On Laughton Moor (3 page)

‘It’s like he was ashamed of this place,’ she said. ‘Not surprising really, I’m not proud of it myself. Not really what I planned when I stayed on to do my A levels.’

Knight took out his own mobile.

  ‘Do you know your mum’s number?’ he asked. When Whitcham nodded, he handed her the phone and left the room as she pressed the keys, thanking him. Lawrence raised her eyebrows, but said nothing. They went back into the living room, where the children were still watching cartoons. The girl stood and walked over to them.

‘What’s your name?’ she asked Knight, looking up at him, hands on hips.

‘My name’s Jonathan.’  he replied. ‘What’s yours?’

‘Jessica. His name’s Connor. We’re three. Do you know my daddy?’

Knight shook his head.

‘My mum says he can’t come to see us again. He never played with us anyway.’ Jessica continued. ‘My mum plays shops and I spy. And we play outside, when Daddy lets us.’

Whitcham came through from the kitchen.

‘Mum’s on her way round,’ she said, wiping her face with her hands. ‘We’ll be going back with her – lucky there’s not much to pack I suppose.’

Knight smiled awkwardly. Whitcham had to be at least considered as a suspect, but he couldn’t believe she was responsible for Pollard’s death. They took her mother’s name and address and left the house. Outside, the boys were still playing with the football in the road.

  Kendrick shook his head.

‘Was she just going to stay there forever then? So he left them with no furniture, no clothes, no . . . did they even have beds?’

‘I didn’t go upstairs. The mattress in the living room was probably the bed as well.’

‘Sounds as if she was looking after the children as best she could though?’ Bishop put in.

Knight nodded. He knew they’d have to see Kelly Whitcham again, and social services could step in if necessary. It seemed to him that all Whitcham needed was control over her own life. Kendrick strode back to the front of the room. ‘Right. We won’t have full forensic reports for a while. The weapon used to kill Pollard hasn’t been found, despite a thorough search of the area surrounding the crime scene by SOC and by our own dashing boys and girls in blue.’ He waved a hand towards his audience. ‘We’ve asked for Pollard’s mobile phone records; the phone wasn’t found on his body, so his killer probably has it. That might mean they were worried about being incriminated by something on the phone, or it might mean nothing. Same goes for his wallet. I think that’s about it for tonight. I’ll see you all in the morning.’

Kendrick turned on his heel and clumped out of the room. The noise level rose sharply again as the assembled officers got to their feet, eager to get home. Bishop remained seated for a moment, rubbing her aching temples with her fingertips, then stood and joined the crowd pushing to leave the room. She moved forward, stumbling a little as her foot caught the heel of the person in front of her.

  ‘I’m sorry.’ she said automatically.

The woman she’d stepped on bent to adjust her shoe, straightened up and turned with a smile. Bishop gazed for a second into dancing blue eyes before the woman said, ‘Don’t worry about it.’  She disappeared into the crowd.

  Knight was waiting for Bishop in the corridor, standing apart from the stream of officers now jostling their way towards the exit doors.

‘Not much to go on so far.’ he said ‘Are you okay? About the photo, I mean?’ he clarified quickly. She smiled.

‘Yes thanks, sir. I’ll admit, it shook me up at first, but I’m fine, honestly. What do you think about it? The DCI didn’t make much of it in there.’ She nodded towards the room they had just left.

‘I don’t really know what to think.’ Knight admitted. ‘It might mean nothing, just a joke or a mistake, the wrong photo printed and Pollard shoved in his pocked meaning to put it in the bin later.’

Bishop frowned. ‘But why would you take a photo of a police station in the first place? It’s not as if it’s some sort of historical building, or even a pretty one – it’s horrible, just loads of bricks, concrete and glass.’

‘True, and it’s not as if it was taken on a night out, a load of drunken mates posing in the street. This was taken during the day and when we were working – you’re proof of that.’

‘It’s just strange, like the DCI said.’

‘I think we’ll just leave the photo out of the investigation for now, though the usual tests for fingerprints and so on will be run on the original.’

‘Do you think there’s more to it than Pollard chatting up some bloke’s girlfriend, and the bloke smacking Pollard one later then? The DCI didn’t seem to think so.’

Knight thought, but didn’t say, that Kendrick didn’t want to consider the possibility just yet, that it potentially made the situation much more complicated.

5

Knight sat back on his sofa with a plate that had contained fish, chips and mushy peas on his lap. He didn’t think he had many vices, but fish and chips were one of them. He closed his eyes, relaxing for possibly the first time since Craig Pollard’s body had been found. It was a strange case.  Initially, it had seemed fairly straightforward, but the lack of leads and witnesses, not to mention the absence of the weapon used to kill Pollard bothered Knight. Then there was the photograph. He closed his eyes, wondering what it could mean then started, almost losing the plate from his lap as his mobile phone began to ring. He snatched it up from the cushion beside him. The display told him the caller was Catherine Bishop.

‘Sir? Are you there?’

Bishop sounded strange, panicked almost.

   ‘Catherine?’

  ‘I’m sorry to call you but I’ve got a problem, I think it’s related to the Pollard case.’

  ‘What do you mean? I thought you were on your way home?’

  ‘I am at home. The thing is, I think someone else has been here too, well I know they have. They’ve posted me a photo.’

‘A photo? Of what?’

‘It’s me in my living room, taken through the window, and another picture that I haven’t completely figured out yet.’

Knight got to his feet, hurriedly setting the plate on the floor.

‘What’s your address?’

Fifteen minutes later, Knight stood in Catherine Bishop’s kitchen. She lived in a semi detached house on a new estate. At the back of the property, patio doors led into a small garden; that was the window the photo had been taken through. The picture lay on the pine table, DS Bishop clearly visible, relaxing on her sofa with a paperback novel.

‘It must have been a Sunday morning.’ said Bishop. ‘I don’t normally lie around in my pyjamas like that.’

‘And you live alone?’ asked Knight.

  ‘Yeah, for the last six months, since my partner moved out. Although,’ she gave Knight a sideways glance ‘she wouldn’t have been much use with a face at the window anyway, she’d have been terrified.’

Knight’s expression didn’t change as he absorbed what Bishop had just revealed. He looked again at the photograph.

  ‘I just don’t see what he hopes to gain from this.’

  ‘You think it’s a he?’

  ‘He, she, whoever. So he knows where you live . . . ’

  ‘Yes, and God knows what else I might have been doing that morning. I’ve been trying to think when exactly it could have been. And then there’s this.’

Wrapping her hands in a piece of kitchen towel, she lifted the photograph of herself from the table top, to reveal another piece of paper beneath. Knight stepped forward to have a look. There were two images, the first a colour reproduction of old painting showing a pale faced woman in a brown jewelled dress, the second the black and white outline of a chess piece. Knight stared, his mind unable to take in what he was seeing. He shook his head.

  ‘That’s . . . ’

  ‘Catherine of Aragon?’ Bishop replied in a monotone. ‘I didn’t know, but if you put the name ‘Catherine’ in Google, this is the first image that comes up. The chess piece is a bishop, isn’t it, and that gave me a clue. Catherine Bishop. They’re talking about me. What is this?’

Knight shook his head, not able to make sense of what he was seeing.

‘I’ve no idea. You’re sure Pollard had no reason to have a grudge against you, or . . . ’

‘None, none at all. Pollard’s dead, how could he be involved? I know it was probably posted yesterday, so he could have sent it. That would make sense if he’d meant it as a threat, if he’d been blackmailing me or whatever, but it’s ridiculous, I’ve done nothing to be blackmailed about. I knew his face, I knew his name, but I’ve never spoken to him, not had any contact with him whatsoever.’ Bishop closed her eyes for a second. ‘It’s like a nightmare, I feel like a suspect must feel.’ She gazed at Knight. ‘I don’t understand any of this, I swear.’

‘Neither do I, but I don’t like it.’ Knight said, looking again at the images. ‘We need to tell the DCI about this.’ He took his mobile out of his pocket as Bishop sat down at the table, propping her forehead on her hands, gazing down at the pictures. Kendrick answered gruffly and Knight explained as quickly as he could.

‘Bloody hell, this gets stranger.’ Kendrick said. He was obviously eating, Knight heard him chew then swallow. ‘And Bishop has no idea what’s going on? This might sound harsh Jonathan, but do you believe her?’

Knight glanced at Bishop, her head bent, remembering the fear he had heard in her voice when she had phoned him, thinking about the quick, nervous movements she’d made since he’d arrived at her home.

‘Yes.’ he said firmly. ‘Definitely.’

‘Good enough for me.’ Kendrick replied, taking another bite. ‘We’ll talk again in the morning but in the meantime tell her to be careful, tell her to book into a hotel or go to a friend or relative. If I was her, I’d be nervous. How’s she holding up?’ 

  ‘Okay, I think.’ Knight looked again at Bishop, who gave a shaky smile.

  ‘Typical Catherine. I’ll have to let the Super know as well, I suppose.’ thundered Kendrick. ‘See you both tomorrow.’

Knight ended the call, and pointed at the pictures.

‘I know you touched these before you realised what they were, but I think we need to get all of this fingerprinted. I doubt we’ll get anything from it, but you never know. How do you feel about staying here after this?’

Bishop sighed.

‘To be honest I’d rather not, not tonight. I know the picture was probably taken weeks ago, but still. I was just going to say, I think I’ll go to a hotel, there’s one of those budget type places on the ring road, they’ll probably have a room. I’ll give them a call.’

Knight folded the photograph, envelope and second sheet of paper into a tea towel that Bishop had ready for the purpose, then glanced at his watch. He wouldn’t normally offer, but this was an unusual situation.

‘It’s almost ten now. I’ve got a spare room, it would save you the bother of trying to organise a hotel.  My bedroom has a shower room so you’d have the bathroom to yourself. I know it’s not the usual thing to do but it’s not as if it’s going to start any gossip,’ Bishop smiled ‘and if it was me I wouldn’t want to be in a hotel room, I’d want to know that there was at least someone else around.’

‘Thank you sir, that’s really good of you. It’ll just be for one night. I’ll pack a bag.’

She left the room and Knight frowned down at the tea towel containing the photo. The message to Bishop, though disturbing, didn’t seem like a threat. It was almost as though Bishop was being recognised, pointed out. Of course, it was worrying that not only did this person obviously know where Bishop lived but had actually visited the property. This was beginning to feel like no case he’d known before.

  In her bedroom, Catherine Bishop threw clean underwear into a bag. She took a black suit from the wardrobe and looked frantically for a shirt or top to wear under the jacket that wasn’t too creased. It was going to be awkward enough staying at the DI’s house without having to ask to borrow his iron in the morning. The thought suddenly occurred to her that she had no idea whether he had a wife, a partner, children . . . Perhaps the hotel would have been a better idea after all. At least he’d made it clear that she would have privacy; a few men Bishop had worked with in the past would have been only too happy to have tried to take advantage of both the situation and of Bishop, whether they were aware of her sexuality or not. Being an overnight guest in the home of another officer, especially a senior one, was not an option Bishop would have even considered in any normal situation. This evening however had been anything but normal and it had shaken her more than she liked to admit. She’d always felt safe in her house, even after Louise left, but the thought of those patio doors and someone waiting outside them was too much tonight.

Knight sat at the kitchen table, hoping Bishop wouldn’t be too long. Though she was attractive, it was in a fresh faced way; he doubted she’d spend all night packing make up and hair styling products. He thought about the bathroom he’d shared with Caitlin - there’d been hardly any room for his stuff and it wasn’t as if he was vain. All he needed was a razor, shaving gel, shower gel, deodorant, tiny splash of aftershave on special occasions. Caitlin had bought him moisturiser and facial scrub and had even wanted to have a go at his eyebrows with her lethal looking tweezers. She’d only asked once. Bishop called down the stairs, ‘Just need my toothbrush.’ Knight stood, carefully picked up the folded tea towel. Bishop reappeared at the door. ‘Ready when you are.’

They’d agreed that Bishop would drive her own car and follow Knight to his house. Bishop’s home was fairly close to the centre of town but Knight led her out into the countryside, down a maze of dark, quiet lanes. She was grateful for the way he was aware of her following, indicating early and never getting too far in front. Although Bishop had lived in the area all her life, she’d never been to the village that suddenly appeared over the brow of a hill, as if from nowhere. Knight drove slowly down what appeared to be the main street, past a church and tiny fish and chip shop. He indicated left and pulled into the driveway of a cottage, semi detached and built from weathered grey stone. Bishop followed, squeezing her car in behind Knight’s, impressed.

‘Nice house.’ she said, following him to the black painted front door.

‘Thank you - it’s not quite finished, but it’s getting there.’ Knight replied, fumbling with his keys.

  The hallway floor was grey slate, the walls painted white. Knight took off his coat and draped it over the stripped wood banister then led the way into the living room. More white walls and stripped wood, this time the floor, door and skirting board.  A battered brown leather sofa stood against the wall with a plate on the floor in front of it showing traces of what looked to Bishop like mushy peas. She realised she’d not eaten since early that afternoon. Knight hurried forward and picked up the plate.

  ‘Sorry, I’d just finished when you phoned.’ he said.

  ‘Don’t worry, it’s your house.’ Bishop smiled faintly. ‘Fish and chips?’

  ‘Yeah, I got there just before they closed. The shop in the village does the best fish and chips I’ve ever had.’

  ‘Was that why you moved here?’

Knight grinned.

‘It wasn’t the only reason, but definitely one of the main ones. Can I get you a drink? Tea or coffee, or I think I’ve got a couple of bottles of beer somewhere? Sit down, by the way, unless you want to go straight to bed? I’ll take your bag up to your room, it’s on the left as you go up the stairs and the bathroom’s straight in front of you.’

Bishop made herself comfortable on the sofa.

  ‘Tea’s fine thanks. Just milk, no sugar. Thank you.’

  As Knight left the room, Bishop had to smile to herself, shaking her head. It was very surreal, sitting back whilst your boss took your overnight bag upstairs and made you a cup of tea. It was especially bizarre when that boss was Jonathan Knight, a man seemingly so reserved as to almost blend into the background altogether. He’d earned the name Inspector Wallpaper within two weeks of arriving in Lincolnshire and it wasn’t difficult to see why. Since they’d arrived at his home, however, Knight had visibly relaxed and become friendlier, almost chatty. It was one surprise after another tonight.  They’d never believe it back at the station, not that she would be telling anyone. She gazed around the room, liking what she saw, gradually relaxing. The room was cosy and comfortable, a brick fireplace housing a log burner dominating one wall. Bishop got to her feet and made her way over to have a closer look at some framed drawings that hung on the far wall. They were pen and ink sketches, a couple seemingly drawn somewhere far more exotic than Lincolnshire, judging by the plants and buildings. Bishop turned as DI Knight came back into the room, mugs in one hand, packet of chocolate digestives in the other.

‘These are amazing.’ Bishop gestured at the drawings.

‘Thank you, my sister drew them. I practically had to beg her to let me put them on the wall, she doesn’t seem to see how talented she is. She loves drawing, always has.’

Knight handed one of the mugs and the digestives to Bishop.

‘Not sure if you fancy a biscuit?’

‘Thanks very much, sir.’ Bishop said, struck again by the oddness of the situation. Knight had accidentally shared some information about himself; there were those amongst her colleagues who would be amazed that Knight had any family at all, that he hadn’t just been hatched inside the police training college.

Knight seemed to feel awkward once he’d completed the pleasantries of tea making and biscuit sharing and sat back, cleared his throat, then sat forward again. Bishop smiled to herself through a mouthful of tea, wondering again why Knight had turned up in Lincolnshire. He obviously hadn’t made DI by accident, but compared with other officers of his rank Bishop had encountered, Knight was different. He seemed ill at ease with people, unsure and unconfident. Of course, get him in an interview with a suspect on the other side of the table, and he might turn from Jekyll into Hyde. As Knight stared at the fireplace, seemingly lost in thought, Bishop had a good look at her boss. It was strange how you could work in the same place as people day after day without really seeing them. She knew from experience how difficult witnesses found it to describe the woman they’d seen, the car that had been hanging around, the man’s accent. She had tested herself and doubted she would do much better in their place. The first word that came to mind when she looked at DI Knight was average. It was no description at all, but it was true. Average height, average build, no sign yet of grey in his hair. She couldn’t see him colouring it though and smiled again at the thought of Knight worrying over his roots and sneaking into the chemist to buy some manly hair dye. She doubted if he’d notice if his hair went white overnight. Clean shaven, small neat sideburns. Serious face – totally unremarkable.