Killing a Stranger Read online

  Three

  It wasn’t the first time Ingham Comprehensive had played host to DI Alec Friedman and his team, but this was different. Last time Alec had conducted mass interviews it had been to collect witness statements in regard to a wanted criminal who’d been seen close to the school. This time, the focus was a dead teenager and a murdered man.

  Alec had been given use of the hall and the sixth form students assembled expectantly. He’d had the chairs arranged in a rough horseshoe and seated himself in a low upholstered chair at the open end. There were one hundred and eighty-two students in the two sixth form years, apparently – years eleven and twelve as they were now officially known.

  One hundred and eighty-one, now, Alec thought. Rob wouldn’t be coming back.

  He saw Patrick sitting two rows back between a ginger haired boy and a girl with long dark curls. Patrick was stony faced, trying not to meet Alec’s gaze, perhaps not wanting to be singled out. Alec didn’t think so. Patrick was open about his friendship with Naomi and Alec and it wouldn’t bother him that anyone might be suspicious of his association with a police officer. No, Alec thought. Patrick was trying not to break down. The ginger haired boy next to him was staring fixedly at the corner where the ceiling met the wall in an elaborate moulding. The girl – he’d already been told her name was Rebecca Price and that she was Rob’s girlfriend – was chewing on her lower lip, cheeks flushed with the effort not to cry.

  Alec glanced across at the head teacher, Eileen Mathers. She nodded that everyone was here and Alec began, speaking quietly, calmly. He had already agreed with the head teacher that it would be better to give as much correct information now than have the rumours build and circulate. He had no plan to mention Adam Hensel.

  ‘Most of you knew Rob Beresford,’ he said. ‘Or, at least, you knew who he was.’

  Silence, a slight shifting of chairs, but nothing more.

  ‘Rob was found dead in the canal yesterday morning at eight fifteen.’ He heard someone gasp in shock, but he had also agreed there was no easy way to wrap this up. Better to say it and then let the staff and counsellors deal with the aftermath.

  ‘We don’t yet know for sure if Rob drowned, or if he died in some other way. What seems fairly certain is that he went into the water from the Temple Street Bridge, just below the canal basin. Most of you will know it; there are boats moored there now, below the weir where the factory buildings are being demolished?’

  He paused again. This time a quiet murmur of agreement and recognition broke the silence.

  ‘We know that a number of you were at a birthday party that Rob attended on the Friday night. I have a guest list from Charlie’s parents and I’ve added a few names that Charlie tells me he invited at the last minute, but we all know what parties are like. People turn up at the last minute, tag along with friends. No one will be in trouble for that and, frankly, it’s none of my concern just now, if some of you were drinking under age. This was a private function, and, to be frank, I’ve far more important concerns. What I do need to know is, if any of you saw Rob that night. If you spoke to him, or if any of you heard him say anything, saw him do anything, either on the Friday night or in the past few days and weeks that struck you as unusual.’

  He watched again, aware that glances were exchanged, feet were shuffled; Becky Price began to cry. ‘There are members of staff on hand to talk to, counsellors, should you want to talk about any of this and Mrs Mathers has agreed that should you want your parents or another adult present while you chat to myself or one of my officers, then we’ll arrange that. But we do need you to talk; Rob is dead, his mother had to identify the body yesterday. She needs to know how and why her son died and …’ He hesitated. ‘As things stand, there are three possibilities we have to bear in mind. One is that Rob fell, maybe he’d been drinking, maybe taking drugs. The other possibility is that someone pushed him, either by accident or maybe as a joke that went wrong; maybe even deliberately. The third possibility is that Rob …’ He hesitated, wondering why suicide was the hardest option to talk about. ‘That Rob jumped from the bridge. That he intended to kill himself and, that tragically, he succeeded in doing just that.’

  Rebecca Price was sobbing now. Patrick, Alec noted, had put an arm around her shoulder and even Charlie, the ginger haired lad sitting on the other side, had torn his gaze from the ceiling and, flush faced, torn between embarrassment and concern, was leaning towards her and speaking too softly for Alec to hear.

  Abruptly, Patrick got up and ushered Becky past those seated between her and freedom. Charlie dodged a swift glance at Alec and the head and then got up and followed. Alec watched as they left the hall, a teacher and a female officer following on behind.

  ‘You must all be distressed by this,’ he said gently. ‘And you must have questions. I’m here. Ask me.’

  He glanced again to the door; he could see Patrick and his friends through the glass panel that gave a view on to the corridor. The teacher now had her arm around the sobbing girl and the two boys stood aside, awkward and redundant. Alec turned his attention back to the assembled group. Someone, a girl three rows back, had raised a hand. The rest stared at her expectantly.

  ‘Go ahead,’ Alec told her. Other hands were inching upward into the breach she had opened. He settled back, preparing himself for the long haul.

  Four

  Alec had stopped off at the newsagent on the corner of Naomi’s street. The local papers were full of Adam Hensel.

  Saturday had brought a scant paragraph, stating baldly that a man had been found dead and that the police were investigating, but Monday had provided a name and exact location and that a murder investigation was now well underway.

  Alec, though he had visited the scene in the early hours of the Saturday and been involved with the preliminary assessment, had since been busy with the death of Rob Beresford. Inspector Andrews was taking care of the Hensel inquiry and had made a statement on the press release: the usual stuff about investigations being ongoing and a number of leads. He had also allowed that the murder weapon had been found and that Hensel had died from a single stab wound to the chest. Death had been swift; he had bled out. Alec doubted whether even an immediate attention from medics would have made a scrap of difference.

  He wondered, as he turned the key in Naomi’s door, who would take precedence, himself or Andrews, when the investigations were linked as they must surely be. Frankly, he’d as soon have handed this one over; the closeness of Rob Beresford to Patrick was something he’d rather not have to deal with.

  Naomi, accompanied by an enthusiastic Napoleon, greeted him at the door. She snaked her arms around his neck, pulling his head down so she could kiss his mouth. ‘Mmm, better already.’

  ‘What is?’

  ‘My day.’

  ‘Well, that’s good then.’ He kissed her again; she reached out curious fingers to see what he was holding under his arm.

  ‘Newspapers? Anything about …? Adam Hensel’s been on the national news.’

  ‘Inevitable, I guess. I talked to the kids at the school.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘Not much to add to what we already knew. Rob was troubled about something and it seems likely it was to do with his father. I spoke briefly to Clara but she’s refusing to say who that might have been.’

  ‘Hmm. Helpful. She’s going to have to sooner or later. It’s potentially material evidence.’

  ‘And as yet we can’t be sure of that. It’s all mere speculation. She didn’t recognize Hensel’s name, anyway.’

  ‘You believe her?’ They had made their way through to the kitchen and Naomi was measuring ground coffee into the filter.

  ‘Do you have any biscuits? What’s cooking? It smells good.’

  ‘Biscuits are in the red tin, which … um, I left by the sofa come to think of it. I’ve made lasagne; it’ll be another few minutes. You want to take care of the salad?’

  ‘Will do.’ He stomped back into the living room to find the biscui
t tin. Two mugs on the coffee table, he noted. ‘You had visitors?’

  ‘A visitor, yes. Mari called in.’

  ‘Oh?’ Mari was Patrick’s grandmother.

  ‘Harry was worried about Patrick. Patrick is busy not telling his dad anything. Mari thought I might be able to fill in the gaps.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘I told her what she’d be able to find out in the evening papers. She’s still convinced I know as much as I did as when I was on the force.’

  ‘Well,’ Alec observed. ‘Most of the time, you do.’

  She laughed. ‘Maybe, but this time, it’s a bit more … well, sensitive, isn’t it. I want Patrick to be able to come and talk to me. He doesn’t seem able to communicate with his dad at the moment.’

  ‘Harry’s suffering,’ Alec said sympathetically.

  ‘Oh, I know.’ Naomi frowned, recalling the bank siege they had all been caught up in that summer and the fact that Patrick, who’d managed, much against his father’s wishes, to escape, had come close to being shot. Harry was still having nightmares in which he lost his son. For that matter, so was Naomi. ‘It’s just they seem to have drifted apart these past few months. They spend so much time trying not to worry one another, they end up worrying each other because they’re saying so little about anything.’

  ‘Well, thank you Doctor Ruth,’ Alec said. ‘I take it you told Mari that?’

  ‘God, Mari doesn’t need telling the obvious. She’s been trying to get that through to the pair of them for ages. She’s actually pretty upset about it all. Patrick and Harry used to be so close.’

  ‘They’ll get over it,’ Alec reassured. ‘Though,’ he added with feeling. ‘I don’t imagine any of this will help. Harry’s going to be even more protective after Rob’s death, especially when it comes out …’

  ‘That he most likely killed Adam Hensel.’ Naomi finished.

  They fell silent, the kitchen quiet but for the huffing and groaning of the water through the filter. Why, Naomi wondered, did the process of making fresh coffee have to be such a noisy one, after all, it wasn’t so much different from making tea. ‘What do the papers say?’

  ‘Nothing you don’t know: the murder weapon’s been found and that inquiries are ongoing.’

  ‘Was he married?’

  ‘Divorced, no kids.’

  ‘And anything more about Rob?’

  ‘Well, his name has been released and where he died, that drowning is suspected and police are investigating. It’s all being kept very low key at the moment.’

  ‘Hmm.’ Naomi switched off the filter and reached to get mugs from the cupboard. ‘That won’t last. There’ll be reporters crawling all over the school and his mother. All looking for an angle.’

  ‘And Patrick, already being a little bit famous, will be an obvious one,’ Alec finished what she was thinking. ‘Just what he needs.’ They had managed to keep some control of Patrick’s exposure during the summer by giving exclusive coverage of the siege to a journalist friend. That over, Alec and Naomi had taken an extended holiday abroad and Patrick had gone with his father to the Lakes, then on an unscheduled, but welcome couple of weeks to visit his mother and her new family in Florida. By the time they had all returned, most of it had blown over; the local press moved on to the next big thing.

  Patrick had, Alec thought wryly, managed to turn his notoriety to advantage once the term started though. The rather shy and uncertain teenager found he had suddenly acquired previously unthought-of street-cred among his peers and that, coupled with the fact he’d scraped through his exams better than expected, had made – if you discounted the bad dreams – for a more comfortable term.

  Until now.

  ‘What do you think of Clara Beresford?’ Naomi asked as she poured the coffee and added sugar to his. He watched, always amazed by just how competent she had become. He was sure he’d have poured scalding liquid over his hands and missed completely with the sugar. ‘I like her,’ he said. ‘She’s a tough lady. Loved her son, seems to have been open with his friends and to have had a good relationship with him.’

  ‘But he couldn’t talk to her about his father.’

  ‘Um, no. That seems to have been the one blind spot.’

  ‘Bit of a big one.’

  ‘It surely was. I mean, it’s natural he’d have wanted to know. She said she had no idea what letter Rob might have found.’

  ‘You believe her?’

  ‘No. I think she knows exactly what it was. I did wonder, though, if Rob had got hold of the wrong end of the stick and it had nothing to do with his father?’

  ‘Oh? Reasons?’

  ‘Feeling, nothing more. I threatened to get a search warrant if she didn’t let me examine Rob’s room.’

  ‘A bit cruel?’

  ‘I have a dead boy who’d never so far put a foot wrong but seems to have killed a man not apparently known to him. And, she was so busy not talking about Rob’s father she needed something to jerk her back to the present. Oh, I know, that’s the last place she wants to be, but there’s also a part of her wants to know the truth no matter how much it hurts. I’m going over to the house in the morning.’

  ‘Is it safe to leave it that long? She’s not being terribly rational and, I mean that’s understandable, but she might take it into her head to lose the letter.’

  ‘I still have her keys; we used them to secure the place. And her sister, Liz, is going to call me should Clara get any ideas about going home before then. But anyway, by the time I left, I think she’d come round to the idea that she couldn’t afford to hide things from me or from herself, not if she wanted to know how and why Adam Hensel and her son died.’

  Five

  Tuesday

  Alec could see the relief on Clara’s face that the blood had gone. Alec had seen to it that order, as much as possible, had been restored. She dropped her bag on the hall floor and walked slowly through to the kitchen.

  ‘He sat there,’ she said softly. ‘In that chair. I tried …’ Abruptly, she wheeled around and marched back into the hall. ‘I’ll show you his room,’ she said. ‘And there are some boxes in my room and stuff down here to look at. I’ve never known Rob go through my things, but you never know what your kids will do, do you?’

  She sounded so hurt and angry that Alec felt compelled to interject, ‘Clara, he was bound to be curious. It was natural.’

  She nodded. A swift jerk of the head. ‘I know, I know. He asked and I shut the door on him. What else could he do?’

  ‘Why were you so adamant he shouldn’t know his father? And surely, you could have claimed maintenance for him. It must have been a hell of a struggle, bringing Rob up alone.’

  ‘We managed,’ she said. ‘His room’s upstairs.’

  She had, Alec noted, avoided his main question. He signed to the three officers with him they should wait downstairs and then followed her up the stairs. The wooden banister had been painted in white gloss, a job carried out with more enthusiasm than skill. He noted the small runs, lumpy beneath his fingers. The wallpaper had been chosen in a random pattern that needed no matching. The stair carpet was worn on the edges of the treads. He knew that these were housing association properties and that Clara had been renting here for the past ten years. The house was small, clean, furnished and decorated in neutral tones. Uncluttered.

  Rob’s room, on the other hand …

  ‘Not very tidy, I’m afraid,’ Clara told him. ‘But you know what teenagers are and I told him, it was his room, I wasn’t going to clean it for him. He was old enough.’

  She crumpled suddenly, sat down with a thump on the single bed.

  ‘Maybe you should go downstairs?’

  ‘No,’ she shook herself, fiercely. ‘I want to be here.’ She took a deep breath, held it, then exhaled slowly. ‘Check the desk first,’ she pointed at the flat pack fake wood desk, barely visible beneath computer and magazines. ‘What should I tell the others to do?’

  Alec smiled at her assumption that she w
ould be giving the orders, but he refrained from correcting her. If Clara could maintain a little of her dignity and control that way, he felt it was a small concession. ‘Do you keep files? Financial, that sort of thing. School reports …’

  She was nodding and on her feet, heading back down the stairs. Alec followed her on to the landing. In the hall below he could see her talking to the other officers, telling them that most of what they wanted to see was in the sideboard and there were some papers in her bedroom and asking if anyone would like to have tea or coffee. Sergeant Enright glanced up at Alec, raised a questioning brow. Alec just nodded. ‘Sally,’ he called to the policewoman, ‘maybe you could help Clara sort the stuff in the bedroom and, Clara, send one of them into the kitchen. I could do with a cuppa.’

  She nodded, smiled that tense, false smile which was the best she could manage at the moment, took another deep breath. ‘Sideboard,’ she said. ‘The drawers, mostly. I don’t know how organized …’

  Enright, voice soft and coaxing, led her through to show him. Alec retreated to Rob’s bedroom.

  The room was decorated predominantly in blue and white and had about it the look of décor outgrown. There were glow stars on the ceiling and patches where others had once been. Naomi had brought some for her little nephew. He didn’t like the dark and the little plastic stars gave off a comforting glow for a while until he went to sleep. The curtains matched the duvet cover. Blue again, with a white strip. Grey cord carpet; what could be seen beneath the strewn clothes and yet more magazines.

  Alec bent to study them. Computer games, motorbikes, music. He flicked through, checking for anything concealed between the pages, stacked them neatly in the corner, tidying as he went and adding to the heap those he’d noticed on the desk.

  CDs in a wooden rack stood beside a chest of drawers. There was no wardrobe in the room, but then, Alec thought, most of his clothes seemed to live on the floor, so that probably made such a thing redundant. He opened the cases one by one, checking for anything hidden, came up empty. The bed next, turning the mattress, checking beneath, inside pillows and duvet cover. There were storage boxes beneath the bed and Alec pulled them out and checked behind them.