An Unfamiliar Murder Page 15

  Helen also knew that some killers felt compelled to return to the scene of the crime. Much has been written about the reasons for this: sometimes through general curiosity, sometimes it makes them feel more powerful and in control, sometimes they sensed a close bond with the victim . . . For this reason, she planted undercover police officers, alongside those guarding the crime scene, at the flat this morning to watch Anna’s return. She knew Anna had an alibi and was practically convinced that she had nothing to do with the murder. But, it happened in her flat . . . What were the words Charles had used? ‘He intended on creating quite a show.’ Was the murderer directing the kill at her? Maybe he wanted to get her attention? And he may return to be close to her.

  With SOCO finished with the crime scene, and the residence secure, the press would be pulling back from

  Flax Street. But not before the morning’s events had offered her a chance to check out another hunch. Detectives were currently checking the number plates of all vehicles parked in Flax Street that morning, looking for individuals who weren’t residents, weren’t linked to the press. Of course if the killer were there, then he may have parked well away and walked. But, it was worth a try . . . Helen sucked her lips and grabbed her pad. She wrote down all the family names that were swimming around her head. Kathleen, Edward, Jim, Rab. Then in the middle she wrote Anna in capital letters. She was the link between them all. What am I missing here? An idea crept into her mind. Anna. She looked at her watch and dialed her number.

  “Anna?”

  “Oh. Hi.” She sounded surprised, as if she were expecting someone else.

  “I heard that you called the incident room last night. Just wondered if everything was OK?”

  A slight hesitation followed. “Umm . . . Yeah fine, thanks.”

  Helen creased her forehead. She didn’t sound very sure. “Did you get everything you needed from the flat this morning?”

  “Yes, thank you . . . Um Detective . . .” Another hesitation.

  “Helen.”

  “Sorry?”

  “Call me Helen.”

  “Oh. Right . . . Helen, did you know that I have a brother? I mean Jim McCafferty has a son?”

  So that was it. Helen narrowed her eyes. “We have discovered that, yes,” she answered slowly. “When did you find out?”

  “My father told me yesterday.”

  “Ahhhh.”

  “Have you spoken to him?”

  “Your brother? Yes, he came down to the station to make a statement.” A picture of Rab McCafferty’s face appeared in Helen’s mind. Chestnut hair tumbling over deep, dark eyes. “What do you know about him?”

  “Not much. Only what Dad has told me . . . I heard he’s been in prison.”

  She’s fishing. Helen cleared her throat, said nothing. She didn’t want to give anything away.

  “Is he a suspect?”

  “No. Anna, what is all this about?”

  “He’s asked me to meet him.”

  That explained her hesitation. “I see.”

  “Do you think I should go?”

  Helen was taken aback. A momentary silence followed as she gathered her thoughts. “Well, that is up to you, Anna, but it might be prudent to take somebody with you, or at least tell someone where you are going.”

  “You don’t think he’s safe?”

  “I didn’t say that. But, I’m sure you wouldn’t usually go to meet a complete stranger on your own, without telling someone where you were going.”

  “Thanks. I’ll bear that in mind.” She sighed out loud, as if she was trying to decide what to do.

  Helen decided to change tactic. “How are things going with your parents?”

  “I’ve moved out.”

  More changes. “Oh?”

  “I just needed a few days to think. Because of the whole adoption thing. I’m staying at Ross’.”

  “Your boyfriend, Ross?”

  “Yes. Sorry, I guess I should have told you. It all happened so quickly.”

  “Right. I’ll make a note.” An awkward silence followed. Helen jotted herself a note to update the system. She glanced at her pad. All lines lead to Anna. “Look, would you like to meet up for a coffee later? There are a couple of things I would like to go over with you.”

  “I’m a bit busy this afternoon.”

  “Meeting your brother?” She tucked a stray strand of hair behind her left ear.

  “Yes.” The line crackled.

  “What about this evening then?”

  “That should be okay.”

  “Good. Do you know Hayes on the High Street?” Helen loved Hayes, a privately owned coffee house she occasionally visited for a quiet coffee on her own, when she had a day off in the week. It gave her time to think.

  “Yes.”

  “Shall we meet there? At, say seven o’clock?”

  “Okay.”

  “Fine, see you then. Anna?”

  “Yes?”

  “You have my card. You can call me whenever you like.”

  “Thanks. Bye.”

  Helen replaced the receiver and stared again at the notes on her pad. What was she missing?

  * * *

  Anna slipped her phone back into her pocket. The Detective Chief Inspector wasn’t giving much away. Was she deliberately refusing to divulge any information regarding his prison record, or was she bound by some confidential code? She sighed. It seemed that everyone was set on treating her like a child.

  Perhaps he wasn’t a suspect but he was connected to the murder in some way? Hadn’t she read somewhere that most people are killed by a member of their family or a close friend?

  The quiet in Ross’ house had become deafening. Since her return from the flat, she’d unpacked her rucksack, leaving her clothes and belongings in neat piles on the bedroom floor and fixed herself a cheese sandwich for lunch. Now redundant, she shifted around on the sofa, restlessly flicking through the endless house renovation programs, chat and game shows that swamped daytime TV. Finally, she switched it off and glanced around the room, her eyes finally resting on the dresser at the far end. The floor around it was littered with bicycle parts, but it wasn’t these that caught her eye. Right on the edge of the dresser, wire and plug sitting on top, was Ross’ laptop.

  She leapt up and grabbed it, plugging in the leads beside the sofa and turning it on. As soon as it fired up she clicked onto the internet and logged onto Facebook. A search revealed several Robert McCaffertys, most of whom had no location listed, apart from a few in the States. She looked at the photographs. A heavily, bearded man with shaggy, brown hair stared back at her, another with long, blond hair and blue eyes. Could any of these be her brother? She sucked in a deep, frustrated breath as she remembered her father’s words – “The last we heard he was detained at Her Majesty’s pleasure.” This was hopeless. How long had he been out of prison? Would he even know what Facebook was? The plain truth was that any one, or none, of these could be him.

  She looked up

  Feveral Street and traced the route she would need to take later, then shut the computer down and looked at her watch. It was half past two. Guessing it would take around thirty minutes to bike to Weston, she calculated that if she left now she could cycle. It might diffuse some of the pent up frustration and apprehension she was feeling and settle her nerves. Anna crossed into the bathroom, washed her hands and raised her head to look at herself in Ross’ circular shaving mirror. She let her hair loose from its band, shaking it down her back. It still felt damp underneath and there were kinks in it where the tie had been. She stared at her face in the mirror. Should she put on some make up? Make a bit of an effort? What does one usually do when they meet their brother for the first time? The first time in memory, at least.

  Eventually, she reached for the hairbrush and ran it through her hair before tying it back, resolving to go for minimal make up – just a touch of mascara and blusher that would cover the pale patches, the toll the last few days had left on her usually clear complexion
. For some reason she wanted to make a good impression on Robert McCafferty. Even if she decided she didn’t like him, it was important that he liked her, although she had no idea why.

  As she was leaving the house she grabbed her phone and turned it off. Maybe it was irresponsible but, in spite of all of the good natured advice bestowed upon her, she felt that for the first time in her life she had to face this alone. Whatever happened this afternoon, she would deal with it.

  It was one of those misty November afternoons, when it never really feels like it’s going to get light. Droplets of dew clung to the bare branches of trees. People made their way mostly by car, those brave enough to travel by foot all wrapped up, their shoulders hunched in an effort to shut out the cold. Nobody, except the most hardened cyclists took to their bikes in this weather, but Anna loved the feeling of the fresh air flowing into her lungs. She didn’t even mind the cold chill today, nipping her face. The sheer freedom of the great outdoors made her feel vital, alive.

  She glanced down at the bike as she slowly braked on the approach to the junction marking the end of Ross’ road. It was a treat to ride such a high spec. bike, the Brookes saddle felt so comfortable.

  “Hey!” shouted a man’s voice suddenly, causing her to look up and brake hard. She had almost plunged straight into a pedestrian in the road, just a few meters in from the junction. Wolf-like eyes glared at her from beneath a pulled-up hood. He seemed to appear from nowhere.

  “Sorry! Are you OK?” she called in a shaky voice, over her shoulder as he rushed past her. He put a hand up and continued to march up the road. “I’m so sorry,” she called loudly after him, “I didn’t see you.” But it was too late. He had disappeared in the distance. He can’t be hurt, she thought and shrugged it off, placing her feet back on the peddles. But the encounter niggled away at her, an unresolved puzzle, as she cycled across town. It seemed such odd behavior to rush off so quickly like that. What was the hurry?

  * * *

  Just before three o’clock, Anna passed the sign for Weston. Known for its less salubrious neighborhoods, Anna was surprised when she rode through the main shopping area and spotted a designer boutique flanked by a launderette, and a French delicatessen.

  As a child she recalled forging a friendship with a little girl at ballet class who lived in Weston. She remembered being invited to her house to play. And every time her mother had flatly refused to go to ‘that side of town’. It was as if something bad would happen to her if she crossed the boundaries. Anna was forced to wait until her father was free to drive her at weekends. Despite noticing the odd run down shop or boarded up house, her attention fuelled by her mother’s dislike of the area, she had enjoyed these visits immensely. But the place had certainly changed now, the opposite of its former self.

  Finally, she reached the coffee house on

  Feveral Street, sandwiched between a privately owned bookshop and a One Stop shop. She pulled up outside and hopped off the Brompton cycle, removed her helmet and gloves and clicked four times: first the back wheel was folded, then the front wheel twisted around, the handle bars folded down, finally the saddle was dropped. She hauled it up next to her body, keeping her promise to Ross, and entered the Cafe. The mixture of a log fire burning on the far wall and the strong smell of coffee mixed with spices made the Cafe Cliché feel invitingly warm. There were only a few tables occupied and she quickly disregarded the lady sitting on her own on the sofas next to the fire. There was a middle aged man, busy reading a newspaper, who didn’t even look up, and a younger man sitting on one of the leather sofas in the window. As her eyes met his he stood immediately, a gesture obviously intended to invite her over to join him. He doesn’t really look like a criminal, she thought.

  “Anna?” He held out his hand which she shook warily. “It’s good to see you at last. I’m Robert, but everyone calls me Rab.” His eyes sparkled, his wide grin was easy. She pressed her lips together, not quite knowing what to say and removed her coat.

  As they squashed down into the sofas opposite each other, Anna stared at her brother for the first time. He shared her dark features with the addition of a swarthy face, as if he would have a permanent five o’clock shadow, however many times of day he shaved. His navy sweat top hung loose over his jeans which fitted snugly over thighs that wouldn’t have looked out of place on a rugby field.

  “Why Rab?” she asked. No wonder I couldn’t find him on Facebook.

  “It’s what our mother used to call me. Scottish for Robert.”

  “Oh.”

  “Can I get you a coffee, perhaps something to eat?” He gestured towards the menu and she smiled awkwardly, leaning over to grab it.

  “This is all a bit strange isn’t it?” he added. She looked up from the menu at his mischievous, crooked smile and wrinkled nose and couldn’t help but chuckle.

  “It is a bit,” she agreed, wrinkling her own nose.

  “Well, listen. How about we just sort of pretend that we’re old friends who haven’t seen each other for years? You order what you like off the menu, late lunch on me. If you’re hungry that is?”

  “Sure.” She wasn’t, but for some reason, speech eluded her so she stuck her head in the menu.

  “Can I help you?” Anna turned to see that the waitress had crept over to the table and was standing next to her. Her bleached, blond hair was swept off her face, apart from a stray strand hanging down and she hung onto the tied cord of her long, black apron with one hand, the other holding a pad and pen. Her young eyes stared at Rab, agog.

  “Yes, I’ll have one of these focaccia breads with brie and grape, and a plain, black coffee.” Rab looked up and smiled.

  “Certainly,” she smiled back, raising her eyelids and tilting her head as she did so.

  Rab looked across the table, “Anna?” The waitress followed his gaze and looked at Anna as if she had only just noticed her. Then she looked at the bike folded next to her and frowned.

  “I’m sorry, but I’m going to have to ask you to move that,” she said curtly.

  “Why?” Anna asked, surprised.

  “It’s a health and safety hazard. Somebody might fall over it. You can park it outside.” She pointed her pencil lazily at the pavement outside the window.

  “I can’t,” Anna replied firmly. “It’s borrowed and I promised my friend that I wouldn’t let it out of my sight.”

  Rab looked across at Anna and then at the bike. He quickly flashed the waitress another smile. “It’s really not doing any harm is it?” She looked back at him warily. “Aww, come on, it’s not as if you’re really busy.” He looked around the Cafe as he spoke and then back to her. Her taut face was clearly softening. “How about we keep an eye on it and if anyone comes near, then we’ll move it straight away?”

  “Well . . .” She hesitated, then nodded. “OK then, but it is your responsibility. Make sure you keep a watch.”

  “Thanks.” Anna caught him wink at her. Having forgotten what she wanted, she ordered the same as Rab. Then, watching the waitress finally retreat to the kitchen she blew a deep breath out of her pursed lips and nodded at Rab. “Thanks.”

  “You’re welcome.” He looked back at the bike. “I watched you fold it down outside. It’s a mean feat of engineering. I’ve never seen anything like it. What make is it?”

  “It’s a Brompton, you know, a city bike.” She pointed at the smaller wheels. “British made. They’ve become really popular over the last few years. This is the latest model.”

  “Wow!” He seemed genuinely surprised and got up to inspect it. “It’s incredible.”

  “I guess.”

  Rab was examining the bike in great detail, he flicked the brake lever, fingered the gears. “This really is amazing.”

  “You like bikes?” she asked.

  He looked back at her. “Any gadgets really. My nickname is ‘Techy’, that’s what my mates call me.” He moved back over to the sofas. “I’ve been fascinated by stuff like that ever since I was a kid. The Gadget Show
is my favorite programme on TV.”

  Anna smiled inwardly. They didn’t share that trait in common. “It doesn’t belong to me,” she shrugged, “I borrowed it from a friend.” Anna wondered why she hadn’t said ‘boyfriend’. Ross was, after all, her boyfriend. But somehow it didn’t feel like the right time to make personal revelations. Rab was, as everyone had reminded her, a stranger. She could tell him these things later. If there was going to be a later . . .

  “You said. But you like cycling?”

  “I love it.” She took a deep comfortable breath. “It’s freedom.”

  “Do you drive?”

  “Yes, but I don’t have a car at the moment.”

  “Same here. I love to drive. Used to go-kart when I was a kid.”

  “Really, which track did you use?”

  “Rightons. Just outside Worthington. Did you ever kart?”

  “No.” She shook her head. “But I grew up in Worthington. I wondered if it was that one. My friends and I used to go up to the track and watch a bit when we were teenagers.”

  He smiled. “Maybe you saw me?”

  “You never know.” Anna shrugged. “Where are you from?”

  Rab held out his arms. “Weston. Born and bred.” Anna smiled politely and nodded. That explains Mum’s aversion to the place.

  “Don’t you have a bike of your own?”

  “Yes, well no . . .”

  He raised his eyebrows and his eyes danced at her as the mischievous smile returned to his lips. “Yes or no?”

  She cleared her throat, feeling slightly embarrassed. “The police have it at the moment.” Anna watched his face fall, his eyes growing serious as comprehension hit home.

  “Ahhh . . .” It was obvious from his expression that he hadn’t wanted to reach this point. It wasn’t yet time to discuss recent family events. He looked absently out of the window. She followed his gaze. A man had stopped in the doorway of the shop on the other side of the road. He appeared to be looking over at them. She scrunched up her eyes, struggling to focus through the mist. He looked strangely familiar, although she couldn’t think where she had seen him before. As he met her gaze, he seemed to turn abruptly to face the doorway. When he turned back he had lit a cigarette.