Dying to Sin

30

Tuesday

Garda Lenaghan took Fry first to Coolock garda station in Oscar Traynor Road and introduced her to his inspector. It was only when the garda took off his jacket in the office that she noticed he was armed.

‘Is that usual?’ she asked him.

‘The weapon? It’s my moral authority.’

Outside the garda station, there was a smell hanging in the air that made Fry feel a familiar craving. When they turned the corner in Lenaghan’s car, she noticed a huge Cadbury’s factory across the road. So that was where the smell came from. How did people stand it? If she worked in Coolock, she’d be a wreck within a few weeks.

Unlike most Irish people, in Fry’s experience, Lenaghan seemed comfortable with silence.

‘You have a couple of unidentified bodies, I gather?’ he said, after a while.

‘Just one now. We managed to get an ID on the first. A Slovakian migrant worker.’

‘Ah.’

Lenaghan nodded thoughtfully for a few minutes. ‘I don’t suppose we can make a match?’ he said.

‘I beg your pardon?’

‘I wondered if we could match up your body with our missing persons file. We have a few to choose from. There’s a Kosovan who’s been missing since January 2004. Would she suit you? Here she is, look — thirty-three years old, five feet nine inches tall, slight build, long dark hair, brown eyes. Name of Lilijana. Last seen wearing a dark jacket, black jumper, navy trousers and brown suede boots.’

‘Too old, and too tall,’ said Fry.

‘OK. Well, we’ve got a twenty-eight-year-old from County Mayo, missing since December 2000. Only five feet, this one. Small, slim build, short brown hair with red highlights. Black trousers, maroon polo-neck jumper, beige sleeveless jacket. None of them were exactly fashion icons, you understand.’

‘Do you have a lot of missing persons?’ said Fry.

‘Oh, yes. Going back to about 1991. We don’t bother much beyond that. But it would be nice to tie one up. Are you sure you wouldn’t like Lilijana?’

‘Sorry, I don’t think I can help you. But I’ll let you know.’

Lenaghan sighed. ‘Oh, well. They were probably killed locally, anyway. It’s the murder capital of the country here, Sergeant. Did you know that?’

‘No, I didn’t.’

‘Dublin is awash with hand guns these days. You can buy one for two hundred euros, if you know which bar to go in.’

They passed something called the Starlight Club Memorial, which was setting off another echo in Fry. She was sure it was something she ought to recognize, but she daren’t ask about it, for fear of showing her ignorance again.

‘Look at this factory here,’ said Lenaghan, pointing at a huge building by the road. ‘It’s the old Tayto Crisps plant. When I was growing up, I always used to wind the window down as we passed it. The smell of the crisps cooking would waft beautifully into the car.’

Fry laughed as Lenaghan pretended to inhale a smell, like a Bisto Kid. He joined in her laughter cheerily.

‘Ah, but there’s no waft to be had today, Sergeant,’ he said. ‘They closed the Tayto factory two years ago. Outsourcing production, they call it.’

Martin Rourke’s house was in a street behind Bunratty Road, near the Northside Shopping Centre. The gardai already had Rourke in custody at Oscar Traynor Road, so Fry and Lenaghan were free to search his house.

Fry moved through the rooms, finding nothing of interest until she came to the bedrooms. The first one was a small room, still decorated with nursery wallpaper. Mr Happy and Little Miss Giggles.

‘Are young children still into the Mr Men these days?’ asked Fry.

‘Pre-school age, I think, yes.’

‘So Rourke has a pre-school-age child?’

‘Ah, I don’t think she’s with him any more,’ said Lenaghan. ‘The mother took the child away, I gather.’

A single bed stood against one wall, neatly made up, with folded pyjamas on the pillow. The only other furniture consisted of a chest of drawers painted pink, a TV set, and a white melamine wardrobe. Lenaghan opened the curtains and peered through the sash window on to the yard below.

To Fry, the bedroom felt cold and empty. It was strange how quickly a room began to feel that way, once its occupant was no longer there. She’d been in bedrooms where a child had been missing for only a few hours, but the feeling was unmistakable. As if the room itself knew that its occupant was never coming back.

Lenaghan pulled out the bed to make certain there was nothing underneath it, then opened the wardrobe. A few items of clothing swung from plastic hangers. On the floor were shoes and a pile of children’s books.

Fry had gone to the chest of drawers and was searching through more clothes, T-shirts neatly folded, pairs of socks rolled into balls.

‘Anything?’ asked Lenaghan.

‘Nothing obvious.’

But Fry had a nagging buzz at the back of her brain, an irritation telling her that something was missing, but she couldn’t think what it was.

Cautiously, Lenaghan shifted the wardrobe away from the wall. ‘Sergeant, come and look at this. Your visit to Dublin could be worthwhile.’

Detective Superintendent Hazel Branagh sat at the head of the room with DCI Kessen and surveyed the assembled CID team, waiting for the chattering to settle down.

‘Do I have your attention, DC Murfin?’

‘Yes, ma’am,’ said Murfin, sitting up straight at the sound of her voice. Cooper had never seen him react quite like that before. It was almost as if someone had shoved a steel spike up his backside.

The fact that she knew Murfin’s name and picked him out from a room full of officers was impressive in itself. So far, she hadn’t been introduced to anyone in CID below inspector rank, yet she seemed to know who everyone was.

‘Good morning. You might already be aware who I am, but for those of you who were asleep, I’m Detective Superintendent Branagh.’

There was a ragged chorus of ‘Good morning, ma’am’, mouthed rather than spoken too loudly, for fear of attracting attention. Cooper was reminded of the chorus at the pantomime, amateur singers coming together for the first time to practise sounding like one.

‘I’m fully aware that you have a major enquiry on your hands, and I want to assure you I’m not going to get in the way. DCI Kessen will remain SIO while I settle in and get my feet under the table. However, I do want to get to know everyone personally as soon as I can, so don’t be surprised if you find me hanging around in the CID room asking what you’re doing.’

Cooper shivered at the hint of a threat in the last sentence. He sneaked a glance at Murfin, who was still looking stricken at having been singled out.

‘The shooting is taking precedence at the moment, and it’s attracting quite a lot of media attention — as is the discovery of the abandoned crystal meth lab. Fortunately, I’ve managed to negotiate extra resources, and the drugs squad are working with us. Rest assured, we’re pulling out all the stops.’ Branagh turned to the DCI sitting alongside her. ‘But the human remains at the farm, Stewart — is this a cold case?’

‘It looks like it,’ said Kessen. ‘Twelve months in one instance, anyway. Four years in the other.’

‘There isn’t still an open enquiry on either of the victims?’

‘Not that we’re aware of. But since we haven’t actually managed to establish an identity on the second …’

‘Witnesses?’

Kessen gritted his teeth. ‘None. As far as we know, the only eyewitness was Thomas Farnham.’

‘I understand the former owner of the farm is still alive?’

‘Yes, Mr Sutton. But he’s very elderly, and borderline senile. So far, we haven’t been able to obtain much useful information from him.’

‘Push him harder,’ said Branagh.

‘We can do that, but …’

‘Good. And there’s a suspect still in custody, I believe.’

‘Oh, yes,’ said Kessen. ‘Jack Elder.’

‘And what’s the position on Mr Elder?’

‘The CPS say we have enough evidence to charge him with some minor offences, but there’s nothing to substantiate anything more serious.’

‘Let’s go for a charge, then, and release him.’ Branagh looked around the room. ‘And then perhaps DC Murfin can suggest a few new lines of enquiry. From what I’ve heard, he seems like an officer with some unusual ideas.’

‘Thank you, ma’am,’ said Murfin.

‘It wasn’t meant as a compliment.’

The CID room was quiet without Diane Fry. Particularly hushed after the first meeting with Superintendent Branagh. But Murfin wasn’t going to be kept quiet for long.

‘Actually, I have got a theory, Ben,’ he said suddenly.

‘Oh? I hope you’re not going to try showing off for the new Super, Gavin. I’d be careful, mate.’

‘It’s about this Raymond Sutton bloke,’ said Murfin, waving aside Cooper’s advice. ‘He sounds like a bit of a Holy Joe, right?’

‘Yes, I suppose so.’

‘Do you think he could have killed the woman in some drug-crazed religious ritual that went wrong?’

‘Raymond Sutton is a Methodist,’ said Cooper. ‘From what I’ve heard, Methodists don’t drink or swear, or take drugs.’

‘Or fart, I suppose,’ said Murfin.

‘Sceptical, Gavin?’

‘In my experience, every bugger in the world has the same evil thoughts and dirty habits. Some just pretend they don’t.’

Cooper laughed. Methodism made him think of the Tolpuddle Martyrs and the temperance movement. Apart from that, they were a bit of an alien sect, with mysterious ways of behaving.

Thinking of mysterious behaviour, he had to admit it was a bit strange for DCI Kessen to confine Fry to mispers, then suddenly decide to send her to Ireland. But he was sure it didn’t mean anything sinister. Fry was being too thin-skinned. He supposed it came with the keenness of her ambition. Not the slightest little thing should get in her way. Not a hint of being passed over or left out when something was happening.

Murfin answered the phone, disappeared for a few minutes, then came back into the room.

‘You haven’t been presenting your new theory, have you, Gavin?’ said Cooper.

‘I decided it needed a bit more work. No, there’s a girl in reception. She says she’s David Palfreyman’s granddaughter.’

‘Really? What is she like?’

‘Well, for a start, she seems to be wearing more tattoos than clothes. That blue ink must have some sort of insulating quality. Do you reckon?’

‘How old is she?’

‘Late teens. She describes herself as a student, but she doesn’t seem to be studying very much. As far as I can tell, she’s re-taking her gap year. But she’s banging on about her brother being killed in a car crash years ago, and I can’t make any sense of it.’

‘I’ll talk to her, if you like.’

‘Thanks, Ben. You’re a pal.’

Cooper got up and put his jacket on before he met a member of the public.

‘Hey, by the way, Ben,’ said Murfin. ‘Is Diane Fry leaving?’

‘What?’

‘Haven’t you heard anything?’

‘No. Have you, Gavin?’

‘It was just something that the DI said.’

‘No, she’s only gone to Ireland. She’s been sent to interview Martin Rourke.’

‘Oh.’ Murfin tapped his teeth with a pen, in a way that made Cooper pause before he went down to reception.

‘You’re always getting things slightly wrong, Gavin. Did you know that?’

Murfin looked at his computer suddenly, and his face went pale. ‘Oh, God.’

‘What’s the matter now?’

‘I’ve got an email, Ben. From Detective Superintendent Branagh. She says I’m first in for a personal interview with her tomorrow morning.’

Cooper didn’t notice the girl’s tattoos so much. Instead, he noticed her eyes. They were big, brown eyes, like a veal calf’s. In shadow, she looked like a weary Madonna — pale and worried, dark hair hanging around her face. But when she turned to greet him, the light of the grey December afternoon did nothing for her appearance. Before the tattoos, she’d been an ordinary teenage girl with nice hair, but really bad acne.

‘You’re the granddaughter of Mr David Palfreyman at Hollowbrook Cottage, Rakedale?’

‘Yes, my name is Mel Palfreyman. It’s short for Melanie, but I never really liked that name.’

Cooper could have guessed it. It was much too feminine and girly for a teenager who wanted to rebel.

‘Are you close to your grandfather?’

‘Yes, closer than I am to my mum and dad. I visit him all the time in Rakedale. In fact, he’s like a real dad to me. Tells me off, disapproves of my boyfriend. You know the sort of thing. But, yes, we get on fine. I was always Granddad’s favourite, whereas Ian was my parents’.’

‘Ian?’

‘My brother?’

‘You told my colleague that your brother died.’

‘In a car accident. When he was fourteen. Granddad refers to it as the RTA.’

Cooper nodded. Even the use of acronyms dated Palfreyman. No one referred to a Road Traffic Accident any more. It had to be called an RTC — a Road Traffic Collision. If it was an ‘accident’, then no one could be charged with responsibility for it. And in twenty-first-century Britain, there always had to be someone to blame.

‘How did it happen, Mel?’

‘We were both in the car, in fact,’ she said. ‘We were with our grandparents on a day out. We were going to Sheffield to do some shopping. Granny and Granddad wanted to buy us some new clothes. Our birthdays were quite close together, as it happened.

‘Granddad was driving. He made a mistake pulling out on to the A6 near Bakewell. The road was very busy, a lot of heavy lorries. It was near Ashford in the Water. You know the place I mean?’

‘Yes.’

‘We had to wait a long time at the junction to pull out. Cars were queuing behind us, drivers were getting irritable. Ian was impatient, too. I remember hearing him say, “Come on — go for it, Granddad.” But Ian was sitting in the back seat, with me. How could he have known whether it was safe to pull out? He couldn’t, could he? But Granddad pulled out anyway. If he’d been a bit quicker on the accelerator pedal, we might have been all right, even then. But there was a lorry — and it couldn’t avoid us.’

Mel touched the scar on her forehead. It was more noticeable now than it had been before. The memory was making it flare red, like a fresh wound.

‘That’s when I got this,’ she said. ‘I hit the back of the headrest on Granny’s seat.’

‘And your brother was killed?’

‘Yes. Granny and Granddad weren’t badly hurt, but emotionally they were devastated, of course. We were in their care, after all. They never got over the guilt of that, especially Granddad.’

‘It’s understandable.’

‘But they weren’t as upset as Dad.’

Cooper waited.

‘Mum, Granny, Granddad — they were all grateful for the fact that I survived, and they were so concerned about my recovery. Head injuries can be a lot more serious than they seem at first, you know. But Dad — ’

‘Yes.’

‘Well, I think Dad always believed the wrong child died in that crash. He showed no interest in whether I survived or not. His beloved son had been killed. And, somehow, that was my fault.’

‘Why did you want to tell me this, Mel?’

‘So that you understand a bit more about my granddad. I know how he likes to come across. He thinks he’s still in the police sometimes. He loved that job so much, he can’t accept that he’s retired. It makes him feel lonely and useless. So he gets cross and bad-tempered about it whenever anyone mentions it. I bet you found him like that.’

‘To be honest, yes.’

‘Also, he always says the modern police have no idea how to do the job that he did. Proper policing, he calls it. I don’t know what he means, exactly, but he’s very disrespectful.’

‘Ye-es.’

Mel laughed at his expression. ‘In fact, I’m surprised he hasn’t tried to solve your case for you by now. Or, at least, told you how to do it.’

‘Well, I don’t think Mr Palfreyman has done that,’ said Cooper.

To be fair, he had no idea what the former PC had got up to after he and Fry left his house. If, by some miracle, Palfreyman actually did solve the case of the two dead women at Pity Wood Farm, he wouldn’t be complaining. But he bet Diane Fry would be.

‘Mel, I still don’t really understand why you thought it was so important to come into Edendale and tell us this.’

Mel Palfreyman pushed back her hair and stroked the tattoo on her neck. Black-painted fingernails followed the shape of a Celtic knot etched in blue ink.

‘My granddad thinks you’re trying to set him up as a suspect for these murders at Pity Wood. Are you?’

Cooper couldn’t hide his surprise. ‘And why would we do that?’

Mel began to laugh again. ‘You know, Granddad gave me a lecture once, all about how you can tell if a person is lying. He thought it would be useful to me when I started going out with boys. He said one sign to look for is when someone answers a question with another question. It’s an attempt to divert your attention, instead of giving a direct answer. I think that was the gist of what he said.’

‘That was pretty good advice,’ admitted Cooper, trying hard to hide the expression in his eyes. He supposed that would show, too. He hoped he wouldn’t blush, or start stammering.

‘Yes, I thought so.’

‘We don’t set people up, anyway. It’s just not something we would get away with. Not these days.’

She studied him closely, and seemed to accept what she saw. ‘I don’t know. It’s what Granddad thinks, though. To be honest, I reckon it’s because it was the way things were done in his day. The way he saw things being done.’

‘I can promise you it’s not like that any more,’ said Cooper, tempted to cross his fingers behind his back as he said it.

‘So you haven’t been digging out people who’ll say things against him? You haven’t been gathering circumstantial evidence that would make a case against him, just because he’s a convenient suspect?’

‘No, of course not. Though there are certain circumstances that …’

‘That what?’

‘Well, that might need a bit of explaining.’

‘So Granddad will be questioned again?’

‘Almost certainly, I should think.’

‘I see.’

‘But that doesn’t mean he has anything to worry about. He won’t necessarily be arrested.’

‘Necessarily?’

‘I don’t make these decisions,’ said Cooper apologetically. ‘It’ll be decided at a higher level, by a senior officer in discussion with the CPS.’

‘Will you be there when it happens, at least?’

‘I can’t say. I’m sorry.’

Cooper knew that he’d failed to reassure her. But there was nothing else he could say, without going into details of the evidence, which was against all the rules. Of course, he didn’t feel confident enough in the outcome himself, and he couldn’t tell her things he didn’t believe in, could he?

He showed her back to reception and watched her leave the station, pulling up the collar of her jacket when she got outside. Thankfully, there was one thing that Mel Palfreyman hadn’t asked him at all — whether she was likely to be questioned herself.

DI Hitchens caught Cooper as he arrived back upstairs. Cooper could sense that something was up, from the DI’s manner.

‘Oh, Ben, you’ll want to know this. I realize you’ve been involved quite heavily with this aspect of the enquiry.’

‘Sir?’

‘We’ve decided to stop pussy-footing around, and we’ve brought Raymond Sutton in for questioning.’

‘Here? You’ve put that old man in a cell?’

‘No, he’s not under arrest. We’ve put him in an interview room,’ said Hitchens defensively.

Cooper didn’t need to ask, he could guess whose decision this had been. Superintendent Branagh was making her presence felt.

‘Are you sure he’s well enough to be interviewed?’ said Cooper. ‘Sir?’

‘We’ve had him checked over by a doctor, of course. But he’s been passed fit, so we’re about to start questioning.’

‘I’m not happy about it.’

‘Tell you what, Ben,’ said Hitchens, with a placatory gesture. ‘You can sit in, and make sure you’re comfortable with it.’

‘Thank you, sir.’

But as soon as he’d said it, Cooper wondered whether he should really be thanking Hitchens. Who was going to take the blame if this all went wrong?

Raymond Sutton looked at the two detectives with resignation as they sat down at the table in the interview room.

‘You’re going to be asking me about the woman,’ he said directly.

‘The woman?’ said Cooper. ‘Do you mean Nadezda Halak, sir?’

‘I had no connection with her at all,’ said Sutton. ‘Except that I witnessed her death.’