Two Wrongs (Detective Inspector Ross Reed Book 1) (13 page)

“I don't think Alan talks to anyone about that sort of thing.”

“That's fine. I might just pop in there, make sure that's where he is and he's working as usual. I know the owner so I won’t cause a fuss. I'll ring and let you know if you want?”

“Yes. I'd appreciate it.” 

“No problem.” No problem at all.

Reed pulled into the Gleen’ factory car park where there was a scattering of about twenty cars, but he couldn't see any sign of Alan Westwood's. With so many empty spaces available Reed chose to park right outside the main reception in the only area that didn't have an actual parking space, feeling a little satisfaction that he had broken a rule of some sorts. He got out and banged his hand against the main door. Nothing. Pulling a cigarette from the pack, he decided to hang around for a little while and see if Alan turned up. He left his car where it was but went and sat on a concrete step where he would be hidden.

Turning his thoughts back to the case, Reed was desperate for the DNA results to come back on the earring found at the murder site. If Gulliver's DNA was found on them, Reed was pretty sure Gulliver was the killer. They could have been a gift to Carmella from Gulliver so he would have touched them at some stage, but there was something about his reaction when Reed had mentioned them in the interview that signaled some kind of significance.

The evidence was starting to stack up but most of it was circumstantial: Gulliver was the last known person to see her; he had the opportunity to kill her and dispose of the body. He had lied to the police about his route home and somewhere in amongst it all was a set of earrings. Or earring. If this little piece of jewellery could provide some factual evidence, Gulliver at the very least had some explaining to do.

  Just to distort the picture a little, there was now a possible link to an unsolved murder from 10 years ago which happened in similar circumstances. Did Gulliver know Tina Westwood? Did anyone know if Gulliver knew Tina Westwood? Was Gulliver capable of killing twice? Once even? He didn't seem like a serial killer in the making but then Reed hadn't actually come face to face with one before.

It was now 6.20pm; twenty minutes after the beginning of Alan's shift. Reed decided he would take a little look around the place. He had spotted some movement in the building where they had chased down Gulliver, so he started there. The muffled sound of music got clearer as he approached; a few tunes to help pass the hours for the workers, although from the heavy bass that was almost shaking the doors, Reed thought it would probably make his day feel longer. He walked down the side of the building instead of going in and it wasn't long before he saw Alan's car parked with two others. Maybe it was one of the perks of being a supervisor, being able to park your car out the back, lessening the chances of a break in and stereo out.

“Can I help you mate?” Someone shouted.

Reed turned around and spotted a man approaching him from about 30 metres away. He was wearing dark blue overalls, a black cap and bright white trainers. He was about 5' 6” and looked about seven stone. From that distance, the man's features reminded Reed of a rat. Beady eyes, pursed mouth and a sharp nose. “That depends on who you are?” He replied.

“Gandhi. Who the hell are you?”

“Detective Inspector Reed.” A fact that was backed up by his ID card when the man was closer.

“Sorry mate, there are a lot of weirdoes about.”

Reed resisted the urge to say “So I see.” Instead saying, “So Gandhi, what's your real name?”

“Mark Parsons.”

When Gulliver was questioned regarding the earrings found at his flat, Mark Parsons was the person that he said he had bought the earrings from. Tyler had informed Reed of this only a little while ago, having put the question to Gulliver before he was released on bail. Apparently Mark Parsons was somebody who had a knack of finding things that had fallen off the back of lorries. Lucky him.

Lucky Reed.

“I see. Now that's a spot of luck.”

“What? You after me?”

“Yes and no. I have a couple of questions for you but I wouldn't say I was ‘after’ you.”

Parsons seemed to weigh up his options, eyes shifting from one place to another. Reed got the impression this wasn't the first time he had dealt with the law.

“Ten minutes here or a couple of hours at the station? I can't keep things quiet at the station either.” Reed said, hoping to avoid the paperwork.

“Yeah, go on then. Do you mind if we head for the smoking shed though?”

“Be my guest.”

When they got there, Parsons hesitated, wondering if he should offer Reed a duty free cigarette. If they really were duty free cigarettes of course. Nowadays there were cheap imitations of duty frees which could be even more dangerous than the real branded ones. Now that was a scary thought. Reed declined the offer and got one of his own, duty paid and still just as likely to kill you.

When Parsons had called it a smoking shed, he had been over-generous in the description. It was two stacks of wooden pallets, three metres apart. The roof was made from plastic corrugated sheets which were held down with a scattering of bricks; two bricks had been wedged underneath the roofing at the front so the rain could run off. Genius.

“I hear you get your hands on various knock-off gear?” Reed went straight in.

“Not really. I know a bargain when I see one, then I sell it on, that's all.” Parsons replied a well-rehearsed speech.

“Look Mark, I don't care if it's legal or not. I don't care if you go out thieving things yourself and sell it on,” Parsons was going to protest but Reed held up his hand to stop him, “What I do care about is that you are telling me the truth.”

Parsons again weighed up his options, doing a deal in his head, pros and cons, smoking and looking at Reed to see if he could be trusted. He seemed to realise there was no haggling going on here, “What do you need to know?”

“Can you remember selling some earrings to Lee Gulliver?”

“Remember it well, most people just buy a pair for the missus but Lee bought a few.”

Gulliver's story checked out. If anything then, he had given the earrings to Carmella. Maybe he was taking his gift back for some reason. Reed wondered where Tina Chapman's missing earrings came from?

“Is Gulliver a bit of a ladies man then?”

“Talks a good game.” Parsons replied with a neutral shrug.

“Do you know when you sold them to him?”

“You've got to be talking a good ten years ago.”

“Can you remember how many pairs he had off you?”

“I think it was ten. I done them a bit cheaper 'cause he had a few.” Parsons was nodding his head confirming his thoughts. If Parsons was correct about the number of earrings he had sold Gulliver, ten pairs, then Gulliver was only talking a good game. Or he was stingy with his gifts. Six pairs had been recovered from his flat.

“Can you remember who you sold the others to?”

“Can Richard Branson remember who he sold a flight to? You'll have to be more specific.”

“Alan Westwood?”

“I wouldn't sell him a virus. Grumpy old prick. I know he's been through a lot and that, but he wasn't exactly a barrel of laughs before his daughter... You know.” Parsons stamped out his cigarette butt on the floor and left it there in the absence of an ashtray. No one yet able to scrounge the materials to make one. “So no, I didn't sell him any.”

Reed told Parsons that if he kept their little interview quiet, he would do the same regarding his little empire selling dodgy goods. Parsons confirmed Alan was in work, his state of mind: happy as ever. He also confirmed that he had that particular batch of earrings at least ten years ago. He remembered giving his then girlfriend a pair and she was really happy with them until she found all the others. “Said it made her feel cheap.” Parsons laughed at his own story, shaking his head at happier times. Reed felt a pang of sadness in his stomach; soon it would be him remembering happier times about Kate. Which was exactly what he did when he started to walk away.

Reed pulled on to his driveway and noted Kate's car wasn't there. Was she with her new man? Doing what? It wasn't worth thinking about. Where was Evie? Had they both gone? Would there be a note waiting for him inside, putting an end to the way of life he had become accustomed to? Maybe he had taken things for granted, assumed this was how it was always going to be and stopped working at keeping it. Should you have to work at relationships?

Reluctant to go inside, Reed stayed in the car and lit a cigarette before trying to clear the negative thoughts from his head the best he could. Just as he was managing to swing them back to work matters, a pair of headlights took him by surprise in the rear view mirror. Kate. In a sort of un-needed panic, he somehow dropped his cigarette in his lap. “Shit!” Kate was out of her car, reaching into the back for something. Reed burnt his finger first, then his inner thigh. “Shit!” Checking the side mirror, she was now walking up behind him, with very few options, he spilled out of his car and started to flap his hands in the general direction of the hot ash and the cigarette on the seat, swiping at them, trying not to burn himself.

Kate carried on walking without breaking her stride, ignoring Reed and the smoke cloud that surrounded him. Feeling like a naughty schoolboy who had been caught smoking behind the bike sheds at school, Reed stubbed out the rogue cigarette which was now on the floor and wondered if a form of detention was going to be given when he went inside.

He was grateful that Kate had at least acknowledged his presence by kindly leaving the front door wide open. As he removed his shoes he heard a sort of musical arrangement being played out in the kitchen with crockery as the instruments. It was a slow, disjointed song, much like a classical love song, meaning it was probably safe to enter. If it had been more like a rock song, with loud bangs and crashes inspired by him smoking again, he would have left his shoes on and left the house for an hour or so.

“I've ordered Chinese for tea, should be here in a minute.” Kate said, adding the salt pot and vinegar bottle to the arrangement of two plates, two knives, two forks and two wine glasses already out.

“Lovely.” Was all Reed could manage, surprised by the cheeriness in her voice. He picked up the full glass of wine and gulped at it greedily.

“You should be savouring that, it wasn't cheap.”

Reed finished it up anyway, made a show of wiping his mouth with the back of his hand before saying, “Oh I'm savouring it alright.”

They both smiled, Reed feeding off Kate's happiness. For a few moments, they just looked at one another; it was comfortable enough for the pair of them, having shared silence together numerous times. Reed was leaning on his shoulder against the door frame between the lounge and the kitchen, Kate was leaning back against the kitchen unit, sipping at her wine, savouring it, peeking at him from behind the rim of the glass. Then they were interrupted by the flash of headlights coming in through the lounge window.

“That'll be the food. The money's on the table.” Kate said, still savouring her wine. Reed watched her for a second more as she took another sip; he was hanging on to the moment the best he could. What he was feeling he couldn't really say but it was a nice one. A good feeling for a change.

Realising he was fighting a losing battle, knowing the delivery driver would soon interrupt them, he gave in and made his way across the lounge. He ignored the money on the table and reached for his own wallet so he could play a part in Kate's gesture by paying for the food. It was the least he could do as she had gone to the effort to order it for them both. He didn't know why she had done it, but he was determined to enjoy this current feeling and hoped that it would last.

As he walked through the lounge, just a few steps away from the hallway, he was interrupted by an almighty crack.

The first thing he registered were the shards of glass hitting his face. Then he heard Kate screaming...

Reed had managed a grand total of three hours’ sleep before his phone had started ringing. It was now 4.43am.

“It's Nic Anderson, he's been arrested.” Plumridge panted down the phone. Reed was rubbing his eyes, trying to force some life into them. “Sir?”

“Yes, I'm here. What's he done?” Reed asked.

“He was found at Carmella Chapman's murder site, he was masturbating. Can you believe that?”

“No, not really. I also can't believe that this couldn't have waited.”

“Sorry, sir. Whitehead phoned me and said you weren't answering your mobile so could I try and get hold of you.”

“Well you've got hold of me now. Well done.”

There was a slight pause before Plumridge found the courage to say “Sir, Whitehead wants you at the station now.” There was another pause, then Plumridge thought it was better that he fill the silence, “He said it was your case so it's your problem.”

“When it bloody suits him it's my case, like when something goes wrong or somebody gets arrested in the middle of the night. It doesn't stop him putting his beak in though, does it?” Reed was wide awake now.

“Sorry, sir.”

“I know it's not your fault Plummy. I'm sorry.”

“Console yourself that I'm awake too and I'm not even in charge.”

“What does Whitehead want us to do?”

“He wants us to interview Anderson whilst he's still hyped up.”

“Oh yes, just what I need, a horny sex offender in the middle of the night.”

Plumridge laughed out loud. Reed even managed a smile himself.

First stop when Reed got to the station was the coffee machine. As bad as it tasted, it was a welcome boost of caffeine and very much needed. Plumridge was off somewhere trying to locate the arresting officer. Reed was sat down, enjoying the quiet of the murder inquiry room. He wished it could be this quiet all the time; he'd get a lot more work done. Most days it seemed that he couldn't walk five steps before somebody needed him for something. If he sought a few minutes solace in his own office, chances were that one person would spot him and spread the word. There was no let up at the moment. Work in the middle of the night, a relationship that was breaking down and just to top it off some funny guy had thrown a brick through his lounge window last night.

Plumridge came back with PC Wilkinson, the arresting officer. Wilkinson had been assigned the laugh-a-minute job of watching the murder site with PC Burn. After a routine check of the perimeter, Wilkinson heard a rustling sound on the opposite side of the cordoned off area. Having watched too many films, Wilkinson turned his torch on and positioned it in a tree pointing slightly away from where the noises were coming from, he and Burn then made their way around the perimeter. Once they had identified that someone was actually there and they weren't just imagining it, Wilkinson executed a rugby tackle while Burn flicked on his torch. The sight that greeted him was one of his colleagues wrestling a man who had his trousers and underwear down by his ankles and was obviously still in an aroused state.

Wilkinson had pinned the man's arms in such a way and with such speed that the offence appeared to be still going on: Nic Anderson had his erect penis in his hand. Burn had admitted that he wasn't sure whether to help his workmate or take a photo of him.

Reed felt sorry for Wilkinson, this set of events would follow him throughout his whole career and would go down in policing history. After establishing that Anderson was about fifteen metres from where Carmella's blood was discovered, Reed let Wilkinson go, congratulating him on his work but fearing the worst for his future.

When Reed and Plumridge entered the interview room, Anderson didn't even look up. His body followed the contours of the chair he was sitting on, knees at right angles and his back vertical, the only part that looked out of place was his head, which was hanging down looking at his lap. He looked like a schoolboy waiting for the headmaster.

Plumridge did the formalities, putting the tapes in the tape-recorder, introducing everyone present, giving the time, date and stating that Anderson had refused legal representation. Reed got himself comfortable in his seat and straightened out the paperwork in front of him. “Mr. Anderson, you were arrested at 1.38am today at Thetford Common on the Bury Road for a lewd act. This took place just outside a cordoned off area that is believed to be the place where Carmella Chapman was killed. The murder of Carmella Chapman is a case that you have been questioned in connection with, do you agree?”

Anderson raised his head and locked eyes with Reed. Anderson's hair was as thick with grease now as it had been the last time he had been interviewed. There was still some debris sticking to it from his scuffle with PC Wilkinson, a leaf, a small twig. Some of his hair had escaped from behind his ears and settled directly down the middle of his forehead, running in line with his nose. It gave him the appearance of wearing an old Saxon helmet.

“Could you answer the question for the purpose of the tape please Mr. Anderson?” Reed said.

“Yes. But you let me go after interviewing me.” Anderson said defiantly.

“True, but you were only helping us with our enquiries then, now you’ve been arrested.” Reed countered, leaving a few seconds silence for it to sink in. “Tell me why you were there.”

Anderson shrugged, “I don't know.”

“You must know. You drove near to Thetford Common, got out of your car, crept fairly quietly to a specific place, dropped your trousers and started masturbating. Why? It doesn't sound like an impulsive thing to do.”

Anderson's face had begun to lower again, looking at his own lap. “I... I don't know.” He whispered.

“You do know, you're just not saying, there's a difference. Are you going to tell us why you were there?” Reed asked. Anderson's head dropped even further, his chin resting on his chest. Reed took this as a sign that Anderson didn't want to talk. It took every bit of Reed's self-control not to blow his top with anger. He wanted this interview over. He wanted to get some sleep before he had to get back to work at his normal starting time. He wanted to call Kate and make sure she was OK. She had gone to stay at her sister's house after their window had been smashed, saying she didn't feel safe. Reed had boarded up the window himself and put the offending stone in a plastic bag. He would pull a few strings in the forensics department and hope for a fingerprint.

Reed decided he would have one of his wishes right now. He had asked a question and was waiting for an answer; if Anderson chose not to speak, Reed would just have a little sleep while he waited. He folded his arms on the table and rested his head on top of them. Whitehead might have a word or two to say about his interviewing technique but what the hell, he wasn't rated too highly in that department at the moment anyway.

Reed wasn't sure how long it had been, it could have been two minutes or two hours. When Anderson did speak though, it was quiet and reluctant. It wasn't the volume at which he spoke that woke Reed, it was the words themselves that had a similar effect to someone firing a shotgun by his ear.

Had Reed heard him right? One look at Plumridge's face suggested he had but he still looked to Anderson for confirmation.

“What did you say?”

“I didn't kill Carmella Chapman and neither did Lee Gulliver.”