An Unfamiliar Murder (5 page)

She watched him in silence for a moment before asking, “What about time
of death?”

“Again, as I thought. Death occurred before five o’clock, probably in the
two hours preceding.” She nodded as Townsend opened the door and leant in. He
obviously had no intention of returning, having completely removed his gowns.

 
“Ma’am. Can I have a word?”

“Certainly, Inspector,” she replied and turned to Charles. “Excuse me for
a moment, would you?” Charles nodded without looking up and she went out of the
lab to join Townsend in the room next door.

“Yes?”

“I’ve just spoken with DS Carter at the station. They’ve checked with
Anna’s work colleagues who confirmed that she left at four thirty yesterday.
They have also retrieved CCTV footage from
Tescos
which shows her entering the store at four fifty and, more importantly, leaving
at five thirty five.”

“What about the old school friend?”

“Still working on that one.”

Helen sighed. “Dr. Burlington’s just confirmed that the murder weapon had
a serrated edge, so it couldn’t possibly have been a kitchen carving knife. She
looked at her watch. It was twelve o’clock. “I don’t think we have any choice but
to release Miss Cottrell on bail. As it stands at the moment we don’t have any
evidence to keep her.” She looked up at Townsend. “Would you make the
arrangements for me while I finish up in here?” He nodded, visibly relieved.

As Helen walked back into the pathology lab moments later, Charles was
concentrating on making a ‘y’ shaped incision with a scalpel from shoulder to
shoulder and down to the pubic bone.

“Charles?” she asked, “Is there anything else you can tell me?”

“Are you off?” He looked up at her as she nodded. “I’m just about to do
the internals, but I can send you all that information in my report. There is
one more thing I would like you to see though.” He walked around to the other
side of the body, pointing to the top of the right arm. “Look here,” he said.
She moved her eyes across a large area where the skin seemed to have been
removed. “This is most interesting,” added Charles, gazing at the bare tissue
which glared back at him.

“Has the skin been cut away?” Helen asked, puzzled.

“Yes, it would appear a rough area of around four inches square has been
purposely removed.” Charles re-examined the area in question, a sharp ‘v’
appearing in the middle of his forehead. “Most strange. Looking at the damage
to the tissue below, I wonder if it may have housed a tattoo? I didn’t notice
it last night as it was covered by clothing. Presumably our attacker removed it
and then re-covered the area. If so, it seems they were at pains to keep it
under wraps.”

Helen stepped back and looked at him, perplexed. “You’re saying the
assailant removed his tattoo?”

“You’ll need to check of course, but that would be my guess.”

 

*
* *

 

Worthington, once a village in its own right before
extended housing had swallowed it up into Hampton,
was situated on the very edge of the city boundaries and surrounded by open,
rolling countryside. Anna looked out of the window of the patrol car as they
drove towards her parent’s suburban home, transfixed by the world carrying on
around her as if nothing had happened.

The WPC had given up making conversation and they sat in silence as she
turned into

Broom Hill Lane
,
a winding, country lane that stretched through the heart of Worthington. They passed the group of horse
chestnut trees that Anna and her friends had called ‘
conker
heaven’ as children, drove over the bridge above the river where she had waded
through in her wellingtons, searching for treasure. It was an idyllic place for
a child to grow up. Everybody had known everyone.

Before they reached the heart of the old village, they turned off into
Worley Close and the patrol car pulled up outside number 12, a white seventies
built semi-detached. “Shall I come in with you?” asked the WPC, noticing the
look of anguish on Anna’s face.

“No
 
. . . Thank you. They are in.
The car is there.” It wasn’t facing her parents that bothered Anna, it was all
the twitching curtains, eyes’ peering through slatted blinds – or was she being
paranoid? She jumped out of the car and headed around the back of the house,
past her father’s Volvo on the drive and into the back garden. She stood
underneath the old oak tree for a moment, looking at the long garden where she
used to play. Water droplets bounced off her shoulders as the bare branches
swayed in the light wind.

 
Anna spotted her father, half way
down the garden in the greenhouse and walked towards him. He had his back to
her. “Hi Dad,” she said, leaving the door open behind her. His body jolted, as
if she had startled him, and he turned around to face her, instantly opening
his arms and encasing her as if she had been a child of six or seven. They
stood in silence, arm in arm before he stepped back and looked at her.

“Are you OK, my dear?” he asked.

“Yes, I think so,” she replied wearily. “Tired and hungry, that’s all.”

“Sounds like you’ve had quite an ordeal.” Edward Cottrell scratched the
remaining wispy hairs on his balding head awkwardly, his lips pressed together.

“I’ll survive. Think I’ll just go in and try to catch some sleep.” He
nodded. This is what she loved about her father – he asked few questions. Most
girls confided in their mothers, woman to woman, but for Anna it had always
been her father she had turned to. And he instinctively knew that she would
tell him all about her living nightmare when she was ready, in her own time. It
had always been this way and she loved him dearly for it. “Where’s Mum?” she
asked apprehensively.

“She was in the kitchen when I came out, about two hours ago.” She could
see a sympathetic smile playing on his lips. The garden was her father’s solace
and he spent many an hour out here, nurturing, weeding, watering.

“Guess I’ll see you later then.” Edward nodded as his daughter shut the
door of the greenhouse behind her and headed back up the garden, through the
conservatory at the back of the house and into the kitchen. Anna breathed a
sigh of relief when it was empty. As she indulged the exhalation, her stomach
kicked out, reminding her that she needed food. She reached for the breakfast
cupboard and pulled out a box of cereal, standing beside the counter absentmindedly
as she tipped it and poured until her mouth was full.

She felt a warm feeling around her feet and looked down to see Cookie,
wrapping himself around her ankles. He was a handsome cat, his fluffy fur an
array of different shades of tabby grays, warm and comforting. “Hi Cooks,” she
said as she bent down, stroked his head and rubbed underneath his chin. He
looked up into her eyes and she offered him a piece of breakfast cereal between
her thumb and forefinger which he licked clean.

Cats had always interested Anna. They were completely consumed in their
own world, with their own needs. Not like a dog that, once trained, did as they
were told and aimed to please. Instead a cat’s behavior was almost like that of
a psychopath. They didn’t live by any morals, didn’t show empathy or remorse.
Her mind wandered.
A psychopath – like a
murderer?
She shivered.

“There are plenty of bowls in the cupboard.” The crisp disapproval in
Kathleen Cottrell’s voice disturbed her thought process and she jumped, cereal
tumbling out of the box as she turned to face her.

“Hi Mum.” She looked over at her mother’s expressionless face. “Um . . .
Sorry. Couldn’t wait.”

“Do you want some coffee?” Without waiting for a reply, Kathleen Cottrell
turned her back on her daughter and flicked the switch on the kettle.

“Tea, thank you.” They stood in silence for a moment as Kathleen busied
herself with cups, spoons, tea, sugar. As the vapor rose from the kettle, she
made the drinks, stirring them excessively and turned back to face her daughter.

“Are you OK?” she asked, sipping her hot drink gingerly.

“Just tired,” Anna answered, averting her glaze.

“Do you want to tell me what happened?” she asked directly.

“Not right now. I just want to sleep.” She looked up in time to see her
mother’s brow furrow.

“All this commotion and you don’t feel the need to explain yourself?” Her
tone was getting louder.

“I’m sorry about the party.”

“So am I,” Kathleen said tightly.

Anna looked out of the window, through the conservatory, into the garden,
willing her father to come in and lighten the atmosphere.

“Well. Aren’t you going to explain yourself?”

“What is there to say?” Anna clenched her teeth, feeling her face flush.

“Well it seems to me plenty, if the last 24 hours are anything to go by?”

“Look, I’m sure Will’s already filled you in,” she replied, feeling far
too old for a lecture.

Her mother just stared at her, forcing her into defeat. “OK. I came home
from work on Friday to find a man murdered in my flat, was arrested, questioned
by police and spent last night in a cell. They released me this lunchtime, when
they finally realized that I’m not a mad, knife wielding murderer. OK?” Anna
felt the tone of her own voice rising, her head aching. At this moment her
father walked in.

“No, it’s not OK. This isn’t the kind of thing that happens to normal
people like us.” Her mother’s voice was splitting in panic, bits of words
crackling haphazardly out of her mouth.

 
“Kath, dear, please. Leave her
alone,” Edward Cottrell interjected gently.

She completely ignored his comments, failing even to acknowledge his
presence in the room. “There must be an explanation. I mean . . . Do you even
know who this dead person is?” Her pitch was getting higher now, her breathing
excessively rapid, as she approached hyperventilation.

“No idea,” Anna replied, raising her hand and pressing it to her forehead
to sooth the ache which felt like a volcano preparing to erupt. “The police
said he was called Jim
McCafferty
.” Kathleen
Cottrell’s face instantly froze, as if she had been plunged into icy cold
water, her eyes almost popping out of her head. She was struggling for breath.
Anna had witnessed many of her mother’s tantrums over the years, but this was
the first time she had ever seen her look visibly petrified.

“Mum, what is it?” She looked over at her father whose face was as white
as stone. “Dad? Do you know this man?”

Her father coughed, a gesture that appeared to help him regain composure.
He shook himself tall. “Your mother’s having a bad day, darling. You go up and
sleep and we’ll talk later.”

“You do know him, don’t you?” she asked suspiciously.

“I think he might be an acquaintance from many years ago. That’s all,”
her father said.

“What do you mean ‘an acquaintance’?”

 
“Look, why don’t you go and get
some sleep?”

“I want to know,” she insisted. “I think I have a right to know since he
was killed in my flat.”

Her father inhaled slowly through his nose and sighed loudly. “Look, it’s
been a difficult weekend. We’re all tired. Your mother has made up your old
room for you. We can talk later.” He enunciated every syllable of the last
line. Anna looked from her father to her mother who had put her head down now,
lost in thought. It was clear that she was not going to get any further
explanation right now. Her head ached and her eyes felt heavy.

“OK,” she shrugged, weariness blocking the frustration that was seeping
through her pores. Defeated and exhausted, she headed upstairs.

Her old bedroom
was at the end of the corridor at the back of the house and her parents hadn’t
changed the decor since she had lived at home. The lilac walls and white lacy
curtains had been her mum’s choice but, despite holding years of embarrassment
when she had taken friends up there to entertain as a teenager, it now looked
very welcoming. She allowed her body to fall into the soft, comfortable bed and
wrapped the duvet around her as sleep enveloped her weary limbs.

 
 
 
 

Chapter Five

 

The first
thing that struck Anna when she awoke was the smell. Her nose had grown accustomed
to the smell of thick bleach in the cell, so much so that she could almost
taste it. Her old bedroom was full of the fake, floral aroma of an air
freshener.

 
She pulled herself out of bed,
still dressed in the clothes she had worn the previous night and stretched.
They felt itchy and uncomfortable. The jogging top had turned sideways and, as
she lifted it, she could see there was a mark on her side where the zip had
rubbed. She reached over, grabbed the robe off the back of the door and peeled
off the top and trousers, feeling wonderfully liberated as she threw the robe
around her shoulders. Her hair had fallen out and was hanging in a messy heap
around her face and she pushed it back, tying it loosely in a knot at the nape
of her neck. The digits on the alarm beside her bed read ten o’clock. She had
completely slept through from the previous afternoon.

Anna’s stomach growled, reminding her that it had been a couple of days
since she had eaten a proper meal, and at the same time she was hit by an
overwhelming thirst. Making her way out of the room and across the landing, she
almost ran down the curved staircase towards the kitchen. It felt a bit like
her old student days when a group of them would come home after a big night out
with the ‘munchies’, picking spots of mould out of old bread and jostling for
the toaster. The memory made her smile.

She busied herself with preparing her breakfast with the haste of someone
late for work, drinking fresh orange juice from the carton to quench her
thirst. There was no mould on this bread. By the time she started on the first
slice of toast, water bubbled and steam rose into the air from the kettle. Piling
more buttered toast onto her plate and making a huge mug of tea she crossed the
carpeted flooring and planted herself on the majestic, oversized sofa in the
lounge.

Anna saw that her father’s car was missing from the drive. The silence in
the house felt heavenly. When her stomach was full she stretched out on the
sofa. Leaning back, she glanced absently around her parents’ lounge.

 
It looked as though it had been
prepared for a magazine shoot. Copies of ‘Homes and Gardens’, ‘Country Living’
and ‘Woman’, were fanned out in the middle of a polished coffee table;
anniversary cards stood neatly, side by side, along the window sill; two china
cats sat demurely on the mantel over the ornate fireplace; beige cushions were
strategically placed in diamond shapes on the backs of both of the large, dark
brown sofas. She looked at the bookcase where books were arranged in height
order, containing the kind of bound book sets that were advertised in Sunday
supplements, and frowned. It looked perfect. Too perfect.

 
Anna thought of her own little
flat, her bookcase where the books were scattered, some stood vertical, others
lay on their sides, depending on what she was reading at that particular time.
She also kept a pile of her favorite books beside her bed, so that she could
dip in and out of them, to cheer herself up at the end of a bad day. There were
gothic throws over her sofa and a couple of squidgy cushions for extra comfort.
It was lived in, homely. She felt a pang of longing in her chest, closely
followed by a sudden rush of resentment at the situation imposed upon her.
Staying here was going to be a nightmare . . .

The sound of the phone ringing broke her thoughts, making her jump. She
lent over and grabbed it quickly, “Hello?”

“Hi Anna. Is that you?”

“Ross!” Anna felt her insides fill with warmth. Anna and Ross had met
when she had joined Carrington
Grange Community
College, two years previous.

 
“I’ve been worried. I keep ringing your
mobile, but it’s permanently switched off.”

She smiled to herself, the sound of his voice felt like a baby’s comfort
blanket. “The police have kept it. You heard what happened?”

 
“Yeah. Your dad phoned me on
Friday night when the party was cancelled. Then I got a visit from some
detectives on Saturday morning. Is it true what they’re saying?”

“Depends what
they’re
saying,”
she replied cagily.

“That you found a body in your flat, a man who had been stabbed to death?”

“Yes, that bit’s right.” Her body recoiled.

“Christ Anna. You must have gone through hell?”

“Kind of.”

 
“Why didn’t you ring me?”

“I was indisposed.”

“Not you, in a cell? I mean . . .” He paused for a moment. The line
crackled as he continued, his voice full of astonishment. “How did you cope?”
Ross had often teased Anna about her habit of leaving doors open, humorously
accepting it as a personal quirk. But that was Ross. He found the fun in everything.

 
“Not very well. Anyway, they
released me yesterday once they’d established that I’m not some cold blooded
killer. But they kept all my stuff. I’m staying with my folks for a few days
until I can go back to the flat.”

“Do you want to go back?” There was a note of concern in his voice.

“At the moment, I have no idea. All I know is that I don’t want to stay
here for long.” She looked around the room at the pristine decor and cringed.

“Why don’t you move in with me? You already have a key.” Anna smiled.
Ross’ place was organized chaos. He usually had two or three bicycles in the
lounge, one of which was in pieces whilst he was learning how to mend the
brakes or change a tire. There was always a mound of old washing up in the sink
and his bedroom closet was empty, his clothes piled in the laundry basket; he
either ironed them when he needed them (which was normally the case for work)
or wore them until the creases fell out.

“Thanks, I’ll be OK. I’m sure it’s only for a few days.”

“How are the parents?” he asked cautiously.

“Bearable, at the moment. Well actually . . .” She broke off and strained
her ears. Was that a car engine she could hear?

“What?”

“It’s all a bit strange really,” she continued, her voice almost a
whisper, “I don’t think they quite know how to cope.”

“Kathleen all over. She’s probably still smarting over having to cancel
the party. All those wasted
vol
-au-vents . . .”

“No, I’m serious Ross. This is different. I’ve never seen them like this.
It’s as if they are not telling me something.”

“Like what?” The silence felt heavy. “You’re just being paranoid. You are
right though. Things will be different. They’re bound to be. You’ve all been
through a terrible ordeal. I think they call it shock. What you need is a
massage . . .”

She interrupted him urgently, “But they
knew
him.” She could hear a key being inserted into the lock.

“What?”

“The dead man,” she lowered her voice, “they knew his name, said he was
an old acquaintance.” There was a creak as the front door opened and she could
hear footsteps brushing against the soft, carpeted hallway.

“What!” he said incredulous, “What do you mean knew him?”

 
“Morning!” she shouted, as her
father entered the room. He looked over, momentarily startled at the loudness
in her voice then, seeing she was on the phone, nodded and walked straight
through into the kitchen.

“I guess you can’t talk now?” Ross asked finally.

“Not really.”

“OK . . .” A silence followed. He was dumbfounded. “Look, can I get you
anything?” The concern had crept back into his voice.

“No. Err . . . Yes, actually there is a favor you could do for me?”

“What?”

“Get me a cheap mobile phone would you? At least we can keep in touch
until I get my own one back?”

“Sure. I’ll see what I can do. Are you still coming today?” His voice was
awkward. Anna felt a twinge in her heart. She had completely forgotten that it
was Ross’ mother’s birthday. They had been invited to his parent’s house for a
family tea.

“Oh, Ross, I really don’t think that is a good idea,” she replied
gingerly. “I mean everyone’s bound to ask questions and I don’t want to take
the limelight off your mum’s birthday.”
And
I don’t want to have to face all those questions
, she thought to herself. “It
is your mum’s day after all.”

“OK. I understand.” If he was disappointed, it didn’t show in his voice.

“Give her my love won’t you? I’ll send her some flowers next week.”

“Sure.” This was one of the things Anna loved about Ross. He was so
undemanding.

“Anything else?”

“Oh, yeah. A lift to work would be great tomorrow. The police kept my
bike.”

“You are going to work tomorrow then?” He seemed surprised.

“Yeah. I think I just need to get everything back to normal as soon as
possible. You know, put this weekend behind me.” She sounded as though she was
trying to convince herself.

“No worries. I’ll pick you up around eight thirty. Are you sure you’re
OK?”

“I’m fine, really.”

“Alright. And I’ll try and drop you a phone over later today, after I’ve
seen my mum.”

“That’d be great. It’ll be really good to see you.”

“You too.”

By the time she replaced the receiver and walked into the kitchen her
father had disappeared into the garden to tend his beloved green friends, no
doubt.

She thought about Ross’ offer: ‘
Move
in with me’.
It wasn’t the first time he’d mentioned it. In many ways it
was tempting. She’d never have cold feet at night, he’d be able to massage the
knots out of her shoulders whenever she needed him to, she could slouch on the
sofa without worrying about creasing the cushions.

But, as a couple, were they ready for more commitment? There was no doubt
in her mind that she loved him. Not the kind of love you feel for a short term
boyfriend, a deeper, more special feeling. They had been together two years and
did already practically live in each other’s houses. Maybe they were?
No
. . . It wouldn’t be right. Even if
they were ready to take the next step, she didn’t want to be forced into it.
And she loved her flat. Why shouldn’t he move in with her, when the time was
right?

Anna lifted her arms above her head, indulging in the feeling of her
muscles stretching. She ran her hands over her hair. It felt greasy and limp.
Realizing that she hadn’t showered since Friday morning she grimaced and made
her way back upstairs to run a hot bath, thanking her lucky stars for her
parent’s
combi
boiler. Back at the flat she had to
wait an hour for the immersion to heat a tank of water before she could even
contemplate a soak.

After washing her hair and cleansing her body she closed her eyes and lay
back, allowing the deliciously hot water to sooth her weary limbs. She lay
there for a long time. For the first time in days she was slowly starting to
relax and feel like her old self, her mind momentarily discarding the events of
the weekend like a bad dream. She was all alone, with only the steamy bath
water and her thoughts for company.

She thought about her parents. Anna knew that Kathleen’s own parents had
died when she was five years old, leaving her to be raised by Aunt Kate. She
often wondered how it must feel to lose your parents at such a young age. Her
mother had always been very attentive, bordering on controlling. But, in spite
of Kathleen’s bouts of domineering, sometimes irascible, behavior, Anna always
firmly believed that she genuinely wanted the best for her. Like her choice of
career: Anna had wanted to be an artist and do a degree in ceramics, but she
yielded to her parents’ wish for her to read economics and pursue a career as a
secondary school teacher. Hadn’t a stable career given
them
a good lifestyle?

But going away to university had been a kind of turning point, the new
found freedom making her more independent. Although she returned to a teaching
job in Hampton
(which her mother had seen advertised in The Telegraph) she had refused to move
back in with them, instead renting the flat in

Flax Street
. She visited her parents
regularly, but could never imagine what it would be like to live with them
again. Until now . . .

Something was nagging away at her. The looks on both her mother and
father’s faces yesterday when she mentioned Jim
McCafferty
were as clear as the light of day. They knew something about him, something
that had chilled her mother to the bone, something that they had been unwilling
to discuss. What were they keeping from her? She wasn’t a little girl anymore,
to be protected from the harsh realities of the world. ‘We’ll talk about it
later.’ That was a laugh. The
Cottrells
never
talked
about anything. And where were
they this morning? Was she being paranoid or were they avoiding her? What she
really needed now were some answers.

The water had cooled and she reached over and ran the hot tap until the heat
burnt her toes. As she lay back, she reflected on the episode on Friday
evening. She hadn’t really allowed herself to wonder much about what had
happened in her flat on Friday afternoon. In fact, she’d almost concluded that
it was a burglary gone wrong. It made sense really. A few other houses in

Flax Street
had
been broken into only a month or two before. But now she wasn’t so sure. Who
was Jim
McCafferty
? Why her flat? These questions
were starting to feel like an irritating itch that she couldn’t scratch.

With these thoughts still in her mind she reached forward, pulled out the
plug, even though the water was still burning her bare skin, and jumped out of
the bath. As she padded through to her bedroom, the thick, wool carpet
cushioning her damp feet, she could hear a strange, whimpering noise. She stood
still for a moment and listened. All she could hear was the sound of her own
breathing. Then it came again.