A Violent Heart, page 12
‘What did you do with cut-offs from the insulation?’ Archer asks.
‘I bagged them and put them in the rubbish. They were taken by the bin men the morning after.’
‘When did you move the body to Mr Innes’s property?’
‘The following evening. I rolled her up in an old rug and stored her in the spare bedroom. It was terrible. I couldn’t sleep. I wracked my brains trying to figure out what to do. I had to get her out of my house. There was no way I could drive her and dump her where I’d get seen on CCTV or something. Bob’s place had been empty for a few years, and it seemed to be the ideal spot. So that night I carried her inside the rug – she was surprisingly light – into the back of my car and parked outside Bob’s place. I hurried back to my house, waited and watched the street from behind the curtains. When all the lights were off, and I was sure no one was watching I carried her from the car. Using Mrs Dunmore’s spare key, I entered the house and took her upstairs.’
‘Why did you contact Dixy, the content creator?’ Archer asks.
Davenport rubs his arms and rocks on his chair. ‘Oh God! I’ve really screwed up.’ He pauses before answering. ‘The weeks passed, and I couldn’t sleep knowing what I’d done, knowing also that she was there in the attic watching me. I wanted her gone. I wanted someone else to take the blame and I had to figure out how I could do that. I’d seen a social media post about Dixy’s Night Terrors videos. I thought he was an utter idiot and could take the fall.’
‘Did you offer him money to burn the house?’
Davenport shifts in his chair and hesitates before answering. ‘Not to begin with. I was expecting him to film the body, post it on his social media and for the police to arrest him. It seems to have taken weeks for the police to take any notice.’
‘How much did you offer to pay Dixy?’
‘Fifteen hundred pounds.’
‘Did you pay it?’
‘No.’
‘Why?’
‘Because he became obsessed with her. She became his muse.’ He scoffs at this. ‘What the hell is wrong with people today?’
I might ask the same of you, Archer thinks.
‘And then we came knocking,’ Quinn says.
Davenport sighs.
‘Who did you buy your house from?’ Archer asks.
‘It was so long ago; I don’t recall their names. It was Foxtons agency, though. It was a shell of a place when I moved in. It was disgusting inside as if it had been a doss house for years.’
Archer sighs and looks at Quinn. He understands they’re done here for the time being. He nods and Archer ends the interview and the recording.
‘It’s far from over yet, but for now, you’re free to go, Mr Davenport.’
Chapter 25
L
ILY MERCER’S DAD, BARRY, is taking part in a crime documentary for a TV production company called Big Stories, who, in her humble opinion, create tacky true crime TV shows for some satellite channel that no one ever watches. For as long as she can remember, Dad has been the local butcher, yet prior to that, and prior to Lily being born, he had been a constable here in Berwick-Upon-Tweed before moving around the country working as an officer in different towns and cities. Lily never knew why he left the police force. It was a subject that was never up for discussion at home. She’d overheard Mum and Si talking about him being burned out. That’s all she knew. He’d been involved in a murder case here in the town that had become the stuff of legend over the years. A local woman, Julia Morris, the landlady of a pub, had gone missing. They’d spent a week looking for her with no luck until one day Dad saw the woman’s cousin, Jennifer Morris, drag a heavy suitcase on wheels across town and up to the station. To most people it must have seemed like she was going on a trip, but Dad had tried to make small talk with her and when she didn’t respond he thought her behaviour a little strange. So, he followed her into the station where she stood at the edge of the platform. It was then he noticed the blood dripping from the bottom of the case.
They are filming on Platform 2 of Berwick-Upon-Tweed station, in a spot sectioned off from the rest of the platform. There are rail travellers at the other end, watching with interest as they wait for the next train. Likewise, people watch from the platform opposite. Enlisted as extras, Lily is sitting in between her mum and Uncle Si on a grey metal bench, thankfully shaded from the hot afternoon sun. Dad is having his clammy face powdered while being briefed by some skinny dude called Felix dressed in black jeans, a black T-shirt and an earpiece hanging out of his ear. Close by, with his face buried in sheets of A4 paper, is the presenter, a middle-aged man with a dour expression, thinning salt and pepper hair and a jutting square jaw. Mum leans across and whispers into Lily’s ear.
‘Didn’t he used to play that detective in that BBC programme?’
‘What detective in what TV show?’
‘You know the one.’
Lily purses her lips. ‘I don’t, Mum. He’s more your generation than mine.’
‘Wait!’ Mum says excitedly. ‘I’m sure he’s done Strictly too.’
Lily watches Strictly religiously but still doesn’t recognise him.
‘Ooh, I think I might ask him,’ Mum says, standing.
Mortified, Lily grabs Mum’s elbow and pulls her down. ‘Don’t, Mum! You’re so embarrassing.’
Mum sits back down and says, ‘Now that I think about it, I’m sure he was from the early days when Bruce was still doing it.’
Lily scrunches her face as she tries to imagine the dour-looking man dressed in sequins and spinning around the Strictly dance floor. Somehow, she just can’t picture it.
Mum turns to Si. ‘Si, isn’t that thingy from the detective show and Strictly?’
Uncle Si narrows his eyes at the celeb. ‘I think you’re right, Isla. He’s definitely Thingy from Thingy.’
Lily giggles. Si loves to tease her mum.
Mum tuts. ‘Anyway, he looks much older in real life. Greyer than I expected. His hair, I mean.’
The dude called Felix, who seems to be in charge, begins to herd people around Dad. He turns to the presenter and says, ‘All good, Lawrence?’
The Thingy detective cum former Strictly contestant called Lawrence looks up from his papers and nods.
‘Now that I think about it,’ says Mum. ‘I’m sure he went out in an early round. Like week two or three.’
Lily is confused. ‘What’re you talking about?’
She nods at the celeb. ‘Him, Lawrence Whatshisname. He wasn’t a very good dancer. A bit stiff and robotic.’
Lily rolls her eyes.
‘Quiet, everyone,’ says Felix as Lawrence stands opposite Dad, nodding a hello.
Lily’s phone pings loudly.
Felix turns to glare at her. ‘Everyone’s phones off, please.’
‘Sorry,’ says Lily, turning her phone to silent. She glances at the message. It’s from Gemma.
Still on for tonight?
Lily feels an excited tingling in her tummy. She types a message in return: Can’t wait!
Mum leans across. ‘Put your phone away. They’re filming,’ she says.
Lily tuts and catches Uncle Si looking her way. He smiles and winks. She smiles back at him.
They had been instructed to not watch the interview and to just act like regular people waiting for a train. Lily, Mum and Si are staring across the platform listening to Lawrence Whatshisname begin. She side-eyes her mum, who is sitting unnaturally bolt upright stiff as a poker. Lily snorts, suppressing the giggles.
‘The year is 1995, the date is the fourteenth of August,’ says Lawrence in a solemn voice. ‘The location is Berwick-Upon-Tweed, a pretty Northumbrian town, south of the Scottish Borderlands. Thirty-eight-year-old Julia Morris has been missing for one week. Her husband and kids are frantic with worry. The police are baffled. Gossip and suspicion rumble throughout the townsfolk. No one knows where Julia could be. She was a loving mother, a caring wife and the landlady of a popular local pub. She was close to her extended family, including her aunts, uncles and cousins. One, in particular, Jennifer Kyle. Barry Mercer was a constable, here at Berwick-Upon-Tweed, at the time and knew both women. Barry, tell us about Julia and Jennifer.’
‘I know what you did, Barry Mercer!’ a man’s voice bellows.
A deafening silence follows. All heads turn to look at a man standing on the platform, fists bunched, face like thunder, eyes wild and staring directly at Dad. Lily has never seen him before. He’s a black man, in his fifties or older.
‘Tell them what you did!’ the stranger shouts.
Whispers spread across the platform.
‘I’m sorry, do I know you?’ Dad asks.
‘We’ve met,’ the man spits.
Lily notices Felix directing the cameraman to focus on the stranger.
‘I’ve never met you,’ says Dad.
‘People are dead because of you!’
A collective gasp ripples through the crowd. Dad’s face reddens.
‘What’s he talking about, Mum?’ Lily asks, her stomach clenching.
‘Pay him no heed. He’s just some madman.’
The stranger points his finger at Dad. ‘I see you, Barry Mercer. I know what you did.’
‘Get out of here or I’ll call the police!’ Dad shouts.
The cameras are filming the entire exchange. Felix is watching it unfold as if he has just landed an incredible scoop. ‘What’s your name?’ Felix asks.
The stranger ignores him, his eyes full of hatred, never leaving Dad’s. Mum stands up quickly and hurries towards the stranger. ‘You get away from here now or I will call the police.’
‘And what will they do?’ the stranger says. He turns his eyes back to Dad. ‘What have they ever done?’
Lily tenses but feels Uncle Si’s arm around her shoulder. ‘Forget him. It’s just some crazy,’ he says.
The stranger retreats slowly. ‘I see you, Barry Mercer. I see you!’ he says. His eyes fall on Lily and linger momentarily, a frown creasing his face. She shudders and feels Si’s comforting arm squeeze her gently. And then the stranger turns, disappears into the crowd, exiting the station.
‘Who was that?’ Lawrence asks Dad. ‘Is he connected to Julia Morris or Jennifer Kyle?’
Dad tugs at his shirt collar. He’s shocked by the stranger’s outburst and accusation. ‘I have no idea who he is.’
‘Maybe we can take a break before continuing,’ Felix suggests.
‘Please,’ says Dad.
The remainder of the afternoon is awkward. Dad struggles through the interview, tripping over his answers and losing the thread on multiple occasions. Felix and Lawrence’s patience wears thin. At one point, they huddle together, leaving Dad alone and wringing his hands. Lily overhears Felix telling Lawrence that this isn’t working, just to wrap it up. Lily feels so sorry for her dad. The stranger, whoever he was, and his outburst, had clearly shaken him. When it is over, they shuffle to Uncle Si’s car, a silence so palpable you could slice it with a knife. Her parents, and Uncle Si for that matter, are not the type of people who discuss awkward, embarrassing subjects, especially in front of Lily.
‘Where to now?’ Si asks, as they strap themselves in.
Lily feels her hackles rising. She wants to talk about what happened. She needs answers. ‘Who was that man?’ she demands.
Her father sits quietly, looking out the window in the front passenger seat and does not reply.
‘Let’s go to the restaurant as planned,’ says Mum, ignoring Lily’s question. ‘The table’s booked. It’ll do us good. What do you think, Barry?’
‘I just asked a question!’ cries Lily.
Mum glares at her. Dad’s silence lingers. ‘Take us to the restaurant, please, Simon.’
Lily expels an exasperated breath and swears quietly.
Mum leans across. ‘You mind your language, young lady!’
Chapter 26
I
N HER SECOND INTERVIEW OF the day, Archer sits in the same room where she and Quinn had interviewed Miles Davenport only two hours earlier. She has brought a laptop, which she opens and connects to the network as Quinn makes small talk, putting the suspect, Hassan Bilal, at ease for the time being. Bilal fidgets nervously opposite them. He’s a round man, with an anxious expression.
Archer takes out her phone and checks her messages. She had texted and called DS Parry earlier to say that Bilal was being brought in for questioning. She’d suggested he led the interview considering Elena was officially his investigation. Parry had not responded to either request. She had eventually tracked him down at home. The conversation had not gone well.
‘I’ve been trying to get hold of you,’ she said.
‘It’s my day off today. I’ve been on the golf course. No signal. You know how it is.’
‘No, I don’t know how it is,’ she replied tersely.
He chuckled. ‘It’s a bloke thing.’
Archer had to bite her tongue. ‘I need two things from you.’
‘Only two?’ Archer notes the sarcasm in his tone but ignores it, for now.
‘Did you talk to Elena’s former pimps, the Kowalskis?’
‘Yeah. I met with them. They know nothing but seemed pleased to hear about Elena’s murder.’
Archer feels her muscles coiling.
‘You said two things.’
‘Can you come in? We’ve found the man who followed Elena Zoric from the Southern Fried Chicken Shop. We’ve brought him in for questioning. Maybe you’d like to lead the interview.’
‘No can do. Got stuff on.’
‘What “stuff” is more important than finding Elena’s murderer, DS Parry?’
‘Can you reschedule for tomorrow or the day after?’
‘No I can’t. He’s in the building. If we let him walk, he might just do a runner and we don’t want that, do we?’
‘I can’t say that we do.’
‘Harry and I will do the interview. The report will be waiting for you when you return tomorrow.’ She’d ended the call without saying goodbye. ‘Dickhead,’ she said.
Quinn introduces himself and Archer. ‘Mr Bilal – mind if I call you Hassan?’ he asks.
‘Is OK.’
‘Hassan, are you sure you don’t want a brief present? It may help you in the long term.’
‘Help me why? I have done nothing wrong.’
‘As you wish.’
Archer brings up the CCTV recording from the restaurant. She shoots a glance at Quinn and nods. Quinn presses record and states the time, date and the names of the people present.
‘What’s your date of birth, Hassan?’ Quinn asks.
‘Twenty-fourth of December, 1975.’
‘Are you married?’
‘Yes.’
‘Children?’
‘Two. Daughters.’
‘Nice. What ages?’
‘Seventeen and fourteen.’
‘Teenagers can be a handful, no?’
‘They are good girls.’
‘I’m sure they are.’
Quinn’s tone and its implication pulls Archer from the preparation of the CCTV footage for viewing. Quinn is an old hand at psyching out and unsettling suspects. The air crackles between Quinn and Bilal. A beat of silence dies like the last ember of a fire.
‘What do you do for a living?’ Quinn asks.
‘Taxi driver. Uber.’
‘How long have you been doing that?’
‘Four years.’
‘Enjoy it?’
‘It’s a job.’
‘You must meet a lot of people.’
‘Of course.’
‘A lot of women.’
‘Women take cabs as much as men. More so sometimes.’
‘Yeah, the streets are not safe these days, are they?’
‘I wouldn’t know.’
A second beat. Longer this time.
Archer is watching as Klara’s CCTV footage depicts Bilal following Elena up Praed Street. Elena stops at the corner of Bouverie Place and is typing into her phone. Bilal hesitates and watches her momentarily. He then rests his hand on her shoulder and stands inches in front of her. She jumps and steps backwards. They talk for a few moments. Bilal keeps reaching out to touch her, but Elena keeps pushing his arm away. Moments pass and things escalate into a heated exchange before she backs away, turns and hurries down Bouverie Place. Bilal follows her and grabs her arm but she slaps it away and rushes into St Michael’s Street. He pursues her, which is the last they see of both of them. There is no CCTV in that quiet street.
‘Do you ever eat at the Southern Fried Chicken Shop on Praed Street?’ Quinn asks.
‘Sometimes.’
‘I hear the chilli Korean wings are pretty good.’
Bilal says nothing to this.
Archer looks up. ‘Mr Bilal, we want to talk to you in connection with the murder of Elena Zoric.’
Bilal’s face drops. ‘Murder? What’re you talking about?’
‘Does the name mean anything to you?’
He frowns. ‘No! Why should it?’
Quinn shows him a photo of Elena. ‘Do you recognise this woman?’
He stares at the photo and shifts awkwardly on his chair. Shaking his head dramatically, he replies, ‘I . . . I don’t know her.’
‘Her name is Elena Zoric. She was in the Chicken House on the twenty-third of July, the same evening you were eating there,’ says Archer.
Bilal’s face is a mask of confusion.
‘You were watching her and you followed her up Praed Street and down Bouverie Place.’
‘No, no, you’re mistaken.’
Archer turns the laptop to face him and plays the CCTV footage from the restaurant.
Bilal swallows as he watches, his face an expression of disbelief. ‘It’s not what you think.’
‘What do we think?’ Archer asks, bringing up the footage of the heated exchange.
‘You think I followed her and hurt her. You think I killed her. I didn’t! I would never do that.’
‘You followed her from the restaurant. You hassled her on the street, moving in on her personal space and grabbing her arm when she tried to get away from you. And then you disappear up St Michael’s Street with Elena and she’s never seen again. Do you see how this looks?’
