Scream, You Die (11 page)

In the time it had taken Scarlett to drive out to Ham her anger toward DI Taylor-Butler had waned. Now, as she pulled off the main drag and headed down the narrow road towards historical Ham House and Gardens, she just thought he was a wanker.

Driving slowly, she checked each side of the road for a car park sign. She was almost at the entrance to the house and grounds before she saw the first notice, and spotting it she picked up her speed and headed down the lane. The opening to the car park was only another hundred yards beyond the public entranceway, but she could go no further – a barricade of fluorescent cones and a “Police Stop” sign barred her access. Braking, she steered to the side of the road and pulled up.

She opened the door to a cold wind. It caught her unawares and sent an icy shiver cascading through her. She snatched up her coat from the passenger seat and hauled herself out of the car. Slipping on her Barbour jacket, belting it tightly around her and pulling up the collar, Scarlett looked skywards at the leaden clouds and preyed the rain would hold off while she got her job done. Then she went to the boot, took out her forensic clothing and began dressing herself for her scene visit.

Entering the car park, the Task Force inspector she had been expecting to meet was nowhere to be seen. The only uniformed officer she saw was just walking out of view, heading in the direction of where they had found their dismembered corpse. However, she did spy two white-suited forensic specialists hovering around a black BMW 530d M Sport with a 2010 plate. It was the only vehicle parked in the large gravelled area. For a moment Scarlett took in the surroundings. The car park abutted a riverside path and beyond that was the Thames. It was in full flow and looked as steely grey and cold as the sky above. To her right the path wended its way between the trees to Hammerton ferry landing, where a public ferry regularly crossed over to the opposite bank. Quarter of a mile ahead was where they had found their victim.

She gathered her thoughts. Inside her head she made a checklist of what was required and then, satisfied she knew what she was doing, headed towards the forensics guys.

The taller beer-bellied one, writing on a paper-filled clipboard looked her way. Stopping what he was doing, he stepped away from the black BMW and pulled down his facemask. It was Mason Gregory. Mason was an aged detective sergeant who had specialised into the forensics field many years ago and was now a CSI supervisor. When she’d first met him six years ago at a stabbing at a pizza takeaway, the first thing he’d said to her when she’d identified herself was, “I used to work with your dad. Great detective. Great guy.” Since then he’d always been her first port of call whenever she’d needed not only a crime scene investigator but a professional job done to boot.

Scarlett made a beeline to him. Offering a beaming smile she said, “Hi Mason, what have you got for me?”

He returned a smile. “They’ve given this one to you then?”

Wide-eyed she nodded. “I suppose you could say that.”

“Well I’d best make sure I do a thorough job then. Have they discovered who the vic is yet? I was off yesterday so I’m catching up.”

Scarlett shook her head. “Not yet. It’s one of the main priorities.” She chinned towards the BMW. “Think the car’s linked? The SIO says it’s nicked.”

“Not sure yet. It was taken two nights ago in a two-in-one burglary. The thieves broke into a house in Hounslow and took the keys from the kitchen. This car belongs to the wife. The owners disturbed the two burglars and they fled in the car. A patrol car came across it half an hour later in Twickenham and pursued it but they managed to get away.”

Scarlett stepped towards the car, pulling up her face mask. “I was told they’d tried to fire it?”

Mason also fixed his mask. He pointed towards the rear nearside with his clipboard. “Tried to, but failed.”

Scarlett saw that the fuel flap was open and a piece of charred rag was hanging from the aperture. Dropping her gaze she saw the further remains of scorched rag lying near the rear wheel surrounded by an oily blackened patch.

“They’ve started to fire it alright but they’ve obviously not hung around to see if it took hold. The combination of the damp weather yesterday and hardly any fuel in the tank has resulted in this.” Mason dipped his head toward the fuel cap. “What they also haven’t realised is that this is diesel and that’s a lot harder to ignite. We’ve got lucky.”

“So if this is linked and it was used to transport the body in the suitcase you should be able to tell.”

“Any fibre cross-match will light up like a Christmas tree.”

Scarlett caught Mason’s watery grey eyes twinkling and guessed behind the mask he held a joyful smile.

“What’s to do now then, Mason?”

“A low-loader is on its way. We’re going to get the car back to a drying room, give it twenty-four hours then begin our work on it. You should have a result by tomorrow afternoon as to whether the suitcase was transported in this or not.”

Scarlett touched him lightly on the shoulder. “Anything I need to do?”

Before Mason had time to answer her BlackBerry rang. Brokering a halt in the conversation with her hand she reached into her pocket and slipped out her phone. Turning away she answered. It was her partner Tarn.

“Listen, I’ve just got back into the office. CPS have been trying to get hold of you. The prosecutor for our case is at the Magistrate’s and she says she hasn’t got your update for this afternoon’s court. She’s says that the court is sitting in half an hour and she wants to know what we’re doing.”

Scarlett gasped. “Did you tell her we’re going for another remand?”

“Yeah. I’ve told her there is an additional charge of rape”

“Good.”

“But what about the update? Have you got the file there with you? I’ve searched your desk and trays and can’t see it anywhere. She says she needs it urgently.”

“Tarn, I gave it to Taylor-Butler before I came out here. I asked him to check it was okay and I told him CPS needed it for this afternoon’s court. Is he there?”

“No, he’s gone with the gaffer to the Gold meeting with the ACC.”

Pulling the phone away Scarlett exhaled sharply. “Fuck, he’s done this deliberately!” she growled. Taking a deep breath she raised her eyes to the sky. Her thoughts were racing. Replacing the phone to her ear, she said, “Tarn, do me a favour. Ring the prosecutor back up and tell her I’m on my way to court. I’ll get access to one of the computers at the Magistrates and print off another copy.” Raising her voice she shouted, “I’m setting off now.” Then she ended the call.

Not forgetting Mason Gregory she spun around. He and the other forensic officer were in the process of pulling a protective blue tarpaulin over the BMW. Waving a hand and calling out to him that she had to go and she would catch up with him later, she sprinted back towards her car, tugging off her white protective suit as she ran.

I’ll fucking swing for Taylor-Butler.

At home Scarlett downed the first glass of wine without taking a breath and poured herself another. With her second glass she took two paracetamol. She had a thumping headache and inside she was a screwed up ball of fury.

Hours earlier, she had broken the speed limit to get to Richmond Magistrates Court, where, struggling to find a parking place nearby, she had abandoned her unmarked car next to Richmond Green and dashed on foot back to the court building, arriving just as the magistrates had begun their afternoon session. Fortunately the Crown prosecution solicitor had been granted a one-hour adjournment, enabling her to get another copy of the remand file printed off. She had sat at the back of the court trying her best not to look agitated as the prosecutor had presented new details of the rape of Claudette Jackson and argued for a further remand in custody of James Green. The application had been successful giving her and Tarn one whole month to gather the remaining evidence and compile a full court file prior to his first Crown Court appearance.

She knew she should have felt relieved as she’d left court but the session had only succeeded in infuriating her, those feelings being exacerbated further upon returning to her car and discovering a parking ticket affixed to the screen. She had torn back to the office and stormed into DI Taylor-Butler’s office, confronting him angrily, demanding to know why he hadn’t submitted the Lycra Rapist remand file when she’s specifically asked him to.

His face had flushed, but as calm as anything he had glanced over his glasses and replied, “You asked me no such thing, DS Macey. If I recall, you asked me to check if the file was okay. Then you said – and these were your exact words – that CPS required the file by lunchtime.” Slowly removing his spectacles, he had raised his tone, “I assumed by those comments that you yourself would be submitting the file. If you had wanted me to do that then you should have asked me to.” Then he had got angry, thrusting his glasses toward her, rattling them like a sabre. “Who on earth do you think you are? You come in here blaming me for your own incompetence.” Then he had deftly turned the exchange of words in his favour, tearing her off a strip about her attitude and her lack of respect towards him, demanding that she apologise or he would be requesting her immediate removal from the department. She had locked eyes with him. She was livid, but he had the upper hand. She was not going to win this argument. Standing before him, balling her hands into fists she had recalled what Diane Harris had said to her that morning. And so, through clenched teeth she had yielded, apologised and left the room burning with rage.

By the time she had got to the office her head was thumping and she felt nauseous. Apologising to Tarn that she couldn’t carry on she had gathered up her things and left.

That had been an hour ago. Since then, before opening the wine, she had rang DCI Diane Harris and given her an update about the car. She had told her about having to attend court but decided not to tell her about her head-to-head with Taylor-Butler. She mentioned her headache and apologised for leaving early. The DCI comforted her. “No problem. There’s not much happening this end anyway. You get an early night and I’ll see you at morning briefing.”

Scarlett took another hit of wine. This second glass was having a calming effect; she could finally feel herself beginning to uncoil. She pulled her bag onto the kitchen work surface, fished around inside and brought out her work phone. It beeped when she switched it on. Checking the screen she saw she had two missed calls. Same number. It was Alex. She hit the redial button and he answered on the third ring.

“Hi Alex, you’re back then. Did you have a successful trip?”

“Very, thank you. Got back yesterday afternoon.” There was a short pause. “I’ve been trying to get hold of you.”

“Yes, sorry, I’ve been in court most of the afternoon. Is it anything important?”

“I found Rose again yesterday evening. Or the same girl at least. Well, to be honest I found her then lost her again. She clocked me and did a runner.”

Alex’s voice trailed off. It was replaced with his measured breathing. She knew he was waiting for her to respond. She said, “That’s a good result isn’t it? At least she’s not gone to ground.”

“She might do now, though.” There was another short pause. “I have got some other good news though.”

“What?”

“All in good time. What say I come round? You provide the food and I provide the wine and information. Unless you’ve got a better offer?”

She guiltily looked at the glass of wine she was holding.
Surely another couple of glasses wouldn’t hurt.
Thinking quickly, it wasn’t hard to come to a decision. She smiled. “That sounds good, Alex. I’ve got some steak in the freezer, and some colcannon mash and green beans.”

”A home-cooked meal? That’ll be a first.”

“Cheeky swine! I’ll have you know I rustle up a real mean gravy.”

“Cube or packet?”

She laughed. “Damn! You’ve caught me out again.”

“That’s sorted then. I’ll grab a quick shower and I should be with you within the hour.”

As she ended the call she felt suddenly cheered. Alex’s company was just what she needed after the shitty day she’d just experienced.

Alex turned up on the doorstep forty minutes later holding out a bottle of Merlot and flashing his usual toothpaste ad smile. He pecked her on the cheek and she caught a whiff of his aftershave as he brushed past her into the kitchen. It brought back another nice memory. She still held it as she sloped away into the lounge and put on Paloma Faith’s
Fall to Grace
, a CD he’d bought before they had split up. She cranked up her music system a couple of notches and joined Alex in the kitchen. He had removed his jacket and was leaning against the breakfast bar displaying his toned physique in a baby-blue Ralph Lauren polo.

He picked up the wine she’d opened earlier. “I see you’ve started without me.”

“Rough day.” She took out a glass from a wall cupboard and handed it to him. “I’ll tell you about it later.” She watched him pour himself a decent measure and then held out her own glass.

He replenished it and they clinked glasses.

“Come on then, tell me your news. Tell me about Rose. Was she in the same place? I’ve not been able to get anywhere; I’ve been so busy. We’ve got a murder running.”

“Yeah, I saw it on the front page of the
Evening Standard
. Headless body in a suitcase isn’t it?”

Scarlett pulled the wine glass away from her lips. “Bloody journalists! I didn’t release they’d got hold of the story. They must have got to our witness.”

In exaggerated fashion Alex tut-tutted. “When will you cops ever learn? Shouldn’t hide things from the press. They’re like bloodhounds once they get hold of a story.” He met her gaze. “And pick your bottom lip up, it doesn’t suit you.” He sipped on his wine. “They might have done you a favour. If the report is anything to go by it seems to me the killer was expecting that body to be at the bottom of the Thames. They might slip up now.”

“Yes, I suppose you’re right.”

“I always am.”

She looked at him and lightly punched his arm. “Smart arse.” Then she added, “Come on then, tell me about your encounter with Rose.”

“You keep saying it’s Rose. It might not be.”

“I’m telling you it’s Rose. I saw the way she looked at me.”

He shrugged his shoulders. “Whatever.” He finished his wine and poured the last of the bottle into his glass. “Well she wasn’t in the same place. I had a bit of time yesterday afternoon so I zipped about a bit. I found her, and that guy she was with before, at Edgware Road, but as I say, she clocked me almost straight away and was on her toes. She’s a bloody fast runner.”

“I thought you were a surveillance expert,” Scarlett smirked.

He shook his head. “You know what they say about sarcasm?” He took another sip of wine. “Do you want to hear my story or what?”

“Go on. I’m listening.”

“Well, after I’d lost Rose I decided to go back and see if the guy was still around. Fortunately, I caught him just packing up, so I switched my jacket and changed my hat and decided to see where he went to. He got on the tube and got off at Notting Hill Gate. I followed him a little way, but he kept looking round – really suspicious, he was. I didn’t want to spook him as well so I backed off.”

“So you didn’t see where he went?”

Alex shook his head. “No I didn’t.”

“So we’re no further forward to finding Rose.”

“Well we might be, if that’s the normal stop for them. All we have to do next time is plot up around the Notting Hill Gate exit and see if either of them comes out there. Then we follow them to where they’re holed up.” In a high-pitched quirky voice he finished, “Simples.”

Scarlett’s face lit up. She took a long drink of her wine. “You’re not just a pretty face are you?” Then she set down her glass and turned to the cooker. “Now, how do you like your steak...Medium isn’t it?”