Don't Turn Around (20 page)

P
S Knight
: Thank you Sam, I know this isn’t easy for you. Can you remember what the woman looked like in the picture? Again, any indicator of time, location, anything like that?

Sam Beswick: She was big, well, fat really. She had short curly hair. Frank was good at drawing. He puts a lot of detail into facial expressions. She was wearing some kind of dress. I remember him joking that she didn’t give him a tip. Yeah, that’s it, it was around Christmas, when he did some volunteering for the Salvation Army. What a joke. Can I have a break now? I need a whizz.

PS Knight: If I get you a pencil and paper do you think you could draw what you saw?

Sam Beswick: I could try.

PS Knight: In that case, I’m going to stop the interview to get you some drawing materials. Would you object to me bringing in another officer when I continue the interview?

Sam Beswick: I don’t want anyone else.

PS Knight: Sam, it’s up to you if you speak with them or not, but as you say, you want Frank to be brought to justice for his alleged crimes, and you want to stop other people from potentially being murdered. I’m happy to come in alone with some drawing materials, but bear in mind that this is what we call a ‘first account’ interview. We’re making background enquiries as we speak about what you’ve told us, but we will need to conduct a further interview in greater detail. Is there anything further you want to add before I switch off the tapes?

Sam Beswick: Can I go to the toilet now?

PS Knight: The time is 14.10 hours, first interview concluded.

T
he tape revealed
nothing more as it squeaked to the end, and Jennifer ejected it from the machine. It was difficult to associate the authoritative voice on tape with the one who had cared for her as a child. Maybe it was easier that way. Sergeant Knight was, by the sounds of it, a very good detective. She looked after her interviewee without bowing to them, and although the murder investigation team would have grilled Sam in greater detail, Elizabeth had a good way of extracting the important points. Sam was not what she had expected at all. His emotions were all over the place, and there was no doubt Frank had groomed the young loner for his own use. Jennifer wished she could jump back in time and speak to her mother about the case. She tried to imagine what Elizabeth would be doing if she was still alive. Her mouth rose in a half smile. She would probably be running the station by now, ignoring the politics and getting to ground level, to the people that really counted. From what she had heard, nobody could doubt Elizabeth’s loyalty to the people of Haven. Jennifer knew it was time to do her bit too. But for this battle she had to gather all her strength, in both her police training and the gift of intuition she had neglected for so long. Although she tried to hide it, the extra sense she had carried since childhood kept coming back, and perhaps that was the way it was meant to be. Now was the time to gather every ounce of strength she could. She would wear it like armour to defend herself from a killer who was more dead than alive.

J
ennifer tapped
her steering wheel as the car in front of her came to a halt. The brake lights of the Nissan Micra had been flashing on and off for the last ten minutes as the traffic in front of her slowed. She was going to be late again. She was not as concerned about her miserable punctuality record as she was about the wasted time sitting in her car. She needed to be in her office, making enquiries into Shelly’s whereabouts. Jennifer slipped her phone from her jacket pocket, her finger hovering over the text button. Her sister was already getting suspicious about the amount of random texts asking about Josh. Tutting under her breath, she threw her phone on the seat and rested her elbow on the car window ledge. Time was running out. If she didn’t come up with something soon … She flinched as a car horn blared from behind, and scowled in her rear view mirror in reciprocation. Just what was the hold up? She craned her neck over the steering wheel to see the blue flashing light in the distance. It was the same car that had sped past her earlier, and the outcome did not look good. This is all I need – an RTC first thing in the morning, she thought, as she placed a police business card on her dashboard and parked on the grass verge. Walking towards the bridge, she watched as officers stood, heads together in discussion, while another unrolled scene tape. A police car parked diagonally blocked entry to the bridge. Jennifer walked past the rows of cars, feeling the frustration of her fellow drivers on their way to work.

A skinny young police officer walked towards her, waving his hands to prevent entry. ‘We’re putting a scene guard on here, you can’t come any further.’

Jennifer slid her warrant card from her back trouser pocket and introduced herself.

The officer dropped his hands. ‘Oh sorry, didn’t realise you were police.’

‘That’s OK, I’m just on my way in, what’s the problem?’ Jennifer asked, noticing that her earlier guess of a road traffic collision was misjudged.

The officer pointed down to the grassy path leading under the bridge. ‘Joggers found a body at the edge of the water this morning. Backup’s on its way, but we’ve had to put up a road diversion in the meantime. Your lot are due here any minute.’ His radio beeped as he received a point to point direct call, and he nodded an apology as he turned to answer it.

Jennifer rubbed her arms as visions of Shelly came to the forefront of her mind. A heavy night’s sleep had left her feeling disjointed, and she had woken to hear Shelly’s name being whispered in her ear. Two more cars arrived on the scene, along with the marine unit, and diversion signs were displayed to offer drivers alternative routes. Jennifer’s high heels sank into the grass verge as she strode towards the uniformed sergeant. His fluorescent coat looked the worse for wear as it strained over his portly stomach. ‘Hello Sarge, has the body has been identified yet?’

‘Jennifer, have they turned you out for this?’ His surprise was not lost on her.

Jennifer held his gaze. ‘No. I was on my way to work when I got held up in the traffic.’

‘We don’t know who she is. Middle-aged woman, looks a bit ravaged. Nobody’s been reported missing yet.’

Jennifer nodded. ‘I’m wondering if it’s one of our local Toms, Shelly Easton. The last time I saw her she wasn’t in a great state of mind. Her boyfriend hung himself recently and I’m wondering if she’s topped herself too.’

The sergeant sighed. ‘We’ve closed down the scene until the duty DI gets here.’ His eyes darted under the bridge as he frowned. ‘I suppose it wouldn’t do any harm for you to have a quick look to see if you could identify her, move things along before CSI get here. Check in with the officer holding the scene log over there.’

Jennifer reported her presence to the officer and placed the white overshoes over her heels to prevent forensic contamination. The traffic began to clear as cars were diverted, and police tape now secured both paths of entry underneath the bridge, where the body was still in situ. The path leading down to the scene was usually wet and muddy, and Jennifer was grateful for the hard night of frost that assisted her descent. She scanned every inch of the ground for visual clues as she tried to keep her balance. The familiar feeling of dread overcame her as she approached the edge of the river, and the flash of orange clothing confirmed what she already knew. A lone officer stood a few feet away to prevent onlookers cutting through the tape. She vaguely recognised him as a dog handler by the nickname of Mutley, and guessed he had been in the area when the call came in. He nodded in recognition, his hands tucked under his stab vest as he jigged impatiently in the frosty air. ‘Morning. Have they said when I can be released yet? I’m freezing my nuts off here.’ Pulling out a ragged tissue, he loudly blew his nose to drive home the point.

‘
T
he crime scene
investigators are on their way. I’ve only come down to identify her,’ Jennifer said, her voice sounding detached as she approached the body.

‘Fill your boots. The officers on scene were real bright sparks. They dragged her from the reeds onto the bank, then turned her over to make sure she was dead. As if they couldn’t tell by the smell, the twats.’

Shelly Easton lay splayed on the banks of the river, her hair clinging damply to her bloated face. Her open eyes were frozen in horror as her expression relayed the final tortured moments of her life. Jennifer covered her mouth and nose as the smell overcame her, making her stomach churn. The decomposition that had had a head start would no doubt baffle the crime scene investigators when the autopsy was underway. She backed away from the body as she tried to regain her composure. ‘Who’s the duty DI?’ she asked, dry washing her hands.

Mutley pulled a strip of chewing gum from a silver wrapper and bent it in half before popping it into his mouth. ‘Old frosty bollocks. I wish he’d bloody well hurry up.’ Jennifer took him to mean DI Anderson, so called for his cheerless disposition.

‘I’ll tell them you’re asking to be released. I’m sure it won’t be much longer.’

She turned to climb up the bank, giving one last glance at Shelly’s bloated body. Her premonition had been right, but relying on premonitions was like groping in the dark. By the time you tripped over what you wanted, the damage was already done. Her stomach churned as another shot of fear found its way into her heart. The killer had racked up four dead bodies for no other reason than that they matched Frank Foster’s counterparts. But with the copycat killings complete, where did it leave her? There was no doubt in her mind it was personal; but inviting Joshua into their cat and mouse game was a nightmarish twist. It wasn’t as if she could confide in anyone. Being in the police left her as vulnerable as she was useful. If she knew too much about the deaths she would get hauled in for questioning. People would start looking at her funny, as her ‘hunches’ attracted suspicion. By the time she got to the roadside she had made up her mind. She was no sitting duck. If the killer wanted her, she would face him head on.

D
I Anderson stood
at the roadside in his navy pinstripe suit, watching her ascend the bank. A tall dour man, his face wore a permanent expression of distaste, and he spoke as if he had just stepped on something nasty. Jennifer pulled off the plastic overshoes, now punctured with two muddy heel marks. Folding them over, she briefed him on the identity of the body.

He looked down the bridge of his long bony nose and clasped his hands behind his back. He was not known for his tactile nature. ‘Thank you, DC Knight. The crime scene investigators are setting up camp. A witness has come forward to say they saw a woman matching her description sitting on the bridge, staring into the water last night. Why they couldn’t have called it in as a concern for welfare at the time, I don’t know.’

‘Well sir, the last time I saw Shelly she was very ill, both mentally and physically. I called an ambulance to her flat, but she had gone AWOL by the time they arrived. I think SOCO, I mean CSI, should be informed that she appeared to be self-harming, also.’

DI Anderson sniffed. ‘Yes, well, it’ll all come out in the postmortem, I’m sure. Your name is on the scene log if they need to get in touch. Write up a statement covering the identification the body. Her next of kin will be notified of course.’

‘Yes sir, and I’ll let social services know when I get to the nick, her children were in care.’

J
ennifer expected
a buzz of excitement in the station when she got to work, but the atmosphere was flat. The officers in charge of Shelly’s death did not spend too much time at the scene before bagging up the body and sending it to the morgue. The night frost would have helped preserve any evidence that the water had not washed away. Suicide seemed the overall consensus, and given Shelly’s chaotic lifestyle and drug habit, it was not a difficult conclusion to reach. It was not a conclusion Jennifer agreed with, and as she sat at her desk, she put together all the reasons why she should approach DI Allison again with her theory. Frank Foster may have murdered more people. The interview tape mentioned another possible victim, the one Frank had been planning to kill before he was apprehended. The possibility of another victim was not mentioned in the media at the time, but it was another strong feeling that urged Jennifer to investigate further. Frank’s accomplice, Sam Beswick, had been clear in interview. Frank had intended to kill again. But without the case files she would not be able to find out who. She needed the DI’s approval before she could go rooting around in old investigations, particularly those involving her mother.

‘Sorry I’m late, I got caught up with the sudden death,’ she said, taking a seat behind her desk.

Steph tapped her police radio, neatly clipped to the belt buckle on her hip. ‘That’s OK, I heard the DI’s update, apparently you saved them a bit of time by identifying the body.’

Jennifer paused, her fears and suspicions on the tip of her tongue. She painted a concerned smile across her face. ‘Yes, I thought it might be her. Any jobs in today?’

‘No, it’s all Q here so far. Even custody is empty. Will’s doing some enquiries around CCTV. Can you take over and let him get on with his paperwork? I’ve told him he has to have it done by today, so don’t let anyone disturb him.’

Q was code for ‘quiet’ and every officer knew if they dared say that things were ‘quiet’ their fellow officers would loudly shush them, and make them deal with anything horrible that came in as a result. A silly tradition, but all part of working in the police family that Jennifer enjoyed being part of.

Will smiled in appreciation as she placed a coffee on his desk. ‘So poor old Shelly is dead then.’

Jennifer recounted her morning to Will, waiting for him to say it was to be expected.

‘I know they’re saying it’s suicide, but there’s something about this that doesn’t add up.’

Jennifer raised her eyebrows, ‘Will, I’m glad to hear you say that because I’ve been thinking the same thing. Have you found anything on it?’

Will pointed to the live incident on the computer. ‘I’ve been monitoring it on the box. A witness saw a woman matching Shelly’s description sitting on the bridge looking into the water at three this morning. They were dropping a friend home after a party and crossed the bridge fifteen minutes later and she was gone. She wasn’t anywhere on the road to be seen. They didn’t report it until they saw the police cars at the bridge this morning.’ Will shook his head in disbelief. ‘I reckon they’d been drink driving and didn’t want to get done. Anyway, that’s neither here nor there. The thing is, I’ve been talking to my mate in scenes of crime and she said that if Shelly jumped off the centre of the bridge last night the body would have been swept away further than it was. Granted, there was a heavy frost but she was found not far from where she is likely to have jumped in. The people that found her said she was face down, clutching handfuls of reeds, as if she was trying to pull herself out when she died. Why would she jump into the river then try to pull herself out again?’

Jennifer felt a weight lift as Will dissected the circumstances surrounding Shelly’s death.

‘And there’s something else. I’ve been asked to study the CCTV for that area.’

‘I didn’t know there was CCTV over the bridge.’

‘There isn’t. Not really. But there is CCTV covering some of the route Shelly would have taken from the town to get from her flat down to the bridge. It’s pretty crap though, I can’t make out the figures very well.’ Will clicked on the software to open up the download the council had sent him.

‘Figures? As in two people?’ Jennifer said, leaning forward for a better view.

‘Don’t get too excited, realistically they could be anyone. But I think it’s Shelly. Watch.’

Jennifer noted the time on the CCTV. It was two twenty, forty minutes before the witness stated that they had seen Shelly on the bridge. It would have easily given her enough time to walk down there. Will clicked ‘play’ and she held her breath as she waited for the figures to come into view. The hazy black and white image was partially obscured by a cobweb and gave little to reveal the identity of the two people with their backs facing the camera.

‘This is shite, you can’t make anything out. It’s just two grey blobs.’

Will clicked the ‘pause’ button. ‘I said it was bad. The light was out on that street last night. It’s typical really, the only night of the year the bulb blows, is the night we need the CCTV. But look at the way they’re walking. The one on the left has their head bowed so low they can’t see where they’re going, while the person beside them is bolt upright. Doesn’t it seem odd to you?’

Will pressed the ‘play’ button. The figure on the left wore a sleeveless top and was smaller than the person beside them, who was dressed entirely in black. Both kept walking until they turned the corner out of view.

Jennifer scowled, disappointed. ‘Maybe they’re just two drunks.’

Will rewound the tape and pointed to the screen. ‘Watch. Drunks sway, or cling on to each other. These two are walking an exact straight line. I’ve asked the local businesses but there’s no other CCTV on that stretch of road. I’ve viewed the next couple of hours on fast forward, but there’s no sign of anyone coming back. Pity really, because then they would have been facing the camera. I’ve updated the DI but he’s not very impressed with it. As he said, even if we could prove it was Shelly, she knew lots of people, so she may have been out with someone and parted ways before she jumped off the bridge of her own accord.’