Double Dealing (Detective Sergeant Catherine Bishop Series Book Two) (10 page)

  ‘He’s another one. A qualified teacher who never teaches.’

  ‘I’d put him on for a chat but he’s not in.’

  ‘Out with some woman no doubt.’

  ‘I don’t know.’  She picked up her tea and took a swig.

  ‘What’s that you’re drinking? It’s not vodka is it?’

  ‘Vodka?’ Catherine laughed. ‘It’s tea, Mum.’

  ‘Your Auntie Sandra was telling me about a programme she watched. They said more than half of police officers have a drink problem.’

  ‘More than half? Doesn’t sound enough to me.’ She set her mug back on the table and waited.

  ‘You can laugh, just make sure you stick to the tea. Here’s your dad.’

There was a muffled fumbling noise as the handset was passed between them.

  ‘Catherine?’

  ‘Hello Dad. Move the phone away from your mouth, you’re heavy breathing again.’             

He gave a few more pants and then asked, ‘Arrested anyone today?’

She smiled. ‘Not today, no.’

  ‘Hit anyone with your baton?’

  ‘Going to have to disappoint you again, I’m afraid, Dad.’

He clicked his tongue. ‘I’m out going for a pint in a minute, thought you might have a new story for me.’

  ‘Sorry. I did fit a whole chocolate digestive in my mouth this morning.’

He laughed. ‘That’s hardly news, Catherine, you’ve been doing that since you were eight years old.’

21

The incident room the next morning was busy, filled with the energetic buzz of the first full day of an investigation. Presiding over the room was DS Robin Cuthbert - rotund, balding and better known as ‘Monk’. Catherine leant against a desk, hands in her trouser pockets, while Monk coaxed an electronic smart board into life.

  ‘It’s brilliant, it’s going to make a huge difference,’ Monk enthused. ‘I’ve been waiting for another major investigation, especially since the last one . . . Well, you know.’

Catherine tutted as he fiddled with his new toy. ‘Come on, I haven’t got all day.’

  ‘Stop whinging.’ The board flickered for a second before displaying a photograph of Moon Pond. ‘Right. So here’s where our victim was found.’ He pointed and Catherine shook her head.

  ‘Monk, I know
where she was found, I saw her lying there. Have we heard anything from Mick Caffery this morning?’

Cuthbert leant over a computer keyboard. ‘Not yet, I said so in the briefing.’

  ‘That was an hour ago. Until we get an ID on the body, we’re stuck. We’ve got no witnesses, no properties near where the body was found, so we can’t do house to house. I’ve got people standing around with their hands in their pockets.’

Cuthbert looked at her. ‘People like you, you mean?’

Catherine glanced down at herself, then straightened up and pulled her hands free. ‘Ha ha. I’m going to give Mick a call.’

Cuthbert shrugged. ‘Do it, but I bet he tells you to sod off. Give them a chance.’

  ‘We need to get moving, we’ve a missing woman and her family to think about.’ She’d spoken to Mark Cook earlier, who had confirmed that his wife still hadn’t come home. Cuthbert gave her a pitying glance.

  ‘You mean you don’t think it’s her lying in a drawer in Jo Webber’s big fridge? Come on, Catherine. I’m surprised you’re not sniffing around Lauren Cook’s husband yet.’ When she didn’t answer, Cuthbert asked, ‘Where’s Inspector Wallpaper this morning?’

  ‘DI Knight? He was at the briefing.’

  ‘But where is he now?’ Cuthbert looked smug and Catherine narrowed her eyes. Monk was a good office manager, but he was also the most irritating officer in the place.

  ‘Does it matter?’ she asked.

  ‘He was dragged into the Super’s office again by that Inspector Shea and his glamourous assistant.’

  ‘“Glamourous assistant”? Monk, even for you . . .’

  ‘Don’t tell me you haven’t noticed.’ Monk actually winked. Catherine walked away before her irritation turned violent. Kicking Robin Cuthbert up the arse was a much more attractive prospect than talking to him for any length of time.

  In a corner of the room, Keith Kendrick was standing over DCs Rogers and Sullivan, who were sitting at computer terminals. As Catherine approached, Chris Rogers made a “Help us!” face.

  ‘It seems Chris may have located Lauren Cook’s car,’ Kendrick said to Catherine.

  ‘Really? Where is it?’

Rogers turned to the screen on his monitor, which was displaying some CCTV footage.

  ‘Decent quality for a change,’ Catherine commented.

  ‘Yep.’ Chris pointed at the screen. ‘This is her car, heading into town. She turns left,’ he waited while the images caught up with his commentary, ‘and arrives at the multi-storey. We’ll need to request their footage next – I’ve already spoken to a PCSO who’s in the town centre and she’s confirmed that the car’s still there, she’s just been to have a look.’

  ‘Good stuff.’ Kendrick clapped a huge hand down on Sullivan’s shoulder, making him wince. ‘Right, Simon, you get onto that while Chris keeps trying to track Lauren in town.’

He turned away and started to walk away. Catherine scurried along with him, taking two steps to each one of the DCI’s.

  ‘It all feels a bit pointless at the moment,’ he said, eventually coming to a halt with his back against the wall, gazing out at the activity in the room. ‘Until we have an ID on our dead woman . . . We’ve got Lauren Cook and three other women who it might be, according to our missing persons reports. Wherever Lauren went, she obviously didn’t go there in her own car.’

  ‘I was going to give Mick Caffery a ring, see where they’re at with the fingerprints.’

  ‘It can’t hurt.’ Kendrick nodded.

  Rather than make the call in the hubbub of the incident room, Catherine went out and into the relative calm of the CID office. As she hurried across the room towards her desk in the corner, the door of the Superintendent’s office opened and DS Allan appeared. Catherine glanced at her but carried on walking.

  ‘Sergeant Bishop?’

Catherine stopped, annoyed. ‘Can I help you?’

Melissa Allan smiled, perfect white teeth gleaming under the fluorescent strip lights. Today’s outfit was a smart black dress with a bright red jacket. Catherine straightened her shirt. Allan was one of those people who would look perfect in a rainstorm.

  ‘Inspector Shea would like a word,’ Allan simpered.

  ‘I’m busy at the moment, I’m afraid.’

  ‘It won’t take long.’ It was a command. Catherine bristled, but knew she may as well get it over with. She took her time walking back towards Allan. The other woman looked her up and down with a hint of a sneer before opening the Super’s door fully.

  ‘Do come in.’

Catherine bit back a smart reply as she went inside.

  ‘So you’re
DS Bishop?’ The man behind the desk sat back in his chair and smirked at her. ‘Detective Sergeant Catherine Bishop.’ He rolled the name around his mouth as if tasting it.

Catherine watched him as Allan settled in the seat next to Shea’s. ‘That’s right. Do you want to see my warrant card, just to be sure?’

Shea gave a little titter, setting his jowls wobbling. ‘That won’t be necessary, thank you. We’ve been looking forward to meeting you, you’re quite famous in the force at the moment, aren’t you?’ She ignored Shea’s insinuation as he gave a condescending smile. ‘And you’re fully recovered from the injuries you sustained a few weeks ago?’

  ‘I wouldn’t be here if I wasn’t.’

  ‘I suppose not. It must have been a difficult time for you.’

She said nothing, alarm bells not so much ringing as almost deafening her.

Allan cocked her head to the side, licked her lips and blinked. ‘You’re obviously dedicated to your job. We’re impressed.’

Again, Catherine kept quiet. What was going on? Was Allan actually trying to flirt
with her? Shea cleared his throat and straightened his tie.

  ‘Superintendent Stringer is also impressed,’ he said. His fleshy cheeks looked slightly damp. Allan tapped red painted fingernails on the arms of her chair and treated Catherine to a beaming smile.

  ‘She is. How long have you been a sergeant now, DS Bishop?’

  ‘A couple of years.’
Which you no doubt know,
she thought, bemused.

  ‘Hm,’ said Shea, pretending to think about it. ‘Any thoughts about taking the next step up the ladder? If a DI’s job were to become vacant, I mean. Inspector’s exam?’

  ‘I’m not sure.’ Catherine was determined to give them nothing.

  ‘What do you think of DI Knight?’ Allan asked, her tone friendly. ‘Capable, would you say? Trustworthy?’

  ‘Absolutely, yes. Look,’ Catherine said, not liking the way this was going. ‘I don’t mean to be rude, but I was just on my way to make an important phone call. Could we get to the point?’

Shea’s demeanour changed at once. He narrowed his pale, watery eyes and replied, ‘Certainly. Why don’t we discuss the Paul Hughes murder case?’

  ‘Why don’t we?’ Catherine folded her hands in her lap. ‘Though you understand I’ve not really been involved? I’ve just come back from three weeks’ sick leave.’

  ‘Ah yes.’ Shea raised his pale eyebrows and nudged Allan, who gave a nasty smile. ‘Your “sick leave.”’ He made quotation marks in the air with fingers - further proof in Catherine’s eyes that he was a complete dickhead. ‘Three whole weeks to get over a bit of a bump to the face, I’m told.’

  ‘Including a week in Egypt,’ Allan put in. ‘Lovely.’

  ‘Is that a crime now?’ Catherine asked mildly.

  ‘Not at all. An expensive way to run away and hide to get over your embarrassment though, eh, Sergeant?’

Catherine shook her head, unable to believe what she was hearing. Shea laughed, realising they were going to get nothing from her. He reached into a beige cardboard folder that lay on the desk between them, took a couple of photographs from it and threw them in front of Catherine, face down. She glanced at them.

  ‘What are they?’ she asked, pleased that her discomfort wasn’t showing in her voice.

Shea shrugged podgy shoulders. ‘Have a look.’

She reached out and turned them over. The first image was a close-up of a man, his eyes wide and panicked, obviously terrified, screaming into the camera. He was sitting in some sort of outbuilding. The second photograph showed the same man, clearly tied to a chair. His head had fallen forward towards his lap and blood pooled around his feet, which were purple, hideously swollen and damaged. More blood streaked the man’s limbs and stomach. Several large petrol cans stood ominously next to him. Catherine’s breath caught in her throat but she wasn’t going to let these two idiots know that she was the least bit rattled.

  ‘Are you trying to shock me?’ Her voice was neutral.

Shea shook his head, the flesh around his throat wobbling again. ‘Not at all. You’re an experienced officer; it would take more than a few sick photographs to disturb you. What might be more of a surprise though is where these pictures came from.’

  ‘Or
who
they came from.’ Allan’s tone was loaded. Catherine stared from her to Shea and back in confusion.

  Suddenly Shea sat forward, grabbed the photographs and tucked them back in the folder. He smiled at Catherine, his face friendly again.

  ‘Thank you for your time,’ he said. Allan got up and moved over to the door. Catherine, entirely bemused now, stood and looked down at Shea.

  ‘So what’s your point?’ she asked. He continued to tidy his papers as if she hadn’t spoken. Catherine shook her head contemptuously and marched out.

  Knight was in his office, his eyes fixed on his computer screen. Catherine knocked sharply on his door before walking straight in. He looked up in surprise.

  ‘Are you going to tell me what’s going on?’ Catherine demanded. She closed the door behind her but remained standing.

  ‘What are you talking about?’ Knight was totally calm, which only served to make her angrier.

  ‘I’ve just had Shea and Allan showing me photos of Paul Hughes.’

He stared at her. ‘What?’

She pulled the chair that stood in front of his desk nearer and sat in it, running her hands through her hair. ‘Pictures of Paul Hughes screaming his head off and then dead in a chair, covered in blood.’

Knight was shaking his head, bemused. ‘I’ve no idea what you’re talking about. There were no photographs like that. I mean, obviously we took some once the fire had been put out, but . . .’

  ‘That’s it.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘These were taken before the fire had even been lit. There were petrol cans next to Hughes but no fire damage at all. Shit, they must have been taken by whoever killed him.’

Knight’s mouth was open. ‘But where have they come from?’

  ‘Haven’t you seen them?’

  ‘I told you, we only had photos taken after the fire brigade had finished and they realised there was a dead body.’

  ‘Then how have Pinky and Perky got hold of them?’

  ‘You’ll have to ask them that.’ His lips were pressed together and he looked as angry as Catherine had ever seen him. There was a tap on the door and the grinning face of Patrick Shea appeared.

  ‘Could we have another word, Jonathan?’

  Down in the canteen, Catherine grabbed a piece of chocolate cake and a cappuccino, her mind still reeling. As she sat down, she heard the foghorn voice of Keith Kendrick chatting to Sally, who was operating the till. He clumped over, set a mug of coffee and a huge fruit scone on the table and slumped into a chair.

  ‘Don’t often see you down here.’ Catherine took a bite of cake as Kendrick scowled.

  ‘Don’t often have a jumped-up DI taking over my station either.’

  ‘What are they doing here?’

  ‘You tell me. Fresh eyes on the Hughes case.’ He widened his eyes. ‘Apparently.’

  ‘I’ve just escaped from their lair.’

  ‘What did they want? You haven’t even been at work. Jonathan’s in there again with them now.’

He chomped on the scone as Catherine took a sip of coffee.

  ‘They seem to be implying that Jonathan wasn’t thorough when he investigated Paul Hughes’ death.’

Kendrick swallowed a lump of scone.

  ‘Wasn’t thorough by accident or by design?’