Mid-December and near the end of a day shift in the Ash Hill CSI office. A busy time on a busy day at a busy time of year. Someone had made a half-hearted attempt to put up Christmas decorations, with fairy lights draped over the duties noticeboard and tinsel around the monitors. There was even a sad looking little Christmas tree, an artificial one, which had been recovered from a crime scene which then proved not to be a crime scene, but hadn’t been returned to its owners because they’d moved away without leaving any contact details. That had been several years ago, but the Christmas tree still re-appeared every year, a testimony to the fact that the Temporary Evidence Store was no such thing.
The decorations entirely failed to bring any sort of festive atmosphere to the office, as the shift frenetically rushed to finish on time - completing scene reports, entering evidence onto databases, uploading digital images and cursing the fact that they had to type everything three times because the so-called time saving computer systems wouldn’t talk to each other.
Even Ben Drummond was busy. Usually at this point he sat apart from it all, his corpulent body draped comfortable, if untidily, over the best chair in the office (borrowed from the Senior’s desk), feet up and a cup of tea to hand, scrolling through click-bait on his phone and making disparaging remarks about the idiocy people were capable of.
But today he’d picked up a nice quiet little burglary that turned out to be more of a home invasion and possibly attempted rape. It had added some interest to the day, but also added considerably to the computer work. So now he was stuck behind the monitor, typing with two fingers and muttering obscenities every time he miss-hit a key.
The phone on his desk rang. Several times. To no one’s surprise, Ben ignored it. No one else wanted to risk answering it and finding themselves landed with a problem that would keep them back past end of shift, but it kept on ringing. Eventually, Marcie, with a glare in his direction and a bad word muttered (and also ignored), picked up her phone and pressed the button to accept.
“CSI office… yes, he’s here… ok, I’ll tell him. Hold on.”
”Ben. Ben! BEN! Front Desk - you’ve got a visitor.”
Ben frowned at her. “Tell them to piss off. It’s nearly end of shift.”
“You’ve got twenty minutes.”
“Close enough. I’m busy, knackered and not available!”
“Serves you right for trying to cherry pick the easy jobs,” said Doug.
“Piss off, Doug.” Ben scowled at him, but it was water off a ducks back. No one worked with Ben for long without developing a thick skin.
Marcie had been talking to the Front Desk. “OK, I’ll pass it on.” She hung up, and turned to Ben. “It’s someone who wants to see you urgently. They said to tell you it was Cassandra Dennis.”
Ben had been picking up his cup for another swig of tea. He suddenly went very still, then put it down slowly and turned towards her.
“Say that name again?”
“Cassandra Dennis. She’s waiting down there.”
Ben’s face had lost it’s normal expression of bored irritation. It had lost all expression. He stood up and walked out of the room without another word.
The entire office had gone quiet as they observed him depart. Then, as the door closed behind him, they all turned to each other.
“I’ve never seen Ben look like that before,” said Marcie.
“I’ve never seen him get out of his chair so fast,” Sanjay added.
“Who the heck is Cassandra Dennis?” asked Doug.
They all turned and looked at Mac.
Mac was the only member of the shift who had been in the job as long as Ben. And now he had a similar expression on his face.
“Cassandra Dennis is a blast from the past,” he said slowly. “A long way in the past,”
Expectant looks prompted him to go on.
“Alright… back in the day, I’m talking years back, Cassandra Dennis was the hottest DCI on the force.”
“Hottest in what sense?” asked Doug.
“All of them. She was a - well, lets say she was exceptionally good looking. She was also one of the best CID officers ever. Smart, tough, and determined. Mind you, this was back when women were still struggling to make it up the slippery pole. A lot of misogyny around then. But she showed everyone how it was done. Cracked some big cases early on in her career, got promotion, cracked bigger cases. Of course, some people said that it was because she had done favours for Senior Officers.”
“Same old rumour mill,” said Ali from the table where she was sorting through evidence bags.
“Oh, it was worse then. People said out loud what they can only whisper now. But Cass… she sailed right through it. Every time someone tried to drag her down, she just pulled in another top villain and moved on up.
Eventually, she made DCI - not the first woman to do it, but the quickest to ever get there, at least in this force. She was put in charge of the Murder Squad, as it was called then. Got to choose her own team, and if there was a high proportion of good looking young men in it, well, no one cared as long as she kept getting results.”
“So why isn’t she Chief Constable now?” asked Marcie.
“She probably would have been, but it all turned very bad very fast. Her right-hand man was a DI… Charlesworth, I think? Anyhow, known as Charlie, no matter what his real name was. Of course, there were rumours about him and her. She was married by then, to someone outside of the job, and so was he. But he got into a fight with one of his own DC’s - don’t remember his name - and apparently it was over her. The DC took a punch that put him down hard. Hit his head on something, cracked his skull. He was never the same again, poor lad. Permanent brain damage. That was the end of Charlie’s career, of course. He was luck to escape criminal charges, but people testified that the DC had started it, Charlie had just been defending himself.”
“And the DCI?” asked Doug. “Was she involved?”
“Not directly. But she was held responsible, anyway. There were plenty of people keen to see her fail, and there had to be a full investigation, of course - nothing ever made public, but she resigned. I don’t know what happened to her after that, though I heard she’d divorced. Sad business all round.
“But what did any of this have to do with Ben?” Marcie wanted to know.
Mac shook his head. “I’ve no idea. Except that - if I remember right - he worked on her last case. Before it all blew up. A young woman was murdered, I think. They had someone in for it, but it never went to court - and I think it was some forensics Ben recovered that swung it.”
“How’s that going to be relevant?” Sanjay asked, but Mac could only shrug.
*
The girl on the reception desk gave Ben the sort of look that he got from most people who knew him. Which was an ‘Oh, no, not him!” sort of look.
A bit rich, Ben thought, considering that it had been her who had called him down. Non-the-less, he was pleased to see it. It meant he hadn’t lost his touch.
“Well?” he growled belligerently. No harm in reinforcing his reputation. “Where is she?”
“Interview room one,” she told him, frowning. “But I should warn you…”
“Don’t bother,” he grunted, and pushed his way through the door marked Interview Rooms.
There were four of them, all identical. Fixed table, four plastic chairs, recording equipment. A woman was seated at the table in I-1, resting her head on her arms, with her face turned away from him. She was wearing a grey suit, smart, but it hung badly on her, like it was several sizes too big. And the coloured scarf that she wore over her head didn’t match.
“I’m looking for Cassandra Dennis,” he announced.
She raised her head and turned to face him. “Hello Ben. It’s been a while.”
“Cass? You look like shit!”
He could have passed her on the street and not recognised her. Her face, her hands poking out from the jacket sleeves - her shoulders under the jacket - were skeleton-thin. She was smiling, but it looked painful. Her eyes were enormous, but not in a good way.
“Thanks, Ben.” She’d always had a deep voice for a woman, but now it sounded harsh. Dry perhaps. “I could always count on you for an honest opinion.”
Another person might have apologised, but Ben wasn’t any other person. “Cancer, is it?”
“Cancer and chemo together. They don’t leave much of me.”
“So how long have you got?”
She laughed. Ben thought it was the worst laugh he’d ever heard, but it was a laugh. “You’re a breath of fresh air, Ben. I’m so tired of people tip-toeing round it… wasting the little bit of time I’ve got. Which is about six months. Give or take. Sit down. You’re looming over me like the most untidy Grim Reaper ever.”
Ben pulled out a chair and sat down opposite her.
“That’s better.” She ran a critical eye over him. “Cancer’s my excuse. What’s yours, Ben?”
He scowled. “I don’t need an excuse. This is me, take it or leave it. So where have you been all these years? Haven’t heard a thing about you since they kicked you out.”
“Well, it’s not like you bothered to come looking, is it? I would have been amazed if you had. I went up North. Did some journalism at first - that’s what I started in, before I joined the Force. Free-lance crime stuff under a pen-name. Then I wrote a book - true crime. It didn’t do badly, so I did a few more. I was managing OK until…” she gestured to indicate her current state.
“Well. It’s a pity.” The words slipped out.
“Ben - is that sympathy? Are you getting soft in your old age?”
“Think that if you like. But what I meant was, you used to be a real cracker to look at. Now I’ll have to remember you looking like this. That’s what’s a pity. Why are you here inflicting your current unpleasant reality on me, Cass?”
“Ah, that’s better! If Ben Drummond had started getting sentimental, then I’d know that the world was ending! No, I’m here on a professional matter.”
“The Marie Sloane case.” It wasn’t a question.
“Of course. I’ve got one last book to write, Ben. My book. Memoirs, autobiography - whatever. My time in the Force, my old cases.”
“Well, that should be worth reading. If you’re going to tell everything there is to tell, that is?”
“Oh, yes, it’s all going to come out, Ben. All the crimes, the investigations, the trials…”
“What about the affairs,” asked Ben.
“Brutal, Ben. Brutal.” She said it with a smile. On the thin, stretched skin of her face it looked nothing like the brilliant and enticing grin he remembered. But there still seemed a glint in her eyes, if not quite a sparkle. “But yes, I’m going to name some names - all the senior officers who wanted to exchange favours, all the coppers who thought they’d try their luck. The ones that took no for an answer and the ones that got a bit hands on. And how I slapped them down when they did. Literally, sometimes!”
“And what about the times when it went a bit further? Are you going to name names there as well?”
“Ah, well, the thing is, Ben, there aren’t any actual names to tell. I only ever had one real affair - if you can call it that. It was before I was married, but he wasn’t. Oh, I know the reputation I had! But the truth is that all I had to do was wear short skirts and flirt a bit: then every man on the Force - and some of the women - put two and two together to make whatever number they liked.”
She sat back, shaking her head. “I don’t deny I enjoyed playing the game. It was fun, and I made it work for me. A smile and a wink got me a long way. But it came back to bite me in the end. When things went pear-shaped, it was the stories and the rumours that did for my career. And my marriage.”
She closed her eyes. “Look, it’s fun chatting, but we’ve got to move it on. I don’t have much energy nowadays and I need to try and close this last case. Marie Sloane has haunted me, Ben. I should have been able to get it sorted, but everything went to shit before the investigation could really get going. I want to be able to finish my book with it all wrapped up. And I know you Ben. You don’t like loose ends any more than I do. If anybody can help, you can.”
There was a long silence whilst Ben scratched his head and thought about it. “Won’t be any new forensics after all this time,” he said eventually.
“No.” She opened her eyes and leant forward. “But I’ve got everything from the case. All the reports, the notes, the photographs. I’m just asking you to help me go through them. See what we might have missed. See if anything new comes out. I know there must be something. That investigation was never properly done, not with all that happened around then. So take a look and see what you think. That’s all I’m asking.”
It was not in Ben’s nature to be helpful. But he could never resist an appeal to his vanity either.
“Where have you got all this stuff, then?”
“Just here.” She pulled out a bag from under the table. A large hessian shopping bag. It was full of files, and the files were full of papers. She emptied the bag out.
“What the hell are you doing with all this stuff, Cass? How many laws have you broken, keeping hold of it?”
“So arrest me.”
“Alright for you, since you won’t be around long. But you’re making me an accessory!”
“Sensitive as ever, Ben. And how many old files have you stashed away at home?”
Ben showed her his innocent face, but she was unimpressed. “OK. Never mind, then. Sorry to have bothered you. I didn’t realise you’d gone so by the book in your old age.”
She started to put the documents away again. But Ben stopped her with a raised hand.
“I didn’t say I wouldn’t do it.”
She raised an eyebrow at him.
“You’re right, I don’t like loose ends. Let’s have a look.”
She put the documents back on the table, and pulled out a photograph. A pretty girl with a tired smile. “That’s Marie Sloane. 22 when she died. Life dealt her nothing but crap cards. Abusive father, alcoholic mother, homeless at 14, on the game at - well, she said 18, it was probably earlier.
Then it seemed like her luck changed. She met someone she’d known at school.”
Cass handed him another picture. A clean cut young man in an expensive looking suit. “David Monteroy. His parents were high-fliers, professionally and social. Mum in hospital management, Dad climbing the ladder in a medial equipment firm. They had ambitions for David, sent him off to a top Uni, degree in something political. Fame and fortune. Then he happened to meet Marie again. Fairy-tale romance. It was sod the career, I’m going to marry her.”
“Unhappy parents?”
“Furious parents. When they got wind, they tried to put a stop to it. David refused to listen.”
Another file, a sheaf of papers. “His statement. He says that he went to see Marie after the argument with his parents. He took a bottle of wine and a pizza, and they talked about plans for the future. Marie had already told her pimp she was quitting - the pimp confirmed that - and David was going to pack his bags and leave home. He’d find a job, they’d get married. He’d even bought a ring.”
“That wasn’t there. Not on her finger, not in the scene.”
“No, it never turned up, though he was adamant that she’d put it on. She was thrilled with it. After they’d celebrated, he left to go home.”
“Didn’t stay the night?”
”Apparently he wanted to go back and tell his parents that he was engaged to Marie, that it was happening and they’d just have to live with it. They had sex before he left - post mortem confirmed that - and he went sometime between 8 and 9 pm. He said he wasn’t sure exactly. But he stopped along the way for another drink, to help face up to his parents. That was at the Royal - you’ll know it - and staff there said he was there from about 9 till closing time.”
“That’s a lot of Dutch courage.”
“His parents were a bit scary. But on top of the wine, it proved to be too much. When he got home he was in no state for a confrontation. He didn’t remember if he even saw them, just went straight to bed. And that’s all he knew until late next morning when he woke up with a hangover, and the Police knocking on the door.”
“Quick response. When were we notified?”
Cass nodded. “We were on the ball at that point. Body was discovered at about 10.05. Marie’s neighbour came home, saw the door of her flat open, went in and found her. Paramedics attended, police notified… and you were on-call SOCO that night.”
Ben grunted. “Got my scene report?”
“Of course.” She sorted through papers, pulled out a photocopied Crime Scene Examination Report. “Thorough and comprehensive as always, Ben. If you can decipher the writing.”
Ben ignored that, and took it off her. “Yeah. I was there by midnight, didn’t get off till four. Back next morning with the Senior, but there wasn’t much left to do by then. It wasn’t a big place. Not much to examine, really. No forced entry, no signs of any search. Just the body. Photos?”
Cass pulled out an envelope, and slid it across the table to him. “Pre-digital,” she commented. “That dates it.”
“Dates us both,” Ben grunted - an unusually mild response, but all his attention was on the prints.
He was pleased, though not surprised, to see that the quality was high - sharp, well lit, very professional. His handwriting might be poor (not that he’d ever admit it) but his photographic skills were second to none.
Everything had been done by the book. The first four images showed the room ‘quartered’ - a wide view of the room from each corner, so every item subsequently recorded could be placed in its context. Then mid-range and close-up shots of items of interest - foremost of which was, of course, the body itself.
Marie Sloane lay face down on the worn red carpet, stained a darker colour around her head. The blood contrasted much more strongly with her blonde hair, still in a pigtail. Close-ups showed the injury to the back of her skull, the blood staining on her neck and on the white t-shirt she wore over faded jeans.
A wine bottle with a crack in the glass near the bottom lay a few feet away, half under a Formica topped table. The remaining contents had spilled out over the carpet, showing a slight difference in shading from the blood. Two wine glasses stood on the table, with dregs of red wine still in them.
“Post-mortem confirmed cause of death was a single blow to the back of the head. The wound was consistent with the base of the wine bottle, which of course had her blood on it, along with other organic material. So no doubt that that was the murder weapon.” said Cass. She sat back and closed her eyes for a moment, rubbing her forehead. “Our first thought was, of course, that she’d had a customer round who’d turned nasty.”
“Not dressed for work.”
“No. Some girls rock the casual look, but talking to people who knew her - neighbours and friends in the block - that wasn’t Marie. When she was on the job, she dressed the part. But they all told us that she hadn’t been working for about a month. Not since she’d met David. And he admitted being in the flat that evening, which put him in the frame.”
“So what where you thinking - he’d slipped out of the pub, gone back to the flat, had an argument and lost it with her?”
“Yeah. It’s possible. The Royal was busy that night, lot of people coming and going, easy for him to be out and back without being noticed.” She grinned. Or grimaced, Ben wasn’t sure which. “But you didn’t help us with that!”
Ben shrugged. “I just find the evidence. It is what it is.” He looked over his scene report again. “Ah, yes. I got DNA from the wine glasses - one from each. Likewise fingerprints. And two sets of fingerprints on the bottle, later confirmed to be Marie Sloane and David Monteroy. But none at all from the neck of the bottle, and if you’re going to hit someone, that’s the part you naturally grab.” He tapped a line on the report. “And the orientation was all wrong. The fingerprints show someone picking up the bottle to pour it out, not to use it as a weapon. It would have been very awkward to hit someone with it like that.”
“Agreed. And to be honest, I didn’t like him for it anyway. He seemed genuine in his feelings towards her, totally distraught that she was dead. I couldn’t see him killing her then coolly going back to the pub to establish an alibi.”
“OK. So, next suspect?”
“We were interested in her pimp. Malcom Dengles. Nasty bit of work, he had form for violence, especially towards the girls he was running, if they got out of line. But he had a solid alibi, up in Leeds.”
“Right. So - his parents?”
“That’s where we looked next. They gave each other an alibi - both at home all evening. Confirmed it with house CCTV, showing no one going in or out apart from David.”
“CCTV can be fixed. It’ll show what you want, if you’ve got access and know-how.”
“Yes, and they had both. But there was nothing definite to put them at the scene. I would have gone on pushing but - that’s when it all hit the fan.”
“That business with Charlie Charlesworth and the DC - what was his name?”
“Shale. Danny Shale.” She held her hands up. “To this day, I’m not sure what happened. Or why. But a lot of the team were together, having a drink after work, then out of nowhere he just blew up at Charlie. Afterwards, they said I had been leading him on, making promises, you know? But I swear I didn’t treat him any different from any of the others. Yes, a bit flirty. But it was the banter, the team atmosphere, no one took it seriously.”
“No one except Danny Shale.”
Cass fumbled in her bag, took out a bottle of water and a blister pack of capsules. She swallowed two of them down with the water, and sat there for a moment, looking past Ben, looking nowhere.
“Danny had the wrong idea. He thought I’d made him promises that I hadn’t. He thought Charlie was getting in his way. He thought… I don’t know what he thought, really. But afterwards, it was all destroyed. Charlie’s career, mine, the whole team. Best damn murder team in the country.”
“You shouldn’t have been such a flirt, Cass.” Ben, showing sympathy.
“That’s what they all said. Perhaps they were right. Do you think I haven’t thought that? I’ve been over it all, again and again. And yeah, if I had the chance I’d do it all differently. But it was me, Ben. It was how I worked, how I’d got on, played the system, built my team. And in the end it cost me as much as anyone. Not just my job. My husband couldn’t wait to divorce me. And he got custody of the kids. Turned them against me. I don’t know what he told them, but they still refuse all contact. That’s the thing that hurts most.”
“Marriage is difficult,” said Ben. “I’ve had two of them. The only one of my kids who even wants to stay in touch is the youngest, and his mum keeps him away.”
“Well, I can understand that, Ben. You being such an obnoxious old bastard. Doesn’t help me, though.” She said it with venom, but the glint was back in her eye.
“Are we going to talk about this case or what?” he asked.
“Yes, we’re talking about the case. So Charlie was suspended, I was suspended, the team was split up, and the Marie Sloane case got kicked over to local CID. A DS called Garvey or Harvey picked it up. And he was an unimaginative type, overworked and just hanging on for his pension. Didn’t look any further at the Monteroy’s. Spent a bit of time trying to break the pimp’s alibi, but it was solid. Tried to find someone else at the scene - had a theory about some random burglar nicking the ring. Which, to be fair, was worth a bit, but there was no evidence of anyone else being there. So he went back to David Monteroy. Tried to find someone who’s seen him leaving the pub, interviewed him several times to crack his story, all to no effect.
The job was going nowhere, It got put on the back burner. Should have gone back to the re-formed Murder Squad, or the Major Crimes Unit as they decided to call it. But they didn’t really want it, I suppose. So it dropped through the cracks.”
“Right. It happens.”
“It does. But I don’t want it to happen with this one, Ben. My last case. And I would have nailed it as well, if things hadn’t happened the way they did.” She leaned forward and grasped his hand. “Something got missed. I don’t know what, I’ve been over and over the paperwork. I can’t see it, but there’s something there Ben. I know it. I’ve got that gut feeling, you know? When the answers there in front of you, and maybe your subconscious has already spotted it, but you just can’t bring it out into the open.”
She let go of him, sagged back. “My instincts are still good, Ben.”
“Yeah. Whatever…” Ben didn’t sound enthusiastic, but he wasn’t scowling either, and Cass understood him well enough. She managed a tired smile.
“So what are you thinking?”
“No forced entry. It was someone she knew and felt safe to let in. That’s any of our main suspects. But the way the body was laying, it looked like she was making a dash for the door. Trying to get out, perhaps? Can’t be sure, but maybe something alarmed her. She felt threatened. The other person did something to cause that.”
“Such as?”
Ben shook his head, started looking through his scene report again. “I did think at the time that there was something out of place… ah.”
“What? What is it?”
He didn’t answer, but went back to the photographs. Sorted through them, and pulled out a couple of prints, which he showed her.
“A packet of peanuts?” Cass looked at the other picture. “And are they peanuts scattered over the carpet?”
“Yes. Exactly.” Ben sat back and scratched his chin. “It’s coming back now… The packet was still half full. It was on the floor, over in the corner. Nuts scattered over the floor. And the thing is, it was a grotty little place but she kept it tidy. She’d put the pizza box in the bin, which was where I recovered it from. The wine bottle was still out, and the glasses - perhaps she was thinking of finishing it off later. But why would she toss peanuts over the floor?”
Cass was looking through other paperwork. “No peanuts found in her stomach contents. What are you thinking, Ben?”
“Do you recall the Wannabe Serial Killer? Gerald Masterton?”
She shook her head.
“Not surprised. This was over in the States, and a long time back. Several patients in a hospital had unexpected allergic reactions. Nothing fatal, but very concerning, since all their allergies were known. There was an investigation, of course, which found that the common denominator was that all the victims had been given meals or had been in contact with Masterton. He was doing some sort of voluntary work there, which gave him access to the patients. The Police were called in, they searched his home and found that he was obsessed with becoming the worlds greatest serial killer. His brilliant idea was to kill people by anaphylactic shock, thinking that no one would realise it had been a murder.”
“Criminal master-mind!” Cass grimaced. “OK. I see where you’re going with this. But we don’t know if Marie was allergic to peanuts. Usually, I’d have got the victims medical records - they should have been requested - but they’re not here. So it’s something else that hadn’t been done before the crap hit the fan, and wasn’t followed up afterwards.”
“Bloody incompetents.” Ben scowled at the pile paperwork now strewn all across the table.
”But… If she was, all of our main suspects could have known about it. Either because she told them, or because they had access to her medical records.”
“Which would be the parents. What were they like?”
Cass searched through files. “I only interviewed them once - not under caution. Ah, here’s my notes. Yes, as I remembered. They were snotty about it. Didn’t even try to show any concern over Marie. I don’t recall them actually saying ‘Good riddance’ but that was the attitude. And “Why are you wasting our time on this?” Quite aggressive about it, so much that I wondered if that was their tactic for hiding something. I made a note for follow-up, but of course, that didn’t happen.”
Ben smiled. It wasn’t an expression his face was used to it, but it came out when he was on to something, especially something that was going to cause someone else a whole lot of trouble.
”Try this for a scenario. Marie’s at home on her own, after David leaves. She’s bubbling over with young love, everything good is happening to her.
Then someone comes to the door. Possibly two some-ones.”
“Both the parents? Why are you thinking that?”
”Let me finish!” He glared at her. She shrugged and waved at him to continue.
“So she knows them. Or knows of them. Lets them in. They talk. Perhaps there are bribes offered, perhaps threats made, but she tells them to shove it. She loves David, he loves her, etc. Probably shows the ring.
So then it gets nasty. They’ve come equipped with a packet of peanuts. Not easy to force peanuts into someone’s mouth, but one of them grabs her from behind, hold her arms, whilst the other one tries to make her eat them.”
”That’s as likely to choke her as send her into shock.”
“What do they care? As long as it does the job. But she’s stronger or quicker then they expect. She gets free, knocks the bag of peanuts out of her attacker’s hand. Loose peanuts scattered across the floor, packet in the corner. She makes a break for the door. Their Cunning Plan has gone to rat-shit, but they can’t let her get away. So one of them snatches up the bottle and brings it down on her head.”
“One blow to the back of the head. Broke her skull. Surprising it didn’t break the bottle.”
Ben gave her a pained look. “You know better then that, Cass. It’s real glass, not sugar glass. The fact that it cracked shows how hard she was hit.
So it’s mission accomplished, but a lot messier than they’d planned. They’re pumped with adrenaline, edging on panic, not thinking clearly. The focus is on getting out before someone discovers them. They wipe the neck of the bottle - or perhaps they were wearing gloves? They forget about the peanuts, and one of them takes the ring.”
“Why? Make it look like a burglary?”
“Perhaps. Or just because they couldn’t bear to think of a common prostitute wearing their son’s ring. They grab it and rush out of the room, don’t even close the door behind them. Then back home, change of clothes, get rid of anything bloodstained. Fix the CCTV to make it look like they never went out. And so to bed.”
”That sounds good. But can we prove it?”
“Perhaps. I recovered the packet, sent it to the lab for chemical treatment. They developed some good prints, from two different people.”
“So they weren’t wearing gloves?”
“Might have done at the scene. But of course they would have handled the packet beforehand. Amazing how often that gets overlooked.”
“True. Did they get any hits from the prints?”
“No matches on the database, so they remained unidentified. Something else that was never followed up on. However, they’ll still be on file. So if you can get prints from David’s parents - are they still around?”
“Yes, still here. David isn’t, though. He left when it became clear that the investigation had gone cold. Went overseas - Canada, I think.”
“So his parents lost him anyway! How sadly ironic.” Ben didn’t look sad. “Well, you’ve got something to go on, Cass. Match those prints and that’ll be grounds for arrest. And a search warrant for the house - who knows, perhaps the ring is still there! All you need to do is find someone senior enough - and interested enough - to re-open the case.”
“I think the Deputy Chief Constable should be able to swing that.”
Ben raised an eyebrow. “You know DCC Harrow well enough to make that happen?”
Cass smiled. It was the most genuine smile Ben had seen from her yet, and for a moment he caught a glimpse of the young women she’s once been. “Oh, me and Johnnie Harrow go back a long way. He was my first sergeant.”
“Oh?” Ben’s mind went into overdrive. “You said there you’d had one real affair… so will the DCC get a mention in your book?”
She rolled her eyes. “Can’t stop digging, can you Ben. Just let this one go. He’s still a serving officer and still married. All that’s ancient history. It didn’t last long and it was over well before I was forced out. So no need to mention him, and if anyone did, I’d deny it. But we’ve kept in touch. Discreetly. And if I put this to him, he’ll get it taken up again.”
Ben hesitated, on the verge of saying something challenging. Or perhaps just nasty. But there was a certain look in her eye, a look that he remembered from a long time back, that said ‘Don’t push it!’ And whilst Ben was always ready to stir up some trouble, getting caught in the mix was much less fun.
So instead he shrugged, and stood to go. “Whatever works. Hope you get the buggers.”
“Damn right we will! Thanks to you. Watch out for the headlines, and be prepared to give yourself a pat on the back. Oh, and if you think of anything else, I’m staying at Greye’s Hotel. Just outside of town. I’ll be there for another day or two.”
He shrugged. “That’s all I’ve got. Good luck with it, Cass.”
He was already opening the door when she stopped him. “Ben - one thing I’ve always wondered?”
“What now?” He scowled at her, and glanced significantly at his watch.
“You know, back in the day, you were one of the few blokes who never tried it on with me? Why was that, Ben?”
He started to answer, a quick snap-back off the top of his head, but she raised a hand and cut over him.
“No, don’t tell me you didn’t fancy me! I know that’s not true, Ben. I saw the looks you gave me - but you never made the moves! Why not?”
And suddenly Ben had that rare experience of being lost for words, of not finding anything to say - no harsh put-downs, no sneering sarcasms, no cruel insults, not even an expletive. Instead he stared into her eyes, and saw a truth reflected back, and let it slip out of his mouth unedited.
“Because - because you scared the shit out of me, Cass.”
They stared at each other in silence. Then she smiled. A ghost of the stunning smile she’d had in the past, but still the same woman smiling.
“Yeah, that’s what I thought. Thanks for you help, Ben, and happy Christmas!”
*
It was quiet in the office when Ben got back. His shift had gone home, the late shift had taken their jobs and headed out. There was a kind of peacefulness about the place, the frantic rush of shift-changeover only evidenced by unwashed mugs, a pile of unused evidence labels and paperwork marked up for attention tomorrow.
Ben sat at his desk. He made no attempt to return to the work he’d left uncompleted, which would have surprised no-one, but neither did he get up and leave. Instead, he stared at the dark window, and beyond it.
After a while he opened his desk drawer, and rummaged around it for a while. The draw reflected his personality, being full of junk and incredibly untidy, but after a few minutes and several muttered obscenities, he produced a battered old notebook. He flicked through it, stopped at a name. Then snorted in disgust and threw it back into the draw.
But he still lingered. Indecision wasn’t like Ben, he despised people who ‘Couldn’t make up their bloody mind if their life depended on it.’ Yet, he still sat, frowning, until eventually he took the notebook out again, found the name, and a number with it. Took out his mobile and dialled.
Things took longer than he’d expected, which increased his frown. But he was nothing if not stubborn, and once he’d set his mind on something, he didn’t like to give it up. Eventually, a chain of contacts led him to the person he wanted.
“Hello? Is that… yes, good. Well you don’t know me, but I used to work with your Mum. That’s right. Cassandra Dennis. No, she hasn’t asked me to call you. She doesn’t know about this and I won’t tell her. But you should know that she’s back in town. Briefly. Staying at Greye’s Hotel. But she’ll only be there for a few days.”
He paused, listening to the voice on the other end, before breaking in again. “Yeah, well that’s up to you! But you should know, she’s seriously ill. Terminal. This will be her last Christmas. So if you want to see her again - ever! - this is you only chance.”
Another pause. “Yes, I think she wants to see you. Tell your brother as well.” He hung up with pudgy-fingered stab at his phone, and swivelled in his chair to see Marcie looking at him.
“What the hell are you doing still here?” he snarled.
“Had some exhibits in the van I’d forgotten about. Just put them into the store - sorry Ben, I didn’t mean to eavesdrop…”
“Then bloody well don’t!”
“... but was that what it sounded like? Was that you doing something nice for someone?”
Ben sprang out of his chair, face crimson. Marcie stepped back in alarm, nearly falling backwards over a desk as he assaulted her with a stream of the worst language she’d heard. Well, she knew all the words, but had never heard them delivered all at once and with such speed and vicious eloquence.
The tirade finally stopped when Ben ran out of breath, but she was shocked into silence and so gave him time to recover and continue.
“You don’t mention this, Marcie. You don’t say anything of this, to anyone, any time - RIGHT?”
“R..right. Of course not Ben. Lips sealed. Your private business. Absolutely.”
“It had better be!” he hissed at her. Thankfully, he turned away, headed for the door which he kicked open, and left.
Marcie sat down for a few minutes to recover. She shook her head.
“Of course I won’t say anything. Shit, who’d believe me? Ben Drummond showing a nice side?”
She stood up, started to gather her things. “Still, if that’s possible - perhaps there’s a Father Christmas as well!”
The decorations entirely failed to bring any sort of festive atmosphere to the office, as the shift frenetically rushed to finish on time - completing scene reports, entering evidence onto databases, uploading digital images and cursing the fact that they had to type everything three times because the so-called time saving computer systems wouldn’t talk to each other.
Even Ben Drummond was busy. Usually at this point he sat apart from it all, his corpulent body draped comfortable, if untidily, over the best chair in the office (borrowed from the Senior’s desk), feet up and a cup of tea to hand, scrolling through click-bait on his phone and making disparaging remarks about the idiocy people were capable of.
But today he’d picked up a nice quiet little burglary that turned out to be more of a home invasion and possibly attempted rape. It had added some interest to the day, but also added considerably to the computer work. So now he was stuck behind the monitor, typing with two fingers and muttering obscenities every time he miss-hit a key.
The phone on his desk rang. Several times. To no one’s surprise, Ben ignored it. No one else wanted to risk answering it and finding themselves landed with a problem that would keep them back past end of shift, but it kept on ringing. Eventually, Marcie, with a glare in his direction and a bad word muttered (and also ignored), picked up her phone and pressed the button to accept.
“CSI office… yes, he’s here… ok, I’ll tell him. Hold on.”
”Ben. Ben! BEN! Front Desk - you’ve got a visitor.”
Ben frowned at her. “Tell them to piss off. It’s nearly end of shift.”
“You’ve got twenty minutes.”
“Close enough. I’m busy, knackered and not available!”
“Serves you right for trying to cherry pick the easy jobs,” said Doug.
“Piss off, Doug.” Ben scowled at him, but it was water off a ducks back. No one worked with Ben for long without developing a thick skin.
Marcie had been talking to the Front Desk. “OK, I’ll pass it on.” She hung up, and turned to Ben. “It’s someone who wants to see you urgently. They said to tell you it was Cassandra Dennis.”
Ben had been picking up his cup for another swig of tea. He suddenly went very still, then put it down slowly and turned towards her.
“Say that name again?”
“Cassandra Dennis. She’s waiting down there.”
Ben’s face had lost it’s normal expression of bored irritation. It had lost all expression. He stood up and walked out of the room without another word.
The entire office had gone quiet as they observed him depart. Then, as the door closed behind him, they all turned to each other.
“I’ve never seen Ben look like that before,” said Marcie.
“I’ve never seen him get out of his chair so fast,” Sanjay added.
“Who the heck is Cassandra Dennis?” asked Doug.
They all turned and looked at Mac.
Mac was the only member of the shift who had been in the job as long as Ben. And now he had a similar expression on his face.
“Cassandra Dennis is a blast from the past,” he said slowly. “A long way in the past,”
Expectant looks prompted him to go on.
“Alright… back in the day, I’m talking years back, Cassandra Dennis was the hottest DCI on the force.”
“Hottest in what sense?” asked Doug.
“All of them. She was a - well, lets say she was exceptionally good looking. She was also one of the best CID officers ever. Smart, tough, and determined. Mind you, this was back when women were still struggling to make it up the slippery pole. A lot of misogyny around then. But she showed everyone how it was done. Cracked some big cases early on in her career, got promotion, cracked bigger cases. Of course, some people said that it was because she had done favours for Senior Officers.”
“Same old rumour mill,” said Ali from the table where she was sorting through evidence bags.
“Oh, it was worse then. People said out loud what they can only whisper now. But Cass… she sailed right through it. Every time someone tried to drag her down, she just pulled in another top villain and moved on up.
Eventually, she made DCI - not the first woman to do it, but the quickest to ever get there, at least in this force. She was put in charge of the Murder Squad, as it was called then. Got to choose her own team, and if there was a high proportion of good looking young men in it, well, no one cared as long as she kept getting results.”
“So why isn’t she Chief Constable now?” asked Marcie.
“She probably would have been, but it all turned very bad very fast. Her right-hand man was a DI… Charlesworth, I think? Anyhow, known as Charlie, no matter what his real name was. Of course, there were rumours about him and her. She was married by then, to someone outside of the job, and so was he. But he got into a fight with one of his own DC’s - don’t remember his name - and apparently it was over her. The DC took a punch that put him down hard. Hit his head on something, cracked his skull. He was never the same again, poor lad. Permanent brain damage. That was the end of Charlie’s career, of course. He was luck to escape criminal charges, but people testified that the DC had started it, Charlie had just been defending himself.”
“And the DCI?” asked Doug. “Was she involved?”
“Not directly. But she was held responsible, anyway. There were plenty of people keen to see her fail, and there had to be a full investigation, of course - nothing ever made public, but she resigned. I don’t know what happened to her after that, though I heard she’d divorced. Sad business all round.
“But what did any of this have to do with Ben?” Marcie wanted to know.
Mac shook his head. “I’ve no idea. Except that - if I remember right - he worked on her last case. Before it all blew up. A young woman was murdered, I think. They had someone in for it, but it never went to court - and I think it was some forensics Ben recovered that swung it.”
“How’s that going to be relevant?” Sanjay asked, but Mac could only shrug.
*
The girl on the reception desk gave Ben the sort of look that he got from most people who knew him. Which was an ‘Oh, no, not him!” sort of look.
A bit rich, Ben thought, considering that it had been her who had called him down. Non-the-less, he was pleased to see it. It meant he hadn’t lost his touch.
“Well?” he growled belligerently. No harm in reinforcing his reputation. “Where is she?”
“Interview room one,” she told him, frowning. “But I should warn you…”
“Don’t bother,” he grunted, and pushed his way through the door marked Interview Rooms.
There were four of them, all identical. Fixed table, four plastic chairs, recording equipment. A woman was seated at the table in I-1, resting her head on her arms, with her face turned away from him. She was wearing a grey suit, smart, but it hung badly on her, like it was several sizes too big. And the coloured scarf that she wore over her head didn’t match.
“I’m looking for Cassandra Dennis,” he announced.
She raised her head and turned to face him. “Hello Ben. It’s been a while.”
“Cass? You look like shit!”
He could have passed her on the street and not recognised her. Her face, her hands poking out from the jacket sleeves - her shoulders under the jacket - were skeleton-thin. She was smiling, but it looked painful. Her eyes were enormous, but not in a good way.
“Thanks, Ben.” She’d always had a deep voice for a woman, but now it sounded harsh. Dry perhaps. “I could always count on you for an honest opinion.”
Another person might have apologised, but Ben wasn’t any other person. “Cancer, is it?”
“Cancer and chemo together. They don’t leave much of me.”
“So how long have you got?”
She laughed. Ben thought it was the worst laugh he’d ever heard, but it was a laugh. “You’re a breath of fresh air, Ben. I’m so tired of people tip-toeing round it… wasting the little bit of time I’ve got. Which is about six months. Give or take. Sit down. You’re looming over me like the most untidy Grim Reaper ever.”
Ben pulled out a chair and sat down opposite her.
“That’s better.” She ran a critical eye over him. “Cancer’s my excuse. What’s yours, Ben?”
He scowled. “I don’t need an excuse. This is me, take it or leave it. So where have you been all these years? Haven’t heard a thing about you since they kicked you out.”
“Well, it’s not like you bothered to come looking, is it? I would have been amazed if you had. I went up North. Did some journalism at first - that’s what I started in, before I joined the Force. Free-lance crime stuff under a pen-name. Then I wrote a book - true crime. It didn’t do badly, so I did a few more. I was managing OK until…” she gestured to indicate her current state.
“Well. It’s a pity.” The words slipped out.
“Ben - is that sympathy? Are you getting soft in your old age?”
“Think that if you like. But what I meant was, you used to be a real cracker to look at. Now I’ll have to remember you looking like this. That’s what’s a pity. Why are you here inflicting your current unpleasant reality on me, Cass?”
“Ah, that’s better! If Ben Drummond had started getting sentimental, then I’d know that the world was ending! No, I’m here on a professional matter.”
“The Marie Sloane case.” It wasn’t a question.
“Of course. I’ve got one last book to write, Ben. My book. Memoirs, autobiography - whatever. My time in the Force, my old cases.”
“Well, that should be worth reading. If you’re going to tell everything there is to tell, that is?”
“Oh, yes, it’s all going to come out, Ben. All the crimes, the investigations, the trials…”
“What about the affairs,” asked Ben.
“Brutal, Ben. Brutal.” She said it with a smile. On the thin, stretched skin of her face it looked nothing like the brilliant and enticing grin he remembered. But there still seemed a glint in her eyes, if not quite a sparkle. “But yes, I’m going to name some names - all the senior officers who wanted to exchange favours, all the coppers who thought they’d try their luck. The ones that took no for an answer and the ones that got a bit hands on. And how I slapped them down when they did. Literally, sometimes!”
“And what about the times when it went a bit further? Are you going to name names there as well?”
“Ah, well, the thing is, Ben, there aren’t any actual names to tell. I only ever had one real affair - if you can call it that. It was before I was married, but he wasn’t. Oh, I know the reputation I had! But the truth is that all I had to do was wear short skirts and flirt a bit: then every man on the Force - and some of the women - put two and two together to make whatever number they liked.”
She sat back, shaking her head. “I don’t deny I enjoyed playing the game. It was fun, and I made it work for me. A smile and a wink got me a long way. But it came back to bite me in the end. When things went pear-shaped, it was the stories and the rumours that did for my career. And my marriage.”
She closed her eyes. “Look, it’s fun chatting, but we’ve got to move it on. I don’t have much energy nowadays and I need to try and close this last case. Marie Sloane has haunted me, Ben. I should have been able to get it sorted, but everything went to shit before the investigation could really get going. I want to be able to finish my book with it all wrapped up. And I know you Ben. You don’t like loose ends any more than I do. If anybody can help, you can.”
There was a long silence whilst Ben scratched his head and thought about it. “Won’t be any new forensics after all this time,” he said eventually.
“No.” She opened her eyes and leant forward. “But I’ve got everything from the case. All the reports, the notes, the photographs. I’m just asking you to help me go through them. See what we might have missed. See if anything new comes out. I know there must be something. That investigation was never properly done, not with all that happened around then. So take a look and see what you think. That’s all I’m asking.”
It was not in Ben’s nature to be helpful. But he could never resist an appeal to his vanity either.
“Where have you got all this stuff, then?”
“Just here.” She pulled out a bag from under the table. A large hessian shopping bag. It was full of files, and the files were full of papers. She emptied the bag out.
“What the hell are you doing with all this stuff, Cass? How many laws have you broken, keeping hold of it?”
“So arrest me.”
“Alright for you, since you won’t be around long. But you’re making me an accessory!”
“Sensitive as ever, Ben. And how many old files have you stashed away at home?”
Ben showed her his innocent face, but she was unimpressed. “OK. Never mind, then. Sorry to have bothered you. I didn’t realise you’d gone so by the book in your old age.”
She started to put the documents away again. But Ben stopped her with a raised hand.
“I didn’t say I wouldn’t do it.”
She raised an eyebrow at him.
“You’re right, I don’t like loose ends. Let’s have a look.”
She put the documents back on the table, and pulled out a photograph. A pretty girl with a tired smile. “That’s Marie Sloane. 22 when she died. Life dealt her nothing but crap cards. Abusive father, alcoholic mother, homeless at 14, on the game at - well, she said 18, it was probably earlier.
Then it seemed like her luck changed. She met someone she’d known at school.”
Cass handed him another picture. A clean cut young man in an expensive looking suit. “David Monteroy. His parents were high-fliers, professionally and social. Mum in hospital management, Dad climbing the ladder in a medial equipment firm. They had ambitions for David, sent him off to a top Uni, degree in something political. Fame and fortune. Then he happened to meet Marie again. Fairy-tale romance. It was sod the career, I’m going to marry her.”
“Unhappy parents?”
“Furious parents. When they got wind, they tried to put a stop to it. David refused to listen.”
Another file, a sheaf of papers. “His statement. He says that he went to see Marie after the argument with his parents. He took a bottle of wine and a pizza, and they talked about plans for the future. Marie had already told her pimp she was quitting - the pimp confirmed that - and David was going to pack his bags and leave home. He’d find a job, they’d get married. He’d even bought a ring.”
“That wasn’t there. Not on her finger, not in the scene.”
“No, it never turned up, though he was adamant that she’d put it on. She was thrilled with it. After they’d celebrated, he left to go home.”
“Didn’t stay the night?”
”Apparently he wanted to go back and tell his parents that he was engaged to Marie, that it was happening and they’d just have to live with it. They had sex before he left - post mortem confirmed that - and he went sometime between 8 and 9 pm. He said he wasn’t sure exactly. But he stopped along the way for another drink, to help face up to his parents. That was at the Royal - you’ll know it - and staff there said he was there from about 9 till closing time.”
“That’s a lot of Dutch courage.”
“His parents were a bit scary. But on top of the wine, it proved to be too much. When he got home he was in no state for a confrontation. He didn’t remember if he even saw them, just went straight to bed. And that’s all he knew until late next morning when he woke up with a hangover, and the Police knocking on the door.”
“Quick response. When were we notified?”
Cass nodded. “We were on the ball at that point. Body was discovered at about 10.05. Marie’s neighbour came home, saw the door of her flat open, went in and found her. Paramedics attended, police notified… and you were on-call SOCO that night.”
Ben grunted. “Got my scene report?”
“Of course.” She sorted through papers, pulled out a photocopied Crime Scene Examination Report. “Thorough and comprehensive as always, Ben. If you can decipher the writing.”
Ben ignored that, and took it off her. “Yeah. I was there by midnight, didn’t get off till four. Back next morning with the Senior, but there wasn’t much left to do by then. It wasn’t a big place. Not much to examine, really. No forced entry, no signs of any search. Just the body. Photos?”
Cass pulled out an envelope, and slid it across the table to him. “Pre-digital,” she commented. “That dates it.”
“Dates us both,” Ben grunted - an unusually mild response, but all his attention was on the prints.
He was pleased, though not surprised, to see that the quality was high - sharp, well lit, very professional. His handwriting might be poor (not that he’d ever admit it) but his photographic skills were second to none.
Everything had been done by the book. The first four images showed the room ‘quartered’ - a wide view of the room from each corner, so every item subsequently recorded could be placed in its context. Then mid-range and close-up shots of items of interest - foremost of which was, of course, the body itself.
Marie Sloane lay face down on the worn red carpet, stained a darker colour around her head. The blood contrasted much more strongly with her blonde hair, still in a pigtail. Close-ups showed the injury to the back of her skull, the blood staining on her neck and on the white t-shirt she wore over faded jeans.
A wine bottle with a crack in the glass near the bottom lay a few feet away, half under a Formica topped table. The remaining contents had spilled out over the carpet, showing a slight difference in shading from the blood. Two wine glasses stood on the table, with dregs of red wine still in them.
“Post-mortem confirmed cause of death was a single blow to the back of the head. The wound was consistent with the base of the wine bottle, which of course had her blood on it, along with other organic material. So no doubt that that was the murder weapon.” said Cass. She sat back and closed her eyes for a moment, rubbing her forehead. “Our first thought was, of course, that she’d had a customer round who’d turned nasty.”
“Not dressed for work.”
“No. Some girls rock the casual look, but talking to people who knew her - neighbours and friends in the block - that wasn’t Marie. When she was on the job, she dressed the part. But they all told us that she hadn’t been working for about a month. Not since she’d met David. And he admitted being in the flat that evening, which put him in the frame.”
“So what where you thinking - he’d slipped out of the pub, gone back to the flat, had an argument and lost it with her?”
“Yeah. It’s possible. The Royal was busy that night, lot of people coming and going, easy for him to be out and back without being noticed.” She grinned. Or grimaced, Ben wasn’t sure which. “But you didn’t help us with that!”
Ben shrugged. “I just find the evidence. It is what it is.” He looked over his scene report again. “Ah, yes. I got DNA from the wine glasses - one from each. Likewise fingerprints. And two sets of fingerprints on the bottle, later confirmed to be Marie Sloane and David Monteroy. But none at all from the neck of the bottle, and if you’re going to hit someone, that’s the part you naturally grab.” He tapped a line on the report. “And the orientation was all wrong. The fingerprints show someone picking up the bottle to pour it out, not to use it as a weapon. It would have been very awkward to hit someone with it like that.”
“Agreed. And to be honest, I didn’t like him for it anyway. He seemed genuine in his feelings towards her, totally distraught that she was dead. I couldn’t see him killing her then coolly going back to the pub to establish an alibi.”
“OK. So, next suspect?”
“We were interested in her pimp. Malcom Dengles. Nasty bit of work, he had form for violence, especially towards the girls he was running, if they got out of line. But he had a solid alibi, up in Leeds.”
“Right. So - his parents?”
“That’s where we looked next. They gave each other an alibi - both at home all evening. Confirmed it with house CCTV, showing no one going in or out apart from David.”
“CCTV can be fixed. It’ll show what you want, if you’ve got access and know-how.”
“Yes, and they had both. But there was nothing definite to put them at the scene. I would have gone on pushing but - that’s when it all hit the fan.”
“That business with Charlie Charlesworth and the DC - what was his name?”
“Shale. Danny Shale.” She held her hands up. “To this day, I’m not sure what happened. Or why. But a lot of the team were together, having a drink after work, then out of nowhere he just blew up at Charlie. Afterwards, they said I had been leading him on, making promises, you know? But I swear I didn’t treat him any different from any of the others. Yes, a bit flirty. But it was the banter, the team atmosphere, no one took it seriously.”
“No one except Danny Shale.”
Cass fumbled in her bag, took out a bottle of water and a blister pack of capsules. She swallowed two of them down with the water, and sat there for a moment, looking past Ben, looking nowhere.
“Danny had the wrong idea. He thought I’d made him promises that I hadn’t. He thought Charlie was getting in his way. He thought… I don’t know what he thought, really. But afterwards, it was all destroyed. Charlie’s career, mine, the whole team. Best damn murder team in the country.”
“You shouldn’t have been such a flirt, Cass.” Ben, showing sympathy.
“That’s what they all said. Perhaps they were right. Do you think I haven’t thought that? I’ve been over it all, again and again. And yeah, if I had the chance I’d do it all differently. But it was me, Ben. It was how I worked, how I’d got on, played the system, built my team. And in the end it cost me as much as anyone. Not just my job. My husband couldn’t wait to divorce me. And he got custody of the kids. Turned them against me. I don’t know what he told them, but they still refuse all contact. That’s the thing that hurts most.”
“Marriage is difficult,” said Ben. “I’ve had two of them. The only one of my kids who even wants to stay in touch is the youngest, and his mum keeps him away.”
“Well, I can understand that, Ben. You being such an obnoxious old bastard. Doesn’t help me, though.” She said it with venom, but the glint was back in her eye.
“Are we going to talk about this case or what?” he asked.
“Yes, we’re talking about the case. So Charlie was suspended, I was suspended, the team was split up, and the Marie Sloane case got kicked over to local CID. A DS called Garvey or Harvey picked it up. And he was an unimaginative type, overworked and just hanging on for his pension. Didn’t look any further at the Monteroy’s. Spent a bit of time trying to break the pimp’s alibi, but it was solid. Tried to find someone else at the scene - had a theory about some random burglar nicking the ring. Which, to be fair, was worth a bit, but there was no evidence of anyone else being there. So he went back to David Monteroy. Tried to find someone who’s seen him leaving the pub, interviewed him several times to crack his story, all to no effect.
The job was going nowhere, It got put on the back burner. Should have gone back to the re-formed Murder Squad, or the Major Crimes Unit as they decided to call it. But they didn’t really want it, I suppose. So it dropped through the cracks.”
“Right. It happens.”
“It does. But I don’t want it to happen with this one, Ben. My last case. And I would have nailed it as well, if things hadn’t happened the way they did.” She leaned forward and grasped his hand. “Something got missed. I don’t know what, I’ve been over and over the paperwork. I can’t see it, but there’s something there Ben. I know it. I’ve got that gut feeling, you know? When the answers there in front of you, and maybe your subconscious has already spotted it, but you just can’t bring it out into the open.”
She let go of him, sagged back. “My instincts are still good, Ben.”
“Yeah. Whatever…” Ben didn’t sound enthusiastic, but he wasn’t scowling either, and Cass understood him well enough. She managed a tired smile.
“So what are you thinking?”
“No forced entry. It was someone she knew and felt safe to let in. That’s any of our main suspects. But the way the body was laying, it looked like she was making a dash for the door. Trying to get out, perhaps? Can’t be sure, but maybe something alarmed her. She felt threatened. The other person did something to cause that.”
“Such as?”
Ben shook his head, started looking through his scene report again. “I did think at the time that there was something out of place… ah.”
“What? What is it?”
He didn’t answer, but went back to the photographs. Sorted through them, and pulled out a couple of prints, which he showed her.
“A packet of peanuts?” Cass looked at the other picture. “And are they peanuts scattered over the carpet?”
“Yes. Exactly.” Ben sat back and scratched his chin. “It’s coming back now… The packet was still half full. It was on the floor, over in the corner. Nuts scattered over the floor. And the thing is, it was a grotty little place but she kept it tidy. She’d put the pizza box in the bin, which was where I recovered it from. The wine bottle was still out, and the glasses - perhaps she was thinking of finishing it off later. But why would she toss peanuts over the floor?”
Cass was looking through other paperwork. “No peanuts found in her stomach contents. What are you thinking, Ben?”
“Do you recall the Wannabe Serial Killer? Gerald Masterton?”
She shook her head.
“Not surprised. This was over in the States, and a long time back. Several patients in a hospital had unexpected allergic reactions. Nothing fatal, but very concerning, since all their allergies were known. There was an investigation, of course, which found that the common denominator was that all the victims had been given meals or had been in contact with Masterton. He was doing some sort of voluntary work there, which gave him access to the patients. The Police were called in, they searched his home and found that he was obsessed with becoming the worlds greatest serial killer. His brilliant idea was to kill people by anaphylactic shock, thinking that no one would realise it had been a murder.”
“Criminal master-mind!” Cass grimaced. “OK. I see where you’re going with this. But we don’t know if Marie was allergic to peanuts. Usually, I’d have got the victims medical records - they should have been requested - but they’re not here. So it’s something else that hadn’t been done before the crap hit the fan, and wasn’t followed up afterwards.”
“Bloody incompetents.” Ben scowled at the pile paperwork now strewn all across the table.
”But… If she was, all of our main suspects could have known about it. Either because she told them, or because they had access to her medical records.”
“Which would be the parents. What were they like?”
Cass searched through files. “I only interviewed them once - not under caution. Ah, here’s my notes. Yes, as I remembered. They were snotty about it. Didn’t even try to show any concern over Marie. I don’t recall them actually saying ‘Good riddance’ but that was the attitude. And “Why are you wasting our time on this?” Quite aggressive about it, so much that I wondered if that was their tactic for hiding something. I made a note for follow-up, but of course, that didn’t happen.”
Ben smiled. It wasn’t an expression his face was used to it, but it came out when he was on to something, especially something that was going to cause someone else a whole lot of trouble.
”Try this for a scenario. Marie’s at home on her own, after David leaves. She’s bubbling over with young love, everything good is happening to her.
Then someone comes to the door. Possibly two some-ones.”
“Both the parents? Why are you thinking that?”
”Let me finish!” He glared at her. She shrugged and waved at him to continue.
“So she knows them. Or knows of them. Lets them in. They talk. Perhaps there are bribes offered, perhaps threats made, but she tells them to shove it. She loves David, he loves her, etc. Probably shows the ring.
So then it gets nasty. They’ve come equipped with a packet of peanuts. Not easy to force peanuts into someone’s mouth, but one of them grabs her from behind, hold her arms, whilst the other one tries to make her eat them.”
”That’s as likely to choke her as send her into shock.”
“What do they care? As long as it does the job. But she’s stronger or quicker then they expect. She gets free, knocks the bag of peanuts out of her attacker’s hand. Loose peanuts scattered across the floor, packet in the corner. She makes a break for the door. Their Cunning Plan has gone to rat-shit, but they can’t let her get away. So one of them snatches up the bottle and brings it down on her head.”
“One blow to the back of the head. Broke her skull. Surprising it didn’t break the bottle.”
Ben gave her a pained look. “You know better then that, Cass. It’s real glass, not sugar glass. The fact that it cracked shows how hard she was hit.
So it’s mission accomplished, but a lot messier than they’d planned. They’re pumped with adrenaline, edging on panic, not thinking clearly. The focus is on getting out before someone discovers them. They wipe the neck of the bottle - or perhaps they were wearing gloves? They forget about the peanuts, and one of them takes the ring.”
“Why? Make it look like a burglary?”
“Perhaps. Or just because they couldn’t bear to think of a common prostitute wearing their son’s ring. They grab it and rush out of the room, don’t even close the door behind them. Then back home, change of clothes, get rid of anything bloodstained. Fix the CCTV to make it look like they never went out. And so to bed.”
”That sounds good. But can we prove it?”
“Perhaps. I recovered the packet, sent it to the lab for chemical treatment. They developed some good prints, from two different people.”
“So they weren’t wearing gloves?”
“Might have done at the scene. But of course they would have handled the packet beforehand. Amazing how often that gets overlooked.”
“True. Did they get any hits from the prints?”
“No matches on the database, so they remained unidentified. Something else that was never followed up on. However, they’ll still be on file. So if you can get prints from David’s parents - are they still around?”
“Yes, still here. David isn’t, though. He left when it became clear that the investigation had gone cold. Went overseas - Canada, I think.”
“So his parents lost him anyway! How sadly ironic.” Ben didn’t look sad. “Well, you’ve got something to go on, Cass. Match those prints and that’ll be grounds for arrest. And a search warrant for the house - who knows, perhaps the ring is still there! All you need to do is find someone senior enough - and interested enough - to re-open the case.”
“I think the Deputy Chief Constable should be able to swing that.”
Ben raised an eyebrow. “You know DCC Harrow well enough to make that happen?”
Cass smiled. It was the most genuine smile Ben had seen from her yet, and for a moment he caught a glimpse of the young women she’s once been. “Oh, me and Johnnie Harrow go back a long way. He was my first sergeant.”
“Oh?” Ben’s mind went into overdrive. “You said there you’d had one real affair… so will the DCC get a mention in your book?”
She rolled her eyes. “Can’t stop digging, can you Ben. Just let this one go. He’s still a serving officer and still married. All that’s ancient history. It didn’t last long and it was over well before I was forced out. So no need to mention him, and if anyone did, I’d deny it. But we’ve kept in touch. Discreetly. And if I put this to him, he’ll get it taken up again.”
Ben hesitated, on the verge of saying something challenging. Or perhaps just nasty. But there was a certain look in her eye, a look that he remembered from a long time back, that said ‘Don’t push it!’ And whilst Ben was always ready to stir up some trouble, getting caught in the mix was much less fun.
So instead he shrugged, and stood to go. “Whatever works. Hope you get the buggers.”
“Damn right we will! Thanks to you. Watch out for the headlines, and be prepared to give yourself a pat on the back. Oh, and if you think of anything else, I’m staying at Greye’s Hotel. Just outside of town. I’ll be there for another day or two.”
He shrugged. “That’s all I’ve got. Good luck with it, Cass.”
He was already opening the door when she stopped him. “Ben - one thing I’ve always wondered?”
“What now?” He scowled at her, and glanced significantly at his watch.
“You know, back in the day, you were one of the few blokes who never tried it on with me? Why was that, Ben?”
He started to answer, a quick snap-back off the top of his head, but she raised a hand and cut over him.
“No, don’t tell me you didn’t fancy me! I know that’s not true, Ben. I saw the looks you gave me - but you never made the moves! Why not?”
And suddenly Ben had that rare experience of being lost for words, of not finding anything to say - no harsh put-downs, no sneering sarcasms, no cruel insults, not even an expletive. Instead he stared into her eyes, and saw a truth reflected back, and let it slip out of his mouth unedited.
“Because - because you scared the shit out of me, Cass.”
They stared at each other in silence. Then she smiled. A ghost of the stunning smile she’d had in the past, but still the same woman smiling.
“Yeah, that’s what I thought. Thanks for you help, Ben, and happy Christmas!”
*
It was quiet in the office when Ben got back. His shift had gone home, the late shift had taken their jobs and headed out. There was a kind of peacefulness about the place, the frantic rush of shift-changeover only evidenced by unwashed mugs, a pile of unused evidence labels and paperwork marked up for attention tomorrow.
Ben sat at his desk. He made no attempt to return to the work he’d left uncompleted, which would have surprised no-one, but neither did he get up and leave. Instead, he stared at the dark window, and beyond it.
After a while he opened his desk drawer, and rummaged around it for a while. The draw reflected his personality, being full of junk and incredibly untidy, but after a few minutes and several muttered obscenities, he produced a battered old notebook. He flicked through it, stopped at a name. Then snorted in disgust and threw it back into the draw.
But he still lingered. Indecision wasn’t like Ben, he despised people who ‘Couldn’t make up their bloody mind if their life depended on it.’ Yet, he still sat, frowning, until eventually he took the notebook out again, found the name, and a number with it. Took out his mobile and dialled.
Things took longer than he’d expected, which increased his frown. But he was nothing if not stubborn, and once he’d set his mind on something, he didn’t like to give it up. Eventually, a chain of contacts led him to the person he wanted.
“Hello? Is that… yes, good. Well you don’t know me, but I used to work with your Mum. That’s right. Cassandra Dennis. No, she hasn’t asked me to call you. She doesn’t know about this and I won’t tell her. But you should know that she’s back in town. Briefly. Staying at Greye’s Hotel. But she’ll only be there for a few days.”
He paused, listening to the voice on the other end, before breaking in again. “Yeah, well that’s up to you! But you should know, she’s seriously ill. Terminal. This will be her last Christmas. So if you want to see her again - ever! - this is you only chance.”
Another pause. “Yes, I think she wants to see you. Tell your brother as well.” He hung up with pudgy-fingered stab at his phone, and swivelled in his chair to see Marcie looking at him.
“What the hell are you doing still here?” he snarled.
“Had some exhibits in the van I’d forgotten about. Just put them into the store - sorry Ben, I didn’t mean to eavesdrop…”
“Then bloody well don’t!”
“... but was that what it sounded like? Was that you doing something nice for someone?”
Ben sprang out of his chair, face crimson. Marcie stepped back in alarm, nearly falling backwards over a desk as he assaulted her with a stream of the worst language she’d heard. Well, she knew all the words, but had never heard them delivered all at once and with such speed and vicious eloquence.
The tirade finally stopped when Ben ran out of breath, but she was shocked into silence and so gave him time to recover and continue.
“You don’t mention this, Marcie. You don’t say anything of this, to anyone, any time - RIGHT?”
“R..right. Of course not Ben. Lips sealed. Your private business. Absolutely.”
“It had better be!” he hissed at her. Thankfully, he turned away, headed for the door which he kicked open, and left.
Marcie sat down for a few minutes to recover. She shook her head.
“Of course I won’t say anything. Shit, who’d believe me? Ben Drummond showing a nice side?”
She stood up, started to gather her things. “Still, if that’s possible - perhaps there’s a Father Christmas as well!”