Cold Winter's Morning Page 6

  ‘I can guess what this is about. My wife told me what you had been saying. I’m on your list of suspects for the murder of Victoria Crosby.’

  ‘You know about her murder?’ Frank asked.

  ‘I read the report on her death in the local newspaper,’ Ian said, in a measured, professional manner. ‘Nothing more.’

  ‘You can see why we need to talk to you?’ Helen said.

  ‘Yes and no,’ Ian said. ‘Losing our baby was terrible but the hospital didn’t think the crash was the cause. My wife just needed someone to blame. Victoria Crosby was a damn fool who had too much to drink but haven’t we all at some time? I was angry, but it didn’t last long.’

  ‘Your wife is still angry,’ Frank pointed out, letting the implication sink in.

  Ian stared. ‘The newspaper said the car reversed over Vicky as she lay dying. My wife isn’t capable of that. She’s angry and upset but she’d never go out and cold-bloodedly buy a car to run over someone. You must see that.’

  They were walking across the breezy car park when Helen said, ‘I don’t think he or his wife had anything to do with this.’

  ‘We can’t rule them out but, no, my gut is telling me that too. For one thing, I don’t think he could be quite that calm just after giving Ingermann a battering to keep him quiet. There wasn’t a hint of agitation. He has the money to employ someone to do his dirty work but I still don’t see it. And I have difficulty seeing his wife as our killer.’

  Helen’s phone received a text. She glanced at it.

  ‘What was that?’ he asked.

  She drew a breath. ‘A personal message for once.’

  Frank prowled up and down in front of the whiteboard which was now covered in photographs and notes. The rest of the team were at their desks.

  ‘It’s my gut feeling that the Morgans are behind this,’ he was saying.

  ‘You’re becoming obsessed,’ Helen said, a smile taking the sting out of the comment.

  ‘I’m with you, Frank,’ Jade said. ‘Punishment beatings are their style. It’s why we’ve never got near to putting any of them away for a decent stretch since the old man, Henry, and he was a dozy idiot.’

  Yalina waved a hand in the air. ‘Hey,’ she said. ‘I’ve got two pieces of good news and one bad.’

  Frank turned towards her. ‘Tell me.’

  ‘Good news first. We have a description of Ingermann’s attacker from an eyewitness who spotted him leaving the scene, but only from behind. They reported him as being tall, heavily built, wearing a black leather jacket and jeans.’

  Yalina beamed. ‘Second, the moped pillion seat had a clear fingerprint on the underneath. She must have touched it before putting on the gloves. They wiped the bike clean but they missed that part, I guess.’

  She?’

  ‘Cassie Morgan.’

  Youngest of the Morgan clan. Chance to nick one of the bloody family?

  ‘Excellent,’ Frank said, rubbing his hands together. He looked at Jade again, ‘She lives with the mother, doesn’t she?

  Jade nodded with a broad smile on her face.

  ‘A piece of good luck,’ he said. ‘About bloody time.’

  ‘There’s one more thing,’ Yalina said. ‘Someone spotted the driver of the Golf as it passed on Stewards Rise and another as it slowed to turn into Station Road. The bad news is they both say he was still wearing the mask. These reports came in as a result of our appeals.’

  ‘Have we checked CCTV in the streets around the industrial estate?’ Frank asked Yalina.

  ‘There are cameras trained on the fronts of the units and some of the road outside. I’m still working on them but the Golf hasn’t shown up yet and I’m not hopeful. The killer’s not on there either. Only one mechanic opening up a car repair business was filmed that early in the day. The killer may have considered CCTV and walked ‘round the back going up the hill to avoid it, before returning to town.’

  ‘I’ve been reading Vicky’s diaries,’ Helen said, ‘and there are a lot of coded entries. Initials and numbers. She was definitely up to something.’

  ‘Dealing?’ he asked.

  She sighed. ‘Could be.’

  He nodded. ‘What I need to know is where every member of the Morgan family was at 7:30 yesterday morning.’ He looked around at each member of the CID team. ‘In the meantime, while you do the clever scientific stuff, I want to look each of them in the eye.’

  ‘Good old-fashioned police work,’ Helen said to Frank’s back, and the others laughed.

  Frank turned to her, and she pulled a face at him.

  ‘Get your coat,’ he said. ‘We’re going to arrest Cassandra Morgan.’

  Georgina ‘Gina’ Morgan and her daughter Cassandra lived in an upmarket, recently built, four-bedroom house on Gateside Road. The house was set back from the road behind a gravel driveway and tall railings with gate access. The mannish, plump Gina Morgan opened the door. She took one look at the four officers and asked, ‘What the hell do you want?’

  ‘Cassie,’ Frank said.

  ‘Cassie, get your arse out here.’

  Gina put her hands on her ample hips.

  ‘So, what’s she supposed to have done?’ she said, as Cassie appeared beside her.

  “Boozerite,’ he said. ‘Got evidence that places her at the scene. Might as well come quietly.’

  Gina leaned over and whispered to Cassie who then stepped forward. The door slammed shut right behind her.

  ‘Your mother’s a charmer,’ Frank said.

  Cassie sneered at him and surveyed the others.

  ‘Come on, Cassie,’ Frank said. ‘Let’s get you to the station.’

  ‘You haven’t identified yourselves,’ Cassie said. ‘I know my rights.’

  ‘I am Detective Sergeant Grey, the others are DC Walker, PC Powell and PC Drake.’ Frank held up his warrant card and so did the others.

  ‘I’m not going anywhere unless you arrest me.’

  Helen gripped Cassie’s shoulder and pushed her. They crunched across the gravel as Frank gave her the standard caution and the charge she was being arrested for. Malvia and Phil followed.

  Helen stood in the ladies’ toilet and selected ‘Peter’ from her contacts.

  ‘Hi, it’s me,’ she said. ‘I got your text.’

  ‘Hello me,’ he said.

  ‘How’s your day?’ Helen asked.

  ‘I’m in the office at the moment but we’re having a slow day so I’m going to slope off early. I wondered if you fancied a meal somewhere?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ she said. ‘I won’t finish until around nine and I’ll be tired and I don’t really want to get dressed up to go out.’

  ‘Bloody hell, woman. I’m overwhelmed by your enthusiasm.’

  ‘It’s not that, I just—’

  ‘It’s your turn to feed us.’

  ‘Oh, I really don’t—’

  ‘Just get a takeaway on your way home, I’ll get a decent bottle of wine.’

  ‘I have wine, you know.’

  Peter sighed. ‘I’ll get something that costs more than £4 in the supermarket. You can savour it, relax and tell me all your woes.’

  ‘And find them under your byline in tomorrow’s edition, I don’t think so.’

  ‘OK, OK, we can sit in silence and I’ll massage your feet.’

  ‘Fetishist,’ she said, just as Yalina walked in through the swing door.

  Helen looked up at Yalina’s wide grin. ‘All right,’ she said to Peter, ‘I’ll see you later.’

  She cleared the call and turned to check her appearance in a mirror. She also saw Yalina’s reflection staring back at her.

  ‘Who was that?’ asked Yalina as a big grin spread across her face.

  ‘Never you mind.’

  She gently refreshed her lipstick and then glanced back at Yalina’s reflection.

  ‘I reckon you’ve got a new bloke on the go,’ Yalina said. ‘Why aren’t we hearing about him? Is he married?’

  ‘No, he’s
not,’ Helen said.

  ‘So, what’s his name?’

  ‘Peter.’

  ‘Peter who?’

  ‘Peter is all you’re getting.’

  ‘And what’s Peter going to be getting tonight?’

  ‘Excuse me,’ Helen said, and bustled past her.

  Chapter 11

  Cassie walked into the interview room with her solicitor. The solicitor locked his fingers together and looked at Frank, ‘As I see it, you’re relying on a fingerprint found on the moped and have no other evidence. I have agreed with my client that I will read out a prepared statement and that she will not answer any further questions.’

  ‘Very well,’ Frank said.

  ‘I was visiting my brother in Oswell Point, Westchapel yesterday when I saw two young men riding up and down on a moped. I had a ride on the pillion seat and that’s how my fingerprint came to be on the moped. I had not seen the young men before and I do not know them. I was not involved in the off-licence robbery.’

  ‘Is that right?’ Frank asked Cassie.

  ‘Yes.’ She scowled.

  ‘Can you describe the two men with the moped?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Have you been to the Boozrite off-licence in Shoreham Street?’

  ‘No comment.’

  Frank continued to ask all the prepared questions eliciting a ‘No comment’ response to them all. The solicitor checked his watch.

  Frank returned Cassie’s stare. ‘Right, interview terminated at 12:19,’ he said, and flicked the recorder’s switch.

  Helen got to her feet. ‘I’ll take you back to the Custody Sergeant and get you released.’

  The others stood. The solicitor opened the door and held it while Helen walked out. Frank stepped forward and took hold of Cassie’s shoulder.

  ‘I’m coming after your family for the murder of Vicky Crosby,’ he whispered into her ear.

  She looked up at him but her scowl did not change and she said nothing.

  ‘Really Detective Sergeant,’ the solicitor said. He hustled Cassie from the room.

  Frank stepped out into the corridor and watched them as far as the custody counter. When they got there, Cassie looked back in Frank’s direction. A sneer played across her face before the custody sergeant called for her attention.

  Frank walked down the corridor to stand beside Helen. They watched Cassie and her solicitor as they descended the steps into the station’s backyard. A uniform officer escorted them off the premises.

  ‘That was interesting.’ Frank said.

  ‘What was?’ asked Helen.

  ‘Cassie knew the name Vicky Crosby.’

  Helen looked up at him. ‘Doesn’t prove a thing. Vicky’s name has been all over the internet.’

  ‘It’s been a while since I’ve seen Gina. She doesn’t change. She’s as hard as nails. Nothing fazes her.’ Frank said.

  ‘I know,’ Helen said.

  ‘We need to take stock and decide our next move but I’m thinking a visit to the Elektra Night Club would be in order.’

  ‘We could have a drink and a dance,’ Helen said, and jigged on the spot.

  ‘Never mind dancing, I want to look Ed Morgan in the eye. Him and his shadow, Leonard Kowalski.’

  ‘The Morgans’ fixer,’ she said. ‘He likes to be called “Loki”. You know, like Thor’s villainous half-brother.’

  Frank rolled his eyes. ‘That’s only in the movies,’ he said. ‘Traditionally there is rather more to the story.’

  Frank got up from his desk and put on his jacket. ‘I’m nipping out for sandwiches and a breath of fresh air. I won’t be long.’ He checked the weather through the main windows that looked out over the street. Satisfied that it was a pleasant day, if cold, he headed for the door, passing Helen’s desk.

  ‘Catch you later,’ she called.

  Frank jogged down the stairs and let himself out into the public space at the front of the building. He passed two people on the uncomfortable bench inside the entrance. Waving at the PC who manned the front desk, he pulled open one of the big doors. He stepped out into the bustle of Arundel Road and buttoned up his jacket against the cold. The exercise and fresh air would get his brain cells working again. The girls in the office were great, but they wanted the office temperature warmer than he preferred. He glanced at a small shop’s window, another one whitewashed over. Now his head was clearing, and he was becoming acclimatised to the weather.

  The ASDA store entrance sat in the fork of Arundel Road and Inkerman Street. Arundel Road continued up the hill to pass over the bridge next to Westchapel’s railway station.

  He picked up a packet of sandwiches and a can of coke. He was just paying with his bank card when he heard a commotion at the entrance.

  A twitchy young man standing in front of the tobacco counter just inside the store was waving a large kitchen knife in the air. He must have demanded money from the till and was shoving the notes into a carrier bag. Next, he pointed at the shelves of cigarette packets with the knife which Frank could see had a serrated edge. He was shouting obscenities at the distressed woman behind the counter.

  Frank took a few paces towards the main doors to get an unobstructed view, and sat on one of the seats provided for elderly shoppers, on the raider’s blind side. Speaking quietly on his phone, he reported the robbery to the control room. He then got up and strolled closer.

  The man was now sweeping cigarette packets into his plastic bag with the knife. The security guard and customers kept a safe distance from him. He must have been satisfied with his haul as he had closed the bag. He started for the doors waving the knife from side to side.

  Frank watched him go. He followed at a distance. No point taking too many risks.

  The thief ran across the car park and Frank exited the automatic doors. He followed hoping to be taken for an ordinary customer, wondering if the fleeing man had a car. He was concerned the thief appeared to be too high to drive safely though a car registration number might be useful for tracking him down. If he ran out onto the streets, Frank would soon lose him.

  The man had gone between two cars at the edge of the car park. Frank closed the distance between them. A moment later, the man reappeared as he heaved himself onto the top of the low wall surrounding the car park and swung his legs over. He dropped on the other side and ran between the passers-by. The man did not seem to be carrying the knife. Frank ran to where the thief had climbed the wall but the raider was out of sight.

  Hearing a siren, he turned to see a police car stop in front of the supermarket.

  Frank turned his attention to the ground between the cars and found the knife. He picked it up by pinching the tip of the blade and headed for the patrol car, still carrying his purchases.

  Phil Drake partnered by Malvia Powell had arrived in the car and they were now talking to the security guard and another man in shirt sleeves, presumably the store manager.

  They spotted Frank approaching with the knife dangling from his fingers. Drake fetched a plastic tube from the car and Frank dropped the knife into it. ‘His fingerprints will be on there and I got a look at him. He was off his head and didn’t attempt to disguise himself. Hopefully his prints will come up in the system.’

  ‘Fair enough, sarge,’ Drake said. ‘No one here knows him. The manager is getting a copy of their CCTV.’

  Malvia appeared from the store carrying a DVD case. ‘Hi, Sarge,’ she said. ‘You can’t ever get away from crime even when buying lunch, can you?’

  ‘No peace for the wicked,’ Frank agreed.

  Phil and Malvia climbed back into the car and drove off.

  Frank declined the offer of a lift and started walking for the exit.

  A woman with a loaded trolley stopped beside him. ‘Are you a police officer?’ she asked.

  Frank turned around to face her. ‘I am.’

  ‘Are you going to arrest that man?’

  ‘I hope so.’

  ‘I suppose we were lucky that you were here to cal
l for help,’ the woman said.

  Frank nodded, hoping not to get dragged into a long discussion but not wanting to be rude.

  A man and woman passed with their loaded trolley, and the woman stopped to speak with the lady beside Frank while her man carried on to their car. ‘Hello, Alice, how you keeping? You see that dreadful business in there?’

  ‘I did, and this gentleman is a police officer. He called for the police car.’

  Frank sighed inwardly.

  ‘Which got here too late,’ her friend said. ‘Typical. I don’t know what the town’s coming to. It’s not a safe place for decent people to go about their business.’

  The other woman - Alice - agreed. Her friend stared at Frank. ‘It’s the drugs you know. These young ones rob to buy more drugs and they don’t care who they hurt while they’re doing it. There should be more coppers on the beat. Never see them these days until they turn up in their cars after the event.’

  Alice murmured her agreement and shot a glance in Frank’s direction.

  Frank broke his silence and addressed the two of them. ‘We can’t be everywhere. You can do your bit by reporting anything you witness.’ He pulled out his wallet and handed them each a contact card. ‘You can speak to us on the local number, use email, report crime on the website or call Crimestoppers in confidence.’

  ‘Website,’ the woman muttered as her husband waved to hurry her. She scurried over and showed him the contact card. They both looked back at Frank before they got in their car.

  ‘Sorry about my friend,’ Alice said. ‘But we’re fed up with the way things are going. My grandson had his phone stolen by a gang of bigger lads and they punched him in the face for good measure. And the local yobbos are always throwing their lager cans in our front garden. You don’t dare speak to them, else you get foul abuse back. And they carry knives. Stab you as soon as look at you, they would.’

  Frank jumped in. ‘I’m sorry, Mrs…?’

  ‘Alice Edwards.’

  ‘Mrs Edwards, believe me, we’re just as frustrated as you are. We’re working long hours to try make Westchapel that bit safer for you.’

  Another couple with their shopping joined them. The man said, ‘Don’t tell me it’s limited resources, not your fault. Bit of an excuse isn’t it? I went to one of your community meetings - bloody waste of time that was.’