Stephen Booth - Dying to Sin

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.