35
The evening briefing began at seven o’clock sharp. The MIR was full to bursting and Naylor had the floor. He’d informed the Murder Investigation Team of his intention to split them up, half remaining on the arson, the rest working the A1 incident under his leadership as SIO. Detectives were unhappy about the situation. Daniels could see it in their eyes. She was hardly jumping up and down about it herself. The handover had come at the worst possible time as far as she was concerned. Naylor’s assurance that other officers would be drafted in to assist either enquiry as and when the need arose didn’t exactly fill her with joy. They may not be perfect, but this was her team. A bunch of detectives who worked well together as a unit, not some hastily arranged hotchpotch that didn’t know their arses from their elbows. Still, she had no choice in the matter. Officially, at any rate. She’d have to get on with it.
As Naylor elaborated on his plans, she thought about the arson case. Progress was slow. She was still waiting for forensic results on the rubber glove recovered from the wheelie bin and the fragment found in Maggie Reid’s house. A match now would certainly float her boat. Colin and Denise Albright appeared to be in the clear. There was no evidence to suggest that either had made a journey from Slaley Hall to the West End of Newcastle in order to carry out a revenge execution in the dead of night. But lab technicians had managed to identify residue from the petrol as Shell. Maxwell had spent the afternoon following that up, visiting garages within a three-mile radius, trying to establish how many punters had bought petrol in a can recently. So far, he’d covered Scotswood Road, Denton Road, West Road, down to nineteenth-century landmark The Big Lamp, and all points in between. He was now on his feet telling them what he’d discovered.
Sensing where he was taking them, Daniels gave him a nod of encouragement, even though it was a long shot. This was flaming June after all, the beginning of summer, a month when people frequently bought fuel to store at home in case they ran dry – gardeners and motorcyclists being two obvious examples. Such purchases would be time-consuming to investigate. And petrol used to start the fire could easily have been months old, stored in someone’s garage or lock-up.
Still, anything was worth a try.
‘Had it been winter, it would’ve been a much simpler . . .’ Maxwell was almost verbalizing Daniels’ thoughts. ‘I came up with fifteen purchases made over the three days prior to the arson, out of which eight have already been identified by garage staff as local people known to them. They’re being seen as we speak and actions have been raised to trace the others.’ He paused for breath, before adding, ‘But there is one CCTV image that bothers me . . .’
Daniels met his eyes. ‘How so?’
‘Punter was acting weird, boss. Medium build and height. Boiler suit and baseball cap. Being really careful not to look directly at the camera.’ He pointed at Carmichael. ‘Lisa has uploaded the tape.’
‘Was it a Shell station?’ Robson asked.
Maxwell nodded.
Daniels looked at Carmichael. ‘Show me.’
Carmichael ran the footage on the electronic murder wall. The room went quiet as detectives watched Maxwell’s weirdo fill up a can and walk, head bowed unnaturally, into the cashier’s desk to pay – in cash, Daniels noted – before making off on foot.
‘Bing-bong,’ Gormley sung the words like a doorbell. ‘He’s our guy.’
‘Could be local too, if he didn’t drive there,’ Brown offered.
Daniels was still peering at the screen. ‘Not necessarily. If he is our man he’d hardly bring his car on to the forecourt, would he? He’d have left it parked in the street to avoid detection. Run it again please, Lisa.’ Carmichael quickly rewound the tape and set it running with dozens of pairs of eyes fixed to the screen as they took a second look. ‘Freeze it there!’ The DCI turned to face the squad. ‘Anyone else think “our guy”, as Gormley so eloquently put it, walks like a girl?’
There was a chorus of: possibly, maybe, not sure.
Looking back at the murder wall, Daniels wondered if the shapeless boiler suit had been worn as a partial disguise. It could mask several layers underneath: added bulk to make the punter appear bigger than they really were. The victim’s wife, Maggie Reid, popped into her head. Her alibi – the elusive Stella Drew – still hadn’t turned up or answered repeated calls to her mobile and Daniels had the distinct impression that she was staying out of the way on purpose.
‘Boss?’ ‘Boss?’ Brown and Carmichael said in unison.
Carmichael gestured for Brown to go first. He smiled and did the same. He was a good detective, less vocal than some at MIT but an essential part of the squad. Their surveillance specialist, he liked working in the background. He had taken a shine to Carmichael. They’d joined the squad together and, when they worked as a twosome, she was almost always the spokesperson.
Carmichael took her cue to proceed. ‘We just got back from the Meadow Well Estate. You’ll be pleased to hear we had no humpy from David Matthews, the lad I told you worked for Albrights firm, the only one with a CRO number. He wasn’t quite what we expected, was he, Andy?’ Brown shook his head and she moved on. ‘He was a quiet lad, salt of the earth, actually, despite his appearance. No neck and tats,’ she explained. ‘Looked like your average thug, but he was really helpful. Considers himself one of Mark Reid’s mates in spite of losing his job when Mark put Albright’s firm out of business.’
‘Easy to say after the event,’ Gormley reminded her. ‘Reid’s not around to confirm or deny it, is he?’
‘True,’ Carmichael acknowledged. ‘But he seemed pretty genuine to me.’
‘They continued to see each other afterwards?’ Naylor asked.
‘Yes, guv. Matthews was gutted to hear of Reid’s death. Even more upset about the boy. Read it in the newspaper, apparently. He was also up front about his conviction and expecting our visit, I reckon—’
‘I agree with that, guv,’ Brown said. ‘The lad was in tears at one point, not bolshie in the slightest. Comes from a hard-working family. Parents both in employment. Mother has some involvement with the Meadows Neighbourhood Centre. Father’s a postie. I’ve not had time to check, but I’m guessing that means he has no form. Both parents seem determined to give their kids a better start in life than they both had.’
Robson looked up from the notes he was taking. ‘Where was he between seven-thirty p.m. Wednesday and one a.m. yesterday?’
‘Same as most people, insensible after the match. We’re checking that out, but we’re probably wasting our time. Reid was taking Matthews on. He was due to start work for him on Monday. Claims that’s why he rang him, to cadge a lift to the site. We saw the offer of employment and it was dated last week.’ He looked at Daniels. ‘There’s a copy on your desk.’
‘Why bite the hand?’ Naylor said to no one in particular.
‘That’s what we thought, guv.’ Carmichael glanced at Brown to check he had nothing to add. ‘Matthews claims Reid was having an affair but was being very secretive about it. Don’t know if it means anything, but he thinks the woman was a security guard.’
‘Just thinks?’ Daniels queried. ‘Don’t suppose he knew her name?’
‘No, boss. We were hoping he might have thrown some light on Judy, the woman who called Reid the night he died. Anyway, Matthews only saw the girlfriend once but he did notice she was wearing a white shirt under a civvi jacket. Could equally have been a prison officer, I suppose. Or a WPC, for that matter, though he didn’t seem to think so.’ Carmichael and Brown both smiled, enjoying a private joke. ‘When Andy pushed him on it, Matthews said growing up on the Meadow Well you get a kind of sixth sense about the police. We’re easy to spot, apparently, in or out of uniform.’
A chuckle went up in the room.
Daniels thought for a moment. ‘The female kit I saw in Reid’s flat doesn’t fit with my idea of ill-paid security guards. When this Judy woman called Reid there were people talking in the background, so maybe she’s a shift worker. The call is timed at one fifteen and she asked him to ring her back, which would suggest she wasn’t hitting the sack right away. It’s certainly something to bear in mind . . .’ Daniels shifted her attention to Maxwell, commending his diligence in following the petrol trail. She pointed at the frozen image on the murder wall. ‘Neil, concentrate your efforts on this one. Does anyone else have anything to add before we wrap it up for the night?’
There was a collective shake of heads.
‘Right . . .’ She began packing up her stuff. ‘Those of you no longer working the arson make sure you hand everything over tonight. From tomorrow morning, you’re officially off the case. Thanks a lot, guys.’
As everyone disbanded, Daniels caught Gormley’s tired eyes across the room. It had been a long day – a long week in fact – and they were both exhausted. In the coming days, possibly even weeks, they’d be working at full stretch with half their usual complement with a double murder to solve, the A1 murder to occupy their minds and the hopes of Elliot Milburn weighing them down. Things couldn’t get much worse.