Blood Evidence Page 19

  We arrived at the station in a blur of activity, a frenzy of cars converging and a couple of reporters who had evidently caught wind of the whole situation trying to get shots. I couldn’t say I was surprised. The murder of a young, pretty, white girl tends to get attention, especially when it happens in a small town that doesn’t normally see that kind of action.

  We climbed out and followed them, and it was only marginally more of a surprise when a photographer called out “Julius!” to get Ram’s attention. I hope he got a few good shots. It’s not every day you get to photograph the son of the legendary Matthias Rakktersen.

  We stood and watched as Jude was booked, and led away to be questioned. He turned and looked back at us for a long while as they ran through the procedure, his eyes seething with rage. It was cold and hard and aimed right at us, like a shard of ice projected across the room.

  I was glad he was already in handcuffs. Seeing that expression on his face, I could no longer sustain even one per cent of doubt that he was guilty.

  We got our man.

  Ram grabbed me for a celebratory embrace, pulling me in close, and for a moment I forgot to resist. I leaned into it, feeling how good it was to have his arms around me, and I melted just a little. Then I realised what I was doing and jerked away, putting space and distance between us, refusing to meet his eyes.

  31 – Ram

  What was that? We were just celebrating, and then – Will, he just pulled away, like I was burning his skin. Is something wrong with him?

  “William and Julius?” A young detective in an ill-fitting suit approaches us.

  “That’s us,” I confirm, still casting a sidelong glance at Will. He looks… normal. Like nothing happened. Maybe I just imagined something out of nothing.

  “Follow me, please,” he says. “We’ve got some footage that you’ll want to see. DCI Fairlight sent for you.”

  We trail through a warren of corridors behind him into an open space littered with desks and computers. Light floods in through windows along one wall, and a number of policemen and women in plain clothes or uniforms mill around in clusters. Some of them wear short sleeves in deference to the last of the summer heat.

  “Come and look,” Fairlight says, beckoning us over. “The guys have cracked it. This particular Cloud service stores deleted items for a set amount of time, so they can easily be recovered. We have the missing hour and ten minutes.”

  We hunch over a desk, behind the chair of a put-upon older man with glasses perched on the end of his nose, and watch the screen. The grainy footage is as we remember it: lunchtime, an empty corridor while everyone eats in the restaurant. Cameron passes out of the restaurant door and away in the direction of the stairs, and then returns a short while later.

  And this time, with no footage removed, Jude emerges and goes towards the stairs looking furtive, only to come back in the opposite direction just a moment later.

  It’s not exactly evidence, but it certainly confirms our theory.

  “That’s good, but I don’t know that it will help,” Fairlight says.

  “Just wait, sir,” the man at the desk says, bringing up another segment of video.

  This is it: the missing hour. The timeframe for Isabelle’s murder.

  This time we see her. We see her emerge out of the main entrance, looking confused and more than a little worse for wear. She sways in her heels, and Jude appears behind her.

  They speak; we can’t hear what they are saying. The angles aren’t good for lip-reading, but it’s easy enough to guess. She moves back inside, and we can clearly see Jude usher her into the Dickens room.

  “Told you,” I mutter under my breath. Fairlight gives me a none-too-pleased look, but it’s worth it.

  Jude returns to get her some twenty minutes later. The timestamp lines up: Stacey would have gone home by then, Beverley to bed. Jude should have been the only one around.

  He leads her back down the corridor by the arm, ostensibly supporting her. Isabelle looks like she’s almost asleep. They vanish out of view into that frustrating area beyond the camera’s reach, and as much as I want to tilt it up to follow them, I can’t.

  “It might persuade a jury,” Fairlight says.

  “Wait, sir,” his colleague says, with barely concealed excitement. “There’s more.”

  All of us watch the screen, leaning in further and further without realising it until our necks complain. The timer ticks on quietly at the bottom of the screen, flashing through minutes in frames that cut ten seconds in one. Until the tech hits the slow button, and we watch in real time an empty corridor.

  And we collectively groan and gasp out loud when Jude Hargreaves comes back onto the screen, the front of his white shirt doused in a dark liquid that can only be blood.

  “We’ve got him,” Fairlight says, slapping a hand down on the desk. “Good work, Reynolds. I’m heading in.”

  He disappears, leaving us with our escort in the middle of what must function as their investigation room. I wonder how much longer we can stay here before we get thrown out. I might take the opportunity to snoop around a little.

  “You two were investigating the disappearance of Ray Riley, isn’t that correct?” the young detective asks us.

  “Yeah,” I say, with some surprise. Could it possibly be that there’s more to come?

  “We found some more footage, dating back months, which hadn’t been properly deleted,” the tech guy explains. “The DCI said it would be fine to let you watch this.”

  He navigates to another video file and opens it, letting it play.

  The clip isn’t long, but it is long enough. A matter of seconds, but that’s all it takes.

  All it takes to watch Ray Riley, unmistakeable as he looks up in fear, searching for assistance and pointing his face right at the camera for a brief moment. All it takes to see him half-dragged, half-pushed down the hall by Jude Hargreaves, who returns only thirty or forty seconds later, alone.

  The timestamp shows the middle of the night. Jude’s perfect time to work. But there are questions – so many questions.

  Why was he rushing Riley down the corridor – and where to? And who – because there must, logically, have been a who – did he meet on the outside, to hand over Riley like a lamb to the slaughter?

  Thirty-two – Will

  “But I just don’t understand,” Cameron said. Tears were gathering in his eyes. “How can I be free to go?”

  Ram sat down next to him, putting a friendly hand on his shoulder that had the effect of drawing his attention. “Let me explain everything to you,” he said. “First of all, you’re not a murderer.”

  We’d heard a commotion as we went towards the exit, and found Cameron Winter refusing to leave the station. Despite a debriefing from one of the officers investigating the case, he appeared to be having a hard time getting his head around things. His lawyer, James Dresson, was standing impatiently near the door, clearly eager to go.

  “But,” Cameron started, only for Ram to lift a hand and cut him off.

  “You are not a murderer,” Ram repeated with careful emphasis. “You’ve had a very cruel trick played on you, that’s all. You’re innocent of many other things. You didn’t offend anyone at the bar – the security guard just wanted to make you feel guilty. You didn’t steal Johnny’s gold chain, it was just planted there. And you didn’t kill anyone. I promise you that.”

  Cameron looked both relieved and crushed. “Why would someone do that?” he asked.

  “Because the real murderer needed someone to take the blame,” Ram said. A gentle smile curved his lips. “I’m sorry to tell you this, Cameron, but you’re so much of a nice guy that you were the perfect target. You felt so bad about everything that you thought you had done, that you had to own up to it. None of this is your fault.”

  Cameron wiped his sleeve across his eyes, doing little to clear the tears now streaming down his face. “What about the champagne?” he asked.

  Ram tilted his head to one side
. “Alright,” he admitted. “That was you. And you probably shouldn’t have done it. But Johnny was being a dick, and he deserved it.”

  Cameron laughed wetly, perhaps the first sign of what could turn into hysteria. He was likely in shock. “I didn’t kill anyone,” he said, and this time, it wasn’t a question.

  “And you aren’t losing your memory, and there’s nothing wrong with the way you behave,” Ram reassured him. “I’m sorry to say you haven’t got a job interview, though. That was made up, too.”

  “Oh, god,” Cameron said, his face lighting into a smile even as he continued to cry. “I thought I was going to go to prison. For, just, the rest of my life.”

  “You’re going home,” Ram said, patting him on the shoulder one last time and getting up. “I recommend staying there for a bit, maybe.”

  Cameron bit out another laugh, a burst of sound that seemed to start and end nowhere. Like a pre-programmed noise inside a doll. He didn’t seem to know whether to be happy or sad or relieved or dismayed or surprised.

  We left him there, and walked out of the station. Something had been playing on my mind, and it was time to bring it up.

  “Ram, do you believe in gut feeling?” I asked.

  He gave me a searching look. “I’m pretty sure I believe in your gut feeling,” he said. “Why? What is it saying to you?”

  “I… I don’t know. It sounds stupid,” I said, wavering.

  “No, you have to tell me now,” Ram insisted. “Those are the rules.”

  “I didn’t realise there were rules,” I protested.

  “Too bad, Will, baby. You started, so you have to finish. What is it?”

  I sighed, stopping in the car park and turning to face him. “I had this weird feeling when I went for a walk in that nature reserve, down the road from the Inn.”

  “A weird feeling?”

  “It’s been allowed to remain pretty wild, but there was this one area where it looked like the soil had been disturbed recently. A small mound. I lumped it in with the fact that the rest of the park can be kind of bumpy – lots of inclines and badger dens and the like. But something about it, I don’t know. It didn’t sit right with me.”

  “Well, let’s check it out,” Ram said.

  “It might be nothing,” I cautioned him.

  “Well, then it’s nothing,” he said. “We need a lift back anyway, right? I’ll just ask the detective to take us, and we can get him to stop off on the way.”

  “If you think it’s fine,” I said. I didn’t exactly want to discourage him, but at the same time I was doubting myself even more now I had said it out loud. It sounded stupid. It’s not like I was some kind of psychic who could find dead bodies by listening to the calls of spirits. Those people are fakers.

  But still, I couldn’t shake that feeling that drew my mind back to it time and again.

  The young detective, who had introduced himself as Anthony, joined us again in the corridor.

  “Can we help you gents out with anything?” he asked. “I’m guessing you need a lift back to your vehicle.”

  “That would be appreciated,” Ram said, giving me a swift glance. I understood his meaning. I was to let him handle this, deal with it as he saw fit.

  We were on the road when he brought it up.

  “Hey, Anthony?” Ram asked, his tone casual and light. “I was thinking about stopping off somewhere on the way.”

  “Where?” the detective asked, glancing in his wing mirrors as he merged into another lane.

  “There’s a nature reserve or something here, right?”

  “Oh, yeah,” Anthony nodded, gesturing at the road ahead. “It’s right on the way. Knole Park.”

  “Can we stop off there?” Ram asked. He cleared his throat slightly. “We did some reconnaissance in the area before we knew for sure what had happened to Ray Riley. It’s looking like a more serious case now, wouldn’t you agree? Potentially a murder case?”

  Anthony’s tone was cautious. “That is appearing as a possibility,” he said. “We have no evidence right now that Riley is deceased, but of course, we’ll be investigating all possibilities.”

  Ram smiled at him. From my place on the back seat I could see him turning on the charm. “I know, I know, you have to give the official line,” he said. “But we noticed some disturbed ground while we were there. Maybe we could just check it out, try to put our minds at rest?”

  “You think he might be buried there?” Anthony shot back immediately.

  “Like you say, there’s no evidence,” Ram shrugged. “But I’d rather know for sure, wouldn’t you? Even if it’s not a particularly solid lead, it feels like we might as well check it out. You’re not expected back at the station right away, we’re at a loose end – why not now?”

  Anthony shrugged. The logic was clear, even for someone who wasn’t as invested as we were. “We can check it out,” he said. “You were right about the confession being false. I don’t mind giving you a few extra minutes to look at some dirt.”

  “Not to mention it’ll look good on you if we actually do find something,” Ram added, conversationally.

  Anthony shot him a look before focusing back on the road. “Not to mention that,” he agreed, with just a hint of humour.

  We parked up and got out of the unmarked car, then walked into the park following the trail I had taken before. Ram stepped back to allow me to lead, and I did, noticing how everything looked a little different in the late afternoon light to how it did once evening began to set in.

  “How far in are we going?” Anthony asked.

  I shaded my eyes with my hand and pointed ahead. “Just up here, then off the trail a bit,” I said.

  Anthony grunted. “You’re not really supposed to go off the trail on purpose, you know,” he said. “Risks killing off the grass and plant life. Not to mention disturbing the animals.”

  “Sorry,” I said automatically.

  “If we’re right about this, it’s probably a moot point,” Ram said. “Considering that burying a body is a much more disruptive action than simply walking.”

  “When you put it like that,” Anthony muttered, half under his breath.

  We walked to the tree I had sat with my back to, and I cast my eyes around. I saw the edge of the trees were the deer had emerged, and beside it, the small mound of earth. It was markedly a different colour to the ground around it, and nothing grew on it; clear signs of recent disturbance.

  “Here,” I said, leading them across unspoiled ground to the mound. It was soft underfoot, and Ram tutted and cursed as his leather boots sank in.

  “This definitely looks recent,” Anthony said, leaning over and prodding at the earth with a stick he had picked up. “It’s giving easily. Not very densely packed in.”

  “Do you think it’s worth digging it up?” I asked, hesitantly. I didn’t want to push my luck.

  Anthony frowned, his mouth a thin line as he moved around it, poking and prodding. “It’s been here through some rainfall,” he said. “And look, nothing but deer tracks. If this is our place, there’s not a lot of evidence for our SOCOs to look over. Apart from the body, if there is one, of course.”

  “Well?” Ram prompted. He had given up moving and was standing still, hands on his hips with a look of general disdain for the natural environment.

  “I’ll make a couple of calls,” Anthony said thoughtfully. “First things first, to check if there have been any authorised land movements here. Would be a bit embarrassing if we ended up digging out something the council have just recently had put in.”

  He walked away a few paces, putting the phone to his ear. There was dark, coppery earth spreading slowly up the hems of his suit trousers, but he didn’t seem to mind.

  Unlike Ram, who was still scowling.

  “What is it with you and the countryside?” I asked.

  “This isn’t the countryside,” Ram shot back. “This is just a slightly bigger cage. We’re fenced in, all the way around.”

  �
�Still,” I prompted.

  “I’m a city boy,” he shrugged. “What’s wrong with being more comfortable on pavement?”

  I smiled. It wasn’t often that I managed to gain an advantage over Ram. This environment was clearly far more comfortable for me, even if I had as little experience with it as he did.

  “What?” he snapped, following my look.

  “Just enjoying watching you squirm,” I said, laughing at him. “It makes a change.”

  Ram looked for a moment as if he was about to shout at me, but then his expression cleared and he chuckled in return. “I suppose I feel about as much of a fish out of water here as you do in gay bars,” he said.

  He didn’t know the half of it.

  Anthony returned, nodding to himself. “Just got off the phone with the Guv,” he said. “They’re sending a team over to us. No official activity recorded here, so they think it’s worth a look.”

  “Just like that,” Ram said, sounding impressed. He made to take a step forward, only for Anthony to hold out an arm.

  “We’re to maintain a perimeter, though. Enough disturbance of the ground here already. They want to examine everything before they get started.”

  Ram stood still, glanced around, and sighed. “We should have brought camping chairs or something,” he said.

  “You can head back to the Highcastle Inn, if you like?” Anthony offered. “I can call you a cab.”

  “No way,” Ram said. “We’re sticking around to see this through. Right, Will?”

  “Right,” I agreed.

  “While we wait,” Anthony said. “I’ve been wondering. How did you guys know that Cameron was innocent, even after he confessed?”

  “There was something off about it all,” Ram said. “His eyes. He didn’t look like a killer.”

  “How do you know what a killer looks like?” Anthony asked. It was easy to forget we were in a quiet, Kentish town. He’d probably never had to deal with a murder case before.

  Ram looked at me, then dropped his gaze to the ground. “We’ve arrested a few,” he mumbled.