Trespass (P.I. Johnson Carmichael Series - Book 2) (19 page)

‘Not stupid, but calculating enough. The anonymous phone call gives us reason to doubt your guilt, and you’re probably smart enough to think of that.’

‘Seriously? That’s what you think? Have your forensics team found a single trace of Lauren’s blood on my clothes yet?’

‘No.’

‘And have any of the fibres from my clothes been found in the vicinity of the body?’

‘No.’

‘Have you checked the CCTV footage at the Winchester library yet?’

‘Not yet, but we’ll be looking at that in the next few hours.’

‘I swear to you, Mercure, you’ve got the wrong man.’

‘Okay, Carmichael, now it’s my turn to be honest with you,’ she said, turning the cassette recorder off. ‘I already have enough evidence to continue investigating you for Frankie Benold’s murder and I have enough suspicions to extend that investigation to include the murder of Lauren Roper. That said, I will admit that the evidence is a bit too convenient for my tastes.’

‘Thank God,’ he sighed.

‘Don’t get ahead of yourself. Just because it doesn’t sit right, doesn’t mean that it isn’t. I am going to give you a break.’

‘You are? Wait, what kind of a break?’

‘It is now four p.m. on Saturday. You’re the Private Detective; you have until six p.m. tomorrow night to bring me a list of suspects for the crimes you are accused of.’

‘That’s not enough…’

‘Before you argue with me,’ she interrupted. ‘I would be well within my rights to charge you for both crimes right now and hold you over until a bail hearing can be set on Monday morning. I still believe that you know who killed Lauren Roper and, if you are half as good as you think you are, you will be able to find the killer. I’m giving you until six p.m. tomorrow night. I will expect to see you back here at that time or I will sanction a warrant for your arrest. I am taking a
massive
risk with you here; don’t you dare make me regret trusting you.’

Carmichael couldn’t believe what she was saying but embraced the opportunity that was being presented to him.

‘Okay,’ he said, standing. ‘I’ll see you tomorrow.’

‘One more thing,’ she added, opening the door for him, ‘If I hear that you have been harassing James Benold, I’ll have you straight back in here. Do you understand?’

‘But…’ he began but stopped when he saw her glare. ‘Yeah,’ he grunted reluctantly, walking down the corridor.

‘Watch him,’ Mercure whispered as Davies slipped out of the room. ‘I don’t want the shit to hit the fan if my hunch goes wrong.’

‘Understood, Guv,’ said Davies following Carmichael.

Carmichael could not believe he was breathing fresh, if not rather bitter, air. Twenty minutes earlier he had thought he would be locked up for the rest of his life. He was relieved and surprised that Mercure had suggested releasing him. It went against all police protocol and procedure and he knew she was taking a massive risk in allowing it. That said, it was the opportunity that he needed. In the back of his mind he was wondering whether now would be a good time to cash in his assets and take that extended vacation he had been promising himself. Now seemed as good a time as any to go, but it wasn’t really a serious consideration. He was a man of principle, a fighter, not someone who ran away when the going got tough. Twenty-six hours wasn’t a lot of time, particularly considering how tired he felt after the stress of the previous twenty-four. But this was an once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to prove his innocence.

The
Sapphire
Cold Case Unit hadn’t been in touch yet, and that would just have to simply be something he dealt with when it occurred. It was the weekend now, so they were unlikely to speak to him before Monday, at which point he would have either cleared his name, or be locked up pending bail.

He knew what he needed to do but had no idea where to start. Whilst Benold seemed as likely a suspect for both murders, he didn’t fit as the man who attacked Beth all those years ago. And who was the man claiming to be Stan Pensa? He could have chosen any alias, but why did he choose that particular one? Who had sent him? If he hadn’t been Nathan Green’s long-lost cell mate, did he even know the family? It was all so confusing!

He decided to head back to
The King’s Arms
first and ask the locals if they knew who the man had been. All he needed to do was get from the centre of Southampton, where he was presently, across to Eastleigh. His car had yet to be released and now Melissa’s car had also now been taken in for examination.

Oh God, Melissa,
he thought.

He hadn’t spoken to her since banging on the door that morning. He had taken, and now lost, her car and hadn’t checked in with her. He fished his mobile out of a pocket but the battery was dead.

Damn it
!

He needed a pay phone fast and the only place he knew he could find one was the train station. It took him five minutes to walk there and he was relieved to find it still functioning. He slotted some change into it and punched in Melissa’s phone number. She answered it on the third ring.

‘Hello?’

‘Melissa, it’s Johnson. How are you?’

‘Jesus Christ! Where the hell have you been? It’s been all over the news that Frankie Benold’s body was found by police earlier this afternoon and that a suspect is being held. I’ve been ringing your phone for hours. What the hell?’

‘I know about Frankie. I’m the one they’ve been holding.’

‘Jesus Christ, Johnson! What did you do?’

‘Nothing, nothing, it wasn’t me. Look, it’s a long story and I don’t have the time to go into it now. I need your help.’

‘Shouldn’t you be using your one phone call to contact a solicitor? Or do you need me to find you one?’

‘No, no. Look, they’ve released me temporarily, but it’s on the condition I return to the station tomorrow night with the name of the person who killed Lauren Roper.’

‘What? You mean you know who it is?’

‘No, not yet, but the detective in charge reckons I can solve it in a day.’

‘What the…’

‘Look, I haven’t got time to discuss this, Melissa. I need you to look up Lauren Roper’s biological father. His name is Darren Watkins, and he was in Southampton the year Lauren was conceived so I need you to check around nineteen eighty five and track him back to today. His name was on the birth certificate and, given how young Beth Roper was when Lauren was born, my guess was he was somebody she knew from school, maybe a year or two older.’

‘Okay. I saw that name on a note you left for me on my desk.’

‘You’ve been to the office then?’

‘Yeah. I had nothing better to do so I tidied it up. You know the Benold case file is missing don’t you?’

‘Yeah, and the cheque for the fee.’

‘Oh no, I cashed that yesterday morning. That’s safely away.’

‘You’re kidding, right?’

‘No, I always do the banking on Friday morning. I found the cheque on your desk and assumed you wanted it banking. Sorry, did I do wrong?’

He would have hugged her at that moment if she had been nearby.

‘No, no, you did nothing wrong. You’re my little saviour!’

‘Phew. Okay, I’ll try and locate this mystery man for you. Where can I reach you if the battery is dead?’

‘You can’t; I’ll phone you back in an hour or so and see what progress you’ve made.’

‘I will be putting in a claim for overtime this week you understand?’

He laughed, ‘I’ll give you a massive bonus if you help me clear up this mess, Melissa, I promise you.’

He heard three short beeps in his ear and the line went dead.

*

The train to Eastleigh was pretty quiet, thankfully. He was able to get a seat away from anybody else and just relax. He realised the best place for him to put the various jigsaw pieces back together in his head was his trusty chair. He promised himself that he would nip back to the office once he had spoken to the barman at
The King’s Arms
. The walk from the train station to the industrial estate took longer than catching the bus, but his lack of funds meant it was his only option.

The pub was noisy when he arrived. The Southampton football team weren’t due to play their weekend fixture until the following afternoon, but eager football fans were gathered around the pub’s large screen television watching the
BBC’s
Final Score
programme for the afternoon’s match results, with pint glasses in hand. There were two men working behind the bar and Carmichael recognised one of them from the previous lunchtime.

‘What can I get for you?’ the barman asked when it was eventually his turn in the queue.

‘I need to have a word with you,’ Carmichael shouted over the din. ‘Can we go outside for a minute?’

‘I can’t mate,’ he replied. ‘It’s pretty busy in here. What’s this about?’

‘I need your help with something,’ Carmichael said.

‘You police?’ he asked.

Carmichael didn’t answer but nodded his head.

‘Look,’ said the barman, ‘I’m due a break in fifteen minutes. Can it wait till then?’

Carmichael said that was fine and that he would wait outside for him. True to his word, the barman stepped outside fifteen minutes later and lit up a cigarette.

‘What can I do for you?’ he exhaled.

‘I was in here yesterday lunchtime having a pint when a man came over and started talking to me. He was stocky-built with a skin head and tattoos on his knuckles. I wondered if you remembered him or if you know who he is?’

‘Owe you money does he?’

‘Sort of.’

‘That’d be right. There’s not many he doesn’t owe money too. He’s just that sort of bloke. He’ll do anything for a quick buck, you know the sort?’

‘Yeah,’ Carmichael chuckled. ‘You don’t happen to know his name do you?’

‘He’s called Carl but I don’t know his second name. He comes in here most lunchtimes and disappears around four. He’s a degenerate gambler, but he always seems to have enough cash to buy his beer so the landlord doesn’t mind him coming in. He’s pretty harmless if truth be told but he plays the hard man a bit.’

‘Has he been in today do you know?’

‘Haven’t seen him to be honest, but I didn’t start until four so he may have been in and gone before I started my shift.’

‘Would you do me a favour?’ Carmichael said producing a business card from his wallet. ‘Will you phone me on this number if he comes back in? They’ll be a hundred quid in it for you if you do.’

The barman stubbed his cigarette out under his shoe and took the card.

‘No worries,’ he said, and then walked back into the pub.

Carmichael was tempted to follow him back in for a well-deserved lager but instead he headed back to the office. It was dark now but the glow of the office light ahead showed him the way. Melissa was busy on her mobile phone when he walked in.

‘Any joy yet?’ he asked, putting the kettle on and plugging his phone into its charger.

‘You could have warned me that my computer was fucked,’ she said angrily. ‘Do you know how long it’s taken me to look this guy up on
this
piece of shit,’ she added waving her small mobile phone around.

‘I do appreciate it, Melissa,’ he said honestly.

‘Yeah, I know,’ she conceded. ‘Sorry for having a go, I just hate my phone.’

‘Have you managed to find him yet?’

‘I’ve located a Darren Watkins
Facebook
page but because we’re not friends there’s not much I can see. I’ve managed to get you a date of birth from his page and the fact that he posted a status update last night would indicate he is still alive.’

He remembered Mercure’s crack that Stan Pensa was dead, and was relieved that this suspect was alive at least.

‘Okay, do you know where he lives?’

‘That’s what I’m trying to find at the moment. There are fifteen ‘D. Watkins’ listed in the online telephone directory, but it’s not certain he is one of them. I’m trying to get hold of a friend who works for the council, to check the electoral register for me, to see if I can narrow the search down.’

Carmichael brought her a cup of coffee over.

‘Thanks for tidying up,’ he said sitting down in his chair.

‘That’s fine. I figured you’d get me to do it on Monday anyway so I might as well do it now.’

‘You know me too well,’ he laughed, taking a sip from his mug. The coffee was hot but tasted good. He imagined it wouldn’t be the last cup he would have that night. He was going to need a lot of caffeine if he was going to work through.

‘I can’t believe the prick who burgled us broke our monitors. What a twat!’ she said aloud. ‘You still think Frankie’s husband did it?’

‘I’m pretty sure. I need to prove it though. I tell you what, if I could get him in a room alone, I’m pretty sure I could get him to confess.’

‘Got him,’ she suddenly shouted out.

‘You’ve located his address?’

‘Sort of.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Well…I’ve found someone by the name of Darren Watkins who fits the age bracket you’re looking for but you’re not going to like it.’

‘Like what?’

‘Well I had no luck with the electoral register so I did a search of his name on local newspapers. I got a hit on
The Daily Echo
from earlier this year. His name was mentioned in relation to a community story where a load of homeless people volunteered to help smarten up a local shelter. The article says he was resident there.’

‘He’s a bum?’

‘I guess so. Doesn’t mean he’s not the person you’re looking for. In fact, if he’s homeless now, God only knows what he’s done in the past to end up in that state.’

Carmichael considered the prejudiced viewpoint but she was right; he was still a suspect for the attack on Beth Roper twenty-four years ago.

‘Can you print the address for me? I’ll go there first thing in the morning and pay him a visit. Is there a photo?’

‘I can’t print the address from my phone but I can email it to yours. There is a photograph but it’s a group shot of all those who helped. I have no idea which one he is. I’ll email that one too.’

He wasn’t listening. His feet were up on the desk, his eyes were closed and his breathing had become relaxed. He was fast asleep.

Melissa sent the two hyperlinks in an email, turned the office light off and headed back up to her flat. She returned five minutes later with a blanket that she wrapped over him. He had a lot of work to do but a good night’s sleep would help him no end, she decided.