On Cold Ground (Detective Karen Hart) Page 22

  ‘He didn’t look too happy,’ Morgan commented.

  ‘I’m not surprised,’ Karen said. ‘Ashworth was our main suspect.’ She folded her arms and looked up at the ceiling. ‘I don’t know what to do, Morgan. We need to find this killer. I don’t think they’re going to stop until we do.’

  ‘I need to check in with Rick, see how he’s getting on with the CCTV regarding the traffic for the hit-and-run Friday night. But after I’ve done that, why don’t we get together, brainstorm a bit and see if we can come up with something.’

  ‘Thanks, I’d appreciate that,’ Karen said. ‘Churchill isn’t keen on my input at the moment. He implied I imagined finding the note on my desk.’

  ‘I’ve told the superintendent, and she wants me to look through all the entry logs to see if anyone entered the station who isn’t authorised to be here.’

  ‘Good idea,’ Karen said. She forced a smile.

  The entry logs were a start, but her deepest fear was that the person who’d left the note was authorised to be at the station because they worked there. If the note-writer had killed Lloyd, Laurel and Anthony, they could be working side by side with a killer.

  Karen walked back to the open-plan office to ask Sophie to go with her to Alice Price’s house in Washingborough. She needed a partner, and she thought another woman would be less threatening than if Arnie or Leo accompanied her.

  Karen passed Arnie’s empty desk, then stopped and stared. There, beside the keyboard, was an almost-new packet of yellow Post-it notes.

  It didn’t mean anything. Lots of people used them, and they were freely available from the stationery stock cupboard. Post-it notes were everywhere, and even if they had been Arnie’s, who’s to say someone couldn’t have just plucked one from the top and used it.

  She moved closer and ran her finger over the top of the Post-it notes, feeling the bumpy indentation of letters. She grabbed a blunt pencil from the stationery pot on Arnie’s desk, and angled it to rub the soft graphite gently over the top of the note. It showed up the dips in the paper left from the previous note.

  Holding a breath, she read: Bread, milk, tea, potatoes, beef mince.

  She smiled and shook her head. A shopping list. Whoever had written the note hadn’t done so on top of this stack of Post-it notes. She peeled off the top Post-it and put it in the bin.

  Outside, Sophie and Karen moved quickly across the car park as sleet started to fall.

  ‘Did you get your car back last night?’ Sophie asked.

  ‘Yes, they dropped it off, but I had a fair bit of wine last night and didn’t think driving would be a good idea this morning, so I asked Rick to pick me up.’

  ‘How are you feeling now?’ Sophie asked as they reached her car.

  ‘Not bad.’

  They both got into the car.

  ‘It must have been a horrendous experience. I can’t believe you’re at work today.’

  ‘Where else would I be?’

  ‘I don’t know. Maybe at home, feeling sad and sorry for yourself. I think that’s what I’d be doing.’

  ‘I just want to find who did this.’

  Sophie started the engine. ‘Hopefully Alice Price will give us something to go on.’

  As Sophie drove towards Washingborough, Karen filled her in. She told her about the Post-it note and that Alice had previously suggested that Churchill should be investigated.

  ‘So Alice thinks Churchill was working with DI Freeman?’

  ‘She didn’t say that exactly, but she suggested DCI Churchill was someone I should look into, because she said he’d acted suspiciously in the past.’

  ‘She didn’t say what he’d done to make her think he could be corrupt?’

  ‘Alice is . . . She’s a troubled woman,’ Karen said. ‘Sometimes I think she knows more than she’s letting on, and on other occasions, she just seems confused. But DCI Shaw spoke to her the day he died. She might know what he wanted to tell me.’

  ‘What if DCI Shaw just wanted to talk to you about something mundane?’ Sophie asked tentatively, shooting Karen a nervous sideways glance.

  Karen hesitated. They had spoken about Christmas. That could have explained the call. Maybe it was nothing more than him wanting to let her down gently, and tell her he was going to spend Christmas with his sister after all.

  He wouldn’t want to hurt her feelings, which would explain his serious manner. But then she dismissed the idea. She knew him too well. His voice had taken on a very grave tone when he’d left the message. He’d sounded preoccupied, worried.

  ‘Maybe he was.’ She looked out of the passenger window as the sleet blurred the landscape. Not knowing what Anthony had wanted to tell her was going to drive her mad.

  ‘You again.’ Alice Price’s husband Declan stood at the door, his arm across the doorway, blocking their entrance. ‘I’m pretty sure I made it clear you aren’t welcome here anymore, DS Hart.’

  ‘We’re here on an official matter,’ Sophie said, holding up her ID. ‘We need to speak to your wife, Alice Price, please.’

  ‘Official matter?’ He squinted at her warrant card, looked at Sophie and then back to Karen. ‘What do you mean official?’

  ‘It’s your wife we need to speak to, please, sir,’ Sophie said.

  Declan Price gritted his teeth, but he let them in and led them through to the kitchen, where Alice was sitting at the breakfast bar. Alice gave Karen a quick, nervous smile, her gaze flickering up and then quickly back down to the counter.

  ‘Is it all right if we sit down, Alice?’ Karen asked, pointing to the two empty stools on the other side of the breakfast bar.

  Alice smiled tentatively. ‘Of course. Can we get you a cup of coffee?’

  ‘No, they’re not staying long,’ Declan said, standing behind his wife.

  ‘We’d like to talk to you about a phone call you received from DCI Anthony Shaw yesterday, Alice,’ Sophie said.

  The woman glanced up. ‘Why?’

  ‘I’m afraid I’ve got some bad news,’ Karen said. ‘Anthony was murdered last night.’

  Alice’s pale, elfin features slackened in shock. Her lower lip trembled. ‘Anthony?’

  ‘Yes, and we’re trying to find out who did it.’ Karen put her hand over Alice’s and squeezed gently. It was instinct. They weren’t supposed to touch. No physical contact. It was drummed into them during training. But the woman looked so lost, so sad, that Karen couldn’t help reaching out. ‘We know you spoke to him yesterday, and we thought you might be able to help by telling us what you talked about. Did he mention any worries or concerns?’

  Suddenly the shutters came down. Alice’s face was blank.

  Declan put a hand on her shoulder. ‘Alice doesn’t know anything about his murder.’

  ‘I’m not suggesting for one moment that Alice was involved,’ Karen said. ‘I just want to find out what they talked about yesterday.’

  Alice shivered. ‘I can’t really remember.’

  ‘It could be really important, Alice. Please try. Yesterday he left me a message asking me to go and see him because he had something to tell me. Did he tell you about that?’

  Alice looked terrified. ‘I don’t know what he was going to say.’

  But Karen wasn’t sure that was true. Alice looked like she wanted to say something. It was almost as though she was scared to speak.

  Karen glanced at Declan. ‘Do you think we could have a few minutes alone with Alice, please?’

  Declan shook his head stubbornly.

  ‘It’s your choice. Either you let us talk to your wife alone, or we’re going to have to take Alice to the station.’

  He glowered at Karen, but then finally let out an angry huff of air and stalked out of the room.

  ‘Sorry, Alice,’ Karen said, leaning her forearm on the countertop. ‘You’re not in any trouble. If you want to tell me something in confidence, you can. I’m not here to pressure you. I just need to find out what happened to Anthony, okay?’

  ‘Ok
ay.’

  ‘You want to know what happened to him as well, don’t you? You want whoever killed him brought to justice,’ Sophie said.

  Alice brushed away a tear. ‘Of course. He was a really good man. He was so kind. Even after I had to leave the force, he kept in touch.’

  ‘So what did you talk about yesterday?’ Karen prompted gently.

  Alice took a deep breath. ‘I’m in a good place at the moment. I’m on a new medication. The doctor says I’m doing well, and I don’t want to get sucked back into that paranoia again.’ She looked at Karen beseechingly. ‘Please don’t ask me to get involved in this.’

  ‘I don’t need you to get involved in anything, Alice,’ Karen said. ‘I just need you to tell me what Anthony said to you yesterday.’

  Alice looked up at the circular LED lights in the ceiling and blinked. ‘He said he was concerned. He knew you were working with a new team headed up by DCI Churchill. And he wanted any information I could give him.’

  ‘And what did you say?’

  ‘I told him I didn’t have any information. I said at one time I thought Churchill, or someone working with him, was accepting bribes, but I had no evidence. I overheard a conversation but it was just before my breakdown, and it’s likely paranoia skewed my reaction. I had to leave the force because my allegations weren’t true, and I can’t make that same mistake again, Karen.’

  Karen gave Alice what she hoped was a reassuring smile.

  Churchill. Everything seemed to circle back to him.

  ‘Can you tell us about the conversation you overheard?’

  ‘I was walking by his office, and I heard two men joking about taking payment in kind. When I asked DCI Churchill about it, he said it hadn’t been him.’

  ‘Did you recognise his voice?’

  ‘At the time, I thought so, but maybe I assumed it was him because they were talking in his office.’

  ‘You didn’t see who was in there?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Who was in his team at the time?’ Karen asked.

  ‘I’m sorry, I don’t remember. I tried to put all this behind me after the breakdown.’

  The pressure Alice had been under had been too much for her. She’d accused two senior officers of corruption, but an internal investigation cleared them of wrongdoing. They were exonerated, and Alice had been forced out.

  They asked Alice some more questions, keeping the language informal and reassuring. Sophie made notes on her tablet, then a few minutes later Declan came back into the kitchen.

  ‘I think you’ve had enough time. I don’t want you upsetting Alice.’

  Karen stood up. ‘Thank you for your help, Alice. If you think of anything else, give me a ring.’

  Alice said she would.

  Karen turned to Declan, who stood near the kitchen door with his arms folded, scowling at them. ‘It’s okay. We got what we came for.’

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  Sparrow stepped outside the police station and took a breath of freezing air.

  He stopped just by the entrance, where there was some shelter from the heavy sleet. His lungs felt like they were going to burst. Nervous laughter bubbled up in his chest, but he managed to suppress it.

  He’d been so close to getting caught. The adrenaline rush he’d experienced after putting that note on Karen’s desk made his head swim. And then taking the note back before she’d shown anyone so that no one believed her – that had been a stroke of genius. The look on her face! He’d made her doubt her own eyes.

  He remembered Morgan digging around under the desk and Karen frowning as she sifted through every sheet of paperwork. Somehow, he’d managed to keep calm and play innocent.

  Improvisation was exciting, but the boss was getting angsty. Eagle was ordering him to tone it down, and as much as Sparrow hated to admit it, the man was probably right. He needed to keep things under control. His overconfidence increased the chance they’d catch him soon.

  Capture was inevitable. Maybe it was the only way. He didn’t consider himself an evil killer. Not really. It was a job, just like being a soldier.

  Over time, he’d trained himself to numb his mind during the physical act of murder, but afterwards the shakes still hit him hard. He didn’t want to kill anyone. It wasn’t his choice. But this week, something had shifted inside him. He was taking back control.

  He turned to go inside. He had to go back to work and try to keep up his act. It wouldn’t be easy, but he would do it because he was a professional.

  Outside the Prices’ house on Barn Owl Way, Sophie put the key in the ignition and glanced at Karen. ‘You told Declan we got what we came for. Did we?’

  ‘Yes. We know why Anthony wanted to talk to me. Churchill.’

  ‘You think Churchill is corrupt. But do you think he’s connected to DCI Shaw’s murder?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ Karen said honestly. ‘I’ve been trying to work it out, but we’re looking for a serial killer. I can imagine Churchill taking bribes to cover up more minor crimes, or giving a local yob the nod when there’s a raid due, but Anthony was killed in the same way as Lloyd Nelson and Laurel Monroe. I did consider the possibility his murder was designed to look like the work of The Cleanser. A way to get rid of Anthony without raising suspicions. But we haven’t released details about the markings on the victim’s foreheads – the only people who know about that are officers involved in the case.’

  ‘And scenes of crime officers, the pathologist’s office, admin support staff . . .’

  ‘That’s true,’ Karen said. ‘I suppose there could be a leak.’

  ‘So DCI Shaw was killed by The Cleanser. Was his death completely unrelated to the fact he was digging up dirt on Churchill? Is that our working theory?’

  Karen stared out of the fogged-up windscreen as Sophie angled the hot air vent to clear it. ‘I’m not sure I have a working theory.’

  Karen’s gut feeling told her Churchill couldn’t be trusted. That didn’t necessarily mean he was corrupt, and it didn’t suggest he was involved in Anthony’s death either. It could be a personality clash. It wouldn’t be the first time. Churchill was an unlikeable character, and she wasn’t alone in that opinion. Morgan, Sophie and Rick all had their reservations about him, and even Leo and Arnie – members of his own team – admitted his shortcomings.

  The windscreen was slowly clearing. Karen sighed. She had to look at it logically – the way Anthony would have told her to approach the case.

  Look at the facts, and the links will appear.

  If only, Karen thought. She’d looked at the facts until she was blue in the face, and come up with nothing.

  ‘You don’t really think the Post-it note was from The Cleanser, do you?’ Sophie looked sceptical. ‘It’s hard to believe.’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘The idea a serial killer would risk getting caught by walking into a police station in the first place . . . I mean, it would be a huge risk.’

  ‘It would.’ Karen was well aware of how far-fetched it sounded.

  ‘And no one else saw the note?’

  ‘No,’ Karen said, ‘but before you ask, I didn’t imagine it.’

  ‘I think it’s more likely to be a joke, Sarge. Someone probably put it on your desk, then thought better of it and took it back. They’re not going to admit to it because they’d get in trouble.’

  ‘If it was a joke, it’s not very funny.’

  ‘I know, but some of the officers have a really odd sense of humour,’ Sophie said. ‘I mean Rick, for example. He finds the strangest things hilarious.’

  ‘Rick would never—’

  ‘No, you’re right. He wouldn’t,’ Sophie said hurriedly.

  She was quiet as they drove across Pelham Bridge, but when she stopped at the traffic lights, she turned to Karen with a concerned expression. ‘If it wasn’t a joke, then the killer was in the station. That’s a terrifying thought.’

  Karen pulled a pen and small notepad out of her handbag and scrawl
ed down the lower-case a in the same style as the one on the Post-it note. ‘Have you seen anyone write their a’s like this?’ Karen asked, holding the notebook up.

  Sophie glanced at it and said, ‘Sure,’ and then pulled away from the lights as they turned green.

  ‘Who?’ Karen asked.

  ‘My secondary school form tutor, Mrs Hush. She—’

  ‘No, I mean people you know now. People who work at the station.’

  ‘Oh, I don’t think so. Not that I can recall. Why?’

  ‘The a was written like that on the Post-it note I found on my desk.’

  Sophie shivered. ‘You think the note was written by The Cleanser, don’t you?’

  ‘It’s possible.’ Karen was starting to think that not only had The Cleanser got into the station, but the killer was probably one of their own. ‘Sophie, you’ve done a lot of research into serial killers. How often do they turn out to be police officers?’

  Sophie blew out a breath. ‘It happens more than you think – in America anyway. They enjoy positions of power, and often try to involve themselves in investigations. They admire other killers, often idolise them. There have been murders involving psychologists, expert witnesses, that sort of thing. So . . . I suppose it’s not beyond the realms of possibility that our serial killer could be a police officer,’ Sophie said, glancing sideways at Karen. ‘But it does seem very bizarre.’

  Karen agreed. ‘What does Dr Michaels say on the subject?’ she asked, and then suddenly stopped. ‘Oh, that talk was tonight, wasn’t it?’

  ‘Yeah, but it doesn’t matter.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ Karen said. ‘I don’t feel up to going tonight. You don’t mind, do you?’

  ‘No, of course not,’ Sophie said, shaking her head as she stopped at another red light. ‘I’m sure he’ll visit Lincoln again soon. But funny you should ask, because in his most recent book he does describe a case where a serial killer in California turned out to be an ex-police officer. It took a while to track him down.’

  ‘How did they catch him in the end?’

  ‘DNA at the scene,’ Sophie said. ‘He got careless, left a knife behind on his final murder.’