‘Really? I wasn’t aware of this.’
‘No one was, ma’am. It’s something I’ve just turned up.’
‘When you say a few, how many are we talking about?’
‘I’ve uncovered five possibles that have happened in the last twelve months. There could be more further back. None of them involved a knife but they appear to be motiveless premeditated crimes against individuals. I know it’s a long shot.’
‘Go on. I’m interested.’ Beth wouldn’t be the first DC to find a lead missed by more senior detectives.
‘Ron McKenzie’s house was broken into last month.’
‘Yes, I’m aware of that.’
‘He only went out in the evening once a month to attend a Masonic meeting. While he was gone, his house was completely trashed. They didn’t take anything but made a real mess, paint everywhere. On one of his bedroom walls they’d sprayed the words: payback time. He said he had no idea who was behind it and couldn’t think of anyone who would bear him a grudge. There were no leads and no one has been questioned.’
‘You said “they”?’
‘Forensics said it was possible there were two perpetrators, although they couldn’t be certain.’
‘It could simply have been an opportunist thief who knew McKenzie’s movements, but that doesn’t really tally with the words sprayed on the wall and that nothing was taken. Was he having an affair? Is there a jealous husband or jilted lover in the background?’
‘Not as far as we know.’
‘OK. What else do you have?’
‘Tom Murray, a barrister, and a more serious crime. He was knocked down by a motorcyclist four months ago. The bike mounted the pavement and then sped off. There are no cameras in the area but he was adamant that whoever it was had deliberately driven straight at him. A woman who’d just come into the street and saw the attack agreed. She said the rider accelerated towards the victim. Both of them said the rider was all in black, with a black helmet and a tinted visor so neither of them saw his face.’
‘I seem to remember we looked into some of the cases he’d worked on to see if anyone could have a grudge big enough to try to kill him. But there was nothing,’ Aileen said.
‘That’s correct. The file’s still open.’
‘Maybe worth taking another look.’
‘Yes, ma’am. Then there was the abduction of Mary Grey, thirty-six, a single woman living alone,’ DC Beth Mayes continued, her voice rising with enthusiasm. ‘Whoever took her knew exactly where she’d be at a given time on a given day and that she’d be alone. He also knew her name. She had no idea who he was and didn’t recognize his voice. He grabbed her from behind, bundled her into a van and put a blindfold on her. He drove her around for about ten minutes and then stopped the van. Before he threw her out he told her to be more careful in future. She says she doesn’t know what he was referring to. There are no suspects and we checked all the vans we knew to be in the area at that time.’
‘Is there anything or anyone linking these victims?’
‘Not from what we know.’
‘Have a look again – acquaintances, place of work, where they socialize.’ Her desk phone rang and she picked it up, listened to what the caller said, and then replied, ‘I’ll be there.’ Replacing the receiver, she stood. ‘I’ve got to go. Look back over two years to see if you can find any connection between them. It’s possible there’s a nutcase out there seeking revenge for some perceived injustice, but I’m more likely to think these are random acts of mindless violence. Worth having another look all the same.’
‘Thank you, ma’am.’
‘You OK, Gov? Paul asked, barely able to hide his smirk.
‘Yes, of course,’ Derek snapped, coming down from the ladder. ‘It’s only a small snag. Fetch me the first-aid kit from the van, will you?’
‘Not a lot of point in putting it back, was there? Cutting yourself twice in one morning and you always being so safety conscious.’
Derek let the comment go, as he was increasingly having to do with Paul. He knew he wasn’t himself today; he had bigger, more worrying issues on his mind than Paul’s bad attitude. The incident at U-Beat nightclub kept replaying through his head just as he’d seen it but he needed to try to concentrate before he had any more accidents or let something slip.
Cupping his finger in the palm of his hand to stop the blood dripping onto the floor, he crossed to the small sink in the corner of the room and held it under the cold tap. The room was at the rear of the newsagents and used for storing stock. Cardboard boxes and crates containing bags of sweets, packets of cigarettes, crisps, fizzy drinks and so on were stacked all around him.
He was trying to fit a camera in this room to complement the one in the shop, and then put their system online. Originally Mr and Mrs Osman, the owners of the newsagent, had just wanted one camera in the shop to stop thieving from the displays and for their own protection, but on Sunday evening while the shop had been closed it had been broken into from the rear and stock stolen. They’d phoned him on Monday morning, desperate, and asked if he could fit the extra camera and put the system online. It was a relatively small job but the work wasn’t progressing as quickly as it should. He was struggling to concentrate, there was only limited space to move around, and Mr and Mrs Osman kept interrupting him – coming in for stock or to ask him questions when all he needed was to be left in peace to finish the job.
Paul eventually returned, carrying the first-aid box, with his phone still in his hand; taking advantage of him, Derek thought.
‘I’ll be nurse then,’ Paul said.
Derek turned off the cold water tap as Paul set the first-aid box on the work surface beside the sink and took out a plaster. Away from the cold water the cut immediately opened and started bleeding again. ‘It’s deeper than I thought,’ Derek said, holding it over the sink.
‘Is there a bigger plaster in here?’ Paul asked, rummaging in the first-aid box.
‘Should be.’
He found a larger plaster and a sterile pad. ‘Give us your finger then, and we’ll use this to stop the bleeding.’
Derek held out his hand and Paul steadied it as he pressed the sterile pad on the wound. Gentler than he would have imagined, Derek felt the cool tips of Paul’s fingers, the touch of his clammy palm, and the warmth of his body nearby. He was standing close, far too close. Soothed and excited, Derek breathed in the bittersweet seductive mustiness of the teenage boy, a heady mixture of testosterone, perspiration and deodorant. How long since he’d been this close to a young man? He knew exactly, and knew he mustn’t go there again.
He took a step back. Paul removed the sterile pad from the wound and then expertly peeled the plaster from its packet and pressed it gently into place.
‘Very professional,’ Derek said, his voice unsteady.
‘Should be; Mum’s a nurse. We’re all up to speed on first aid.’
‘Are you?’ Derek asked, feigning ignorance of Paul’s home life. ‘That’s good. Well done. You said “we”?’
‘Yes, Mum, Dad, my brother, sister and me,’ Paul clarified, closing the first-aid box. ‘Although they’re my parents’ favourites. I’m the runt of the litter.’ He threw the discarded packets and soiled dressing into the bin and then looked at Derek, waiting for his instructions.