Chapter 27
‘You did good,’ said Stanford as Ramouter entered the room and Eastwood stood up and gave a slow clap.
‘Yes, Ramouter. Well done for being able to read from a script,’ Eastwood teased.
‘All words, no pictures. Like a proper grown up,’ Ramouter replied. ‘Has there been much of a response since the conference?’
‘Response is an understatement,’ said Henley from her desk. ‘Jo hasn’t been off the phone since the conference started. Unfortunately, the calls have been less than helpful. Nine times out of ten it’s people calling to say they’re glad Fox-Carnell is dead.’
‘I can’t say that I disagree with them.’ Stanford picked up the notebook on his desk. ‘I hated every single minute of that original investigation and was glad to see the back of her and now she’s back on my bloody desk.’
‘What made her case so bad?’ asked Ramouter. ‘It’s not as if it was your first serial murder case.’
‘But it was the first one with kids. Fox-Carnell was charged with two murders and two attempted murders, but we’d originally arrested her for eight murders. There were three more children. The youngest was six years old.’
‘We all know she did it, but the CPS said the evidential test hadn’t been met.’ Henley’s tone was bitter. She’d thought the passage of time would have subsided the anger, but it was still there, like lava in a dormant volcano.
‘I can still remember Rhimes’s reaction,’ said Eastwood.
‘I can still hear the sound of the glass breaking when Rhimes put his fist through the window in his office,’ remembered Stanford.
Henley found herself drifting in and out of the conversation as she felt the full weight of carrying Rhimes’s secrets. She knew telling the team was the right thing to do but the question was, what would it do to them? It could strengthen or fracture the SCU.
‘We need to focus on the here and now,’ said Henley. ‘Fox-Carnell is our victim. Our case. Whether we like it or not. Stanford and Eastie, tell us how you got on with Durant and where he fits.’
‘We can find no links or associations between Durant and Fox-Carnell,’ said Eastwood as she jogged over to the smartboard with her laptop in hand.
‘With the exception of a caution for threatening words and behaviour, he’s as clean as a whistle,’ added Stanford. ‘Teaches economics at London South Bank University. Four kids, who I’m in the middle of checking out, and a crateful of kittens.’
‘We asked him about his whereabouts last Sunday, when the Ashcrofts were attacked, and he says that he was home,’ Eastwood continued.
‘Any way to verify that?’
‘Unless you’re Doctor Dolittle and can talk to his cats, then no,’ Stanford confirmed. ‘He denied harassment and blackmail and then refused to answer any more questions without a lawyer.’
‘So, we left.’ Eastwood turned to the smartboard and switched it on. ‘But the thing is, Durant lied to us when we asked him about his car. He said he sold his car, a 2012 Skoda Octavia, when his wife died. That was a lie.’
Eastwood tapped the screen, and a photograph of the car appeared. ‘This is the car Durant said he no longer owned, and these are photographs of the damage to the windscreen and bumper.’
‘It can’t be a coincidence,’ said Ramouter.
‘It’s impossible to say until we get forensics verified one way or the other,’ said Eastwood. ‘I also observed scratches to his hand and on the side of his face.’
‘We need to get him in.’ Henley walked over to the whiteboard and wrote ‘suspect’ and ‘Laurence Durant’ on the board.
‘The only problem is that I don’t want him sitting in an interview when we don’t have anything evidential to put to him.
Any half decent legal rep or solicitor will advise him to keep his mouth shut and accuse us of fishing and they’d be right. ’
‘I’m halfway through making an application for seizure,’ said Eastwood. ‘I should be done in an hour which means we could have the vehicle in our yard this evening if the application is granted.’
‘Great. If we get a hit with the car then I’ll be happy with our grounds for arrest.’ Henley turned to Ramouter. ‘Where are you with CCTV?’
‘Progress was slow because Southwark Council decided to dump us with footage that we don’t need.
But it’s going to seem less like looking for a needle in a haystack now I’ve got Durant’s car details.
I’m also waiting for the enhanced footage that we took from the neighbour to come back. I’ll chase them up.’
Henley felt herself relax a bit. ‘We seem to be making good progress. Ezra’s currently going through the data we downloaded from Soteria. He’s suggesting that a Soteria employee was responsible for the monitoring system being disabled.’
‘Was Tabitha Ashcroft electronically monitored?’ Eastwood asked.
‘I don’t know,’ Ramouter answered. ‘But I’ll check the CRIS reports and see. If she was on tag and her address wasn’t in the public domain then it would mean that Durant, if he is involved, was possibly in contact with a Soteria employee.’
‘And that means that it’s not just a murder and an attempted murder investigation but a conspiracy,’ said Henley.
‘We’ve got evidence that he lied about his car, blackmailed the Ashcrofts and he has what looks like defensive injuries.
His prints and DNA were expunged from the database when he was NFA’d for threatening words and behaviour, so we need to get DNA swabs from Durant as soon as possible. ’
‘Are you suggesting that the third DNA profile recovered from the Ashcrofts’ kitchen and on Graham Ashcroft’s clothing could belong to Laurance Durant?’ asked Ramouter.
‘We’ve got no evidence to suggest that it doesn’t.’ Henley shrugged.
Henley breathed a sigh of relief. Not quite believing that she was leaving the SCU before 6 p.m.. Her plan had been to go home but Linh’s text had put a stop to those plans. She checked her phone. She had four minutes until her Uber arrived.
‘Nice to finally escape from here, isn’t it?’
Henley looked up to see Pellacia making his way towards her. There was the distinct clink of glass bottles in the bag that he was carrying. Henley felt the familiar pinch of jealousy when she saw roses in Pellacia’s other hand. She chastised herself.
‘You shouldn’t sneak up on people,’ Henley said.
‘Sorry, about that. What are you doing out here?’ Pellacia asked.
‘Waiting for a cab. I’m off to Linh’s and I suspect alcohol will be involved.’
‘I’d be surprised if it wasn’t. Anyway, I’m glad I caught you. I wanted to talk to you about something. I had a meeting with Barker, about expanding the team.’
‘Jo told me that Copeland was here this morning. Are you taking her on?’
‘She’s not the only option.’
‘Do you want my thoughts on Copeland?’ Henley asked.
Pellacia laughed. ‘I can pretty much guess your thoughts.’
‘You always could.’
Pellacia stepped towards her and placed his hand on her cheek.
‘We don’t talk anymore,’ he said, removing his hand. ‘I don’t mean about work … I mean … you. I miss you.’
‘We talk,’ Henley said as a car approached the entrance. ‘And we’ve spoken about this. We need to be better than this. This back and forth.’
Pellacia said nothing but glanced at the roses. ‘I thought I knew exactly what I was doing earlier today. That I’d made the right decision.’
‘My cab is here,’ Henley said wearily.
Pellacia’s expression was blank. ‘Of course. Barker said she’ll let me know by the end of play today whether the secondment will be Copeland or someone else. As soon as I know, you’ll know.’
‘Let’s hope it’s the right choice,’ Henley said as she got into the cab.
The end of tourist season and the fact that parents had finally taken their exhausted children home after a day of half-term activities meant that Copeland was the only person sitting in the beer garden of the Gypsy Moth pub on a Monday evening.
Ramouter paused for a second as he took another look at the WhatsApp message he’d received a few minutes earlier:
Michelle, 18.38
Mum is doing my head in! But your brother Dal has rescued us Eat proper food!
Ramouter felt guilt prickling his skin as he put his phone away and he saw Copeland waving him over.
He sat down opposite her. ‘I’m so sorry I kept you waiting.’
‘Don’t worry about it.’ Copeland picked up her glass of red wine and took a sip. ‘Are you all right sitting outside? They’ve got heaters. It’s just I’ve been cooped up in the office all afternoon and you know how it is.’
‘No, it’s fine. I’ve spent hours staring at CCTV footage since I came back from the press conference. It’s good to be out.’
‘How’s it going? But before you answer, what are you drinking? First round is on me.’
‘Thanks. A pint of Guinness.’
‘Do you want anything to eat?’ Copeland asked, picking up the menu.
‘Oh, I’m not really—’
‘Oh, bollocks. You probably have to get home to your—’ she asked hesitantly.
‘Wife,’ Ramouter said. ‘She’s actually away with my son. It’s half term and she took him up to Bradford. They’ll be back on Friday.’
‘She won’t mind you being out with another woman?’
Ramouter felt as though a vice had gripped his stomach as it dawned on him that Copeland’s invitation for after work drinks may not be innocent.
‘Oh my god! Your face,’ Copeland laughed. She reached out and touched Ramouter’s arm. ‘I’m so sorry. This is what happens when you grow up with a football team’s worth of brothers. I have extremely poor taste in jokes, and I don’t know how to read the room.’
‘It’s fine,’ Ramouter relaxed. ‘It’s been a long day and, if I’m honest, it’s probably just a bit of guilt. The only women I’ve gone to drinks with are Henley, DC Eastwood and Joanna.’
‘Doesn’t your wife like you being out with people she doesn’t know?’
‘No. Michelle – that’s my wife’s – she’s …’
‘Can she be a bit clingy? My ex-husband was like that.’
‘Clingy? No. It’s not like that. She’s—’
Ramouter picked up the menu. Not feeling comfortable with talking about his wife’s condition with this woman he’d just met.
‘Sorry. I did it again. Not reading the room,’ Copeland said sincerely. ‘I need to be better with words. Let me get your drink.’
‘Are you going to tell me why you were at the SCU this morning?’ Ramouter asked when she returned, keen to keep conversation away from his family.
Copeland ran her finger along the stem of her wine glass and smiled. ‘I thought I would take the initiative and ask your guvnor in person if I could transfer to the SCU. This case – the Ashcrofts – it’s got under my skin. Do you know what I mean?’
‘You’re invested,’ Ramouter nodded.
‘Exactly. I’m not saying I want to take it back, but I want to be a part of it.’
‘What did he say. Pellacia?’
‘He wasn’t exactly jumping up and down with enthusiasm about me joining the team.’
Ramouter laughed sardonically. ‘You’ll find that jumping up and down is not in his nature.’
‘Yeah, I gathered that, and I don’t think I helped my case by turning up out of the blue this morning.’
‘I think he’ll respect you for it. He and the boss, Henley, I mean. They value people who don’t necessarily wait for things to happen.’
‘Sounds as though they’re a package deal,’ said Copeland. She stretched her leg and brushed against Ramouter’s calf. ‘Do you think I should have a word with Henley?’
‘I don’t think that would be a good idea. She values independence but I don’t think she’d like to be ambushed.’
‘Ah, that makes sense,’ Copeland said as she bit her lip. ‘I thought she was a bit off with me at the hospital on Saturday.’
‘Not off, just surprised, maybe.’
‘Ok, I’ll try not to take it personally. So how long have you been with the SCU?’
‘Just over a year, but sometimes it feels as though I’ve been there forever.’
‘Was it hard to join the team?’
Ramouter took another sip of his Guinness as he thought back to the night before his first day at the SCU.
He’d agonised over the decision of leaving his wife and child in Bradford whilst trying to settle his nerves about joining one of the most specialist units in the Metropolitan Police Force.
He hadn’t been at the station for thirty minutes when DCI Pellacia had told him that the SCU had a case and that he was to meet DI Henley in Deptford.
Ramouter had assured Pellacia that he wouldn’t get lost. That was a lie.
He’d got lost twice and hadn’t been prepared to see dismembered body parts on his first day on the job.
‘Let’s just say that I was definitely thrown into the deep end,’ Ramouter finally said.
‘Any regrets?’
‘About joining the SCU?’
‘Yeah. It couldn’t have been easy leaving … where are you from again?’
‘Bradford.’
‘That’s it. I came down here from Newport in Wales when I was twenty-one. Big lights, big city sort of thing and following my older sister.’
‘Ah, I thought I heard an accent.’
‘It only really comes out when I’m tired, angry or when I’m back—’Copeland stopped as her phone began to vibrate on the table.
‘No Caller ID,’ she sighed with annoyance.
‘I bet it’s the CPS calling with a charging decision.
I told them I was off duty … you know what, never mind. I’ll be back in a sec.’
Ramouter looked at Copeland’s empty wine glass and wondered if being out with her was innocent.
Michelle had always told him that it was a miracle they’d even had a first date, let alone got married, because he was so useless at noticing when someone was interested in him.
It had taken Ramouter three years before he’d realised that Michelle wanted out of the friendzone.
Copeland reappeared five minutes later.
‘Shall I get another round in?’ Ramouter asked.
‘Most definitely. We need to celebrate.’
‘Why’s that?’
‘That was your guvnor, well I suppose my guvnor now – Pellacia. I’m in. The borough commander confirmed it. I’m transferring to the SCU.’