Tania Carver - The Surrogate

The TV screen showed a grainy image of Claire Fielding’s block of flats. It was night-time.

‘Night before last,’ said Adrian. ‘Here’s the time we want.’ He froze the frame. It showed a figure moving up by the side of the apartment block. A tall, stocky figure wearing a buttoned-up overcoat and a hat pulled down, disguising its face. Adrian let the footage move again. The figure walked purposefully towards the entrance of the block, looked round, waited. Adrian froze the frame once more.

No one in the room spoke or moved. Their attention was focused solely on the TV. Phil was no different. He was thinking exactly what everyone else in the room was thinking: This is him.This is our first glimpse of the murderer .

‘Big bloke,’ said Clayton, the first to speak. He was voicing what everyone in the room was thinking: it could be Brotherton. A few nods, grunts of assent in return. They waited for the footage to resume once more.

‘Time here?’ asked Phil.

‘Just after seven thirty,’ said Adrian. ‘Now look. He wants to get in but can’t find a way. No key. So he waits.’

He clicked and pointed with the remote once more. The figure tried the double doors, then moved away and disappeared round the corner. A slight fast-forward, then he returned carrying three bags of shopping.

Phil frowned. ‘We didn’t find any shopping anywhere…’

The figure stayed around the side of the building. Eventually a woman approached the double doors, took out a key to enter. The figure detached himself and struggled towards her, making the bags look as heavy as possible. The woman turned, her hand keeping the door pushed open.

‘It looks like he’s calling to her,’ said Adrian, ‘asking her to hold the door.’ He looked at the screen again. ‘And she is, look. There. She’s smiling.’

The woman held the door open for him. He seemed to be bobbing his head in thanks. The door swung shut behind the pair of them.

‘And he’s in,’ said Adrian.

‘Who’s that woman?’ said Phil. ‘Have we spoken to her? Has she given us a description?’

Adrian gave him a look that managed to be both elated and exasperated. ‘We’ve seen her. But we haven’t spoken to her.’ He paused the recording, rewound until she reappeared on the screen. ‘Look again.’ He pressed play. They all moved forward, staring intently.

‘Fuck,’ said Clayton.

‘Exactly,’ said Phil. ‘Julie Simpson.’

It was like a collective sigh of exasperation had been heaved in the room. Phil shook his head. ‘She let her own murderer in…’

‘If it was Brotherton, she’d have recognised him,’ said Clayton.

‘Not if he was disguised,’ said Anni. ‘His face hidden.’

The room fell silent as they watched the screen.

Phil held up a hand. ‘Shopping bags? We didn’t find any in Claire Fielding’s apartment… Have we checked the stairs, everywhere else in the flats?’

‘He’s going to reuse them,’ said DS Jane Gosling.

‘Very eco-friendly,’ said Clayton.

‘Right,’ said Adrian, bringing the focus of the room back to him and the TV. He restarted it. ‘So he’s in. At seven thirty-eight.’

He fast-forwarded again. Stopped it when the double doors were opened.

‘Nine ten,’ he said. ‘Chrissie Burrows going home. Fast-forward again…’ He stopped the footage. Geraint Cooper was seen walking out. ‘Nearly twenty-five to ten.’

‘So we don’t know what he does or where he goes,’ said DS Jane Gosling, ‘but we know he’s in the building all the time. Biding his time. If he gets stopped, he’s got his carrier bags as cover. He can look like he’s making his way up the stairs.’ She looked at the screen again. ‘Probably on his way to the flat by this time. Probably inside. Doing what he set out to do. Let’s see what happens when he comes out.’ She ran the images through until she found the one she wanted. The double doors opened, the figure emerged. He was dressed exactly the same, still carrying the shopping bags from earlier.

‘He must have had his equipment in the bags, his tools, disguised by groceries,’ said Jane. ‘And something to wrap the baby in.’ Her voice dropped. ‘There’d be an awful lot of blood.’

‘But he must have put the set dressing somewhere,’ said Phil. He noticed Marina look up, smile slightly at his choice of phrase. He felt his cheeks reddening, looked round. No one else had noticed. He continued. ‘I still want Claire Fielding’s flat checked for groceries. And see if we can find which supermarket he was in beforehand. Check their CCTV.’

They returned their attention to the screen. The figure was moving briskly but unhurriedly round the side of the building and away down the street. They watched as he faded from view.

‘We got any more footage?’ asked Phil.

Jane pointed the remote at the screen once more. ‘This. Taken from the camera on Middleborough, just past the roundabout.’

They all looked at the screen as the same figure hurried past on the pavement.

‘Now watch.’ She pointed the remote again, slowing the picture down. ‘He turns round. Here.’ She stopped the image.

They all leaned in closer to the screen. Phil, like the rest of them, stared hard at the image. Willed it to take shape as Brotherton, assume Brotherton’s features, close their case for them. But it was grainy, indistinct. He sat back. Tried not to sigh aloud in frustration.

‘Can we get this sharpened up?’ he asked.

‘We can try,’ said Millhouse. ‘Might take some time to do it properly. And money.’

Adrian turned the TV off.

‘Thanks for your hard work,’ said Phil. ‘Appreciate it. What about phone records? Claire Fielding’s? Brotherton’s?’

‘We’re still waiting,’ said Jane Gosling.

‘Right.’ Phil rubbed his chin, noticed where he had missed an area shaving this morning. ‘Well it’s not conclusive, ’ he said, ‘but-’

The doors opened. Fenwick entered.

Phil stopped talking, stared at his superior officer.

‘You’ve seen the CCTV, then?’ Fenwick said, not moving forward.

‘Just now,’ said Phil.

‘Then you should be in no doubt. You know what to do next. So get a move on.’

Marina stood up, turned to him. ‘It’s not Brotherton,’ she said. All eyes were focused on her. The room held a collective breath.

Fenwick gave a bitter smile. ‘Well it bloody well looks like him. Maybe he’s got a twin brother. Has that shown up in the profile?’

Marina’s face burned. ‘I’m sure a few interesting things would show up in your profile.’

Fenwick took a step towards her. Phil moved between them.

‘Sir, I’m the CIO here. Not you. Please leave.’

Fenwick didn’t hide the anger in his eyes. ‘Don’t order me around.The Super wants Brotherton brought in. And so do I.’

‘Brotherton is a liar and a manipulator,’ said Marina, anger in the ascendant now. ‘He’s a bully who preys on women weaker than himself. But he is not a killer. He wants his victim alive so he can keep hurting her. And he would never kill his own child.’

‘Really?’ said Fenwick, shaking his head.

‘Really,’ said Marina. ‘You want reasons? Here they are.’ She spoke quickly, getting as much information out as she could in as short a time as possible. ‘As I said before, and clearly you didn’t listen, this type of abuser is essentially narcissistic. And childish. On the one hand he would resent the fact that his woman, or object or property or however he likes to think of her, is carrying something that will take the focus and attention away from him. But on the other hand, he wouldn’t harm it because it’s a part of him. And by extension, he wouldn’t hurt the woman while she is carrying it.’ She looked round at the faces staring back at her. ‘Check with Claire Fielding’s friends. I’m sure you’ll find that the abuse stopped once she was pregnant.’