On Laughton Moor (4 page)

‘I don’t understand,’ Knight said suddenly, causing Bishop to start and spill tea over her hand, ‘why the photo was taken, why it was sent to you. Obviously, there’s a message there, especially when there was a photo of you found on Craig Pollard’s body, but it’s so cryptic. I just don’t see the point.’

Bishop leant forward, surreptitiously wiping her hand on her trouser leg.

  ‘I know. Ever since the DCI showed me the photo I’ve been trying to think what they could be trying to say, and whatever it is, why say it to me? And why Pollard? I can’t believe it was just a random attack on a man so drunk he’d not be able to fight back. Pollard must have said something, done something and whoever walked away at the time hit back later. But it still doesn’t make sense.’

Knight nodded, and then shrugged apologetically.

  ‘And the worry is that the only way it will make sense is if you’re contacted again.’

Kelly Whitcham lay in the bed she’d slept in as a child, staring up at the ceiling. She could hear her children’s even breathing as they slept on the old inflatable mattress her mum had unearthed from the depths of the airing cupboard. They were so good, they never complained and were always cheerful. It had been such a struggle at times to keep them occupied as they grew older, to begin to educate them as best she could in a house empty of almost everything except that ridiculous television. It would have been so easy to just sit and lose herself in the mindless programmes, many of which featured people who had somehow got themselves into situations which were even more unlikely than her own. Inventing games and stories had kept her mind at least halfway busy, and whatever memories the children were going to have from their first few years, she hoped they would remember that she had done her best. Shamefaced, she’d told her mother the truth about her life with Craig. Her mum had been disbelieving at first, outraged and then puzzled, not able to comprehend why Kelly would stay. Kelly had just shaken her head helplessly. She hadn’t been afraid of Craig; her mum had assumed that he’d beaten her and the children, threatened worse if she’d tried to leave, but it wasn’t that. Kelly had tried to argue that she couldn’t have left, with both doors and windows locked, but she and her mother both knew that she could have attracted a neighbour’s attention somehow, smashed a window. Kelly had admitted to herself, if not her mum, who no doubt knew anyway, that she hadn’t been able to leave because she was ashamed of what her life had become. Her children weren’t hungry, although their diet probably hadn’t been the healthiest, weren’t abused and so she had allowed the situation to continue. She’d known that the children would need to be registered for school and Craig would have had to make changes in their lives then, they could hardly go to school in second hand pyjamas. The authorities would soon be called in, and there was no way Craig would have allowed the truth about the life of his family to be exposed. Kelly closed her eyes. She’d failed her children and she could now admit it, at least to herself. Before she’d met Craig, she’d been doing well, had good grades at GCSE and A level and a job in the offices of a local solicitor, general administration but with her eye on more qualifications, progression, a career. Settling down and having a family was only distantly visible on the horizon. She would never regret having the twins, but it never should have happened as it had. She hoped she would have the chance now to stand on her own two feet, to provide for her children. She still had those qualifications, and she was only twenty four. Jessica and Connor would be at nursery soon, then school and she could work, maybe study as she’d planned. Kelly turned on her side, promising herself that she would find out in the morning who she could speak to for some advice on what to do next.

Kelly hoped that the police officers who’d come to the house had seen that she wasn’t just some brainless kid who had no idea how to look after herself, much less two small children. They might tell Social Services how they’d found them. Maybe they would come to see her, to see the children, talk to them, examine them? They could, but they would see that the children were clean, healthy, not underweight. Their speech was good as far as she could tell; Jessica talked more than Connor, but that was just their personalities. They knew their colours from the packaging on food their father had brought in, they could recognise numbers. Let Social Services come if they wanted to. The inspector had been kind, not letting his face show what he must have thought, what anyone would think walking into that house. She should thank him, but surely you couldn’t just ring up and ask to speak to a policeman, especially not an inspector. She could send a card, but again, was that really the right thing to do? He might think she was trying to be friendlier than she meant to be, maybe they thought she had killed Craig and was trying to throw the inspector off the scent. It crossed her mind that because she’d used Knight’s phone to ring her mother, his number should show in her mum’s call log. She’d send him a quick text. No one could blame her for that, no one could say it was wrong or that she was trying to bribe him or something. She sat up slowly, moving the duvet as quietly as she could and stepped carefully around the inflatable mattress. There was just enough room to open the bedroom door and move out onto the landing.

Kelly crept downstairs and into the living room where she found her mum’s mobile on the coffee table. Sure enough, the last call the phone had received was from a mobile number that afternoon. It must be his. Quickly, she typed: Thank u.  Kelly W

She pressed send immediately, not giving herself time to change her mind.

Knight was used to lying awake and had resigned himself to another sleepless night. Having DS Bishop in the house was strange too and though she had seemed the perfect house guest so far she wasn’t a relative or a friend, she was a colleague, a junior colleague at that and therefore not someone Knight would normally have offered his spare bedroom to. However he’d seen how much the first message from the crime scene and then the pictures she’d received at home had shaken her, so what could he have done? Her sexuality at least made gossip around the station less likely if anyone should find out she had spent the night at the new DI’s house. Not, thought Knight, thumping his pillow that it was any business of anyone else anyway, but like any workplace, police stations were abuzz with gossip. Knight’s mobile, on the bedside cabinet next to him, lit up with a double beep indicating the arrival of a text message. Knight groaned and rolled over, fumbling for the phone. Reading the short message from Kelly Whitcham, he sighed. He should have thought that allowing her to use his mobile would mean she would have access to his number. She had thanked him several times that afternoon, not that he wanted thanks, and he certainly didn’t want to be exchanging texts with someone who still had to be considered as a suspect in a murder enquiry. He remembered how she’d looked when she opened the door, defensive but challenging, as if almost daring him to expect her to be devastated by Pollard’s death, or to comment on the place she and her children were living. Knight knew a full statement had been taken from her; he’d read it but he’d wanted to see her himself to gain his own impressions. Though she’d said she wasn’t sorry Pollard was dead, Knight knew the first days after a violent death were a turmoil of emotion. Eventually the enormity of what had happened, or possibly what she had done, would break through the initial shock. He thought about the way she had led him through to the almost bare kitchen, pride making her matter of fact, her embarrassment hidden under resentment. Knight hoped she would make a new start; she was young and obviously intelligent, could be attractive too, Knight admitted. He replaced his phone on the cabinet and turned over to again try to sleep. He wouldn’t reply to her message.

The sound of a text message being received came faintly through the wall. Catherine Bishop wondered who would be sending DI Knight a text this late. He must surely have friends and she knew now he had a sister. Perhaps he did have a partner after all, she might be working away or visiting friends. She hadn’t seen any evidence of that a woman lived in the house so far though, or a man, or anyone other than Jonathan Knight himself. Maybe he was single after all, living alone as she and as many of the other officers she knew were. She took her own mobile phone from under the pillow and hesitantly typed a text of her own, choosing Louise as the recipient:

I miss u

She’d probably regret sending it but it had been a strange day and trying to get some sleep in the house of her boss wasn’t making the day any more typical. Anyway, she did miss Louise and what harm could it do to tell her so? They’d kept in touch since Louise had moved out and Catherine was fairly sure Louise was still single, she hoped so anyway. She wouldn’t have admitted it to Louise herself, but she still hoped they might get back together at some point. Just when that might be wasn’t clear as the main reason they had split up hadn’t changed. Her phone lit up almost immediately, and she read Louise’s reply nervously:

Maybe, but not as much as you would miss your job.

Catherine pulled a face. Louise the English teacher was the only person she knew who bothered to put grammar in her texts, although Inspector Knight probably would too, Bishop thought. She lay back on the pillow. Not a very promising reply from Louise, but then what had she expected? The situation was just the same as when they’d had all those rows about it and Louise had moved out. Her work meant long, unsociable hours, stress, regular exposure to sights that most people couldn’t imagine and none of that sat well with Louise. When they’d first met Louise had been intrigued by Catherine’s job but living with the reality of it had eventually been too much. Louise went on with her teaching, marking, planning and regular hours and holidays and Catherine was around as much as possible, which in truth wasn’t that often. She supposed it was only a matter of time before the relationship ended given that neither of them appeared to care enough about it to try to make it work. It seemed, then, they weren’t right for each other. If Catherine was absolutely honest, she knew it wasn’t so much Louise herself she missed, but knowing that when she eventually got home at night that someone would be waiting, that when she did have time off there would be another person around to go out with, to stay in with, to have a moan about work at if necessary. She did have colleagues like Chris Rogers who were happily married or had long term partners, but it seemed almost as many were single. Catherine turned over, knowing she should try to get a few hours sleep, that tomorrow and each day while the Pollard case was ongoing would be long. She wasn’t hopeful of getting any rest though, not with the images of Pollard’s body and those cryptic messages swimming before her eyes.

6

The body was found quickly, but then I knew it would be. I half expected the police to be hammering on the front door within minutes, but I was as careful as it was possible to be. The rain will have helped I think. There should be no traces of me on his body or clothes. I suppose their tests will take time to produce results, I’m not sure how long. They hardly mentioned it on the local news. Perhaps a murder isn’t much of a news story these days; people after all are killed every day in domestic rows or drunken fights. It may be that the police still think Craig’s death was the result of a pint too many. Idiot. Big mouthed, arrogant bastard. He deserved it. When he was lying there, the light leaking from his eyes, I wanted to tell him why I’d done it, why now,  but there was no time. Pity. I would have liked to have seen his face. Not so pathetic after all.

7

Bishop had politely turned down DI Knight’s offer of the breakfast, preferring to arrive early at the station, picking up a bacon sandwich and tea that tasted of the cardboard cup it had been served in on her way. She sat at her desk, took a sip of tea, groaned and sat rubbing her eyes. She doubted she’d had more than a couple of hours sleep. Chris Rogers wheeled his desk chair over to her.

  ‘Late night then, Sarge?’

  ‘What do you think? Bet you were late home yourself.’

  ‘About ten. Fay had pie and chips waiting for me.’

  ‘Lucky you. Wish I’d had the same.’

  ‘Fay or the pie and chips?’

  ‘Either, preferably both. Don’t think I’m Fay’s type though.’

Rogers grinned.

  ‘Maybe not, but she might know someone who’s just your cup of tea.’

Bishop screwed up her nose at the cardboard cup on her desk.

  ‘Don’t mention tea, that stuff’s bloody awful. What do you mean?’

  ‘There’s a woman just started working with them at the council offices – she’s gay.’

Bishop forced down the last of the tea and dropped the empty cup into the bin under her desk.

‘So are six percent of the population. Why are you telling me?’

  ‘Come on Sarge. Louise has been gone over six months, don’t you think it’s time you started enjoying yourself, or did really she break your heart?’ He pulled an exaggeratedly miserable face then smirked. ‘You’ve not acted like it.’

She pointed a finger at him.

  ‘You’re going too far, DC Rogers.’

Rogers sat back in his chair and waited, knowing Bishop wouldn’t be able to leave it at that. Eventually, she took the bait. Eyes still fixed on her computer screen, she said:

‘Even if she is gay, which is probably just a rumour that’s been started because one of the lads asked her out and got turned down, it’s no one’s business but her own and it’s certainly of no interest to me. In case you’ve forgotten about it overnight, we’ve got a briefing with the DCI in ten minutes.’

Rogers wheeled himself back over to his own desk with a smile. He’d known Catherine Bishop a long time and was quietly satisfied he’d given her something to think about. She’d been moping long enough. It was time she had some fun, although knowing Bishop, she would find it outside of work. He knew her self imposed rule about not mixing business with pleasure and couldn’t blame her.

   Knight sat in front of the officers that were assigned to the Pollard case, his eyes travelling over their faces as DCI Kendrick spoke. There didn’t seem to be too much sympathy around for Craig Pollard or his family, which was unusual in a case like this, especially with Pollard being father to two small children. The general consensus seemed to be that they would be better off without him. Kelly Whitcham certainly appeared to think so, though maybe her attitude would have changed as the shock wore off. Knight knew they would have to speak to her again today. As always in a murder enquiry, the victim’s partner and immediate family were under suspicion, but Knight had a feeling this wouldn’t be as simple as a family dispute gone too far. The Bishop messages didn’t tie in with that. Whitcham obviously had no alibi, but then neither did the rest of Pollard’s family. His mother and father both said they had been at home watching the TV when asked, but Knight knew the questioning would have been fairly low key given they’d just been told the news of their son’s death. The family liaison officer, PC Stathos, would be with them now and one of the uniforms plus a DC would be soon on their way for more questioning. The information they had collected from witnesses and family since the discovery of the body so far seemed to tell them nothing about Pollard’s life. As Knight had found out during his career, people often died as they had lived and perhaps Craig Pollard would be another example of that. They needed more information and Knight thought he knew who would best provide it.

  A wet, muddy building site wasn’t Catherine Bishop’s idea of the ideal place to talk to anyone, especially on a cold, windy day in mid November. She followed Knight over a rough patch of clay and gravel with a few vehicles parked on it and waited while he had a quick word with the nearest builder, who nodded towards a taller man standing alone smoking, staring at his filthy work boots. Knight beckoned to Bishop and she picked her way through the mud to him. Knight strode up to the smoker.

  ‘You’re a difficult man to find, Mike.’

Mike Pollard’s head jerked up, and he glared at Knight.

  ‘Who the f . . .’

Knight held up a hand.

  ‘I don’t need to hear it.’

Pollard stared. Even Catherine Bishop raised her eyebrows. Knight waved his warrant card under Pollard’s nose.

  ‘DI Knight. I’m here to ask you some questions about the death of your brother. I’m surprised to find you at work, I’d have thought Craig being killed would be a good enough reason for any employer to give you a few days off?’

Pollard threw his cigarette butt on the floor, took off his hard hat and passed his hand over his face.

  ‘Need the job, don’t I? Anyway, better to be here than at home with Mum and Dad crying their eyes out or screaming at each other about whose fault it was.’

Bishop glanced at Knight, but rather than ask Pollard what he meant, he said:

  ‘What was Craig like?’

  ‘What was he like? What do you mean?’

  ‘As a person, as a friend, as a brother.’

Pollard shuffled his feet.

  ‘He was all right.’

  ‘All right?’ Knight echoed.

Pollard stared at him.

  ‘He’s my brother and he’s dead, what do you expect me to say? Have you got a brother?’

Bishop shifted uncomfortably. Knight said,

  ‘I have, but since I’m not a suspect in his murder I don’t see what he has to do with anything.’

  ‘A suspect? What do you mean?’

  ‘Why else do you think we’re here, Mike? Unless you start answering my questions, we’ll be finishing this conversation back at the station, and I don’t think being dragged off site in handcuffs will do much for your chances of keeping your job, do you?’

Pollard’s fists clenched.

  ‘You’re a f . . .’

  ‘Come on Mike, you’ll have to do better than that. What was Craig like?’

All at once, the fight seemed to go out of Mike Pollard. His shoulders drooped, and the hard hat in his hand seemed about to fall to the floor.

  ‘I hated him.’ It was almost a whisper.

  ‘I thought you might say that.’ Knight said softly.

Pollard led them to a draughty Portakabin and they sat in mismatched garden chairs as Pollard made three mugs of tea. He handed over the drinks and then sat, taking a bunch of keys out of his pocket and throwing them on the rickety plastic table, dropping his hard hat to the dusty floor, any pretence of bravado gone. Knight and Bishop waited as Pollard seemed to gather his thoughts.

  ‘I used to want to be like Craig, you know? When we were younger, I think everyone around here wanted to be like Craig. Maybe that was part of the problem, he started believing he was as good as people said he was. Even when he started getting into trouble with the police, it just made people respect him more. Some people, I mean, I suppose a lot of people just thought he was even more of a tosser than they already did.’ Pollard took a sip of tea and shook his head. ‘I never thought I’d end up glad of a job labouring on a building site, or making tea for coppers, if I’m honest. The way Craig used to talk, we’d be running our own business by now, sitting in luxury offices, getting paid a fortune while other people did the work.  I used to believe every word he said. And then he left school, started earning his own money . . . ’

Another mouthful of tea and a pause so long that Knight said:

  ‘What work did he do?’

  ‘A mate of our dad took him on as a favour, he was a plumber. Mum and Dad were hoping Craig would learn from him, train properly, work for himself eventually and I hoped so too, thought he might have a job for me. But of course it didn’t work out like that. It seemed to go well to start with. Craig enjoyed strutting around buying everyone drinks and Dad’s mate was pleased with him. It didn’t last. Craig started getting up too late for work and things started to go missing from the houses they were working in. He got sacked and he didn’t work again. He’d got so big headed  – he criticised me all the time, my hair, my clothes, the music I liked, my friends, everything. I wanted to stay at school and do A levels, but he went on so much about how he’d gone out and got a job to bring money into the house that I left, started labouring and I’m still here. I went out with Kelly first you know, she was in my year at school. I think she was the one thing in my life that Craig didn’t criticise. She took one look at him and dumped me. He made sure he got her pregnant too, not only pregnant, but twins. She told me they were in love, were planning on living together, getting married, all that. I couldn’t believe the way he really treated her, have you seen that house? I only saw it through the window but that was enough, it was practically empty. I had a proper go at him about it, but what could I do?’

There was a silence. Pollard drained the last of his tea, and Bishop waited until he’d finished before speaking.

  ‘Do you know what Craig did with the money he kept from Kelly and the children?’

  ‘Oh, you can talk then?’ Pollard shook his head. ‘Sorry. Not really, but he always had new clothes, not cheap stuff either, and he was out every night. I know he never touched drugs, couldn’t stand them, he’d seen too many of his old mates ruined by them, but he did drink a lot. And he was always meeting girls and buying them drinks, all the schoolgirls sneaking into the pubs, they’re usually up for a good night and so was Craig, if you know what I mean. Kelly deserves better than him, they all do.’

Bishop said:

  ‘You don’t sound as if you approve of how Craig behaved.’

Pollard sighed.

  ‘I like a drink and a laugh myself but those girls, they get on your nerves, they’re just kids. Not that they’re underage for what Craig wanted them for, they were easy pickings for him, but I just think it’s pathetic and when you’ve got a girlfriend and two kids at home living the way like they do, well, it’s just wrong, isn’t it?’

Bishop and Knight didn’t disagree.

  ‘How did you know?’ asked Bishop as Knight drove them back to the station.

  ‘Know what?

  ‘About Mike Pollard not being his brother’s biggest fan?’

  ‘A few things in his statement, and what he said when he heard Craig was dead.  “He’s been knifed at last then” and “he had it coming”, that sort of thing.’

  ‘Do you think he did it? Sounds like Mike’s resented his brother for years. Craig bullied him, stole his girlfriend and then to rub his nose in it even more, got her pregnant. Maybe they met on Sunday night, or they spoke on the phone, Craig said something clever and it was the final straw, tipped Mike over the edge, and he went after Craig with a baseball bat or whatever.’

  ‘Can you see him doing it?’

  ‘Not as he was today, he soon dropped the big man act. But after a few drinks, in the middle of an argument, a couple of punches thrown . . . who knows? What do you think, boss?’

‘I don’t think we should rule him out, but why would he send you the photos? That’s premeditated, a person who knew Pollard would go that way home and was waiting for him.’

Bishop nodded.

  ‘I know we’re looking at it like that, but it could just be to throw us off the scent, make it look like a premeditated killing when in fact it wasn’t? Mike Pollard could have punched his brother, grabbed something in the alley and battered him with it, realised what he’d done, panicked . . . ’

Even as she spoke, Bishop knew it hadn’t happened like that. It made no sense. Nothing about this case did yet. She changed the subject, starting to feel a little more comfortable with DI Wallpaper now she’d spent a night in his house and knew he had a brother and a sister, that he was human after all. She wasn’t quite brave enough to talk about anything other than the case outside the cosiness of his home though.

‘I can’t believe Pollard stopped swearing like that.’

‘I think Mike’s a lad who’s used to do doing as he’s told. I’m wondering if Mr and Mrs Pollard realised too late they’d let Craig get away with too much and came down on Mike like a ton of bricks so he didn’t go the same way. Plus, I don’t suppose the blokes he works with say please and thank you too often, just order him around.’

‘From what Mike said, I think you could be right. If his mum and dad are arguing about whose fault Craig’s death is, could be they’re each saying the other was too easy on him.’

‘Maybe so.’

‘Interesting that Kelly Whitcham was Mike’s girlfriend first, too. He could be hoping she’ll run back to him now Craig’s out of the picture, that could be another motive. Or they’re in it together. Kelly could be the brains, Mike the muscle.’