

  ‘Yes, though it’s hard to tell when you meet them under circumstances like this.’ He ran a hand through his hair. ‘I don’t want it to be him. I’d like to find Lloyd’s killer, but I don’t want it to be Will. They’ve been through enough.’

  ‘Hopefully we’ll have some answers tomorrow. The forensics team are pulling a late one tonight, going over Beverley Nelson’s vehicle.’

  Morgan nodded thoughtfully. They were both quiet for a few minutes, then he said, ‘Will is angry. But the accident happened on Friday night. Lloyd was killed Saturday afternoon. How did he track Lloyd down so fast? How did he find Sam’s killer so quickly when we couldn’t?’

  ‘Maybe Lloyd confessed?’

  ‘Rick’s been through Lloyd Nelson’s phone records, and there’s no record of communication between him and the Picketts. At least, not over the phone.’

  ‘Maybe there was a witness? Instead of coming to us, they told Sam’s father?’

  ‘It’s possible . . .’

  ‘Or maybe they knew each other already. We could ask Beverley?’

  Morgan sat forward, resting his elbows on his knees, linked his fingers and looked down at the floor. ‘No, I think we should wait to see what we get back from the car. We don’t want to tip Beverley off yet. If she thinks Will killed her husband, it could lead to an altercation, and if we’re wrong, we’re just adding to the Picketts’ and Nelsons’ misery for no reason.’

  ‘You’re right.’ Karen took the plates to the kitchen and started washing up.

  Morgan dried up and stacked the plates in a cupboard. ‘You don’t have to stay here tonight, you know. I could order you a taxi.’

  ‘I know I don’t have to, Morgan. But I’m going to.’ She twisted round to face him. ‘You’d do the same for me, wouldn’t you?’

  He nodded. ‘Fair enough. I’ve set the heating to come on at five. Early enough?’

  ‘Yes. I’ll set my alarm for six.’

  They left the kitchen, and Morgan switched off the light. ‘Let’s just hope the sound of your alarm going off at six is the only thing that wakes you up tonight.’

  They climbed the stairs, and she paused at the top. ‘Well, goodnight.’

  ‘Night. You can use the bathroom first. It’s right next to your room. See you in the morning.’

  Karen was looking forward to falling on to Morgan’s spare bed and slipping into a dreamless sleep. She grabbed her toothbrush and cleansing wipes from her overnight bag, and used the bathroom.

  When she returned to the spare room, she wandered over to the window. There was a small gap between the curtains. She looked out on to the dark street. Nothing moved. The lights were off in the house opposite.

  Was someone out there? Watching? Had they seen Harinder fit the cameras?

  She caught a movement and turned her head. A small tabby cat crept around Morgan’s car. Karen released her breath. Nothing to worry about. Just a cat.

  When Karen woke, she grabbed her mobile from the nightstand and blinked at the screen. It was just before six, so she turned her alarm off. There were no notifications from the security app. Nothing had triggered the cameras last night.

  She put her phone down and stood up, opening the curtains and looking out. It was still dark. She could hear Morgan moving about downstairs.

  After calling out good morning, she told him she was heading for a shower. She washed and dressed and then made her way downstairs. The smell of coffee drew her straight to the kitchen.

  Morgan’s hair was still wet from the shower. He was topping up his mug from a pot of filter coffee. He smiled. ‘Want one?’

  ‘Yes, please.’

  He poured another coffee, added milk, and then handed her the mug. Karen inhaled the rich, delicious scent, then took a sip.

  ‘Do you want me to drop you at yours on the way in, so you can pick up your car?’

  ‘If you don’t mind. I’m not sure what Churchill will have me doing today. I might need it.’

  ‘How’s it going with him?’

  Karen pulled a face.

  ‘That bad?’

  ‘Sophie said, and I quote, he’s an utter pig.’

  Morgan tried to hide his smile, but didn’t quite succeed.

  ‘And you’ll be glad to know it’s made us appreciate you, as team leader, far more.’

  ‘Glad to hear it,’ he said, keeping his face serious. ‘I’ve always been underappreciated.’

  Karen laughed.

  They finished their coffee in companionable silence and then set off. Morgan took Karen home, where she dropped off her overnight bag and picked up her car, and then they drove separately to Nettleham station.

  When Karen arrived, there was no sign of Churchill, Arnie or Leo, and Rick and Sophie’s desks were empty. She made herself another cup of coffee and then settled down in front of her computer to check whether they had the results back from Forensics yet. There was nothing on the system. She checked the time. It was unlikely that there was anyone in the lab at the moment. So she pulled up the file on the Sam Pickett case and scrolled through the data to see if she could detect any links between the hit-and-run and Lloyd Nelson.

  She was still lost in the exercise when the others arrived.

  ‘Morning, Sarge,’ Sophie said, covering her mouth mid-yawn at the end of the sentence. ‘Coffee?’

  ‘I’ve already had one, thanks.’

  ‘One coffee is never enough,’ Arnie said, shuffling in, looking like he’d slept in his suit and had just rolled out of bed. Karen doubted his grey hair had seen a comb that morning.

  ‘I had another earlier, at Morgan’s.’

  Arnie waggled his eyebrows. ‘Did you indeed?’

  Even Leo looked up from his desk, surprised and alert for gossip.

  Karen sighed. ‘I stayed there last night in case he had another letter delivered.’

  Arnie wandered over to Karen’s desk and perched his ample backside next to her computer. ‘And was there another letter?’

  Karen shook her head. ‘No. Nothing. Harinder installed a security system last night, but it wasn’t triggered.’

  ‘Maybe they know Morgan isn’t on the case anymore,’ Leo suggested.

  The idea the killer knew that much about their investigative team made Karen nervous.

  Leo checked his watch. ‘Nearly time for the morning briefing. I’ve booked meeting room three. We’d better head there now. Churchill doesn’t appreciate tardiness.’ He rolled his eyes.

  Karen logged out of the computer system and then reached for her empty mug. ‘If we’re having a briefing with Churchill, then I was wrong about the coffee. I do need another one.’

  Churchill was already in the meeting room when they all filed in. He was smiling, very unusual for him, which made Karen alert for trouble.

  ‘Good morning, team,’ Churchill said, looking very pleased with himself. ‘Leo, perhaps you could kick us off regarding Nelson’s financial situation.’

  ‘Okay,’ Leo said as they all took seats around the large table. He pulled out papers from the file he was carrying. ‘As we know al
ready, thanks to the bank statements Sophie got from Mrs Nelson, Lloyd had a gambling habit. They were in considerable debt. He had several credit cards, all at their limit. And they went into their overdraft every month.

  ‘Lloyd was on a good salary, but he was spending it faster than it came in. He had a joint account with Beverley for bills and one of his own, which was mainly used for various online betting websites. There were also some large cash withdrawals.’

  ‘Perhaps he was having a flutter through an unregulated gambling system? Or a betting shop?’ Arnie suggested.

  ‘We know he was travelling to place a bet on Friday night,’ Karen said. ‘Beverley told us he used a betting shop in Hykeham.’

  ‘Yes, and he did visit on Friday night,’ Arnie confirmed. ‘We have him on CCTV, on traffic cameras and also on Hykeham Road. I’ve spoken to the betting shop manager, and a member of staff remembers seeing him. Of course, being a betting shop, there are security cameras inside, and I’ve asked for the footage – but even without that, I think we can say with relative confidence that Lloyd did pay them a visit on Friday night.’

  It was good to have it confirmed. Karen leaned forward, looking at Arnie and turning away from Churchill. ‘That strengthens the theory that Lloyd was the one to knock Sam Pickett off his bike in Waddington. One route from the betting shop to the Nelsons’ house would take him via that lane.’

  ‘I’ll have to stop you there, DS Hart.’

  Churchill was looking particularly smug. Was he going to reprimand her for talking without asking for permission?

  She smiled and looked at him expectantly. She was determined not to let him get under her skin today.

  ‘It’s a bit of a stretch,’ Churchill continued. ‘We don’t know the route Lloyd took when he travelled home from the betting shop.’

  ‘No, but we can find out easily enough. We just have to check the traffic cameras coming out of Hykeham and follow his route. Leo could check to see if—’

  ‘Oh, you’re assigning the work now, are you?’ Karen took a deep breath as Churchill cut in. ‘Please, tell us what you’d like Leo to do.’

  Leo sank lower in his seat. Sophie glowered at Churchill, and Karen could feel her body tense. Ignore him. He’s just trying to get a rise out of you.

  The only person who seemed completely oblivious to the undercurrent in the room was Arnie, who was leaning back in his chair, looking perfectly at ease.

  ‘Perhaps Leo could check the traffic camera data to check the route. Or I could do it.’ She turned to Leo. ‘I wasn’t singling you out. You just mentioned the traffic camera footage yesterday.’

  Leo looked like he wanted the ground to swallow him up. ‘It’s fine,’ he said quietly. ‘I don’t mind doing it.’

  ‘Pointless,’ Churchill said, his gaze fixed on Karen.

  She paused, determined not to give him the satisfaction of her raising her voice or losing her temper, then asked, ‘Why?’

  ‘Because I’ve had the preliminary report back from Forensics on the car.’

  All eyes in the room turned to Churchill.

  ‘There’s a small scrape on the bumper, but they believe it’s unrelated. Highly unlikely to be caused by a collision with a bicycle. There’s no paint transfer. In fact, no evidence of a serious accident at all.’

  Karen felt the energy and enthusiasm she’d had for the case drain away. It had been such a good link. She’d been almost certain there was a connection between the hit-and-run and Lloyd’s murder. But she couldn’t argue with forensics.

  ‘So Forensics said there’s no way the Nelson vehicle was involved in the hit-and-run?’ Leo asked timidly.

  ‘They are ninety-nine point nine per cent certain the vehicle was not the one that hit Sam Pickett.’

  ‘It was a possibility, though,’ Leo said, shooting Karen a small smile. ‘We had to look into it.’

  ‘Right, it’s a setback, but now we need to focus on what to do next,’ Churchill said, and began assigning tasks.

  As they trailed out of the briefing room, Karen was deflated.

  She felt a hand on her shoulder. It was Leo. ‘Don’t let him get to you. It was a strong theory.’

  ‘But the wrong one,’ Karen said, folding her arms over her chest and sighing.

  ‘Keep your chin up. We’ll get there,’ Arnie said. ‘Now, who wants a sausage sandwich?’

  Karen smiled, despite her miserable mood. ‘Not for me, thanks.’

  ‘I’ll have one,’ Sophie said, and Karen watched as she wandered off with Arnie. They were working well together, but they made a mismatched pair. Sophie, young and fastidious; and Arnie, older and far scruffier.

  ‘Are you okay?’ Leo asked, looking genuinely concerned.

  ‘I’m fine. Just disappointed the lead was a dead end, I suppose.’

  ‘Arnie’s right,’ Leo said with a kind smile. ‘We’ll get there. It’s just a setback.’

  Karen followed him into the open-plan office, and he looked over his shoulder and said, ‘The theory was sound, but I suppose sometimes a coincidence really is just that.’

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Nina Brown parked outside the smart apartment block and looked up through the windscreen. There was no light on in her sister’s apartment. Maybe not that unusual for anyone else, but Laurel hated dim light. She always had. Their father used to go angrily around the house they grew up in, switching off all the lights. It isn’t even dark yet, he used to say.

  Of course, they’d shared the blame, even though it was Laurel who turned them on.

  The fact the window was a grey square rather than beaming out bright light made Nina pause. She had been angry on the drive here, fuming that she’d had to cut short her week away with her fiancé. It had been a make-or-break holiday, too. They were trying to get their relationship back on track, not that her sister cared.

  Laurel knew how important this holiday was, and yet on Friday night, when they’d been eating dinner, she’d called.

  Nina had known from the expression on Terry’s face that if she answered the call, she wouldn’t hear the end of it for hours. So she’d pressed the red button, directing the call to the answering service. Laurel had left a garbled message. Blathering on about how she’d done something wrong and how she needed to make it right. She sounded wrecked. Probably too much white wine.

  At the time, Nina had been irritated rather than worried. Laurel had always been a bit of a drama queen.

  Nina got out of the car and slammed the door. She scanned the car park for her sister’s car and saw it in the corner, a white Audi, so she was likely to be home.

  Good. Because if Nina had made a wasted journey, she was not going to be happy. Terry’s face had looked like he’d swallowed a wasp when she told him she needed to leave the hotel for a few hours to see her sister. The hotel was in Norfolk, too, so it had taken her an hour and a half to get here.

  Of course, she’d tried to call Laurel before leaving. Laurel had left the message on Friday evening, and over the weekend Nina had tried multiple times to return her call, but she hadn’t picked up. She’d almost driven over yesterday but had decided to give her sister one more day to respond. She’d left messages. Laurel had to know how worried she was, but she hadn’t called her back. Selfish.

  Nina had told her fiancé why she’d been so distracted yesterday, expecting him to be understanding. That was a joke. He’d thrown his hands up and said, ‘Do what you want. Go and see your sister. I don’t care.’

  And there was the rub of it. He didn’t care, and so there really wasn’t much point in carrying on with the relationship. So, this morning, with tears running down her cheeks, she’d packed her bag and said goodbye as he sat stony-faced on the bed.

  It would be nice if, just for once, Laurel was the one to take care of her. To make sure she was all right. To hug her and ply her with white wine and ice cream until she felt better.

  Nina sighed. That wouldn’t happen. She was always the one who did the looking-after pa
rt. Her younger sister would expect Nina to clean up whatever mess she’d managed to get herself into, and comfort her at the same time. It wasn’t that Laurel wasn’t intelligent and successful. She had a degree in economics and had worked for an investment bank in London for a few years, built up a nice little nest egg, but she didn’t have the staying power. She’d left that job under a cloud, and taken up a position in Lincoln at a financial services company.

  Still, it paid well. Better than Nina’s job, anyway.

  Nina pressed the buzzer next to Laurel’s apartment number and then rubbed her arms, feeling the chill of the December air.

  Come on. Just open the door already.

  Gripping her keys tightly in her left hand, she pressed the buzzer again.

  No reply.

  Where could she be? Her car was here. Perhaps she was in the shower? Nina had a spare key to Laurel’s apartment, but not one for the main entrance door.

  Just as she was considering going back to her car to wait, the glass door swung open, and a man dressed in a tracksuit and trainers came out. He smiled at her and held the door open.

  Nina returned his smile. ‘Thank you. I’m just visiting my sister,’ she said. ‘Laurel Monroe, number 22,’ she added, in case he needed an explanation, but he’d already set off, jogging across the car park.

  Nina took the stairs to the second floor and knocked on the white door of number 22. She waited, then knocked again. After two minutes, she sighed and selected the spare key, and let herself in.

  Immediately, she knew something was wrong.

  The smell. Like something had gone bad, rotting.

  It was boiling in the flat, too. The heating was going like the clappers.

  Nina shut the door and fanned her face as she walked into the open-plan living area. She set her keys and handbag on the kitchen island and then walked over to the window, using the small key on the sill to unlock it, and opened it wide.

  The radiator beneath the window was boiling. What a waste of money!

  She sucked in a breath of fresh air and listened, expecting to hear the sound of the shower. But it was very quiet in the apartment, and only the tiny plink-plink of water dripping steadily into the kitchen sink broke the silence. Nina pushed up her sleeves and tightened the tap.