On Cold Ground (Detective Karen Hart) Page 5

  He shrugged. ‘Well, it seems to be okay now. Must have been a temporary glitch. Have you tried turning it off and on again?’

  ‘Yes!’ Karen said, exasperated. ‘That was the first thing I tried.’ She glared at the traitorous phone.

  He set down two files on her desk. ‘Bedtime reading if you get a chance. Witness statements. I’ve been through them all, but it’s always a good idea to have a second pair of eyes.’

  Karen reached for the files and thumbed through them, filling him in on what she’d discovered during the background searches. She finished up by saying, ‘So, I think talking to Brett Wharton, the ex-husband, should be our first priority tomorrow.’

  ‘All right, but come into the station first. I want to have a briefing first-thing, then you can take Sophie or Rick with you to see the ex while I update the superintendent.’

  ‘Have you spoken to her about the case?’

  Morgan nodded. ‘Yes, she was a bit concerned we might have too much on our plates at the moment with the Sam Pickett hit-and-run.’

  Karen had been off work for a few days but had heard about the case. A twelve-year-old boy had been cycling home when he was hit by a car and killed. But the driver had fled the scene.

  ‘How’s that going?’

  ‘Slowly. No witnesses. No leads. I’m hoping whoever hit the kid has a change of heart and turns themselves in.’

  ‘Did you mention the markings on Lloyd Nelson’s forehead to the superintendent?’ Karen asked.

  ‘Yes. She shared our concerns.’

  ‘But we’re still treating this like a typical murder, looking at friends, family and colleagues first?’

  ‘I think we have to,’ Morgan said. ‘It could be the killer was angry and wanted to deface the victim. It might not be a symbolic marking.’

  Karen hoped Morgan was right. A hit-and-run and a murder were quite enough for one week in the lead-up to Christmas, but the possibility this killing was ritual in nature worried her. If the real motive behind Lloyd Nelson’s murder was ritualistic, would the killer be satisfied with one victim?

  CHAPTER FIVE

  At seven a.m. the following morning, Karen was already at her desk at Nettleham headquarters. She was going over the information she’d collected on the ex-husband, Brett Wharton, when her mobile rang. She eyed it suspiciously.

  Yesterday, she’d put in a request for a new phone, but it wouldn’t be delivered until tomorrow at the earliest.

  ‘If you freeze again, you’re going in the bin,’ she muttered, and then answered the call.

  ‘DS Hart?’

  ‘Speaking,’ Karen replied warily. She’d recognised Eunice Green’s voice. Surely the woman wasn’t calling to persuade her to go to a counselling session? That would be verging on harassment.

  ‘It’s Eunice, Eunice Green.’

  ‘How can I help you, Eunice?’

  ‘Can I come and see you?’

  ‘This isn’t to do with counselling, is it?’

  ‘Counselling? Oh, no, nothing to do with that.’

  Karen checked the time. Eunice had been understandably shocked yesterday. Maybe she’d forgotten a detail that had come back to her since. ‘I’ve got a briefing this morning and a couple of appointments. I could come to you, say, mid-morning – unless you can tell me whatever it is over the phone?’

  ‘No, I . . . I have to come to the station.’ Eunice’s voice wavered.

  Karen leaned back in her chair and frowned. ‘Are you okay, Eunice? You sound distressed.’

  ‘I am.’ Karen thought she heard a muffled sob. ‘I need to make a confession.’

  ‘A confession?’

  ‘Yes, I did something terrible.’

  Karen’s grip tightened on the phone. Something terrible? ‘Is this concerning Lloyd Nelson’s murder?’ Karen tried and failed to imagine how the petite, mild-mannered woman could be involved in such a violent act. She volunteered at the cathedral and was someone who went out of their way to help others; Karen couldn’t think of a less likely suspect. But she’d learned never to rule anything out. ‘Can you come now? I could pick you up.’

  ‘Yes. No need, I’ll drive myself.’ Eunice hung up.

  Karen stared at the phone, tempted to call the woman back and get more information. There’s no way Eunice could have killed Lloyd, Karen thought. It would’ve taken strength to tighten the ligature around his neck, and Eunice was half a foot shorter and fifty pounds lighter than the victim.

  Morgan entered the open-plan office area. ‘Morning.’

  ‘Morning. I’ve just taken an extraordinary call from Eunice Green. She said she’s coming to the station to make a confession.’

  Morgan stopped walking. ‘What about?’

  ‘I don’t know – she hung up before I could get much out of her. She said she’d done something terrible and needed to make a confession. I asked if it was about Lloyd Nelson’s murder, and she said yes . . . At least, I think she did. I asked her a couple of questions to which she replied yes.’

  ‘Call her back.’

  Karen reached for the landline phone on her desk rather than her mobile. It had worked for the previous call, but she didn’t want to push her luck.

  The call rang and rang until it cut out. ‘No answer. Maybe she’s already on her way.’

  Morgan leaned on Karen’s desk. ‘I can’t see Eunice killing him alone. She would’ve needed an accomplice, someone strong, probably a man.’

  ‘I can’t see her killing anyone. I don’t think she has it in her.’

  ‘I thought you had only met her once before?’

  ‘I know but . . .’ Karen trailed off, shaking her head. ‘It might be a cliché, but she just doesn’t seem the type.’

  ‘She’s heading to the station now?’

  ‘That’s what she said.’

  ‘Then we’d better get an interview room booked.’

  Karen booked the room, then went to get a coffee. Morgan was right – she’d only spent less than two hours in Eunice’s company – but she still didn’t believe that Eunice could have played a part in Lloyd Nelson’s murder and then called for help and lied to Karen so convincingly. She would have to be a first-class actress to pull that off, and she knew from the staged meeting Mike had arranged that Eunice was no actress.

  She was walking back to her desk with a mug of coffee when Rick arrived. Dark circles under his eyes, his tanned skin looking a little paler than usual. With his black hair slicked back, he still looked young and handsome, but less vibrant than usual.

  ‘Morning, Rick. Tough night?’

  Rick’s mother suffered from dementia, and although he employed a carer, he looked after his mother overnight, and that took its toll on him.

  He yawned. ‘Morning, Sarge. I didn’t get home till gone two after going through the camera footage.’

  ‘Is your mum all right?’

  ‘Yes, she had a good night, thanks.’

  Karen told Rick about the odd call from Eunice Green.

  ‘Do you think she saw something? Was she covering for someone else, perhaps?’ he asked.

  ‘Could be. I’ve booked out interview room two. Do you want to question her with me?’

  ‘Sure. I’ll be fine once I get a cup of coffee.’

  When Eunice arrived at the station, the desk sergeant brought her up to interview room two. Karen had set up the recording equipment and put three bottles of mineral water on the table.

  Eunice entered the room nervously, clutching her hands together. She wore a long cardigan again, but today she’d opted for beige.

  ‘Good morning, Eunice. This is my colleague, DC Rick Cooper. He’ll be sitting in on the interview this morning. Can we get you something to drink? Coffee?’

  Eunice looked at the plastic bottles on the table. ‘Thank you. Water is fine.’

  They sat down, Rick and Karen on one side of the table, Eunice on the other.

  Karen started the recording, announcing the time, date and those present, before she
turned to Eunice and smiled encouragingly. ‘Go ahead, Eunice. You said you had a confession to make.’

  Eunice bowed her head. ‘Yes.’ Her voice was quiet.

  ‘Is this about Lloyd Nelson’s murder yesterday?’ Karen asked.

  Eunice gave a small nod and held a tissue to her mouth.

  ‘You’ll feel better when you tell us, Eunice,’ Rick said. ‘Take your time, tell us in your own words what happened.’

  ‘I was supposed to be working, keeping my mind on the job, staying alert. But at about three o’clock, I . . . I decided to listen to the choir music. My daughter bought me these little earbuds that can connect with my phone without a cable. The music is on my phone, and I hadn’t had a chance to go through the pieces yet. I didn’t think there was any harm in it . . .’

  ‘Then what happened?’ Rick prompted when Eunice fell silent.

  But Karen leaned forward, resting her forearms on the table, and studied Eunice. She knew this was Eunice’s confession. She’d been listening to music while she was supposed to be working.

  ‘You’re not allowed to listen to music at work?’ Karen asked.

  ‘Well, it’s never been said in so many words, but I was distracted. Enjoying myself while poor Lloyd . . .’ She held the tissue to her mouth again.

  Karen gritted her teeth. They’d delayed the briefing for this. She looked at Rick, who rolled his eyes.

  ‘Just so I’ve got this straight, you’re confessing to listening to music while being at work.’ Rick’s eyebrows lifted.

  ‘If I hadn’t been, I might have heard something, been able to help him . . .’

  ‘Okay, Eunice. Thanks for telling us.’ Karen stood. She wasn’t wasting any more time on this. They should be working on genuine leads.

  Eunice looked up, blinking at her. ‘Aren’t you going to arrest me? Charge me with something?’

  ‘Charge you for listening to music?’ Rick asked with irritation.

  ‘You made a mistake, Eunice,’ Karen said, her voice cold as Rick left the interview room. She was only just managing to keep her temper in check.

  ‘I know, but it’s my fault he’s dead. I could have stopped it.’

  ‘No, I don’t think you could,’ Karen said. Eunice’s confession was a hold-up they could have done without, but the woman was genuinely upset. ‘If you’d heard something and tried to intervene, you could have been badly hurt. Perhaps you should think of those earbuds from your daughter as a blessing?’

  Eunice dissolved into tears. ‘I didn’t get a wink of sleep last night.’

  Karen swallowed her irritation and put a hand on the woman’s arm. ‘Come on, let’s get you a cup of tea. Is there someone I can call for you? You could do with a bit of support from a friend right now.’

  She led the woman from the interview room, and they passed Sophie in the corridor.

  ‘Briefing is in five, Sarge.’

  ‘I’ll be right there.’

  They kept the briefing short, wanting to get out and interview the potential suspects as soon as possible. Eunice’s confession had caused an unfortunate delay.

  Morgan told the team he had spoken to Raj, who’d confirmed a definite cross had been carved into Lloyd Nelson’s forehead.

  Karen tensed. She’d been hoping that wasn’t the case. ‘He’s sure it was deliberate? Not caused by hitting his head?’

  Morgan looked up from his notes. ‘He considers that very unlikely.’

  ‘Does he have any idea what the killer used to carve the cross? We didn’t find anything at the scene.’

  ‘Likely a knife, small and sharp. Non-serrated. Probably something that would’ve fitted in the killer’s pocket, allowing them to flee the scene and take it with them.’

  Morgan turned to Sophie. ‘Anything with his phone records or financials back yet?’

  ‘Not officially, but I did get a copy of their joint account statement from Beverley Nelson. One thing that stood out to me was that Lloyd was a betting man. Payments are going to a variety of betting apps. Also, multiple withdrawals of cash over the last few months, two hundred pounds at a time.’

  ‘So our victim enjoyed a flutter,’ Rick said. ‘Perhaps he owed money to the wrong person.’

  ‘It’s a lead,’ Morgan said. ‘Follow that up when the records are released, Sophie.’

  Then Rick reported back on the CCTV. Unfortunately, he hadn’t been able to get a better view of the suspect in the baseball cap who’d followed Lloyd Nelson into the cathedral.

  ‘What about CCTV from private residences and businesses in the area?’ Morgan asked.

  ‘I’ll follow that up this morning,’ Rick replied.

  ‘Right, I think that’s it for now.’ Morgan checked the time. ‘The superintendent will be in shortly, expecting an update. Karen, Sophie, you’ll go to speak to Brett Wharton this morning?’

  ‘Yes, we’ll head there now,’ Karen said, as Sophie directed a smug smile at Rick, who looked fed up. Karen couldn’t blame him. A Sunday morning spent staring at security footage was nobody’s idea of fun.

  Superintendent Michelle Murray liked to be involved in more serious cases. Even if that meant coming in to the station on a Sunday. She could and did delegate, but considered it her duty to give her teams the support they needed. A straightforward domestic murder wouldn’t warrant her involvement at this stage, but Karen suspected the fact the victim had been marked had set off alarm bells.

  Karen had to admit she was unnerved. The marking of flesh suggested savagery. All murder was abhorrent, but there was something especially sinister about a killer who carved symbols into the flesh of their victim.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Brett Wharton lived in a small village just outside Gainsborough called Morton. His house was in a row of Georgian terraces, right on the bank of the River Trent.

  ‘Bet he’s got a nice view,’ Sophie said as they got out of the car.

  Karen agreed. The terraces had been painted recently and looked smart and well kept. The small, frost-covered front gardens had no room for parking, so the street was full of vehicles parked up on the kerbs. Karen had managed to squeeze her own car in between a Volvo and a Hyundai.

  She searched for the doorbell, ignoring the brass lion-head knocker in the middle of the glossy black door. That was just there for show, wasn’t it?

  ‘Can you see the bell?’ Karen took a step back to take a full-length look at the door.

  ‘I don’t think there is one.’

  Karen gave up the search for the doorbell and knocked.

  The door was opened by a beautiful young woman with long red hair. She pressed her palms together. ‘Welcome.’

  Sophie blinked and looked to Karen.

  ‘We’d like to speak to Mr Brett Wharton,’ Karen said, holding up her ID.

  The woman’s hands fell to her sides. ‘Oh, you’d better come in.’

  She closed the door behind them, and they followed her along a narrow hallway to the back of the house. The woman was barefoot, her hair was so long it reached her waist, and she wore a white tunic and three-quarter-length white trousers. Not really typical clothes for a cold December day.

  They entered a large light-filled kitchen at the back of the house. Wind chimes were hung by the window. Chunks of crystal lined the windowsill, and the sound of panpipe music filled the room.

  ‘Brett, the police are here.’

  A slim man with dark curly hair sat crosslegged on a pale blue mat with his eyes closed, humming.

  ‘Brett!’ she repeated.

  He blinked, and looked startled to see the three of them standing in front of him.

  ‘Sorry, I wasn’t expecting visitors.’ He was wearing the same odd white outfit as the woman. He was unshaven and hadn’t had a haircut for a while.

  ‘Brett Wharton?’ Karen held out her hand and waited for the man to get to his feet. ‘I’m DS Karen Hart, and this is my colleague, DC Sophie Jones. We’d like to ask you a few questions.’

  ‘I see. Please, sit
down.’ He waved them over to the kitchen table, in front of the patio doors.

  Karen sat down and saw, as Sophie had predicted, that they did have a beautiful view of the River Trent. The grass along the riverbank was still covered with patchy frost, sparkling in the weak December sun.

  ‘Should I make coffee? Tea?’ the woman asked, looking uncertain.

  ‘That would be lovely, Jacqui,’ Brett said.

  ‘Is Jacqui your partner?’ Sophie asked.

  ‘Yes, Jacqui Peck. Look, I don’t want to be rude, but can I ask why you’re here?’

  ‘Of course,’ Karen said. ‘We’re here because Lloyd Nelson was murdered yesterday.’

  ‘Lloyd?’ Brett paled and raised his hands to cover his face.

  ‘Who’s that?’ Jacqui asked.

  After a pause, Brett collected himself. ‘Bev’s new bloke. They were married this year.’

  ‘Your ex-wife?’

  Brett nodded.

  ‘Oh. That’s awful.’ Jacqui grimaced. ‘I’ll make the drinks. What can I get you?’ She looked at Sophie and Karen questioningly.

  They both asked for coffee, but Karen didn’t take her eyes from Brett. Watching his reactions could provide a wealth of information.

  ‘You didn’t hear about his murder yesterday, Mr Wharton?’ Karen asked.

  ‘No, I didn’t. Bev should have told me, since I’m the kids’ father, but that’s probably too much to ask.’

  Definite bitterness there, Karen thought. ‘I imagine the news gave her quite a shock. She’s got a lot to deal with at the moment.’

  He raised his head, eyes sharp. ‘Yes, of course. I wasn’t thinking. She’s probably beside herself. I’m sure she would’ve got in touch eventually.’

  Jacqui called from the kitchen, ‘She never bothers to tell you what’s going on in the kids’ lives. I don’t know why this would be any different.’

  Brett flushed and shot a look at Jacqui. He was willing her to shut up.

  ‘You don’t get on with your ex-wife, Mr Wharton?’ Karen asked.

  ‘I wouldn’t say that. We have our moments. But we’re no different from any other divorced couple. I don’t know many people who have split and still get on.’

  ‘What did you think of Lloyd?’