An Unfamiliar Murder Read online

  The door burst open and in rushed Anna. “Sorry I’m late.”

  Helen stood up. “It’s okay. Thank you for coming.” She gestured to the chair opposite and they both sat down. She couldn’t fail to notice the red marks around Anna’s eyes, but chose not to mention it. Not yet, anyway.

  “Can I get you anything?”

  Anna slipped her coat off her shoulders and sunk into the chair opposite. “I’ll just have a latte, thank you.”

  The waitress sauntered over and Helen ordered a latte for Anna and a cappuccino for herself. As the waitress wandered back over to the coffee machine, Helen watched Anna blow into the palms of her hands, rub them together and then over her face.

  “Hard day?”

  “I don’t know whether I’m coming or going,” she replied. “One minute I’m right up there, the next I’m at rock bottom. I feel . . .” She hesitated for a moment, as if she was trying to find the right word. “Weary.”

  Helen nodded. “You’ve been through a terrible ordeal. It’s understandable that you’ll experience a whole gamut of emotions. There are people you can talk to you know . . .”

  “No, thank you.”

  She watched Anna chew the side of her lip. “How was it returning to the flat?”

  “Strange.” She managed half a smile. “They cleaned it up. It was a relief not to see blood stains splattered up the walls.”

  Helen tipped her head in silent acknowledgement.

  “I wasn’t expecting all the press attention though.”

  “Ahhh.” She gave Anna a knowing look. The press were another ball game altogether, especially if you weren’t used to their tactics. “Did you speak to any of them?”

  “No, should I have done?”

  “Not at all. I would prefer you to leave all that to us. An odd word or sentence misconstrued can mislead the Press and whip people into panic. We like to keep them on a tight leash if we can.” Anna pressed her lips together and nodded once in acknowledgement. “Don’t worry. It’ll die down sooner than you think.”

  The coffee mugs arrived and they sat in silence as the waitress placed them on the table and returned to her magazine at the counter.

  Helen watched Anna wrap her hands around the large mug, to feel the heat from the hot coffee within. “How did you get on with your brother this afternoon?” she asked hopefully.

  “To tell you the truth, I haven’t got a clue. There were so many things I wanted to say, but when I got there I couldn’t remember any of them.” She lifted her mug and sipped the hot coffee. “It didn’t seem to matter though. We found plenty of things to talk about. He was very nice.”

  “I’m glad it went well. What did you talk about?”

  “Books, travel. We appear to have a lot in common.”

  Helen nodded. “Did he talk you to you about your father?”

  “Jim McCafferty?” It still felt odd to Anna to think of him as her dad. “Not much.” Helen sipped her coffee deep in thought. “I asked him why he thought that Jim was killed in my flat.”

  “Really? And what did he say?”

  “He had no idea, but wanted to find out.”

  “Oh. Did he say how he planned to do that?”

  “No.” Anna was starting to get fed up with all of the questions about her meeting with Rab. “You’ll have to ask him yourself.”

  Helen looked up. “I’ll do that.”

  “He’s very easy company,” Anna said, absentmindedly. Helen couldn’t help but agree inwardly. Rab McCafferty had certainly charmed the pants off the press at the conference earlier that afternoon, praising the police for their efforts. She couldn’t have asked for more. There were no outward signs, nothing in his body language or mannerisms to indicate guilt when they had watched the recording afterwards. But something was still niggling away at her. The killer has to be somebody close to the family.

  “There are so many things I want to ask him,” continued Anna, raising her mug back up to her lips.

  Helen nodded. “You’ll have plenty of other opportunities.”

  “Sure. It’s just all so confusing.” Her eyebrows fused together.

  “How so?”

  “Well, it’s like . . . Oh, I don’t know how to say it.”

  “Try me,” Helen said gently.

  “It’s like I don’t know who I am anymore.”

  “Because of the adoption?”

  “I guess so. It sounds a bit dramatic, but it almost feels like an identity crisis.” She gazed out of the window into the dark street beyond.

  “You are Anna Cottrell. The same person you were on Friday, before all this happened.”

  “But I’m not the same, am I? My parents aren’t my real parents. I have a brother who I don’t even know. A dad I don’t recall ever meeting, who was murdered in my own flat. It’s just a mess.”

  “There’s more to being a parent than blood alone. They raised you, nurtured you,” Helen said. Anna looked away again unconvinced. “How are they taking this?”

  “It’s alright for them. They were in on the big secret.”

  “Must have been difficult though. To harbor that ‘secret’ for so many years.”

  “Yes well, not as difficult as for me.”

  “Do you get along with them?”

  “My mother is tricky, but it’s not her fault. She’s had a difficult life.”

  “How so?”

  “Her parents,” she hesitated momentarily, “Err, died when she was young.”

  Helen nodded. Anna’s expression betrayed that she had guessed the police already knew their background. “What about your father?”

  “He’s a wonderful man. Part of me genuinely feels sorry for him – trying so hard to please everybody over the years.”

  “He sounds very special.”

  “He is.”

  “Well then, you are very lucky to have him.”

  “I guess.” Anna put down her mug and raised her arms, smoothing back loose strands of her hair away from her face before letting her hands fall idly to the table. She could feel her eyes warm as they started to fill up. “It feels like everything is broken and can’t be mended, and in the meantime I’m suspended in limbo, not knowing who I am.”

  Helen’s maternal instincts took over. She reached forward, took her hand. “Why not look on this as if you are turning a corner, a new opportunity in your life. Nothing has been taken away, just new people to meet and get to know. It’s like a new chapter. It doesn’t have to be one or the other, just an addition.”

  “I’m sorry. You don’t want to hear this,” Anna said, retrieving her hand, fighting the tears that pricked her eyes.

  “It’s fine, Anna. Really. You can talk to me anytime.” She looked away and sipped at her coffee to give her time to compose. She needed to keep Anna calm. Calm enough to talk freely. Confide information. This way, something, somewhere, may drop into the conversation, an inadvertent comment that could eventually lead them to the killer.

  Helen loved this part of police work. She found people fascinating, watching their body language, their eye movement, their mannerisms, using silence to induce conversation. As she had moved through the ranks the opportunities for face to face contact had reduced dramatically. Very few DCIs interviewed these days. That is what made this particular job so attractive - the people contact. She felt bad for Anna, it was a kind of manipulation, but in a case this complex, she needed to keep probing . . .

  “Do you have a new suspect?” Anna asked finally, dabbing the napkin beneath her eyes.

  “We have lots of leads we are following up. Don’t worry, Anna, we’ll do everything we can to catch them.”

  “Them?”

  “Him or her, the murderer . . .”

  Silence followed. Anna took a deep breath. “I’ve even argued with Ross,” she said.

  “He’s probably just concerned for your safety. That’s understandable. I’m sure you’ll make up.”

  “I guess.” Anna blew her nose noisily, placed the napkin in
her pocket and looked up. “Why do you think this has happened to me?”

  “We’re looking into that. But you need to be completely honest with us. If there is anything you are not telling us, anything at all, however insignificant you might think it is, you must speak up quickly.”

  Helen sighed. She knew that meeting Anna like this was a very unorthodox approach, one that could easily be misconstrued by her colleagues. But, her father’s experience had taught her two things: always keep your witnesses close, and sometimes you don’t get results without bending the rules ever so slightly.

  “I’ve already told you everything I know. There isn’t any more.” Anna sneezed suddenly, the noise eating up her words.

  Helen pulled a tissue out of her pocket and handed it across the table. She watched as Anna took it gratefully, and blew her nose. They sat in silence for a moment.

  “What do you know of your biological father’s background?” Helen asked finally.

  Anna shook her head. “Nothing. I didn’t even hear his name before this weekend. You could try my parents, I guess.”

  “We have spoken to them. They say they’ve never met him, only knew his name through court records.” Helen lifted her coffee to her lips and sipped it. The cream stuck to her top lip and she licked it away quickly.

  “What about your brother?”

  “I thought that he wasn’t a suspect?”

  “We’re just trying to build up a background picture on the McCafferty family members. Did he talk to you about his relationship with Jim?”

  “He mentioned that they didn’t live together much while he was growing up.” She pressed her lips together and furrowed her brow, deep in thought. “Told me that he was an alcoholic.”

  “But they kept in contact?”

  “Yes, I believe so. And he saw him a month ago. He visited him when he was on home leave . . . You don’t think he did it?” Anna leant back in disbelief.

  “I have no reason to think that,” Helen replied reassuringly. “As I say, we are just trying to build up a picture of the family, friends, acquaintances – something that will lead us to the killer. It wouldn’t hurt for you to be cautious though.”

  Anna shuddered. “Do you think that they will come after me?” she asked, quietly.

  “We have no reason to think that you are in danger.”

  “But what if I am? I mean, his dead body was in my flat. There must be some reason for that?”

  “It could mean something, or nothing. I don’t want you to worry Anna. We’re doing everything we can to find whoever is responsible and in the meantime you have my mobile number, you can call me at any time. However insignificant you think it is. I’m only at the end of the phone. If I’m in a meeting one of my team in the incident room will pick it up.”

  As if on cue, the buzz of Helen’s phone startled her and she reached down and pulled it out of her bag, examining the illuminated dial. “I have to take this.” Anna nodded, as she got up and walked out into the street beyond.

  Helen pulled her suit jacket across her chest, cursing herself for not throwing her long coat over her shoulders before she descended into the cold evening. The air was icy and she was relieved to finally end the call and return to the warmth of the Cafe.

  “Everything OK?” Anna said, as she approached the table.

  “Yeah, I think so,” she replied gingerly. “I need to go I’m afraid.” She sat down, picked up her bag, rummaging for her purse.

  “Work again?”

  “Home business this time.”

  Helen removed a ten pound note and placed it on the table between them. She looked across at Anna. “You’re a teacher aren’t you?” she said suddenly.

  Anna met her gaze. “Afraid so. Do you have kids?”

  “Yes, two boys, thirteen and fifteen.”

  “Challenging ages.” She gave a knowing nod.

  “You could say that. Robert, my thirteen year old is a saint, but Matthew is going through a,” she pressed her lips together and hesitated to find the right words, “difficult phase at the moment.”

  “Can I help with anything? I am the Year 10 counseling contact.”

  Helen inwardly shook herself tall. She liked Anna. Maybe in different circumstances . . . There was a fine line between keeping Anna close, keeping an eye on her, finding out who she has been with, why, when; and friendship. The conversation was becoming too personal. Right now, it just wouldn’t be ethical. Such a shame. There was a side of Helen that genuinely liked Anna, and she would certainly appreciate some professional advice at this stage.

  “Nothing I can’t sort out.” She smiled, keen to change the subject. “Can I give you a lift?”

  “I’ve got Ross’ car. It’s just outside.” She pointed towards the High Street.

  “I’ll walk you to it.”

  “There’s no need.”

  “I insist. It’s on the way to mine.”

  When they reached Ross’ car Helen held out her hand, a gesture so simple but so defined. Suddenly, their easiness became awkward as the professional relationship between them reinstated itself. Anna shook it. “Take care and keep in touch.”

  “Thank you. And good luck with Matthew.” As Helen watched her drive away a thought nagged at her. Anna’s mother - ‘She’s had a difficult life.’ Helen wondered why she hadn’t been alerted to any anomalies in Kathleen’s background? She made a mental note to check with the team first thing in the morning.

  * * *

  Even before Anna had reached the Cross Keys roundabout, she could see the smoke rising up into the moonlit sky. She stared up at it. The closer she got, the bigger the smoke cloud became. By the time she was within a few streets of Ross’ house, she had to slow right down as people were huddled around, coming out of their houses and standing in the street pointing at the roll of smoke. Driving became futile. There were just too many bodies to navigate through. She abandoned the car and continued on foot, making her way through people idly watching the thick smog in the sky.

  As she approached the end of the street and saw the police tape cordoning off the area, she gasped. Her chest throbbed. She pushed towards the front of crowd, squashing between heavy bodies, the smoke in the air making her lungs feel dry.

  Her eyes focused on the house generating the heat, the house the fire fighters were striving to battle against.

  She fought her way through the remaining people, lifting the tape. Her head was in a vice, the grip tightening by the second.

  Suddenly, there was a strong pair of hands on her shoulders. The feeling of her body being pulled back.

  Instinctively, she struggled, turned to face the tall, uniformed policeman, a reflection of flames dancing in his eyes. “That’s my boyfriend’s house!” she cried.

  She pulled away from him, shouting, “Rosssss!”

  Chapter Fourteen

  The call came at half past nine and took Helen by surprise.

  “DCI Lavery, this is DI Connell from the Control Room.”

  “I’m not the Duty DCI this evening,” she replied quickly, lifting the newly poured glass of red wine to her mouth.

  “I realize that, ma’am,” he said, “but there has been a fire at

  21 Castrell Street.” She shot forward at this remark, droplets of wine spilling into her lap. “The resident,” he hesitated as if he were reading from notes, “a Ross Kendle, is missing, thought to be in the property, and his lodger, an Anna Cottrell, is giving a statement to officers at the scene. When the officer radioed through, both of these names were highlighted as being linked to your Operation Marlon.” “Do we know how the fire started?”

  “Not yet, ma’am, but the fire fighters are treating it as suspicious.”

  “I’ll get straight down to the scene. Thank you for letting me know.”

  When she arrived at

  Castrell Street, it looked like a scene from a Hollywood movie. Fire fighters had extinguished the final flames but were scurrying around, collecting up hoses, putting their eq
uipment together. The street was cordoned off by two marked police cars with flashing lights. Hordes of onlookers, some of whom would have no doubt been evacuated from their nearby homes, looked on avidly. She had been forced to pull out her warrant card in order to fight her way through the crowd. Helen headed for the first familiar face and held out her hand, “Alison?”

  DS Strenson turned to face her. “Hi, ma’am.” She smiled, shook her hand. “Control room told me they called you.”

  Helen smiled back at her. She had worked with Alison Strenson a couple of years back, on a project to centralize the Control Room across the Area, and they retained a good, professional, friendship. “How are you?”

  “Fine thanks, and you?”

  “Good.” Helen nodded, then cast her eyes back across the scene.

  “I hear you’ve got Op. Marlon?”

  “For my sins.” She raised her brows. “That’s why I’m here.” She pointed towards the smoky street. “What do we know?”

  “Not much at the moment. A neighbor was putting some rubbish out at around eight thirty and noticed the smoke billowing into the back garden of number 21. He called the fire service who alerted us.”

  “What about Ross Kendle?”

  “Not accounted for as yet. His girlfriend, a Miss Cottrell, was staying with him. She went out just after seven.”

  To meet me, thought Helen.

  “She returned around nine o’clock,” Strenson continued. “Mr. Kendle was at home when she left. She has given us contact details for friends and family, but we can’t locate him at the moment.”

  “Where is Anna now?”

  “She made a brief statement but was suffering from shock. Refused to go to hospital, so we took her back to her parent’s home.”

  Helen looked around her. “Who’s in charge?” She nodded her head backwards towards the fire engine.

  “James Campbell is senior on scene,” Strenson said. She pointed to a lean man with a shock of orange hair sticking out from underneath his helmet.

  “Thanks, Alison. Good to see you again.” She patted her on the shoulder. “Keep me updated will you?”

  “Sure.”