Under a Dark Cloud Page 9

  Freya knows they are the kids that tripped her up in corridors, that pulled her hair and made comments about her legs, her boobs. But I’m an adult now, she tells herself sternly. Those days are over.

  They’ve already interviewed Tyler and Mark. Separately, but both giving identikit answers, even down to the phrasing. No, they weren’t out on Tuesday night. They were all in Mark’s garage, playing on his Xbox. Call of Duty, if you must ask. Yes, they know Connor from college, but no, they don’t hang out with him. Freezer? What freezer?

  Mark Black seems to be the leader of the three – right now the other two are looking at him as he tells a story. He has a level of arrogance far above the others. Mark and Tyler laugh, and Freya watches as Lee gauges their reactions before joining in. Lee Cernis is the weak link, that’s for sure.

  ‘Let’s get this over and done with,’ Josh says.

  They call Lee into the room. As he gets up, he looks back to the other boys. Mark Black mimes a gun with his hand, pointing it at Lee, in full view of Freya and Josh. He doesn’t give a shit, and it makes Freya’s blood boil.

  Josh gives Lee the standard warnings, explains that his witness statement is a legal document and that he might have to be called to give evidence should anything go to a trial. Josh tells him he’s free to leave at any time and the statement is voluntary. Like the other two, Lee nods.

  But unlike the other two, Lee is nervous, pulling at his eyebrow and staring at the tabletop. Josh asks the same questions and he gives the same answers, Freya writing them on the MG11 form.

  Josh looks over to her and nods. She puts the pen down and leans forward in her chair.

  ‘Lee,’ she starts. ‘I know you want us to believe you’re like the other two out there, but that’s simply not true, is it?’ Lee continues to look down. ‘See, we’ve done a bit of background on you all, and what I can’t understand is why you hang around with them.’

  Lee pauses the abuse of his eyebrow for a moment.

  Freya pulls out her notebook and looks at the details. ‘Let’s see. Your mother is a teacher, your father is a plumber. You live in a nice part of town. You got good GCSEs, you studied hard. And yet, you hang around with those two.’

  ‘They’re my mates,’ he mumbles.

  ‘Apparently so. But the fact remains, you have a lot more to lose. You have a brain, you could go on to have a good job, a good life. Why are you prepared to throw that away?’

  ‘We didn’t do anything.’

  Freya notices that away from the other boys, Lee’s speech is more precise, his grammar better. We didn’t do anything, rather than we didn’t do nuffin’, which is what they got from the others.

  ‘What happened on Tuesday night, Lee?’ Freya asks again.

  ‘We were playing Xbox. Nothing happened.’

  ‘You didn’t see Connor Vardy?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘You haven’t been near Riverside?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘You didn’t see the freezer?’

  ‘I told you. We were at Mark’s. We were playing Xbox.’

  ‘Where nobody saw you, not even Mark’s dad?’

  ‘Mark saw me. Tyler saw me.’

  Freya glances across at Josh, who shakes his head. Freya sighs, then pushes the completed MG11 form across to Lee.

  ‘Fine. Sign this and you can go.’

  Lee gives Freya’s handwriting a cursory glance, scribbles at the bottom of the page, then walks out. The other two stand up, clapping him on the back as they lope away, jeering.

  Josh makes an exasperated noise. ‘Bloody kids.’

  ‘I know they’re a group of tossers, but perhaps they didn’t have anything to do with that body,’ Freya suggests. ‘Perhaps they just hung around in the bus shelter for a bit, then did go home to play on the Xbox.’

  Josh scowls. ‘Perhaps, but I’d love to wipe those satisfied expressions off their smug little faces.’

  They head towards the reception area, ready to drive to the station. But as they go, Freya catches a glimpse of the back of someone – someone who looks strangely familiar. Long dark hair, slim frame, tall. As she passes, the woman turns her head and Freya knows who it is. Olivia Cross. Amy Miller’s sister. Her clothes seem more expensive, her hair glossy and styled, but she’s definitely the prostitute and stripper that Freya remembers from nine months before.

  Their eyes meet, a moment of recognition. Then Olivia smiles.

  ‘Detective West,’ she says.

  Then she turns to face her and Freya’s breath catches. Although from the back she looked as slim as before, Freya can now see the massive bump. She’s pregnant. Very pregnant.

  Olivia rests her hands on her tummy. ‘What a surprise to see you,’ she continues.

  ‘Olivia. How are you?’ Freya asks, forcing a smile onto her face. Next to her, Josh pauses, sensing something interesting going on.

  ‘I’m good. Been busy,’ she laughs, gesturing to her belly.

  ‘I can see. Congratulations. How far along are you?’

  ‘Thirty-five weeks. Due soon.’

  ‘How exciting,’ Freya says, but her head is mentally working out the maths. Thirty-five weeks. So – eight, nine months? Which would take it back to…

  ‘Detective Sergeant Joshua Smith,’ Josh says next to her, holding out his hand.

  Olivia shakes it, then looks at Freya. ‘Are you not working with Robin any more?’

  Robin? Freya thinks. Informal. ‘No, I am. Just here doing a few interviews. And you?’ she asks, curious.

  ‘Handing in final coursework. I’ve been doing a diploma in beauty therapy. Need a career that’s a bit more respectable,’ she adds with a stroke of her belly. ‘For when this one comes along.’

  ‘Of course. Nice to see you,’ Freya finishes, suddenly desperate to get away.

  ‘You too. Tell Robin hello from me.’

  They walk away quickly. Josh whispers, ‘Who was that?’

  ‘Sister of Amy Miller,’ Freya replies. ‘Olivia Cross.’

  ‘Amy Miller? As in the Jonathan Miller case?’ Freya nods, and they both climb into her car. ‘I heard about that one. Before my time, but everyone was talking about it.’ Josh continues, ‘The psycho wife who died?’

  ‘That’s her,’ Freya says, feeling her body grow hot.

  ‘Didn’t the sister end up with all the money?’

  ‘Yeah. Next of kin, so all the life insurance and inheritance went to her.’ Freya feels a trickle of sweat run down her spine, and stares resolutely at the road as she drives.

  ‘So who’s the father?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘She seems to know Robin Butler well.’

  ‘Hmm…’ Freya says.

  Josh senses her reluctance and moves on to what he found out about the freezer first thing that morning, even before Freya was awake. With some determination, he’d managed to get hold of the old lady’s daughter, who explained that they gave it away six months ago on Gumtree. Two blokes, no idea about names. She gave Josh a mobile phone number but it wasn’t registered, and the account on Gumtree is now closed down.

  Freya’s glad of his change of subject, her mind full of Olivia and this surprise baby. The maths isn’t good. So Olivia got pregnant around the time they were investigating Jonathan’s murder. When Robin was close to Olivia. How close? she wonders. She knows there was a lot Robin didn’t tell her around that time. Get-togethers, just Olivia and Robin, one of which culminated in him getting beaten up outside her strip club. A rumour of a complaint, that Olivia had stayed the night at Robin’s. But what had happened? Not that, surely?

  ‘So we’re nowhere,’ Josh finishes.

  ‘CCTV?’ Freya asks, keen to keep him talking.

  ‘Mina is on it now.’

  * * *

  Back in the office, Mina is slumped in front of her screen. She has a half-empty mug of coffee in one hand, which Josh swaps for a full one without a word.

  ‘Anything?’ he asks.

  ‘Nah.�
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  ‘Anything back from the lab?’

  ‘Nah.’

  ‘You called them?’

  Mina looks up at him. ‘What do you think?’

  Josh slumps in front of his own computer.

  ‘So where are we?’ he asks the two of them.

  Freya ticks it off on her fingers. ‘We have a dead body in a freezer, with a time of death in the early hours of Wednesday morning, and an uncertain cause of death. We have kids playing in the bus shelter’ – Mina looks up with interest – ‘who were apparently never there because they were playing on their Xbox,’ she adds for her benefit. Freya continues: ‘We have the freezer and clothing down at the lab, an appliance we can’t trace—’

  ‘A shitload of CCTV with nothing on it,’ Mina finishes for her.

  ‘And a body with no ID,’ Josh says. ‘We think he was homeless, right?’

  ‘That’s our theory.’

  ‘So, Freya, you get on that. Start phoning homeless shelters, work out who this guy is. And I’ll nag the lab. Mina,’ – she looks up hopefully – ‘you carry on with the CCTV,’ he says. ‘And see if you can find any footage of the people that dumped the freezer. Sunday night, early Monday morning. Must have been a big van or a truck, for a freezer that bulky.’

  ‘Yes, skipper,’ she sighs.

  Freya sits down at her desk and boots up her computer. She picks up her mobile, holding it in her hand. She hasn’t heard from Robin that morning, and for the first time, she dreads his call. Does he know about the baby? Freya wonders.

  And, more to the point, if he doesn’t, should she tell him?

  15

  DC Grey calls first thing, his voice reedy and apologetic.

  ‘I spoke to the university, Sarge. They said if we want to know what Dr Mason and Dr Sharp were working on, we should go down there. Easier to show, than tell. DI Craig said you could come with me. If you want to.’

  Robin agrees, keen to be involved, although he suspects Craig’s main motive is to keep him away from whatever interviews they are doing back at the station. He waits for Grey outside the Travelodge, not looking forward to getting into a car with the kid.

  While he waits, he phones Josie. No change from the hospital.

  ‘He’s had a terrible night,’ she says. ‘Couldn’t sleep, headache, shaking. And he’s still confused.’ Robin can hear the tension in her voice. ‘One moment he’s talking about needing to see Simon, the next he’s saying how big the storm was last night and how well their filming had gone. It’s like he’s making stuff up.’

  ‘And what do the doctors say?’ Robin asks.

  ‘Not a lot. They’re going to do the MRI this morning.’

  ‘Good. I’ll be there as soon as possible.’

  ‘Take your time, Robin,’ Josie replies quietly. ‘I’d rather you were out there finding out what happened.’

  Robin hangs up, his mind full. He has no idea where to start, but perhaps Finn’s lab will hold some answers.

  * * *

  DC Grey is so quiet in the car, it makes Robin nervous so he makes an attempt at conversation. It isn’t that he’s exactly chatty himself, but the complete silence is disconcerting.

  Despite Robin’s protest, Craig insisted on them taking Grey’s car, and having someone else drive him puts him on edge. Especially DC Grey: he’s serious, face forward, concentrating intently on the road. It seems to Robin that he’s only just passed his driving test, leaning forward slightly as he drives, and the broken exchange distracts Robin for a moment, if nothing else. It soon transpires that DC Grey had been a civilian analyst for the force for a couple of years, eventually training and transferring into uniform, before becoming a detective. From the look of him, he can’t be much older than his late twenties, with a chin that barely needs shaving and delicate, almost androgynous, features.

  ‘What’s your first name?’ Robin asks, trying to conjure up some familiarity.

  ‘Kennedy.’

  ‘What, sorry?’

  Grey chances a look at Robin. ‘Kennedy.’

  ‘That’s your first name?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Anyone call you Ken?’

  ‘No.’

  They lapse back into silence. Grey it is, then.

  ‘What’s DI Craig like to work for?’

  ‘Good.’ They pull up in the car park of the university, and Grey looks across at Robin. ‘She’s smart, Sarge. I know she’ll do what’s right.’

  To secure a conviction, or what’s right for Finn? Robin’s not sure.

  The two of them head towards Finn’s lab, with Robin leading the way. He had a tour years ago, when Finn was doing his PhD, and knows he hasn’t moved locations since.

  A tall, well-built man waits in the doorway, standing up straight when he sees them approaching. He looks older than DC Grey and holds out his hand when they’re near.

  ‘Ian Calloway,’ he says. ‘One of Dr Mason’s PhD students.’

  Grey introduces himself, showing his ID. ‘And this is… Robin Butler.’

  Robin glances at Grey, then shakes hands with Calloway. So that’s how it’s going to be, he thinks. No police credentials at all? But he stays quiet, accepting his fate.

  ‘We haven’t got much time,’ Grey continues. ‘Could you show us what Dr Mason was working on? Some sort of equipment they were trialling?’

  ‘Yes,’ Ian says as they walk. He escorts them through the electronic security doors into the lab. ‘It’s a dual polarisation Doppler. Basically, a high-resolution radar that scans the atmosphere and tells us what’s up there. The party trick of this guy is that it can measure wind speed and direction, as well as tell the difference between hail and rain and other debris.’ He stops next to two large white satellite dishes attached to an array of electronics. ‘This is one of our prototypes. Bistatic, operating at 94 gigahertz. We’ve used it before, but only in experimental settings. We were all excited to see it play out in a real storm, especially one of Tuesday’s magnitude.’

  ‘But Doppler radar has been around for some time,’ Grey points out. ‘What makes this one special?’

  ‘The level of resolution. And the algorithm Dr Mason developed means the data returning can be translated into a much more detailed backscatter image.’

  ‘And why is that important?’ Robin says, still baffled. He knows he’s supposed to be a silent observer, but his police inquisitiveness is ingrained.

  Calloway takes the question in his stride. ‘The greater the detail, the better we can know what’s coming. Rain, hail, snow, ice. Tornadoes.’ He smiles. ‘It saves lives. But not just that – it has incredible commercial applications, too. Hail destroys millions of dollars’ worth of crops every year. It decimates solar panels. Being able to forecast this stuff means companies can save a huge amount of money. Insurance companies will love it.’ He pauses. ‘Do you know when we’ll get the equipment back from the van?’

  ‘It’s going to take some time, I’m sorry,’ Grey replies. ‘How did the BBC fit into all of this?’

  ‘Dr Sharp’s an alumnus here, he did his doctorate alongside Finn. He’s quite a celebrity, so when he got in touch, we were all excited.’ Ian sits back on one of the stools, warming to his explanation. ‘He particularly mentioned the Doppler, saying they wanted to try something new, showcase new technology, and asked whether Dr Mason would work with them.’

  ‘Sophie said Finn was reluctant at first?’

  ‘Yes, we couldn’t understand it. But once Finn realised what it could mean for our funding, he quickly came around. You saw that van?’ Robin and Grey both nod. ‘Custom-made, specially adapted so it could fit up into the car park. Finn would have sat there in his Ford Focus, given half the chance, but Sharp only wanted the best. Needed to look good on TV.’ Calloway grins happily. ‘And we didn’t complain.’

  Mystery solved, Robin thinks. Although it still must have been close, barely squeaking through the maximum headroom of the multistorey.

  ‘And the storm was a loaded-g
un scenario, right?’ Grey asks, and Robin looks from the DC to Calloway, confused.

  ‘That’s right,’ Ian confirms. ‘You know your storms.’ Grey smiles back.

  ‘Explain?’ Robin asks, bluntly.

  Calloway turns to him. ‘How much do you know about thunderstorms?’

  ‘Nothing.’

  ‘Okay, so…’ He turns to the whiteboard behind him, and draws a crude outline of the British Isles and the north of Europe. ‘From the beginning. The storm was caused by the Spanish Plume effect.’ He draws a series of arrows, moving up from the main body of Europe. ‘Hot, dry air moves north from Spain towards the UK. Since the Spanish interior is over 700 metres above sea level, this hot air acts like a lid, trapping the build-up of warm, moist air near the surface.’ He looks at Grey. ‘The loaded gun,’ he adds with a smile. ‘As it moves north, the elevated plume of hot air rises, begins to cool and forms cloud. This makes it unstable, creating storms that are made bigger by feeding off the warm, moist air trapped below.’ He draws another diagram with yet more arrows and what Robin assumes is a cloud. He feels sorry for the poor students in Calloway’s lectures if this is the quality of the teaching; he’s certainly none the wiser.

  Calloway continues: ‘It means the warm, moist air near the surface needs to get strongly heated by the sun. It will then break the cap and release its energy as powerful thunderstorms.’

  ‘And this is common in the UK?’ Robin asks.

  ‘Once every two to three years? And we can only predict a few days ahead, so once we realised, it was all go.’

  Robin accepts defeat on the technical explanation. Desperate to move onto simpler ground, he asks, ‘Could you show us his office?’

  ‘Sure.’ With a last caress of the satellite dish, Ian walks out of the lab and up the stairs at the back. They arrive at a row of standard-looking offices that wouldn’t seem out of place in a corporate headquarters, albeit a shabby one. He stops at the end, at a small, poky room with Dr F. Mason written on a piece of paper, crudely Blu-Tacked to the glass.

  Ian pulls a key out of his pocket and opens the door. Robin walks inside.