One to Watch Page 2

  Sharp nodded. ‘As well as the caterers, the wait staff, the bartenders—’ He broke off and ran a hand over his head.

  ‘Where are the parents?’

  ‘In one of the guest bedrooms with an officer in attendance – Debbie West. Two of Harriet’s team are processing their own bedroom before they can be granted access.’ Sharp checked his watch. ‘In fact, let’s go talk to them now, and then you and I can come back down here and discuss strategy.’

  ‘Sounds like a plan.’

  Kay followed him through the house and along a wide corridor with four windows that gave the residents a sweeping view over their driveway, then up a flight of carpeted stairs.

  A woman met them at the top of the stairs, her grey hair tied back into a severe bun and her hands clasped in front of her.

  ‘Can I help you?’

  ‘Detective Inspector Devon Sharp. I’m here to speak with Mr and Mrs Whittaker. You are?’

  ‘Grace Jamieson. I’m Lady Griffith’s housekeeper.’

  Kay peered around Sharp’s shoulder as a door was wrenched open, and Debbie West stepped out of a room, looking harassed.

  ‘Sir, great timing,’ she breathed. ‘Mr and Mrs Whittaker are getting a bit—’

  ‘Thanks, Debbie.’ Sharp brushed past Mrs Jamieson and led the way into the guest bedroom.

  The housekeeper began to follow, before the young police officer held up her hand. ‘You’ll need to wait here with me, Mrs Jamieson.’

  Kay followed Sharp, gave Debbie a quick nod, and steeled herself.

  Dealing with the family of a murder victim was never easy, let alone when that victim was only sixteen years old.

  The mother, Diane Whittaker, Sharp had informed her on the way from the terrace, was known as “Lady Diane Griffith”, and was somehow, through a myriad of cousins, reportedly related to the Royal family.

  She sat, bolt upright, on a pale green velvet ottoman, her dark hair held back from her face with what Kay realised were real tortoiseshell hair ornaments. She wore a navy-coloured dress that bared her shoulders, although she adjusted a wrap over her collarbone before raising pale blue eyes to Sharp as he stood before her and her husband.

  ‘Mr Whittaker, Lady Griffith, I’d like to introduce you to DS Kay Hunter, who will be co-managing this investigation with me.’

  Kay took the woman’s hand, fought down a sudden panicked thought as to whether she should curtsey, discarded it almost immediately and returned the firm handshake.

  She turned to Matthew Whittaker.

  As he was taller than her by at least four inches, she had to lift her chin to make eye contact.

  Dark brown irises peered out from under bushy eyebrows and the faint whiff of alcohol reached her as he introduced himself.

  ‘Inspector, I hope you’re not going to keep us from our own bedroom much longer,’ he said. ‘My wife is obviously upset, and it’s quite outrageous that we have to be kept in here.’

  ‘I’m sorry, Mr Whittaker,’ said Sharp. ‘We’re working as fast as we can.’

  Kay noticed that he made no mention of the Whittakers’ bedroom being methodically searched by two of Harriet’s team at the present time.

  ‘Well instead of standing around here, you should at least go and speak to that despicable boy that was always hanging around here,’ said Diane, her voice full of venom.

  Kay spun round to face her, surprised. ‘Josh Hamilton? I though Sophie was going to get engaged to him?’

  Diane rolled her eyes. ‘Not Josh, for goodness’ sake. The other boy that was always turning up and making a nuisance of himself.’ She clicked her fingers while her eyes roamed the ceiling. ‘Peter… Peter—’

  ‘Peter Evans,’ said Matthew. He turned his attention to Sharp. ‘She’s right. You should talk to Peter Evans. He hated the idea of Sophie marrying Josh one day.’ His face darkened. ‘Last time he turned up here, I had to threaten him with calling the police. The lad’s a bloody nuisance. Like a lovesick puppy.’

  Kay pulled out her notebook. ‘What’s his address? Do you know?’

  Matthew rattled off the flat number and street name with the anger and precision of a machine gun.

  Kay glanced at Sharp.

  ‘Go,’ he said. ‘And get uniform to go with you in one of their cars. Hurry.’

  Kay spun on her heel and raced from the room.

  Three

  Kay gripped the steering wheel and concentrated on the rear lights of the patrol car in front of her.

  They’d burst from the lane and onto the slightly wider B-road heading back into town five minutes ago, and were now barrelling along a dual carriageway that, fortunately at this time of night, was empty save for a lone taxi that kept in its lane, well out of their way.

  The patrol car killed its siren as they entered the fringes of the sprawling suburbs, and Kay was thankful for their foresight.

  There was no need to forewarn a potential suspect of their imminent arrival, nor did they need to deal with the wrath of the local populace the next day for being woken from their slumber by an over-zealous patrol.

  She braked as the car in front took a left exit off a roundabout, and followed in its wake as it weaved through a maze of terraced houses before sliding to a stop outside a plain-looking three-storey end of terrace.

  She yanked the handbrake and launched herself out of the driving seat.

  The patrol car driver, an older constable by the name of Derek Norris, met her at the gap between their vehicles.

  ‘With all due respect, we’ll go first,’ he said, his voice gruff and his meaning clear.

  Kay gestured to him to lead. ‘Sounds good to me, Derek. Mind how you go.’

  He winked as he passed, nodded to his passenger, a young probationer whose name escaped Kay, and pushed through the rotted wooden gate that separated the property from the pavement.

  ‘It’s the basement flat,’ she said.

  Norris held up a hand in response.

  A stubbly garden filled the first few yards between the house and the road, and then she saw it in the beam from the younger policeman’s torch.

  Steps, leading downwards.

  She held her breath as Norris gestured for the probationer to move aside, and then descended the concrete steps to a single wooden door.

  He rapped his fist against the surface, setting off a dog in one of the flats above, its yapping silenced by harsh words closely followed by a single yelp.

  Kay didn’t doubt the abilities of Norris or his sidekick, but she extracted the telescopic nightstick she’d brought with her from the car and held it ready.

  Norris raised his fist to knock a second time, but a light came on above his head, and the door opened.

  A youth in his late teens or early twenties gazed out, his expression turning from hope to stunned horror as he took in the presence of a policeman a split second before Norris coaxed him backwards and stepped over the threshold.

  Kay glanced at the probationer, who wore a similar stunned expression to that of the tenant.

  ‘Is he always like this when he first meets people?’

  ‘Umm…’

  ‘Stay here. Call for back up if we yell,’ she said. She patted his shoulder and began to descend the stairs. ‘Good boy. Stay,’ she murmured under her breath.

  Norris appeared at the front door as she reached the bottom step, his face stricken.

  ‘Stay there,’ he said. ‘We have a problem.’

  She peered round his shoulder, her eyes quickly assessing the situation.

  The door opened into a simple bedsit, an unmade double bed at the rear of the room next to a threadbare two-seater sofa and a small coffee table. A small television perched on a bracket set into the wall.

  Beyond, she could see the entrance to the bathroom, a single light bulb in the ceiling.

  She retracted the nightstick, and glanced at Norris before turning her attention to the man sitting on the end of the bed, his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands.
r />   ‘Peter Evans?’

  He raised his gaze from the carpet and peered at her from under a swept-back fringe, his shoulder length hair damp and his pale blue eyes red-rimmed. ‘That’s me.’

  ‘There’s a packed suitcase behind this door,’ said Norris.

  ‘Going somewhere?’ said Kay, directing her question at Evans.

  ‘There are two sets of clothes in the suitcase,’ said Norris. ‘Male and female.’ He jutted his chin towards the bottom step, and Kay moved away from the door, Norris following. ‘There’s blood on the bed,’ he murmured.

  Kay craned her neck, but she couldn’t see from where she stood. ‘Any sign of injury on him?’

  Norris shook his head.

  ‘Shit,’ said Kay. ‘Okay, let’s take him in. Lock this down as a crime scene.’ She jerked her thumb over her shoulder. ‘Have your friend stay here until forensics arrive. You can come back here once we’ve got him booked in.’

  He nodded, turned on his heel and went back inside.

  Kay could hear him cautioning Peter as she climbed back up the stairs.

  ‘We’re going to take him in,’ she said to the young police officer. ‘Don’t enter the flat. We’ll lock it down as a crime scene and get forensics here as soon as possible.’

  She pulled out her mobile phone and hit the speed dial for Sharp’s number as she walked back to her car. Unlocking it, she leaned against it while the phone rang, and noticed at least two windows bathed in light above the basement flat.

  No doubt the neighbours had realised that their house was receiving unwanted attention from the police.

  Sharp answered on the fourth ring. ‘What have you got?’

  ‘We arrived five minutes ago. Peter Evans is here, with a suitcase full of clothing,’ said Kay. ‘There’s blood on the bed linen, and he’s recently showered. We’re bringing him in for questioning.’

  ‘Good work,’ said Sharp. ‘I’ll finish up here, and meet you back at the station. Harriet’s obviously going to be busy here for a while yet, so I’ll let her know she needs to send another team to the flat.’

  ‘Thanks,’ said Kay. ‘See you in a bit.’

  She finished her call as Norris swung the gate open and gestured for Peter to walk ahead of him.

  Kay opened the back seat of the car, waited until he had settled in his seat and fastened his seatbelt, then slammed the door shut and turn to Norris.

  ‘Sharp will meet us at the station,’ she said. ‘Let’s get this one booked in, and find out what he has to say for himself.’

  Four

  In the interview room, Peter Evans shuffled towards the chair DI Sharp indicated to him, the duty solicitor setting his briefcase on the floor before taking the chair next to his client.

  All of Evans’s clothes had been taken from him upon arrival at the custody suite in the early hours of the morning. Each item had been carefully placed in a bag and catalogued before being taken away for processing by the forensic team.

  Now, he wore a regulation set of overalls that hung off his narrow shoulders, and he’d rolled the sleeves up above his elbows. A pair of soft slippers covered his feet as he scooted the chair nearer to the desk and then rested his hands in his lap.

  Kay opened up her notebook, wondering what the hell was going through the young man’s mind. She resisted the urge to sigh, and tuned in to Sharp’s voice.

  Sharp began the interview by formally cautioning Evans and then asking him to confirm his name, address and occupation. That done, the detective inspector leaned back in his seat and eyed the young suspect.

  ‘Peter, I’ll start off by saying I’ve dealt with a few murder cases in my time, but none as cold-blooded as this.’

  ‘I didn’t do it,’ said Evans. He lifted his chin until he was staring Sharp eye to eye. ‘I didn’t murder Sophie.’ His voice broke, and he wiped the back of his hand under his nose.

  Sharp pushed a box of paper tissues across the table, and Evans plucked two from the box before blowing his nose.

  ‘When did you last see Sophie alive?’ said Sharp.

  ‘Eight o’clock yesterday morning,’ said Evans. ‘I hadn’t been invited to the party. I didn’t go to church – never have, let alone that creepy inner sanctum of theirs.’

  ‘Where did you meet her yesterday morning?’

  ‘About quarter of a mile down the lane from the house. She’d snuck away while all the preparations were being made.’

  ‘Did you try to convince her not to go ahead with the ceremony, is that it?’

  ‘Yes.’ Evans shrugged. ‘It’s just wrong. She has to pledge her chastity to her dad for fuck’s sake. It’s medieval. She’s not even getting married to Josh until she’s eighteen.’

  ‘What did she say to you?’

  Evans wiped at his eyes. ‘She said she had to. “To keep up appearances”,’ he said, emphasising the words with his fingers held in the air. ‘It’s bollocks.’

  ‘How old are you, Peter?’

  ‘Nineteen.’

  ‘And you’ve been sleeping with a sixteen-year-old?’

  The young man’s bottom lip stuck out. ‘It’s not illegal.’

  ‘Were you sleeping with her before she was sixteen?’

  ‘No.’ Evans sat forward in his chair and glared at Sharp. ‘I loved her. Those people – they used her.’

  ‘Which people?’

  ‘Her parents – and Josh’s.’

  ‘In what way?’

  Evans sank back into his chair, his face a picture of misery. ‘It’s all about the money, isn’t it? It’s like, Blake Hamilton’s lived here for seven years and he’s obsessed with being part of that whole scene.’

  ‘Go on.’

  ‘Well, if Josh marries – sorry,’ Evans sniffed, and wiped his nose on his sleeve, ‘married Sophie when she hit eighteen, then Blake’d be linked to the English aristocracy.’

  ‘So, what happened – you found out Sophie was going ahead with the ceremony and decided to take matters into your own hands?’

  ‘No!’

  ‘How do you explain the bloodstain found on the sheets at your bedsit?’ said Kay.

  Evans swallowed. ‘We had sex.’

  Sharp frowned. ‘A moment ago, you said you met her a quarter of a mile from her house.’

  ‘I had my van. We went back to my place.’

  ‘Did you rape her?’

  ‘No!’ Evans’s face turned white. ‘No. Of course not. I loved her. She loved me.’

  ‘Then explain the blood.’

  Evans’s face flashed to crimson in a heartbeat. ‘It was only her second time. I didn’t hurt her, I swear.’

  ‘Why did you have her passport, Peter?’ said Kay.

  The nineteen-year-old’s shoulders sagged. ‘We were going to run away,’ he said. ‘That’s why she had a suitcase full of clothes there. I bought the suitcase, and every time I met up with her for the five weeks prior to the ceremony, she gave me a bit more to pack in it.’

  ‘Where were you going to go?’

  ‘France,’ he said. ‘I speak some French, and so does Sophie – better than me, in fact.’ He sighed. ‘Put it down to a private education when she was younger. We were going to find work teaching English as a foreign language. Travel a bit. Oh, God.’ He leaned forward, rested his elbows on the table and buried his head in his hands. ‘I can’t believe she’s gone.’

  Sharp gave the young man a few moments, then flipped open the folder on the table in front of him and resumed his questioning.

  ‘You’ve stated no next of kin on your charge sheet,’ he said. ‘Where are your parents?’

  Evans raised his head from his hands. ‘They died when I was six. So did my twin brother. Car accident. I got fostered until I hit eighteen last January.’

  ‘What was foster care like?’

  Evans looked confused. ‘What has that got to do with anything?’

  ‘Just answer the question, please.’

  ‘It was fine, I suppose. I got placed with a midd
le-aged couple that couldn’t have kids of their own, so they fostered me.’

  ‘We’ll need their details.’

  ‘Brendan and Marjorie Chambers.’

  ‘And how can we contact them?’

  Evans’s jaw set, and then he took a deep breath. ‘Good luck with that. They’re buried at Maidstone Cemetery. They died six months ago in a road accident outside Sittingbourne.’

  ‘What did you do with the murder weapon, Peter?’

  ‘What?’

  Sharp’s sudden turn of questioning threw the young suspect, and Kay waited for his response with interest.

  ‘The murder weapon you used to kill Sophie. Where is it?’

  Evans shoved his chair back and stood, his hands on the table as he leaned forward. ‘I didn’t kill her,’ he spat. He pointed at Sharp. ‘And while you’re sat here interviewing me, trying to get me to confess, her murderer is out there walking around!’

  The duty solicitor placed a hand on Evans’s arm and coaxed him back to his seat, his eyebrows raised in Sharp’s direction.

  Sharp ignored him, and instead rose from his seat. ‘Interview terminated at twelve twenty-seven a.m.’

  Five

  Kay cruised the car to a standstill in the driveway of her house and quickly switched off the engine.

  The pub up the road had closed three hours ago, and the lane was silent.

  She climbed from the vehicle and shut the door, catching a fleeting glimpse of a fox as it darted across the potholed asphalt. Slinging her handbag over her arm, she used the light from a waxing moon to find her house key and unlocked the front door.

  After a burglary a few months before, a new lock had been fitted and Kay was grateful that it didn’t squeak like the old one had. She turned and closed it behind her, careful not to let it swing shut and wake her other half, Adam.

  He had left the kitchen light on – its glow pooled down the hallway so she could see what she was doing.

  It made a change for her not to come home and discover an animal of some sort. As a partner in one of the town’s busier veterinary practices, Adam often brought home his work – in the literal sense. However, his time had been taken up the past few weeks looking after mares who were foaling. Although the births had gone well, it meant at the moment they hardly saw each other as he was often out the door in the early hours of the morning or working late into the night.