Diane Fry had known she would have to wait until this week for test results. It was five days after the body of Glen Turner had been found in the stream. But it seemed to Fry that she’d been talking about him for much longer than that.
When she was back at divisional headquarters in West Street she stared out of the window at the sheets of rain blowing across the west stand of Edendale FC. It had been raining continuously since last Thursday, too.
On her desk were two reports, one from forensics and the other from the pathologist, Juliana van Doon. Even though the case had passed into the hands of the Major Crime Unit, Mrs van Doon had sent her a copy of the final post-mortem report. It was about the first courtesy that Fry could remember receiving from her.
‘Luke, what do forensics have to say?’ she asked.
‘They’ve been going over that BMW belonging to Charlie Dean,’ said Irvine. ‘You know they’ve been investigating the cause of the crash, looking for mechanical defects. But the first thing they found was a hand print on the boot. Sharp eyes, one of those forensic examiners has. He realised there was something iffy about the print, and ran a few appropriate tests. Lucky for us that he did. Whoever that hand print belonged to, it left traces of blood on the paintwork.’
‘Really? So someone injured themselves when they interfered with the vehicle?’
‘It doesn’t seem likely. There was enough blood scraped off the car by the examiners to get a DNA match in the database. That DNA – well, it seems it came from our earlier murder victim. It was Glen Turner’s blood.’
36
Sheena Sullivan twisted her hands anxiously on the bed. Watching her, Fry guessed she was probably longing for a cigarette, if only to give herself something to do with her fingers. But there was no smoking in a hospital ward. This was one place the law couldn’t be overlooked.
Sheena had one leg in plaster as a result of a compound fracture, and a few broken ribs. She’d been under observation for a possible concussion, but now the bandages had been removed and a series of stitches were visible running through her hair where her scalp had been lacerated by broken glass. Her eyes were blackened, but Fry could see that the bilirubin was already starting to turn the bruises yellow. Mrs Sullivan had been very lucky that her face was otherwise untouched.
‘Charlie Dean had a good scam going,’ said Fry. ‘And Williamson Hart seem to have known about that. They were about to sack him.’
‘Were they?’
‘What they didn’t know is that he was being blackmailed. His activities came to the attention of Ralph Edge at Prospectus Assurance. That would all have come apart when he lost his job, wouldn’t it?’
‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’
‘It’s so difficult to avoid getting drawn further and further in when someone is able to put pressure on you like that. Before you know it, you’re in too deep, and it’s too late for you. Charlie was given a role in what happened to Glen Turner, wasn’t he?’
Sheena stared at the wall. She was pale, but Fry couldn’t be sure whether that was from the pain of her injuries, or the shock. It didn’t matter. She was happy to carry on talking for a while, sorting out the facts in her own mind.
‘I bet Charlie thought they were just trying to get information,’ she said. ‘But maybe the Gibsons always intended to kill Turner, or didn’t care. How was Charlie involved exactly, Sheena? What was he supposed to do? Whatever it was, the man in the red rain jacket turned up and scared him so much that he cleared off and didn’t go back. He was terrified that there was a witness who’d be able to identify him. So he just drove away and prayed.’
Sheena blinked a little. Fry thought she might be getting close to the truth.
‘So – Charlie. He sounds like a man who was able to compartmentalise his life pretty well. He had everything separated out, didn’t he? His job, his wife, his mistress, his criminal activities. He must have worked out a set of roles for himself, changing into a different Charlie Dean according to the circumstances. Who said men can’t multitask, eh?’
Sheena even smiled a little at that.
‘The only wonder is that he managed to juggle all those balls for so long,’ said Fry. ‘His wife was getting nearer and nearer to the point where she would have divorced him, I think. That would have been a shock for Mr Dean. I bet he thought he was the only one who could do that, and his marriage would last for as long as he decided it would. And there were his employers at Williamson Hart. Ursula Hart told me they were planning to sack him. That would have brought the whole pack of cards tumbling down too. But your husband Jay got to him first.’