Alex Warren Murder Mysteries Collection

Chapter 7

Warren overcame the challenge provided by an icy cold rain carried by a moderate wind and, at a few minutes before eight am, with bleary-eyes and arms weighed down by a large cardboard box of photographs, he stumbled into the incident caravan to find Sandra. She was the only other person already there, working her way through a stack of filed reports which had already arrived. With a loud bang, he allowed his burden to land onto a spare desk and he slumped into a chair.

“You look like s**t,” she uttered, taking advantage of their privacy to speak more personally than she might have dared had subordinates been present. “What the hell have you been doing?”

“Nothing, that"s the sad part,” he murmured. “Just lack of sleep and thinking about the job.”

Alex gazed across with strained vision and it struck him that Sandra appeared particularly attractive this morning. She looked bright and fresh. Her cheeks were rosy, her deep brown eyes sparkled and he could see her rich, black hair was freshly washed, showing to best effect the Vidal Sassoon-style cut and the fresh, fragrant, soapy aroma of her shampoo wafted in his direction. She was wearing a smart, white, open-necked blouse and a tight-fitting black skirt which stopped a few inches above her knee. Standing as she was next to her desk and leaning over her files, Alex was treated to the pleasant view of her athletic, curvaceous outline. As was regulation when on duty, she wore no jewellery and had little or no make-up on, but the pure and wholesome look just seemed to add to her allure.

Alex hadn"t realised he"d been staring until Sandra enquired,” Are you okay? You don"t seem yourself.”

He blinked a couple of times and then cast his eyes down at the desk.

“Yeah, yeah, fine. Just thinking about where to start,” he lied. “Okay let"s compare notes. Where are you up to?”

“There"s nothing unexpected. We"ve had the ME"s report already though. Duffie may have arrived late but he must have worked half the night to rush it out. Death most likely occurred sometime between twelve noon and three pm, which is consistent with what we"ve already been told. The victim had a hearty breakfast of fried bacon, sausage, black pudding and eggs about four hours before death, probably sometime about 10am. The cholesterol didn"t kill him though. Death resulted from being stabbed in the abdomen with the tusk. It did have a sharp pointed end but not razor sharp. It must have been swung with some force, penetrated the abdomen and was then forced upwards puncturing his heart. Death would have been quick. The assailant must have been very strong, almost certainly a man. He must have used both hands to wield it and, from the angle of entry, he would most probably have been right handed. It doesn"t narrow down the search too much but I suppose it helps.”

Alex was satisfied with the summary. He nodded as she was talking, making a mental record of each piece of data while intending to read the full report later to pick up on any lesser details which may come in useful.

“Next, we had a call from Connor. He promised the report for this morning but that was before you called him out to Whitecraigs. So he can"t deliver. He expects to have prelim" reports on both incidents by early afternoon.” Alex nodded again and tried to withhold a scowl.

“Next, the door to doors. So far a big fat zero. No one saw anything. No one heard anything. Zilch, and that"s for both locations. You predicted as much. There"s still a few doors to go back to but I"m not hopeful. Nobody"s been told the details of what"s happened yet and there"s been plenty of complaints about Stevenson but that"s all. It"s all been documented,” she added, pointing to a stack of cardboard covered files.

“I"m still waiting for the CCTV footage and I"ve asked for the same in the vicinity of the house. It could be a breakthrough if we tracked a car to both locations but there"s nothing to say there couldn"t be dozens and it"ll be like looking for a needle in a haystack. I"ve assigned Fitzpatrick to work on it, when it arrives. He"s not that sharp at the pit face, but he"s got a really good eye for detail so the job will suit him. Mind you, we might need to pay for a couple of packets of Aspirin and a visit to Specsavers for his next pair of glasses as compensation.”

“Finally, I"ve checked up on Stevenson"s family. He had been married but there were no children and their bliss ended about fifteen years back when the ex moved to London. We"ve no more details on her yet. His father died five years ago and his mother stays in a care home, not far from where he lives, or lived, I should say. It"s called Eastwood House and it"s just along from Eastwood Toll. He has a sister, a few years older than him. She moved down south ages ago. She"s married to a guy called Grant Nelson. He works as a bookkeeper and they live in Bristol. They have two teenage kids.”

“Right, I want to see the mother myself. I want to find out what she can tell us. I"d better take you with me though. Phone ahead to see if the home can have a nurse present "cause we don"t know how she"ll take the news. Arrange for the local force to pay the sister a visit. We can get McAvoy to man the caravan and keep his eye on things while we"re away.”

Alex indicated the box. “We can start our own p**n factory with what"s in here. We need to give this a lot of attention.” Seeing Sandra"s smile, he added, “No, seriously,” but he couldn"t continue without grinning. “It looks as if our Mister Stevenson"s been a very naughty boy. He"s been blackmailing a lot of people by the look of it. I"ve only had a quick browse, but there seems to be a lot of victims. I reckon he"s had a room wired with cameras and arranged for some prostitutes, both male and female to bring their punters there. All the photos seem to be in the same flat and at least one of the girls is in several photos with different partners. A few kinky ones amongst them. Judging from the way we found them, the murderer"s already been through them and picked out any that implicated him. We didn"t find much in the way of money in the house, although that could have been lifted along with the photos, and there wasn"t a safe. I"ve got all Stevenson"s banking records, at least all that I found, and we"ll need to study those. Blackmail"s a cash business normally so I reckon Stevenson"s got a stash somewhere else. Maybe he"s even got copies of the photos somewhere and if we can find where, then we could have our murderer.”

“It"s hard to solve a crime when there seems to be no leads to follow but it"s even worse when it"s like this one and there"s just too many. Where in God"s name do we start?”

“Let"s keep religion out of this one. It"s about the only complication we don"t have. Now down to business. Here"s what we need to get going. We want to get Fitzpatrick started on the videos. We want to have someone work through the finances. We can see if we can borrow one of the specialists for that. We need to see what Connor"s lot have to give us and find out if their infotech geek"s been able to rescue anything from his computers or his security system. I want someone else researching Stevenson"s businesses. It can be done in tandem with the finances. Find out any companies he owns or is a director of. Find any premises he or his companies own or lease and check them out. You know the procedure. I"m locking these photos away just now "cos I want you, me and McAvoy to work on them together. I want us to go through them carefully, catalogue them according to who"s in them and what they"re doing. I want to work out who the w****s are and see if we can pick out any faces we recognise.”

“Only their faces?” Sandra replied with a broad grin.

“Fair point,” he replied sternly, without rising to the bait. “There could be tattoos or other distinguishing features”

“A lot of distinguishing features, from what you"ve said. I"ve not seen any yet,” she continued undeterred and showing a mock petted lip.

Alex couldn"t keep a straight face any longer and they both howled with laughter only to be interrupted as McAvoy entered the cabin.

“Sounds like I"m missing out on all the fun,” he muttered with a grim face, which only made Sandra laugh all the more. McAvoy"s lacklustre attitude was matched by his appearance; his creased, plain grey suit complemented his untidy, silvery-grey hair and his sun-deprived, grey pallor.

“Not a bit of it,” Alex replied. “But come to think of it, what is it about "first thing" you don"t understand?”

“Sorry, Boss, the wife needed the car today for a hospital appointment and the bus across town took longer than I expected.”

“Right, let"s get on, here"s the plan,…” Alex said and repeated what he had in mind as priorities, finishing with the instruction for them to meet up later in the morning and take the photos into their Pitt Street office where they could work on them in privacy and with the benefit of the technology infrastructure which wasn"t fully accessible from the cabin.

By 9.30, all arrangements had been made and bodies assigned to each of the tasks, and Alex and Sandra set out for Eastwood Court taking the same route Alex had the previous evening. Seeing the sign for the care home only at the last moment, Alex turned sharply to pull the Hyundai off the busy road and found the only available space large enough for his SUV next to the home"s own minibus. He sat for a moment and looked around. The building was unusual in shape and most of it looked relatively new. The main central area was three stories high and was constructed with a rustic-style, golden-red brick finish. Off to the right the building was of a lower level with large windows. Through the windows he could see that inside was laid out with lots of dining tables and chairs, each made up with four place settings and a vase of flowers. Beyond was a kitchen and what looked to be a storage area. The central area had a large bright conservatory attached to the front of the building. The whole front was glass and Alex could see bookcases and several large squashy bamboo framed couches and chairs. To the left of the conservatory a porch-style entranceway extended out from what must have been the original building, a two-storied structure built from blonde sandstone. At the far corner, the stones were more rounded and formed a medieval-style, turret-shaped tower.

Alex had an awkward feeling about the place and couldn"t think why. Then he remembered. Only a short while after he had joined the force, while he was still a raw recruit, he had attended the scene of a terrible accident somewhere very close to this location. It was back in 1990; a Bell JetRanger helicopter had been chartered by the police. A sudden and severe snowstorm had started and the aircraft"s engine had failed resulting from snow blocking the air intake. The helicopter was flying low but dropped from a height of seventy feet and collided with an apartment block. One officer died after being thrown out by the impact and others suffered serious injury. The incident was still vivid in Alex"s memory and he shuddered at the thought.

“What"s up, Boss? Aren"t we going in?” Sandra"s words broke into his reminiscing.

“Let"s go then,” he responded, releasing his seatbelt. He strode towards the front door to ring the doorbell.

Within a few moments, a receptionist let them in. After checking their warrant cards, she took them into a side room and introduced them to a nurse.

“I"m Irene. I gather you"ve come to see Mrs Stevenson and that you"ve got some bad news for her.”

“Yes, I"m afraid that"s right. Her son"s been killed and we"ve come to inform her. It would be good if you could be with her when we speak with her. I"d like to ask you a few things first.”

“How terrible, she"ll be devastated. I"ll be happy to do anything I can to help. We all would. She"s such a sweet old lady.”

“First of all, can you tell me about her? What"s her state of health like? Is she strong enough to take the news and is she mentally able? Will she understand?”

“Physically, she"s quite able for her age. She"s seventy-six years old, been with us for about two years. Her knees are bad with arthritis and she can"t get about without a zimmer or a wheelchair. It"s considered too risky for her heart to have knee replacement surgery but I reckon that"s borderline because she"s reasonably fit otherwise. She"s also a bit deaf and a hearing aid doesn"t help much, but that"s not unusual at her age. Mentally, she"s bright as a button which could be a mixed blessing as she doted on her son”

“What can you tell me about her son? Did you know him? Did he visit regularly?

“Yes, I knew him, but not well. He came to see his mother on a regular basis. It was quite strange really. He came every Monday morning at 9.00 am and would stay for about an hour. Then he would return later the same day, usually about 3.00 pm and stay for half an hour. It was the same thing every week, like clockwork. You could rely on his visits.”

Sandra and Alex exchanged quizzical looks before Irene continued. “He didn"t come any other times, even on holidays or her birthday. Only once, when she had a fall, about six months ago, we phoned him and he came to see she was okay, but that was the only time. Any other visit has been on a Monday at the same times every week. Besides that, he always kept money in his mum"s account so she could buy newspapers and have her hair done every week”

“Can you tell me anything else about him?”

“No, not really. I shouldn"t speak ill of the dead, but I really didn"t like him. I don"t know what it was. He had this way of looking at you that made you feel uncomfortable.”

“Did Mrs Stevenson have any other visitors?”

“No, not really. Her daughter, from England, and her family come up every now and then, maybe once or twice a year, but that"s all. The daughter phones as well. Not too often, maybe once or twice a month.”

“Did anyone else phone?”

“Yes, I think there was a cousin in Australia, but it was only once or twice a year.”

“Thank you. That"s been very helpful. Now could you please take me to meet Mrs Stevenson? Is there somewhere private where we can talk?”

“Yes, of course. I"ll take you through to the conservatory, then I"ll bring Mrs Stevenson through to talk with you.”

Irene led them along a corridor lined with doors, rather like a hotel. Each door had a name label outside. They passed through a set of double doors into a very spacious bright and airy lounge. Large armchairs were laid out along one wall and in two large rectangles, with the chairs from each rectangle pointing in the direction of large LCD television screens. The same programme was showing on both televisions. There was also a large birdcage in one corner of the room with a brightly coloured budgerigar chirping away to anyone who"d listen. Only a few of the residents seemed to be watching the TV as others were either reading, talking or sleeping in their chairs. Alex was pleasantly surprised to see that all the residents he saw were smartly dressed, clean looking and seemed well cared for. There were a number of carers in the room attending to the residents" needs. Having only recently watched a television documentary on some of the deplorable conditions in a few of the nursing homes that had been investigated, Alex was comforted by the thought that they might have been extreme or unusual examples.

The layout of the two rectangles of chairs created a makeshift corridor between which Irene led them and opened the door into the conservatory. She bade them to sit on the couch and said she would go and collect Mrs Stevenson.

A few minutes later the door opened again and Irene backed a wheelchair over the threshold and turned it round to sit facing them. Looking up from it was a very alert looking little old lady. Although difficult to tell from her sitting position, Alex judged that she couldn"t have been more than five feet tall. She was slim without being thin with a full head of well cared for, shoulder length white hair. A large pair of tortoiseshell-framed spectacles partly obscured her contented looking round face, which had surprisingly unwrinkled skin.

“Okay, Maggie, these two police officers have come to speak with you,” she called out quite loudly and then turned to close the door before sitting herself in an upright chair next to her patient.

“Hello, Mrs Stevenson, my name"s Alex Warren and this is Sandra McKinnon. We"ve come to talk to you about your son, Scott”

“Oh, my Scott. He"s a lovely boy and so good to his Mum. He comes to see me every few days and he always brings me a packet of Jaffa cakes. He knows they"re my favourites.”

“I"m sorry to tell you we have some very bad news for you. There was an incident in Scott"s shop. He was attacked and I"m sorry to tell you that he"s dead.”

“What, what did you say? This hearing aid"s not very good. It sounded like you told me that Scott"s dead.”

“I"m really sorry. That is what I said.”

Maggie started to shake and tears formed in her eyes. Irene moved closer and took hold of her hand.

“What happened?” she managed to blurt out as tears now started to flow down her cheeks.

Just at this point, the door opened and another of the residents walked in. “Sammy, I thought it was you. I knew you"d come to see me,” she called making her way towards a horrified Alex. Just then, another carer followed her into the room and Irene rose to prevent her further approach.

“No, Jean, that"s not Sammy. This is someone who"s come to see Maggie,” Irene said as she and the other carer ushered the woman back out of the door. Irene returned then closed and locked the door. “I"m sorry about that. Jean"s a little bit confused.”

Alex returned his attention to Mrs Stevenson. “We"re still trying to work out what"s happened. Do you think we could ask you a few questions? It might help find out what"s taken place.”

“I don"t think I can help, but I"ll try,” Maggie whimpered.

“That"s very good of you. I"d like you to tell me about Scott. I"m trying to get a better picture of what he was like and who he knew.

“He"s always been such a good boy. Who would want to hurt him? He"s taken good care of me. After my Arthur died and I couldn"t look after myself at home, he got me in here. He"s made sure I"ve always got money to pay for anything I need. I didn"t want to take anything from him but he told me he"s been really successful in business and he can afford it. He"s been really good to his sister too. He gives her money, and when her husband needed an operation last year, Scott insisted he went private and paid for it all. I couldn"t have asked for a better son.”

“Has he ever told you about having any trouble or problems with anybody?” Sandra asked.

Concentrating on talking about him seemed to settle Maggie down and the tears gradually subsided. “Oh no! Well, not for a long time, anyway. Way back when he was young, he got in with a bad crowd. I remember they were caught stealing from one of the big shops in town. Woolworths, I think it was. Anyway, Scott had nothing to do with it, but because he hung about with them, he got into bother. It was never his fault though.

“The only time after that was when that b***h of a wife he had created a fuss. She just wanted his money and she claimed he"d hit her, but he never did. She just said it to get at more of his money and that was years ago.”

“And there"s not been anything after that?” Sandra persisted.

“No, nothing at all.”

“Did Scott ever discuss his work with you or tell you about the people he worked with?” Sandra enquired.

“He"d sometimes tell me he"d had a good week or that a deal had gone really well but he never said more than that. He never said who he worked with or for.”

“I believe Scott came to see you regularly,” Alex asked.

“Oh yes, he was here all the time. I told you he was a good boy.”

“Yes, you did say,” Alex replied, trying to hide his true feelings. “Did he ever bring anyone or anything with him?”

“He always came alone, except for when his sister came up to visit. But every time he came, he"d bring me another packet of Jaffa cakes, every single time. He"d take them up to my room for me. He"d put this wooden box inside my wardrobe and every time he came he"d go up to my room and check there was enough biscuits for me in the box. It was our little joke. I can take some out whenever I want but every night I have one before I go to bed.”

“This might sound funny, but would you mind if we had a look in the box before we left?” Alex asked.

“Yes, that will be okay and you can have a Jaffa cake each. But only one, mind you.”

Irene said she would get a carer to show Alex and Sandra to Maggie"s room, and while Maggie and Irene remained in the conservatory, they followed the carer through a set of double doors then through a key code operated door and out to a lift. They took this up to the first floor then had to pass through another key code operated door to access a corridor. Maggie"s room was about half way along.

“There"s better security here than we have at Pitt Street,” Sandra whispered.

Maggie"s room was well proportioned. It had a large double-glazed window looking out over the car park. There was a hospital-style adjustable bed, a wall mounted LCD television and a set of teak fronted bedroom furniture comprising a double wardrobe with top box, two chests of drawers and a bedside table which held a number of framed photographs. There were two different ones of Scott, smiling and dressed casually, as if on holiday. There was one of Maggie standing next to an elderly man, presumably her now deceased husband, and one showing a family fitting the description of Maggie"s daughter.

“The Jaffa cake box is in the lower section of the wardrobe,” said the carer.

Alex opened the wardrobe and pushed aside a number of hanging garments to find the large wooden box. He pulled it out and opened the top. Inside were four packets of Jaffa cakes, one of which was open. Underneath there was a wooden tray. When he removed the tray he found a key underneath. It was a precision-tooled security key, nothing like a door key, being flat on both sides with no grooves, square cut teeth, an embedded microchip and a number engraved on the outside. “Bingo!” he called out.

Sandra realised it was a breakthrough and wanted to ask Alex about the significance of what he"d found but knew she had to wait until they were in the car and could not be overheard.

They returned downstairs and asked Maggie about the key but she had no idea what it was or how it got there. She happily gave her permission for the key to be taken away hoping it might help the police solve the mystery of why Scott had ended up dead.