The case folder hit the surface of Detective Chief Inspector Warren Jones’ desk with a flat smack.
‘Cold case. See what you can do with this, Warren.’
Warren picked up the folder and raised an eyebrow at the stamp on the front.
‘Burglary? Surely this comes under Volume Crime, sir?’
He looked at the date.
‘September this year? That’s barely two months, how is it a cold case?’
‘The burglary isn’t,’ Detective Superintendent John Grayson replied. ‘Look inside. It’s what it’s thrown up that’s interesting.’
* * *
‘Friday the eighteenth of December 1992, the Middlesbury campus of the University of Middle England. Eighteen-year-old Debbie Claremont attends a house party in the Charles Babbage Postgraduate Halls. It’s a pretty open affair, with dozens of people in and out. Most were postgraduate students and some were undergraduates like Claremont, however nobody was keeping count and they weren’t rowdy enough to bother campus security. It’s believed that at least a few locals also turned up uninvited.’
Warren gave his team a few moments to find the relevant pages in the photocopied pack he’d handed them. DSI Grayson had been correct; the case was interesting and Warren had wasted no time pulling together a small team to see if the new information that had suddenly come to light could close a case that had remained unsolved for more than two decades.
‘By her own admission, Claremont was an inexperienced drinker and had drunk far more than she could handle. She may also have smoked cannabis – again, a first for her. Suffice to say she was far from in control of her actions. Details are a bit sketchy, but she woke up alone at about 5 a.m. feeling sick in a back room, with vague memories of someone forcing her in there. That was when she noticed her knickers were down around her knees and she was feeling bruised and sore around her pubic area.’
‘Were there any eyewitnesses?’ asked Detective Constable Gary Hastings. Despite his deceptively youthful appearance, Hastings was one of the most experienced DCs on the team. If it looked as though the case was going somewhere, Warren intended to let Hastings take a lead role; it would look good for him during his upcoming sergeant’s selection.
‘None that came forward. Claremont was understandably traumatized by the whole thing, and probably still the worse for wear, and so her first instinct was to go home and shower.’ He shook his head sadly. ‘A lot less forensics on TV in the Nineties. She felt too ashamed to say anything for three days, before telling her housemate, who made her call the police.’
‘Did they take her seriously? We all know how rape was viewed back then,’ asked DC Karen Hardwick, a scowl furrowing her brow.
‘Apparently they did. She had cuts and bruises consistent with being forced to have sex and eyewitness testimony from earlier in the evening confirmed that she was far too drunk for it to be considered consensual, even by the standards of the day.
‘From what I can tell, the officers investigating did everything possible. However, it was the end of term and many of the party’s attendees had gone away for Christmas by the time she reported the assault. The nature of the party and delay in tracking guests meant that the investigating officers were never satisfied that they identified even half of the people who were there that night. Unfortunately, they never generated any viable suspects.’
‘But presumably they had forensics, otherwise we wouldn’t be talking about it now?’ Detective Inspector Tony Sutton’s voice was nasal. The cloud of Olbas oil decongestant that had followed him around for the past few days, making everyone else’s eyes water, had apparently had little effect on the nasty head cold he’d come down with. He shouldn’t be in work, but the man was nothing if not stubborn. Warren just hoped he hadn’t passed it on to the rest of the team, he didn’t want to have to supplement their numbers with detectives from headquarters in Welwyn Garden City; doing so hardly helped boost Middlesbury’s credibility as an independent CID unit.
‘She’d showered several times but hadn’t been able to face going out to the communal laundrette. They found traces of semen on her underwear. Back then it was standard practice to preserve the evidence for future analysis and so they eventually DNA fingerprinted it and loaded it onto the database. No hits.’
‘Until now,’ stated Sutton, his voice cracking as he tried to stifle a cough.
‘Exactly. SOCO retrieved a blood spot from a burglary over the summer. They processed it in the usual way, but a couple of days afterwards a known career burglar, Aaron Wallace, was arrested for something different and copped to this one along with a couple of dozen others. He wore gloves, but a muddy footprint found at the scene matched the other crime scenes and the pair of size nine Nike trainers he was wearing when they arrested him. He’s due to appear in court in December, but nobody bothered to chase the DNA results down, since he’d already confessed. When the results finally arrived, they’d been expecting it to simply confirm that he was in the house.’
‘But it also flagged this cold case?’ interjected Hardwick.
‘Yes. And it didn’t match him.’
‘It didn’t match?’ Hastings blinked in surprise.
‘No. Which is not surprising, Wallace would have been only eight years old at the time of the sexual assault. Besides which, he’s a frequent flyer. He’s been in the DNA database since 2005, so he’d have come up as a match years ago.’
Tony Sutton may have been feeling under the weather, however he had still managed to read ahead.
‘First question in my mind then is who was with him that night? Specifically, who was wearing these men’s size eleven Reeboks that appeared alongside Wallace’s size nines in the victim’s back garden?’
* * *
During his time in CID, Gary Hastings had dealt with some of the most serious crimes imaginable. Murders and rapes changed the lives of the victims and those around them for ever, and as such were often foremost in the public’s imagination. But sometimes that meant it was possible to forget the impact that other, less dramatic offences could have on their victims.
‘We thought that things were just beginning to look up, and then this happened.’
Hastings had a series of photographs of trainers that he wanted Helen Bedford to look at. It had taken only a few moments for her to flick through them and confirm that neither she nor her husband, Ian, owned a pair of trainers similar to those that had produced the second set of prints found on their patio that night. Furthermore, neither they, nor their adult children, had size eleven feet.
The woman looked exhausted and Hastings felt slightly guilty for disappointing her. Naturally, no mention had been made of the newly discovered link between the break-in and the historic sexual assault and so Helen Bedford’s immediate assumption when he rang the doorbell to the large, detached house was that he had tracked down the stolen property. When he’d said that wasn’t why he was there, she had been polite, but it was clear that she had more to worry about than whether two people were charged with burglary rather than one.
‘The shock of it all has set Ian back months in his recovery.’
‘Is he ill?’
She’d said that her husband was upstairs taking an afternoon nap when he’d arrived.
Mrs Bedford had insisted on making Hastings a cup of tea and he was happy to listen to her as he finished it. He could see that she needed a chat with someone.
‘It all started back in July last year. Ian started getting headaches. We put it down to stress, the law firm that he co-owns had just taken on a couple of big new clients and Ian was putting in really long hours. When they didn’t get any better after a few weeks, I tried to get him to see a doctor. When he hadn’t got around to it after a few weeks, I booked him an appointment myself. I even placed it in his diary, but he completely forgot about it and couldn’t even remember having the conversation.
‘I phoned his partner and he said that he was concerned too; apparently, they’d almost lost a case the previous week, when he misplaced some key papers. It’s so unlike him, I was worried that maybe he was ill. I went to see his partner privately to discuss what we were going to do and it was then that we got the phone call.’
Her voice caught.
‘Sorry, it’s still a bit hard to talk about it.’ She cleared her throat a couple of times and took a long sip of her cold tea.
‘He just keeled over in the conference room and had a massive seizure. They rushed him to Addenbrookes and gave him an MRI scan; he had a huge brain tumour.’
She blew her nose.
‘Addenbrookes were really good. He saw a specialist immediately and within a week he was having the tumour removed. But that was only the beginning. In the weeks after surgery, he had up to three seizures a day. Some were quite small, but others put him in Casualty; he knocked two teeth out and he’s bit the tip of his tongue off several times. It took months to find an anticonvulsant that worked but didn’t cause unacceptable side effects.’
‘And what happened to him during that time?’
‘He had to take a leave of absence from work. His partners have been really good about it. It took three months in total for the medication to stop the seizures, and they left him exhausted. But the end of August was the six-month anniversary of his final seizure – it’s why we went on holiday in September; a week in a B and B in Devon. The journey took it out of him, and he slept most of the way, but it was lovely.’ She smiled. ‘By the time we got back it was as if the last year had never happened. He was even due to start back at the firm a couple of days a week.’
The smiled faded.
‘Until we got back and found we’d been burgled.’
‘He didn’t take it well?’
She shook her head. ‘After everything else, it was just too much. The jewellery they took from me wasn’t anything valuable. I wear my wedding ring, and I’d taken the necklace he bought me for our twentieth wedding anniversary with us. Unfortunately, they stole his father’s watch and his mother’s wedding ring. Ian’s dad passed away suddenly when he was a student up in Liverpool and he couldn’t get back to Norwich in time. Then his mum died just after he first got ill and, again, he never got to say goodbye properly.’
‘And the jewellery was never found?’
Now there was anger in her eyes.
‘No. They arrested the bastard that burgled us less than forty-eight hours after we reported the break-in, but it was too late.’ Her hand shook as she poured herself more tea,
‘You know, they reckon he’ll have got less than a hundred pounds for the stuff he stole.’ She shook her head. ‘Less than a hundred pounds for the only link my husband still had to his dead parents. For what? A nose full of cocaine? An armful of heroin?’
* * *
Hastings made his excuses shortly after Ian Bedford came downstairs. To look at him, Mr Bedford could have been the far side of sixty, yet, according to his wife, he was twenty years younger. The central heating in the house was turned too high for Hasting’s tastes, nevertheless Bedford wore a chunky cardigan over a knitted shirt and thick woollen socks inside his slippers.
The saggy skin around his jowls spoke of sudden and dramatic weight loss, whilst the fine fuzz of hair on his skull did little to hide the vivid pink scar that crossed the right side of his temple. A recently healed cut on the bridge of his nose came from his first seizure in months, when he’d collapsed barely an hour after Scenes of Crime had completed their investigations. He’d had a half-dozen since.
The man’s opening question left Hastings in no doubt as to the impact of the burglary on the couple.
‘Have you found Dad’s watch? It’s his anniversary next week.’
* * *
‘According to the PNC check, Aaron Wallace is well known for burglary and handling stolen goods, but there’s nothing of a violent or sexual nature in his record. He did six months in 2011 and he’s looking at a lot longer for these offences.’ Karen Hardwick had printed out the record for Wallace from the Police National Computer and was highlighting sections of it with a fluorescent green pen.
‘Which is presumably why he put his hands up this time – he’s savvy enough to realize he’s definitely going down and he’ll get a reduction in sentence for admitting it,’ she continued.
‘What about accomplices?’ asked Sutton.
‘Two that we know of, both of whom were convicted alongside him for the 2011 offence but obviously they are both already in the system.’
‘Well, keep on digging. Gary has confirmed that the shoes don’t belong to the homeowners. Let’s also see what the attending officer has to say, before we go and speak to Mr Wallace about what happened the night of the burglary.’
* * *
PC Keith Stibbald was just about to head out on patrol when he answered Warren’s call.
Warren could hear the click of a mouse in the background as Stibbald accessed the HOLMES2 database to refresh his memory.
‘Yes, I do remember this one. Abbey View Terrace; middle-aged couple back off holiday found the French windows around the rear smashed. The exact timing of the break-in was unclear, since they had been away for a week. In theory, the best we’ve got is sometime prior to about 9 p.m. on Sunday the eighth of September, when they returned.’
Warren heard the creak of a seat as Stibbald settled back in it.
‘A neighbour says the burglar alarm went off on the Wednesday evening of that week, but she walked around and saw that the house was secure, with no sign of a forced entry. She didn’t have keys and didn’t want to call them back off holiday for a fault, so she just put up with the flashing light and periodic ringing until they got back.’
‘I assume the burglar was checking to see that they wouldn’t be disturbed?’
‘Yeah, we’re seeing that more and more these days. Thieves see that the driveway is empty and figure the owners are probably on holiday. But they don’t want to run the risk of some overzealous neighbour coming around to see what’s going on and catching them inside, so they sneak around the back and set off the motion detectors.
‘If the blue light is still flashing twenty-four hours later, then obviously the owners are away and nobody has any keys. Then they come back that night and break in. Even if the alarm goes off again, it doesn’t matter since nobody bothered to investigate before. It clearly isn’t linked to a security company and you know what response times are like for us; it’s unlikely we’d even come and look, let alone arrive in the five minutes they’re in the house.’
‘So walk me through it.’
‘Nothing especially unusual. Entry was gained through the French windows. Most of the safety glass was knocked in, but a few fragments remained; enough for the CSIs to pick up some fibres and a spot of blood. It had been raining on and off all week, so the kitchen floor and the stairs were a complete mess, but we isolated a couple of usable footprints on the patio and one on the kitchen floor. There wasn’t much of a search; he grabbed an iPad and a laptop from the downstairs office, then went straight to the master bedroom and helped himself to the owner’s jewellery, which was in a small wood and glass display cabinet. Nothing too expensive, but lots of sentimental value. The CSIs found two more spots of blood on the stairs and another next to the display cabinet.’
‘And you have arrested the alleged thief?’
‘Yeah. He was picked up two days later when he was stopped and searched. He was equipped to burgle and carrying a knife. That was enough to raise a warrant and go have a look-see at his flat. No sign of the jewellery, but underneath his bed was enough electrical equipment to stock a branch of PC World. Loads of it was marked with UV pens or SmartWater, including the iPad and laptop from Abbey View Terrace.’
‘And that was enough for him to confess?’
‘He admitted it and asked for a dozen other offences to be taken into consideration within an hour of meeting his solicitor at the station. He’s not daft. He knew there was no point fighting it, he may as well put his hands up and hope the court takes that into account when sentencing.’
There was a pause at the end of the line.
‘If you don’t mind me asking, sir, why the sudden interest? It’s a bit run-of-the-mill for a DCI to be getting involved.’
‘Most of the blood spots match the accused, Aaron Wallace, but one of them is a positive match for a cold case. I’m trying to work out who else was with him that night.’
There was another pause, this time longer, and when he finally answered, Stibbald sounded apologetic.
‘We found a second set of footprints on the patio outside. The footprint that we found in the kitchen and the fibres on the remains of the French windows matched Wallace and he confessed immediately, so we didn’t pursue it any further. To be honest, I completely forgot about the pending DNA tests and the other footprints. Sorry.’
His story matched the report in the computer. Warren decided there was nothing to be gained from giving the officer a hard time for not tying up all the loose ends; it wasn’t just CID feeling the pressure of the government’s swingeing budget cuts.
‘Does Wallace have any acquaintances that you know about?’
‘You’re asking the wrong person, sir. But, I can give you the name of the officer who arrested him. She knows him a lot better than I do. That’s why she stopped and searched him; she knew there was a good chance something would turn up.’
* * *
PC Fiona McGinty was busy in court and it was after midday before she returned Warren’s call.
‘Yeah, I know Aaron. He’s one of my regulars. What’s he done this time?’
PC McGinty’s tone reminded Warren of his wife when she spoke about one of her naughtier pupils. Mild exasperation, tinged with a degree of affection.
‘It’s about the burglary, up on Abbey View Terrace.’
‘Sorry, the name doesn’t ring a bell. Is this a new or historic offence?’
‘Recent. It’s one of the cases linked to the Stop and Search you executed back on the tenth of September.’
‘Oh, now I remember. I spotted him hanging around the back of Park Street at half past nine at night. Claimed he was meeting a mate for a pint, but he had his burgling bag with him, a zip-up holdall just the right size for anything he likes the look of. I asked him for a look inside and he was a bit reluctant. Normally, if he hasn’t got anything to hide he’s pretty cooperative. He knows I play fair with him and he’ll be on his way soon if he doesn’t play silly buggers. So I did a Code A Stop and Search.’
Warren had the form on the computer screen in front of him.
‘I see that he had a toolkit and a knife.’
‘Yeah, silly sod. He always tries to claim that he’s going to do some odd jobs around a mate’s house, but he has too much form for us to give him the benefit of the doubt.’
‘What about the knife? Is he violent?’
‘Nah, the blade was a rusty old lock-knife wrapped in cloth at the bottom of the bag. He probably uses it to cut things when he’s on a job. But it was enough to raise a warrant so we could search his flat. That’s when we found all of the stuff he’d nicked, under the bed …’ She paused. ‘Look, Wallace isn’t some gentleman thief from one of those old black and white movies. He isn’t going to put his hand up and say, “It’s a fair cop, guv’nor.” But he’s not violent. I don’t know him that well, but, from what I can see, he has the usual crappy background – broken home, persistent truancy, parents out of their depth – but as far as we can tell, he’s mostly steered clear of drugs and street crime. He basically ekes out a living fencing stolen property; either his own or stuff he’s been given.’
‘We know that for at least one of his jobs, he had an accomplice. This person left footprints and blood, neither of which are in the system. Any ideas?’
‘Hmmm. Let me think …’ The noise at the other end of the line suggested that she was tapping her teeth with a pen.
‘He does have a few acquaintances that he hangs around with, but they’re pretty well known and all in the database. I know that he has a half-brother. I’m pretty sure that he isn’t in the system.’
Warren felt his pulse rise slightly. ‘What can you tell me about him?’
‘Not much, I’ve never met him properly. Tyler’s his name, if I recall correctly. I think he stays with him occasionally. I saw him briefly a couple of years ago when I went around to arrest Aaron. He came in the kitchen, took one look at us all and disappeared out the back again. I did a PNC search on him but nothing came up.’
‘Can you describe him?’
She paused for a moment.
‘Mixed race, quite a big lad. I’d say about ten years older than Aaron.’
Ten years older would have made him about eighteen around the time of the sexual assault.
‘Big enough to have size eleven feet?’
‘I wouldn’t be surprised.’
* * *
PC McGinty agreed to meet Karen Hardwick and Tony Sutton and go and visit Wallace, armed with a search warrant.
‘Bloody hell, McGinty, what are you after now? I haven’t done anything?’ Aaron Wallace was a scruffy, scrawny man who looked significantly younger than his twenty-nine years. The man’s left eyebrow sported an impressive number of studs, and what Hardwick initially took to be a tattoo beneath the same eye turned out on closer inspection to be an almost perfect crucifix-shaped birthmark.
Despite it being after noon, Wallace’s messy blond hair and reddened eyes suggested that he’d been asleep when they’d rang the doorbell.
McGinty introduced Hardwick and Sutton, who passed over a copy of the search warrant.
Wallace sighed. ‘Shit.’
‘Any help you give us at this stage will be noted,’ said McGinty, an indirect reminder that he was still on bail from his September arrest.
Wallace pointed wordlessly towards the half-open bedroom door, before wandering back into the lounge and retrieving his tobacco and papers.
Within thirty minutes, several pieces of jewellery, a collection of laptops, tablets and mobile phones and a half-full Cancer Research collecting tin were all sealed in plastic evidence bags in the boot of Fiona McGinty’s patrol car.
‘I can’t believe he’d get caught with so much when he’s already on bail awaiting trial. You’d think he’d keep his nose clean,’ Karen Hardwick muttered to Tony Sutton.
‘It’s not unusual. He knows he’s going down, so what he’s doing now is stealing as much stuff as possible to raise a little nest egg ready for when he comes out, or to tide any family over when he’s inside. He’ll ask for it to be taken into consideration in court; it’ll add a bit of time to his sentence, but it means he can’t be done for it again at a later date.’
‘It’s just a game for these guys, isn’t it?’ asked Hardwick rhetorically.
By now, Wallace was sitting opposite McGinty who was formally arresting him.
Sutton sat down next to her, and introduced himself again.
Hardwick slipped out the room.
‘OK, Aaron, obviously you’re in a lot of trouble, but you’ve been helpful and that will go well in your favour.’
Wallace shrugged.
‘But you can help us out even more.’
Wallace said nothing.
‘Who do you work with?’
Wallace’s eyes narrowed slightly. ‘Don’t know what you mean.’
‘Come on, Aaron, when you go on your jobs, who goes with you?’
‘Nobody, I work alone.’
‘Now we know that’s not true, Aaron.’
Wallace’s eye twitched. ‘Bullshit. Nobody’s ever worked with me.’
‘That’s not what it says in our files.’
‘All right, I haven’t worked with anyone recently. I haven’t even seen any of the old crew for years.’ He smirked slightly. ‘They’re a bad influence.’
‘Then whose footprints were mixed in with yours on the job you did at Abbey View Terrace between Wednesday the fourth and Sunday the eighth of September?’
Wallace said nothing for a few more seconds. ‘Must have been the owner’s.’
‘Really? Because they look very similar to the pair of size eleven trainers we found in the back bedroom.’
‘I ain’t saying nothing until I speak to my lawyer.’
* * *
PC McGinty left to take Aaron Wallace back to the station to meet his solicitor and be formally charged for handling stolen goods, leaving Sutton and Hardwick to finish searching the flat for any further clues to the identity of his accomplice.
‘This must be his brother—’ Hardwick was looking at some pictures in cheap frames on the mantelpiece ‘—and I guess those folks must be their parents.’
The photographs spanned decades, ranging from faded Christmases populated by people wearing the latest Eighties fashions to more recent holiday snaps. Only in the more recent photos were the two brothers together. All but one of the photographs featured the same individual, a tall, gaunt-looking man, whose thick blond hair thinned and greyed over the space of two decades, ageing faster than anyone else in the pictures. The newest picture featured both brothers. The older man was absent.
‘I guess that must have been their dad,’ noted Hardwick. She stared at the photos thoughtfully.
‘Penny for them,’ offered Sutton.
‘I don’t know …’ Hardwick pulled out her mobile phone and took snaps of all the pictures.
‘What say we go and have a chat with the neighbours whilst we’re here?’ said Sutton, when she’d finished.
* * *
The harsh lighting in the interview room did nothing to improve Aaron Wallace’s pallor.
Warren introduced himself and reminded him who PC McGinty was. His solicitor, an older woman, looked at them curiously. She’d already read the disclosed evidence and had to be wondering why such a senior detective was taking part in an interview over an apparently unremarkable burglary offence.
After setting up the PACE recorder, Warren sat back and let McGinty start. Wallace was cooperative, up to a point. A recent Community Policing initiative distributing UV pens and SmartWater kits meant that almost all of the merchandise retrieved from Wallace’s back room had been positively linked to its rightful owners. Wallace had readily admitted to the thefts, demonstrating his ‘willingness to cooperate with police’ as repeatedly stressed by his solicitor.
Unfortunately, that willingness to cooperate didn’t extend as far as naming the person who had accompanied him on his uninvited visit to the Bedfords’ house.
‘No comment.’
Wallace folded his arms and that was that.
* * *
The block of flats where Aaron Wallace lived wasn’t the most welcoming environment for the police. Less than half of the doors that Sutton and Hardwick knocked on were actually answered, even when it was clear that somebody was home. Of those that opened up, many of the occupants suddenly developed an inability to speak English or closed the door in their faces.
It was starting to get dark and Sutton was reluctantly concluding that it was looking unlikely that they’d get anything useful from Wallace’s neighbours when they finally got a result.
Kasun Ranatunga was clearly lonely. A small man, impeccably dressed despite only expecting to greet the supermarket delivery driver that day, he welcomed them into his home immediately.
Sutton and Hardwick were grateful for his offer of tea and biscuits and were soon seated in his immaculate front room. The apartment apparently had the same layout as Wallace’s, but it couldn’t be more different. Where Wallace’s flat had little in the way of decoration beyond some football posters, a few photographs and a bookcase filled with DVDs, every surface in Ranatunga’s home was covered in nick-nacks or photographs, all meticulously dusted. The result was a visual cacophony that almost overwhelmed the senses.
‘My wife and I loved to travel. In the fifty-two years we were married, we visited sixty-three countries.’ He smiled ‘One of them doesn’t exist anymore and two came into being after we started travelling. She was starting to write a book about it, when … well anyway, that’s all in the past now.’
Turning, he shuffled towards the settee, lowering himself slowly. Hardwick noticed the walking frame partly covered in a crocheted blanket next to the front door.
‘Aaron and his dad lived there for years,’ said Ranatunga in response to Hardwick’s question. ‘It was a bit of a complicated set-up. They moved in when Aaron was just a little lad. There was a woman on the scene for a while; both boys called her “Mum”, but you only had to look at them to figure out that she couldn’t be Mum to both of them. Anyway, she left in the end and it was just the dad, until he passed away, around the same time as my wife.’
‘You said “both boys”, could you describe the other boy?’
‘He is a good few years older than Aaron, Tyler his name is. Very different, brown skin – mixed race, I’d say – and really quiet. Aaron was always very polite, he’d say hello if he saw me and he even helped my wife carry the shopping up the stairs a few times. Tyler used to grunt or just ignore me. I don’t think we’ve ever spoken in all the years I’ve known them.’
‘And did Tyler live with Aaron and his father?’
‘He did for a bit, then when he was older I started seeing him around a lot less, he’d be gone all week, and I’d only see him on weekends. When their dad died, I saw him even less. These days it’s just Aaron on his own.’
‘And he doesn’t have anyone else living with him?’
‘I don’t think he has a girlfriend, if that’s what you are asking, or a flatmate.’
‘Can you remember the last time you saw Tyler?’
Ranatunga’s brow furrowed. ‘It was a few months ago . . . no wait, I remember now. He turned up banging on their front door one afternoon. He was all upset about something. I couldn’t hear what he was shouting about, his voice was really slurred. In the end, I remember Aaron saying “OK, you can stay for a few days, but I have to let them know you’re here.” I guess it was around the beginning of September.’
Hardwick closed her notebook and glanced over at Sutton. They’d found their accomplice.
* * *
‘No match, I’m afraid, DCI Jones.’
The technician at the other end of the line was apologetic.
‘None at all?’ Try as he might, Warren couldn’t keep the disappointment from his voice. He knew that Sutton and Hardwick would be similarly disappointed; they’d been excited when they’d returned to the station earlier that evening.
‘Well everyone in the world is slightly related, but the combined probability index between the crime scene sample and that of the suspect is well below that you’d expect to see between siblings, half-siblings or even cousins.’
‘Thanks for your help.’
Warren hung up, before immediately dialling again.
‘Tony, it’s me. The DNA from the blood sample found at the crime scene and linked to the rape is not from Aaron Wallace’s brother.’
* * *
It was already early evening, but Warren decided to call a briefing. With Aaron Wallace in custody, time was precious.
‘I was sure that Tyler Wallace was our man,’ said Hardwick. ‘He turns up at Aaron’s out of the blue at the time of the burglary. He’s big enough to fit those trainers that we found under the spare bed and they match the footprints at the crime scene. He’s old enough, by all accounts, to have committed the rape, and who else would Wallace be protecting, by refusing to name them?’
‘Unfortunately, DNA doesn’t lie. You know that, Karen. You’re the one with a master’s degree in biology.’ Sutton apologized for his harsh tone as soon as the words left his mouth. Hardwick waved away the apology; they were both frustrated.
‘Don’t be so hard on yourselves,’ counselled Warren. ‘Even if Tyler isn’t the rapist, he was almost certainly present at the burglary, alongside his brother and a third person. If I can persuade Aaron that we’re not interested in his brother, perhaps we can get him to name their accomplice.’
* * *
‘Aaron, we really need your help.’
Despite the late hour, Warren had decided to have one more go at persuading Aaron Wallace to be a little more cooperative; sometimes a few hours with nothing to do but stare at graffiti-covered walls gave a person a new sense of perspective.
Aaron Wallace was scowling at the table top.
‘We know that your brother was with you the night you burgled the house on Abbey View Terrace. The tread on the trainers in your spare room match footprints at the crime scene exactly. We also know that your brother sometimes stays with you, and witnesses place him at your flat around the time of the burglary.’
‘No comment.’
‘My client has already admitted that he committed the burglary, I fail to see what you will accomplish by going over this again and again.’ Wallace’s solicitor was starting to look irritated. She hadn’t been best pleased when Warren had decided to call Wallace back in for questioning, no doubt ruining her own plans for a quiet evening. It was one of the disadvantages of being the on-call duty solicitor.
Warren ignored her.
‘Aaron, we’re not interested in whether your brother took part in the burglary. And we understand that you want to protect him. What we need to know is if there was somebody else working with you, in addition to your brother, or perhaps instead of him? Perhaps they were wearing the trainers, not Tyler?’
‘No comment.’
‘Aaron, you can help your brother here. If he is the owner of those trainers, tell me now and we can move on. I’ll recommend that he isn’t charged as an accessory.’
Wallace licked his lips and looked over at his solicitor, who maintained a professionally blank face.
Almost a minute passed.
Warren tried not to let his frustration show. He couldn’t help feeling that there was something more happening here than Wallace simply refusing to cooperate with the police. Who was the brothers’ accomplice? Wallace claimed that he usually worked alone, but was that really the case? According to PC McGinty, Wallace was at the bottom of the food chain, and largely harmless. Was he now working with someone more serious? Could he be afraid of the repercussions if he gave up his partner? For that matter, could Wallace be afraid of his own brother?
Finally, Wallace shook his head.
Warren sighed. ‘Interview suspended.’
* * *
The initial twenty-four-hour arrest period for Aaron Wallace had plenty of time to run on it, so Warren decided to let him sweat overnight. He understood, and even sympathized with, Wallace’s reluctance to incriminate his brother, or snitch on his partner, but he really needed Wallace’s cooperation at this stage. The DNA profile found at both crime scenes was useless without a name attached. Unless they could find that name, the unsolved rape of a vulnerable young woman all those years ago was no nearer to being closed than it had been in 1992. For that reason, it had been decided not to tell the victim of this latest development just yet; it would be beyond cruelty to reopen those old wounds with a promise that ultimately could not be fulfilled.
Unfortunately, as far as Wallace was concerned, this was nothing more than a routine burglary. His arrest was an inconvenience, some might even say an occupational hazard of his chosen profession. There was no way he could know the true reason why Warren was so interested in what happened that night. Would Wallace behave differently if he understood the stakes? Would he be so repulsed at the actions of the person he was shielding, all those years ago, that he would give them up? Or would he instead do all that he could to protect his accomplice?
Disappointingly, a quick check with the custody sergeant the following morning revealed that Wallace had apparently enjoyed an uninterrupted night of blissful sleep and had not awoken with a nagging conscience that demanded repentance.
‘I believe that there were at least three people involved in the burglary at Abbey View Terrace,’ Warren started the morning briefing. ‘Aaron Wallace confessed to the burglary but is not a match to the blood spot that belongs to our historic rapist. We believe that his half-brother Tyler, who has been excluded as the rapist on the basis that the offender is not genetically related to Aaron Wallace, was also present, based on the identification of footprints at the scene which match a pair of trainers we think belong to him. Then there is a third, unknown person who left the blood spot that was linked to the campus rape.’
Immediately, DS Hutchinson’s hand went up. ‘Couldn’t the trainers belong to someone other than his brother?’
‘It’s possible and the shoes are undergoing DNA testing to investigate that possibility. However, despite promises that Tyler won’t be charged, Aaron Wallace is still protecting his brother, refusing to confirm or deny if the trainers belong to him. I don’t know if he doesn’t believe my assurances, or he’s just being uncooperative. He also refuses to acknowledge the presence of a third person – again, it isn’t clear why. Therefore, we’ll need to track down his accomplice the old-fashioned way: shoe leather and social media. In the meantime, we’ll see if we can locate Tyler Wallace ourselves. He might be more helpful than Aaron.’
* * *
‘We’ve got a list of all Aaron Wallace’s contacts from his phone’s address book and his social media accounts. It’s always possible that he has a second phone, but we didn’t find one when we searched his flat,’ said Karen Hardwick.
‘Anything interesting yet?’ asked Warren.
‘No number listed as “Tyler” or “Bro” or similar, and none of the other numbers we’ve identified are likely to be his brother. Besides, most of the upstanding citizens he has regular contact with are already in the database, along with their DNA profiles, so they can’t be the rapist. There are a half-dozen unregistered pay-as-you-go phones in his contacts, although he hasn’t actually called any of them recently. Two aren’t even registered to a network at the moment.’
‘Burners?’
‘I imagine so.’
‘Anything else? Who did he contact around the date of the burglary?’
‘In the week either side of the burglary, he called four numbers. Two of them are already known to us, I’m going to pay them a visit to see if we can persuade them to tell us anything.’
‘Good luck with that,’ interjected Sutton.
‘Another number is his probation officer.’
‘Who has yet to get back to us,’ said Warren.
‘The remaining number is the switchboard at a local adult care facility. He makes and receives calls to that number quite often.’
‘Interesting. Could a member of staff there be working with him?’
‘Possibly. I’m going to ask for a list of their staff. They should all have passed DBS checks to work with vulnerable adults so it’s a bit concerning if a possible sex offender is working there.’
‘I agree. Make it a priority.’
* * *
‘Tyler Wallace is a hard man to find,’ said Gary Hastings. ‘I’ve looked at the electoral register, council tax records, HMRC, the DVLA and even the Home Office. There are no Tyler Wallaces between the ages of thirty and fifty matching his description paying tax or holding a driving licence or passport. The man’s a ghost.’
‘Then who the hell is the person identified by Aaron Wallace’s neighbour and PC McGinty as his brother? Who is in those photos with him?’ asked Warren.
* * *
‘Nothing from the two people he phoned in the days either side of the burglary,’ said Hardwick, ‘they know their rights and refused to even speak to me. Unfortunately, there’s nothing current on either of them, so I didn’t have any leverage.’
The temperature in the CID office was warm enough for staff to be comfortable in shirtsleeves; however, Hardwick was wearing a thick jumper and her outdoor coat. Her hands were wrapped tightly around her coffee cup. A packet of paracetamol sat on her desk, next to a box of tissues.
‘What about the adult care facility?’
‘They sent through a list of everyone who has worked there in the past three years. There are eight male members of staff: four are far too young to have been hanging around the UME campus in 1992. Two of them are from overseas and didn’t have work visas for the UK back then. One of them is already on the DNA database as it seems a conviction for drink-driving isn’t an impediment to working there.’
‘Which leaves one more.’
Hardwick smiled. ‘Nothing wrong with your maths, sir.’
‘A possible, I take it?’
‘Nigel Fleetwood, forty-three years old. He’d have been twenty-two at the time of the rape. He’s worked at the centre since at least the early Noughties, when the centre was bought from the council.’
‘Good work. Turn this Mr Fleetwood’s life upside down, I want to know where he was in 1992. I also want to know what he was doing on the night of the burglary. If we can place him there, we have legitimate reason to demand a DNA sample.’
‘And if we can’t place him at the scene of the burglary?’
‘Then we’ll just have to ask him nicely.’
* * *
‘Back to the start, people. Let’s see what we have and what we need, and go from there,’ said Warren.
It was 8 a.m. on the third day since the cold case had been reopened and the energy levels in the main briefing room were low; added to the lack of progress in the case, Tony Sutton’s cold was now doing the rounds. Karen Hardwick’s nose was red, her voice rough and her boyfriend Gary Hastings had been blowing his nose repeatedly since the meeting had started. Warren himself had awoken that morning with a headache and a stinging behind his eyes. His wife Susan had opted to sleep in the spare room, in an attempt to avoid the infection – something of a turnaround, given that it was usually her that brought home whatever cold and flu viruses were circulating in the school where she taught. Thus far, paracetamol, caffeine and vitamin C seemed to be working their magic, but it would be good if the case could be wrapped up before the core team working on it all called in sick.
‘We need to identify the third person at the burglary, the one who left that blood spot. DNA analysis rules out Aaron and Tyler Wallace, although both of them are already linked to the scene by other forensics, such as footprints. Unfortunately, Aaron Wallace is still refusing to even confirm that his brother was present, let alone a third person.’
‘Any chance that we could offer Aaron a deal in exchange for a name?’ asked Hastings.
‘It’s possible he could turn Queen’s evidence, but we’d need to be certain that whatever name he gives us is definitely linked to that blood spot. Either way, that decision is above the pay grade of anyone in this room.’
‘So where does that leave us?’ asked Sutton.
‘I contacted Middlesbury Adult Care Services about Fleetwood’s work history,’ said Hastings. ‘Unfortunately, they have only run the facility for the past twelve years after the council privatized it; we’ll have to contact the council or HMRC to see if Fleetwood was working in or around Middlesbury at the time of the rape. However, he was listed as an experienced employee at the time of the takeover, so he may have been.’
‘Can we link the timing of those phone calls to Fleetwood’s shift patterns?’ asked Sutton.
‘Good suggestion, get on it. Anything else, Gary?’
‘I have a record of all mobile phone activity in the vicinity of Abbey View Terrace for the period of time surrounding the burglary. Annoyingly, Aaron Wallace can’t remember which night he actually committed the break-in.’
‘What does it tell us?’
‘Well, first of all, Aaron Wallace’s mobile was triangulated to within twenty metres of the house on Abbey View Terrace on two consecutive nights, both of them after dark. The first night it was there for less than three minutes, the second closer to seven minutes. If I had to guess, I’d say the first time was when he set the alarm off. The second was when he returned to see if the alarm had been disabled and committed the burglary.’
‘So that confirms what we suspected and what Wallace has admitted. What about accomplices?’
‘This is where it gets a bit circumstantial. There were no other phones nearby during the burglary – other than those registered to the neighbours either side. But, twenty-four minutes before Aaron Wallace’s phone arrived at the house, another phone – this one unregistered – appeared four streets over, coming from the opposite direction to Wallace’s phone.’ Hastings smiled. ‘It was switched off eighteen minutes before the burglary was likely to have been committed and wasn’t turned on again within the period we have data for.’
‘Were any calls made to it?’
‘No, not in that time period.’
‘So let’s say the accomplice turns up in the vicinity of the burglary. He probably knows where he’s going as he doesn’t need to confirm his whereabouts by calling Wallace and it sounds as though he had the common sense to use an unregistered phone and turn it off before the break-in.’
‘Is it one of the numbers listed in Wallace’s call log?’ asked Sutton
‘No, which suggests that Wallace might have a burner that we haven’t found.’
‘Yet Wallace forgot to turn off his personal phone before the job – I’m wondering if our unknown suspect is the actual brains of the outfit?’ mused Warren.
‘Quite possibly. I’ve requested the complete records for the handset.’
‘Right, get on it everyone – let’s try and solve this cold case before it becomes a flu case.’
Warren’s attempt at humour received the response it deserved.
* * *
‘Fleetwood’s shift patterns at the care facility overlap with the timing of phone calls from Wallace’s phone, but it’s pretty circumstantial, given that Fleetwood works six late shifts a fortnight and Aaron usually called in the evening. However, there’s more.’ Hastings’ voice was nasal and he kept on sniffing.
‘Don’t keep me hanging,’ said Warren, stifling a cough.
‘The burner phone that popped up in the vicinity of the burglary? Over the four and a half months that it’s been active, it’s reported for duty to the cell towers immediately adjacent to the care facility at least half of the times that it’s been switched on.’
‘That’s good, but it’s still pretty tenuous. Anything else from the phone records to link Fleetwood and the burglary?’
‘I’m glad you asked. The phone was moving very quickly when it was tracked, so I figured it might be in a car. There’s an ANPR camera at the junction of Abbey View Terrace and Park Street. Care to guess whose licence plate was photographed approximately ninety seconds before the phone was switched off?’
‘Nice work, Gary. So how does this sound? Aaron Wallace and Nigel Fleetwood are partners in crime. Wallace knows which evenings Fleetwood is on shift and so calls him at work, presumably the calls aren’t monitored. He then arranges to meet up with Fleetwood to do the Abbey View Terrace job. They could even arrange a time for their burner phones to both be switched on so Fleetwood doesn’t have to discuss those plans openly on the office phone.’
Warren waited. He could see numerous flaws in the theory; he wanted to see if his team spotted any more or could come up with a plausible explanation for them.
Hastings pulled at his lip for a few moments, before shaking his head.
‘Why would Nigel Fleetwood, who it would seem has a good job that’s reliant on a clean criminal record, be hanging around with the likes of Aaron Wallace, burgling houses?’
‘Why does anybody need extra money?’ asked Sutton. ‘An expensive habit that needs a little extra funding? General money problems? Care workers are woefully underpaid. Maybe he’s setting up a nest egg to do a runner with his mistress?’
‘All right, so let’s accept he needs the money,’ countered Hastings, ‘but how would he know Wallace? They are completely different ages, so they can’t be old school friends. According to Fleetwood’s employment records and Wallace’s police record, they’ve not lived anywhere near each other in the past decade or so, so how did they hook up?’
‘Mutual friends?’ responded Sutton.
Hastings made a face.
‘A shared hobby? Perhaps they’re on the same pub quiz team? Maybe just chance?’
Sutton’s strangled voice made it difficult to tell if he was playing devil’s advocate or was being grumpy – he really should go home. To prevent any unpleasantness, Warren decided to intervene.
‘Obviously there are a lot of holes in the theory, but this Fleetwood character is our best bet yet, aside from making Aaron Wallace talk or tracking down his missing brother.’
Hastings nodded his acceptance of Warren’s decision. ‘If the scenario or something similar is true, the Abbey View Terrace burglary might not be a one-off. This phone is definitely a burner, it’s turned off for most of the week and then only turned on for a few minutes at a time. When it is turned on, it receives or sends calls to only one number. That number is also unregistered. This has been going on for months.’
‘What are the odds that if we track that unknown phone’s location it’ll correspond with the location of Aaron Wallace? Just because we didn’t find a phone when we searched his house doesn’t mean he doesn’t have one hidden away somewhere,’ asked Warren.
‘And what are the odds that the movements of both phones can be correlated with local burglaries?’ said Hastings.
‘I’m not a gambling man,’ said Warren, ‘but I say we test those odds. Go speak to Mags Richardson about pursuing those leads. In the meantime, I think we have enough to interview Nigel Fleetwood.’
* * *
Nigel Fleetwood was a fit-looking man. According to the records Warren had in front of him, Fleetwood was forty-three years old, but could easily have passed for ten years younger, his hair still a uniform chestnut brown, the corners of his eyes absent of the crow’s feet that Warren had started seeing in his own mirror. He probably used Botox, decided Warren.
‘Thank you for your time, Mr Fleetwood.’
The man shrugged. Warren had been deliberately vague when he’d contacted the care worker and invited him in for a voluntary interview. He wanted to see the man’s demeanour in a relaxed setting. Doubtless he would be curious about why he had been contacted. Would he also be nervous? If he was responsible for the Abbey View Terrace burglary – and perhaps more offences – then being asked to attend a police station for a voluntary interview would surely worry him. If he was in contact with Wallace, he must know that his partner had been arrested and charged. Had Wallace assured him that he wasn’t a grass? How much confidence did he have in him to keep his word? Moreover, despite extensive searches, no records of any previous interactions between Fleetwood and the police had been found. In comparison to Aaron Wallace, the man was a rank amateur.
Even though he hadn’t been arrested or formally cautioned, Fleetwood was still entitled to legal representation if he desired. Would he insist on a solicitor, or would he decline the offer? And what would that mean? If he demanded a lawyer, was that a sign of guilt, or was he merely being prudent? If he waived his right to a solicitor, did that mean he felt he had nothing to hide, or was he just trying to brazen it out?
Fleetwood declined a lawyer.
‘First of all, we’d like you to think back to the evening of the fifth of September.’
Fleetwood shrugged again. Warren looked at him carefully; the man still appeared more curious than nervous.
‘If it helps, it was a Thursday.’
‘Nothing springs to mind. Can I ask what this is about?’
Fleetwood’s expression was open, curious.
‘At the moment we are just working out if you can help us with an ongoing inquiry.’
Again, Fleetwood shrugged. Was he naturally cool under pressure, or did he truly have no idea why they were interested in his whereabouts. Was the repeated shrugging his way of hiding his nervousness?
Sutton leaned forward. ‘Are you familiar with Abbey View Terrace?’
The bottom half of Fleetwood’s face frowned but his forehead remained suspiciously crease free. Definitely Botox, decided Warren.
‘Down by the ruins, isn’t it?’
‘That’s correct. Were you in the vicinity of that area on the evening of Thursday the fifth of September?’
Now Fleetwood’s eyes narrowed. ‘Why do you ask?’
‘As I said before, we’re just looking to see if you can help us with our inquiries.’
‘Am I under arrest?’
Warren nodded towards the tape. ‘As I explained before we started, you are here voluntarily, helping us with our investigation. You can leave at any time and you are under no obligation to answer our questions. You can, of course, request legal representation if you wish.’
Fleetwood stared at Warren for a long moment, before sighing.
‘No, I wasn’t at Abbey View Terrace on the evening of the fifth of September.’
‘Do you own a red Ford Focus, Mr Fleetwood?’
‘Yes.’
‘Is this your car, photographed by a traffic camera, at the junction between Abbey View Terrace and Park Street, on the night in question?’
Fleetwood gave a little start, before folding his arms.
Warren gave him a few seconds, before deciding to prod a little harder.
‘According to the DVLA, you are the registered keeper. Was it you driving?’
‘That’s a busy road, I could have been travelling down it for a million reasons.’
‘Suggest one.’
‘I dunno, I could have been going to Tesco.’
‘We can check the store’s CCTV.’
‘Maybe I was filling the car up.’
‘We’ll check the cameras on the garage forecourts.’
Fleetwood chewed his lip.
Warren glanced at Sutton; time to ratchet up the pressure.
‘Tell me, do you know an Aaron Wallace?’
This time Fleetwood flinched. ‘What’s he got to do with this?’
‘Do you know Aaron Wallace?’
‘No comment.’
Warren looked at Sutton again.
Rank amateur.
‘I’d like to leave now.’ Fleetwood stood up.
Warren also stood, carefully positioning himself between Fleetwood and the interview suite’s only exit.
‘Sit back down, Mr Fleetwood. I am arresting you on suspicion of burglary. You do not have to say anything, but it may harm your defence if you do not mention when questioned something you later rely on in court. Anything you do say may be given in evidence’.
Fleetwood sat back down.
‘I’d like a solicitor, please.’ The man’s voice cracked.
* * *
‘Burglary is a recordable offence, so we’ve got his DNA.’
‘Good work. What are your thoughts?’
DSI John Grayson leant back in his office chair and picked up one of the three golf balls that occupied a carved stand on the edge of his desk, next to a picture of his wife and children. He threaded it nimbly through his fingers as he spoke. It was a manoeuvre that Warren had witnessed countless times. Each of the three balls bore a scrawled signature. One of these days Warren would have to ask who had signed Grayson’s prized mementoes. He sincerely hoped it was Nick Faldo or Seve Ballesteros, since he’d struggle to fake recognition if Grayson named anyone else.
Warren sighed. ‘I don’t know. I’m struggling to find a connection between Fleetwood and Wallace, and as Gary Hastings has pointed out, a man in his position is risking a hell of a lot if he gets done for burglary. I can’t imagine he would be allowed to work with vulnerable adults in future.’
Warren took a deep swallow of his coffee. One of the nicer things about being invited into Grayson’s office – assuming he wasn’t in there for a bollocking – was the opportunity to sample the superintendent’s wonderful coffee. Unfortunately, although the hot caffeine boost was most welcome, Warren’s current complete inability to smell or taste anything meant it was wasted on him. Grayson, Warren noticed, was alone amongst the occupants of CID in not being red-nosed and puffy-eyed; lots of clean, fresh air on the golf course, he reflected.
‘Well, at least you’ve got the DNA, that’ll either rule him out or in. In the meantime, perhaps his solicitor will talk him into being a bit more cooperative.’
* * *
‘I have Aaron Wallace’s probation officer on the line.’
‘Finally,’ muttered Warren before transferring the call from his unofficial PA, Janice.
‘Hello, DCI Jones, sorry it took me a while to return your call. I was on annual leave, and there was no one monitoring my calls. I believe you’re looking into one of my charges, Aaron Wallace? What’s he alleged to have done now?’
Ten minutes later, Warren was back in the main office.
‘We’ve located Aaron Wallace’s brother Tyler and you aren’t going to believe where he lives. Gary, are you up for a day trip?’
‘Definitely.’
‘Tony, how are you holding up?’
Sutton blew his nose violently. ‘Just peachy, boss.’
‘Well get some more Lemsip down your neck. Main briefing room, thirty minutes, I’ve a warrant to raise. This one could be tricky.’
* * *
Tyler Wallace was well over six-feet tall and powerfully built. Despite this, he looked like a scared child. Which, in a way, he was.
‘You can’t be serious?’ Senior care worker Diego Espanoza was acting as Tyler Wallace’s responsible adult until his solicitor arrived. It had been the work of seconds to confirm that Aaron Wallace called the care facility at least weekly to check on his brother.
‘You want to interview Tyler, under caution?’
‘Look, I appreciate that this is unusual, but we know that he was absent from here the night his brother burgled a house and we have strong evidence that Tyler was with him. We need to interview him to clear up some of the details from that evening.’
‘What’s the point? He’s not legally fit. Even if he was present at the scene, he’d never be convicted. You must know that.’
‘Look, I’m not interested in whether he was standing in somebody’s garden whilst his brother filled his pockets. I need to interview him about other aspects of our investigation.’
‘How could he possibly help with your investigation? He has an IQ of seventy-five. If he wants to wear proper shoes to go out, we have to tie his laces for him or we’d be waiting all day. What the hell is he supposed to have done?’
‘I’m sorry, I can’t go into details at this stage.’
‘Well, I’m not happy about this. I am legally responsible for his wellbeing and you are going to have to come up with a lot more than that to get me to give consent for you to interview him.’
Espanoza crossed his arms and glared at Warren. The young man barely came up to Warren’s chest, and couldn’t be more than twenty-five years old, but he was clearly unimpressed by Warren’s authority. Warren had an arrest warrant for Tyler Wallace, but he had yet to serve it; Tyler wasn’t going anywhere and the moment he was arrested the custody clock started ticking.
‘Why don’t you tell us a bit about Tyler?’ suggested Hastings, attempting to break the impasse.
Espanoza turned his scowl towards him, before finally letting out a puff of air.
‘OK. Then perhaps you’ll see what a load of nonsense this is.’ He waved his hand towards the window. Tyler Wallace was staring into space.
‘He was diagnosed with autism at about the age of six, when his teachers finally noticed his lack of progress. He should probably have gone to a special school, as they called them then, but places were limited and his parents weren’t – and I’m quoting his report exactly – “engaged with the education system”. To put it bluntly, he slipped through the cracks.’
‘So he went to a mainstream school?’ said Warren.
‘If you could call it that. Social services finally became aware of him in his early teens. He was a poor attender and ended up on the “at risk” register. His mum had a drugs problem and did a runner when he was about five years old. His old man brought him up alone for a few years, until he took up with another woman and had another kid.’
‘What did the father do?’
‘Sign on, mostly. To be fair to him, this new woman he was with had her own problems and she eventually drank herself into an early grave, leaving him with two boys to look after – one of them with serious learning difficulties and the other with behaviour problems.’
‘So going back to the night that we are interested in, we believe Tyler was with his brother that night. How does that work? Did Aaron come and pick him up and sign him out, then return him later that evening?’
Espanoza looked puzzled.
‘No, of course not. We’re not a secure unit. Tyler is free to come and go as he pleases.’
* * *
‘I can’t believe I missed it. I knew there was something bugging me about those photographs.’ Karen Hardwick’s eyes were shining with excitement, her running nose and painful sinuses temporarily forgotten.
‘Huh, missed what?’ Tony Sutton looked at her blearily over his steaming mug of Lemsip. Despite his protestations, Warren had decided not to take him to interview Tyler Wallace – Gary Hastings looked a lot sharper than the DI, who almost certainly needed to be home in bed.
Hardwick slapped a piece of paper in front of him.
Sutton stared for a few seconds at the scrawled family tree before shaking his head.
‘Sorry, Karen, my brain is complete mush, you’ll have to spell it out for me.’
‘Look at the snaps I took of the photos on the mantelpiece.’ She turned her mobile phone around so Sutton could see it. The first showed two men, arm in arm, bare-chested and grinning at the camera, a beach scene behind them.
‘Look at them, Aaron is white and blond-haired with blue eyes, but his brother, Tyler, is brown-skinned with black hair.’
‘So? He’s mixed race. We already know that they’re half-siblings, not full brothers.’
‘Which means they share the same dad, yeah?’
‘That’s what PC McGinty said.’
‘The same man that appears in all of these photos, except for the last couple?’
Hardwick swiped through the images one at a time.
‘I imagine so. He looks pretty frail towards the end.’
‘Now look at the early photos more closely.’ She flicked back to a picture of a couple side by side in front of a Christmas tree. The man was clearly the same individual that was in the rest of the photos, the woman’s haircut and the model of TV and video recorder in the background suggested the photo had been taken no earlier than the late Eighties.
Sutton squinted at the blond-haired child, who appeared no more than about two. ‘He certainly looks a lot like Aaron, he has that funny little birthmark on his cheek.’
‘OK. Mum, Dad and Aaron at Christmas. Now look at this one.’
The next photo was significantly older. This time the man wore a loud, brown-and-orange patterned shirt with a generous collar. Standing next to him, a different woman held a young baby no more than a few months old. The child’s skin was noticeably darker than Aaron’s.
‘Dad, Tyler and Tyler’s mum.’
‘Look at the two mothers,’ prompted Hardwick.
It took Sutton a few seconds to see it.
‘They’re both white, with blue eyes.’
‘Which means that if Tyler is mixed race, then he and Aaron can’t have the same father. Aaron and Tyler are stepbrothers, not half-brothers.’
‘Which means that the negative result from the sibling analysis on the DNA samples no longer rules out Tyler.’
* * *
Warren stepped into the corridor to take the call from Karen Hardwick. When he returned he had a new resolve. If Espanoza didn’t cooperate, he’d serve the warrant.
‘When did Tyler come into care?’
‘Not soon enough. The family avoided the conversation. Every time social services tried to discuss supporting him, his father got upset and kept on saying we couldn’t take him away. I suspect they were also worried that if he was taken into care, they’d lose his benefits, which they needed to keep a roof over their heads. Tyler did the best he could, as did his brother, but they couldn’t cope. How could they?’
The social worker sighed. ‘The system let him down. Since he started coming here, he’s made huge progress. He’s a lot more independent and much less frustrated. Annoyingly, we’re doing this all backwards. If he’d got this support earlier, he could be living independently now, even working for a living.’
‘So why did he start coming here?’
‘They had no choice in the end. For years he lived with his dad and Aaron in that poky little flat. Sometimes he’d attend a local day centre, but every so often he’d get frustrated at someone and lash out. His dad would stop him from going to the centre to punish him for being “naughty” and so he’d disappear off the radar for six months.
‘Then the dad got diagnosed with cancer. That was when Aaron came to us for help. We got Tyler to start attending here a few days a week. Then as his father got sicker, he started staying overnight occasionally. When his brother went to jail, he started living here pretty much full-time. The old man died shortly after Aaron was released. Tyler sometimes goes home to see Aaron, especially if he’s upset – we’re not a secure facility – but he can’t really look after him. He usually lets him stay the night, then brings him back.’
A flash of anger passed across Espanoza’s face, ‘Your visit is a case in point. What sort of an idiot takes someone with Tyler’s learning difficulties along as a lookout when he’s burgling houses?’
‘Look, the case we are investigating took place many years ago, when he was a young man. What can you tell me about his circumstances in 1992?’
‘Bloody hell, DCI Jones, he’d only have been in his teens.’
‘Was he staying with you then?’
Espanoza shook his head.
‘No. He didn’t start coming here until the late Nineties. Until then he was still living with his family.’
Warren felt his pulse start to rise.
In 1992, Tyler Wallace had been living in the community, presumably free to come and go as he pleased. Warren glanced over at him again. Despite his childlike demeanour, there was no disguising his powerful build. Yet was he capable of rape? Could he have walked into a student party unchallenged, identified a helpless young woman, forced himself upon her and then left, seemingly without anyone witnessing what had taken place? Did Tyler Wallace leave his DNA at the scene of a brutal sexual attack and then, decades later, at an unrelated burglary?
‘What can you tell me about Tyler back then? Even if he wasn’t a resident here, you said that he had been known to social services since he was a child.’
Espanoza looked as though he was going to refuse to cooperate, and Warren contemplated the warrant in his pocket. Finally, the care worker sighed. For the first time since their arrival, Espanoza opened the folder in front of him.
The pages were photocopies of what appeared to be a typewritten form, yet even they had started to fade.
‘He first became known to Middlesbury Social Services in 1984—’ he flicked forward a few pages ‘—and there are termly reports, mostly of his academic progress, until he left school in June 1990. After then he appears intermittently in their records. He was arrested several times between 1991 and late 1994, but the attending officers recognized that he had special needs and called social services. They were able to deal with it themselves and he was never charged.’
That explained his absence from the Police National Computer.
‘Does it say why he was arrested?’
Espanoza scanned the pages.
‘There isn’t a huge amount of detail on some of them, but three that are written up properly include drunk and abusive at a branch of the Co-op in December 1991. Then he was picked up trying to steal some tea bags from the same Co-op the following March. The store manager agreed not to press charges, as long as he didn’t come in unaccompanied again. Three more pick-ups for public order offences, no details given. Finally, he was picked up for following a young woman home and making lewd comments in November of 1994. Again, the arresting officers agreed to release him without charge into the care of social services.’
‘Where did the last offence take place?’
‘Up on the university campus.’
* * *
‘We’ve got DNA from Tyler Wallace, we just need to get it processed, and run against the system.’
‘Have you arrested him?’ asked Grayson.
‘Yes, then bailed him immediately, on the proviso that he attends an interview on Monday. I agreed with his solicitor that his care worker would take responsibility for him and that he is to have no contact with his brother, who I’ve also released. He’s admitted to assisting Aaron burgle the Bedfords’ house but I’ll wait to see what the results of the DNA test are before we bring up the rape.
‘He’s going to need a responsible adult and legal representation so I don’t want to start the custody clock ticking until I have to. I suspect we’ll need as much time as possible to interview him. In the meantime, we have our connection between Aaron Wallace and Nigel Fleetwood. I’m still not happy about him and want to see what he has to say for himself.’
‘Good work. Let’s hope we can give that poor woman closure soon.’
* * *
‘Let’s start where we left off. Do you know an Aaron Wallace?’
Fleetwood sat opposite Warren in the interview suite. This time he was under caution, the PACE recorder preserving his every utterance for posterity. Beside him, his solicitor, an Asian woman in a blue trouser suit, took notes.
‘Yes, he’s the brother of one of our residents, Tyler.’
‘I see. May I ask why you refused to confirm that when I asked you the first time?’ asked Warren.
The solicitor interjected, ‘May I remind you that Mr Fleetwood was under the impression that he was helping with inquiries at that stage. He was not under caution, had not been arrested and did not have legal representation at that time. He was not under any obligation to answer any of your questions.’
‘Of course.’ Warren paused. ‘I’d still like to know why you were reluctant to admit knowing Mr Wallace, though.’
Fleetwood flushed slightly.
‘Everyone knows about the Wallace brothers. It’s an open secret that Aaron takes Tyler out as lookout sometimes, often returning him the worse for wear.’ He winced. ‘There isn’t a lot we can do about it, but the CQC inspectors won’t see it that way. I don’t want to have anything to do with it.’
‘OK, that sounds reasonable. In terms of your relationship to Mr Wallace though, do you ever speak to him on the phone?’
‘Sometimes. He calls the centre about once a week to chat to his brother. We occasionally speak whilst another colleague fetches Tyler.’
‘What do you talk about?’
‘I can’t really go into detail, DCI Jones.’
Was he being evasive? Warren still couldn’t read the man’s expression; was Botox really that good at masking the man’s guilt, or was his explanation truly innocent?
‘Of course, I wouldn’t expect you to break any confidences. Just give me a general idea.’
Fleetwood puffed out his lips, ‘We chat about how Tyler has been. If he’s had any meltdowns, or if there are any concerns about his health and wellbeing.’
‘Basically what any concerned relative would expect?’
‘Pretty much.’
‘What about other topics? Did you and Aaron discuss anything else? Matters not to do with his brother?’
‘Sometimes. It can take a few minutes for colleagues to fetch a patient if they are in their room.’
‘And what would you discuss?’
‘I dunno. Football, the weather? Just small talk.’
‘What about discussions outside work? Did you speak on a private phone or meet up?’
The bottom of Fleetwood’s face frowned. ‘Look, this is ridiculous. I don’t understand why you’re questioning me. You can’t honestly think that I’ve been burgling houses with Tyler Wallace and his brother?’
‘The evidence that you’ve disclosed so far, DCI Jones, is tenuous and circumstantial at best.’ Fleetwood’s solicitor had full use of her facial muscles and she was looking increasingly displeased.
Warren passed over a piece of paper with the number of the burner phone they’d triangulated to near Abbey View Terrace and Fleetwood’s place of work.
‘Do you recognize this mobile phone number?’
‘Maybe. Who the hell knows their own mobile phone number these days?’
‘So it might be yours, then?’
Fleetwood glared at Warren.
‘According to phone company records, this handset was in the vicinity of Abbey View Terrace on the night we are interested in. Interestingly, it is rarely switched on, and when it is, its location usually correlates with your place of work.’
Fleetwood licked his lips.
‘In addition, it only sends and receives calls and texts from a single number.’ Warren slid another piece of paper across the table. ‘Do you recognize this number?’
The blood drained from Fleetwood’s face.
* * *
Warren chased another two paracetamols down with a mouthful of fresh coffee. It had probably been long enough since his last dose for him to take more, but he wasn’t really sure, and didn’t really care. He looked over the rim of his mug. Sutton still looked like death warmed over, but the light had returned to his eyes. Either he had found himself something more effective to dose himself with, or the adrenaline of the interview was keeping him going.
‘He was getting pretty twitchy. Do you think he’ll cop to the burglary?’
‘It’d be nice, but at least we’ve got a DNA sample.’
‘How long have we got him for?’
Warren looked at the clock.
‘We can probably have another go with him then we’ll have to decide if we can get an extension.’
‘Did you fast-track the DNA?’
Warren shook his head. ‘It’s a cold case, there’s no budget. We won’t get the results back before we have to bail him. I’m not that worried, as long as he thinks he’s just on the hook for burglary I don’t think he’ll do a runner. We’ll have plenty of time to track down his whereabouts in the early Nineties before further arresting him,’ said Warren.
‘Fingers crossed. Something bothers me though.’
‘Tyler.’
‘Yeah. I can get why an idiot like Aaron might take his brother along as a lookout. But Fleetwood is an experienced care worker, he must have known that it was a bad idea.’
‘Wallace’s neighbour said Tyler turned up at Aaron’s place upset about something around the time of the burglary. Maybe he didn’t want to leave him on his own?’
‘I’m still surprised Fleetwood went along with it.’
‘Well we’ll get a chance to ask him about it in a moment, it looks as though his meeting with his solicitor is over.’
* * *
As expected, Fleetwood’s solicitor was dismissive of the grounds for his arrest.
‘This is absolute nonsense. My client has an unblemished record and is a respected member of the community; he is a lay preacher at his local church and regularly volunteers his time to help raise money for countless charities. The idea that he would be involved with a petty criminal like Aaron Wallace and implicated in a crime such as burglary is preposterous.’
‘In that case, Mr Fleetwood, perhaps you could explain why you were in the area at the time of the burglary and tell us the identity of the person who you have been contacting with such regularity on the unregistered phone that my officers have just recovered from the glovebox of your car. The same phone that we have placed to within a short distance of the burgled property.’
‘No comment.’
Warren pushed a sheet of paper across the wooden table.
‘This is a list of all the locations that this phone has been pinpointed to over the last few months that it has been active. We are also tracing the movements of this other, unknown phone. We’ll be looking for correlations between the phone locations and crimes such as burglary. As part of that investigation, we will be speaking to your friends and family and work colleagues to see if they can provide an explanation for your movements.’
Sweat had broken out on Fleetwood’s forehead.
‘No. Please leave them out of it.’
‘Why don’t you do yourself a favour, Nigel?’ suggested Sutton. ‘Tell us what you were doing that night. You haven’t got a record and I’m sure you had your reasons for taking part in the break-in. Cooperate and the chances are the judge will be lenient.’
‘I’m not a criminal. I haven’t done anything wrong.’
‘We only have your word for that.’ Warren looked at Sutton, before reaching towards the PACE recorder.
‘This interview is terminated. I shall be releasing you on police bail, pending further inquiries.’ Warren paused meaningfully. ‘No doubt your acquaintances will help us find out what we need to know.’
* * *
‘He’s having an affair with his minister’s wife?’
DSI Grayson clearly didn’t believe it.
‘So he claims. He says that she lives a few streets over from Abbey View Terrace. They’ve been seeing each other for a few months and they both bought unregistered phones so that they could arrange times to meet up easily. Fleetwood claims his wife is at home full-time with their newborn twins, so they only communicated when he was at work. Apparently, his paramour’s husband is in much demand as a preacher and away from home a lot, so they meet at hers. It wasn’t difficult for Fleetwood to invent the odd extra night shift to give him an excuse to stay over.’
‘That would explain why his phone keeps on being triangulated to the same spot. Does the story hold up?’
‘Tony and I will go and make some discreet inquiries tomorrow. He’s given us the address and he tells us she’ll be alone.’
‘And no doubt expecting Mr Fleetwood – try not to disappoint.’
‘We’ll do our best. In the meantime, we’ll be looking to see if Fleetwood was in the area at the time of the rape. We’ve secured a DNA profile; we’ll know in a few days if it’s a match to the blood spot.’
‘What about Tyler Wallace?’
‘Again, we’re waiting on the DNA.’
‘What if neither comes back as a match?’
Warren stood up. ‘Then I’ll be glad that we didn’t raise that poor woman’s hopes.’
* * *
‘Chief, we’ve found something interesting that we think you should see.’ Karen Hardwick and Gary Hastings were leaning over Hardwick’s computer.
Warren recognized the webpage as one from LinkedIn, the professional social networking site.
‘I got sick and tired of waiting for HMRC to get back to me about Fleetwood’s work history, so I went online and had a hunt around to see what I could find,’ said Hastings.
‘And I noticed something unusual in the comments on the crime scene report from the burglary,’ said Hardwick. ‘Apparently the blood spot in the bedroom, whose DNA profile matched the samples taken from the rape victim, was a bit difficult to sample; it took ages to dissolve enough for the CSI to swab it. So I rang her and we had a really interesting chat. I mentioned it to Gary, and that got us both thinking, so we went back on the web and found this.’
Hardwick scrolled down.
Warren took a moment to see the connection.
‘Well, well, look whose LinkedIn page says he was studying at the University of Middle England in 1992.’