On Eden Street Page 9

  Two or three of the detectives turned their heads to look at the pictures on the display board, the pictures of the body in the doorway, and the one taken on someone’s phone of Wortley’s barely recognisable face when they first turned him over. Waters noticed for the first time that there was a thin growth of beard matted to the skin by dried blood.

  John Murray said, ‘He’d let himself go a bit, then.’

  Freeman said, with that almost unerring instinct which Waters had begun to recognise in certain detectives, ‘Did you discover why Michael Wortley left the Army before his term was up?’

  ‘Yes, ma’am. In 2016 he got into a relationship with a married officer, someone in the same battalion. He was spoken to by senior officers and advised to discontinue it but did not do so. The situation went public on the base and became, according to Major Fogarty, “a bit notorious”. When Wortley received official warnings about his behaviour, again he refused to back down and then it became political as well.’

  Freeman said, ‘Political? How?’

  Serena was enjoying this, watching Waters and waiting for him to get to the punch-line – he could see the expression on her face that meant, go on then, tell them.

  ‘As I said, ma’am, the other officer involved was married and living on the base, so-’

  ‘Was she married to another officer? I can see how that would cause problems. And were there children involved?’

  Waters said, ‘I don’t actually know about any children. But they were married to another officer, yes. And it was a woman.’

  Freeman blinked and said, ‘Yes, I’d assumed it was a woman. And she was married to another officer on the base at Bury, yes?’

  Serena was delighted at the turn of events now – she even nudged Murray’s elbow to make sure he didn’t miss anything.

  Waters went on, ‘Er, no, not quite, ma’am. The other officer, the one that Michael Wortley was involved with, was married to a woman, who was also a serving soldier on the same base.’

  Everyone was paying close attention now, as Freeman worked through the possibilities. It took a second or two before she said, ‘So, these two female officers were in some sort of civil partnership, or was it an actual marriage? I’m not surprised Wortley got told to back off. Imagine all this going on in the barracks!’

  ‘That’s not quite the story, ma’am. Michael Wortley was involved with the woman’s husband – the two men got involved with each other.’

  ‘Oh.’

  Some of the detectives looked at each other, while others looked again at the images on the display boards. Not that any of this made a difference to the job they had to do, but it isn’t every day you uncover a story like this one. Corporal Michael Wortley, professional soldier, two-time veteran of Afghanistan, backbone of the British Army, was gay.

  Waters continued, ‘Major Fogarty was well-informed on the subject. In January 2000, the European Court of Human Rights gave a judgement saying that any discrimination against a serving soldier, or against anyone who wished to join the services, on the grounds of their sexual orientation was illegal. The British Army immediately introduced a new code of sexual conduct. Fogarty said that straight away they had applications from gay people wishing to join up – some were making a point, others were serious about a career. Michael Wortley joined the Army in that same year, ma’am.’

  Fogarty had also told him the Army openly welcomed recruits from the LBGT community. All three services now routinely sent uniformed personnel to participate in the London Pride march, and held recruiting events specifically for gay men and women. There are advertisements in gay community magazines and on their websites, and the Army was the first service to recognise civil partnerships amongst its personnel.

  Freeman said, ‘I don’t want to spend too long on this poor man’s private life, unless someone can make it relevant, but why, if the Army is a bastion of LGBT rights, did he leave before he’d done his time?’

  Waters had the answer – ‘Because it was a relationship between two officers. Operationally they say that is a risk, and they don’t allow it.’

  Some in the room understood immediately, because even in the police service, where you are rarely under actual fire, sexual relationships can upset the effectiveness of a team and affect the split-second decisions that sometimes have to be made. Some in the room had personal experience of the costs involved to their careers if this unwritten law is broken.

  Waters went on, ‘Wortley was not dismissed – I genuinely don’t think the Army wanted to lose him – but he was given the option to transfer to another regiment and leave the situation behind. He refused to do so. He went part way through a tribunals process and then decided to leave the Army. He seems to have walked out of the gate one day and never had further contact with them. Major Fogarty has no idea what happened to him. All mail is delivered to the forwarding address he gave, which I believe is his brother’s home.’

  ‘Who,’ said Freeman, ‘I was on the phone to not an hour ago.’

  Would Smith have said “Whom”? When I next see him, thought Waters, I’ll have to ask, and see if he can finally explain it to me.

  ‘And who,’ she continued, ‘will be arriving here about four o’clock this afternoon. I’ll meet him myself and take him through the formal ID process. Presumably he knows all about what Chris has just told us… And another thought. Wortley was gay, so someone has to utter the dreaded words. Was this a hate crime?’

  Freeman fell silent and stared at something on the display board, frowning. Somewhere nearby a phone buzzed with a message or a notification but if it was Freeman’s she ignored it.

  She said, ‘It’s a terrible story, when you think about it. He’s a professional soldier with a good career and he ends up sleeping rough and stabbed to death on our streets. If that’s going from A to B, I want to know the exact route he took, people. You know how this works – either he was unlucky, a random victim of a disturbed individual, or he wasn’t, and something in his past made him the victim. I don’t have a clear idea on this yet, so your first job, our first job, is to find out where Michael Wortley has been, especially since he arrived in Lake. What’s the earliest mention of him in the interviews so far?’

  DI Greene didn’t need to look at any notes – ‘The middle of May, ma’am.’

  ‘That’s four months. Where’s he been staying? Where’s he been eating and drinking? He’s spoken to people in that time – who are they? Has he been in contact with support agencies or any homeless charities here in Lake? Is someone looking at that yet?’

  Serena raised a hand and said she had a list of those.

  ‘Good, you’re on that. Make some contacts and be ready to hit the streets yourself. I asked his brother to bring any recent photos he had so we have something more acceptable to put in front of people. As soon as we do, we need to be showing his face around. CCTV, Tom?’

  At his last calculation, they already had getting on for a hundred hours from a variety of sources, and one or two faces winced at the prospect – that’s a fortnight’s work for one individual doing nothing else all day. The first look through must be done in real time – if you fast-forward, what are you going to miss? Clive Betts had already watched an hour of the security video from the Kingsgate arcade for early on the Sunday evening; he reported that it wasn’t going to be good enough to facially identify individuals, and no one was surprised because street CCTV rarely is. He could tell them that between the hours of six and seven on that Sunday evening, Michael Wortley had not been in the doorway of the restaurant.

  Freeman said, ‘DI Greene will decide how many people we can put onto the CCTV at a time – we’ll fit it in around the other stuff. What else? Thoughts about the Demirs? John – Hasan Demir?’

  The DCI was sending a clear message – this was the way she worked and anyone at any moment could be asked to contribute. There were to be no hiding places, there was to be no sheltering behind your line manager. The upside was, if you had something to say,
you were going to be heard, which would make a nice change. Waters looked at John Murray and hoped Freeman wouldn’t misread the initial silence.

  Murray said, ‘We got there in the end. They definitely had a row with Wortley on the previous Saturday. I don’t think Hasan Demir was concealing anything of importance. He had a story that covered him and his brother until after midnight on Sunday but we haven’t checked it out yet.’

  Freeman looked at Denise Sterling, who said, ‘The same. Yusuf’s English isn’t good but what we got fits with what John just said. Neither of them has any record, either – I checked that out just before you came in, ma’am.’

  ‘All right, sort out who’s going to check their alibi for Sunday night amongst yourselves. Time’s getting on and I’ve got to get over to the mortuary to check the set-up before the brother arrives. I’m leaving DI Greene in charge.’

  Freeman looked around, perhaps anticipating a laugh or even just a smile or two, but there was nothing. The detectives had surely understood how they would be working from now on, but understanding the DCI’s sense of humour might take a little longer.

  In some ways, it’s easier to deal with the dead than with the living. When Cara Freeman got the call from reception to say that a James Wortley was there and had given her name, she took a few controlled breaths before she went down in person to meet him and bring him into the building. She found a man older than she had expected – he must be fifty and therefore at least ten years older than Michael. He shook hands with her but didn’t want to look directly into her eyes. Freeman had the feeling that here was a man who had already dealt with his share of this world’s misfortunes, but he had come, nevertheless, as promptly as anyone could reasonably have been expected to, and he had put on a shirt and a tie.

  She took him first to her office – to go directly to the mortuary would seem too abrupt and unfeeling – and she explained the circumstances in a little more detail than she had in the telephone call. She said that the ID card was the only means of identification they had so far but their contact with the Royal Anglian Regiment left little doubt that Michael had been the victim in an attack last Sunday night. James Wortley reached into an inside pocket and took out two photographs; they were small but uncreased, and Freeman guessed they had been removed from their frames only today. The first was of a youngish man standing between a mother and a father, taller than both and with his arms around them; the second picture was of him older and in uniform, a broad-shouldered, clean-cut soldier, not smiling. She said. ‘When was this one taken?’, indicating the man in uniform, and Wortley answered, ‘About five years ago, I think. It’s the most recent I could find. Michael wasn’t…’

  ‘Are these your parents?’

  ‘Yes. They’re in Corby. I haven’t said anything. They don’t know. I thought it best. I’ll go there afterwards.’

  Freeman took a few more seconds, staring again at the photograph and thinking that James Wortley was in for a horrible shock. The man in the mortuary was barely recognisable as his brother. She needed to make plans for dealing with that, for some support somewhere in the station but she didn’t know the liaison staff. In her own team, perhaps Denise Sterling?

  There seemed little point in further delay. The walk from her office took them past the incident room and she hoped he wouldn’t look in and see the boards. As they drew level with the open door, she asked about the drive from Corby, and then they were safely beyond where he might see the pictures of his brother. But in a few moments, she thought ruefully, he’ll be looking at the real thing, and I’ll be dealing with the fall-out.

  Freeman said, ‘We can do this from here, Mr Wortley, from behind the window, or you can go in with Ms Markham. People feel differently about it. It’s entirely your choice.’

  For want of a better word, you’d call it the viewing room – a tiny anteroom to the police mortuary with a door behind them into the office and reception, and a door in front that led to the mortuary itself. There was a sliding glass partition, and a body on a trolley could be wheeled in front of it so someone could see it closely enough to confirm an identification. Olive Markham stood by the door into the mortuary, wearing a white laboratory coat as a mark of respect.

  James Wortley seemed to take a moment to make the right choice and then he said, ‘I’ll go in. I know it’s what Michael would do if this was the other way around.’

  Freeman nodded and the technician opened the door for him. Wortley stepped past her and then waited. The body had already been taken out of the temperature-controlled storage locker and lay under a fluorescent strip-light, covered in a pale blue sheet. Freeman wondered whether they had pink for female corpses, and then told herself to behave.

  Markham said something that couldn’t be heard through the screen, but the man nodded and then she walked to the trolley and he followed. With two hands, she drew down the covering and waited; Wortley’s back was towards Freeman.

  Seconds passed slowly. Wortley must have spoken – she saw Olive Markham look up at him. Then the technician asked a question and Wortley was shaking his head. Why? Of course, we shake our heads for all sorts of reasons, and he was staring down at the body again. But then Olive Markham took a single step to her right so she could see the detective chief inspector’s face watching through the little window, and then Freeman knew.

  Chapter Ten

  ‘Where is he now?’

  Freeman answered, ‘I found a sort of rest-room, sir. Someone called Priti is making him a proper cup of tea in there, and supplying him with biscuits. She’s very good. We need more admin support up here, and I wouldn’t mind-’

  ‘Another time, perhaps, Detective Chief Inspector. How would you describe Mr Wortley’s emotional state after… After his experience?’

  Detective Chief Superintendent Allen still looked appalled at what had happened, much as he might after discovering a golf opponent had cheated at the long seventh. The five of them – the other three being DI Greene, Denise Sterling and Waters – all stood in Freeman’s office and there wasn’t a lot of room to spare.

  Freeman looked around at her team with an expression that barely concealed the fact she thought this to be a daft question, before she said, ‘Relieved, sir?’

  ‘Yes! Obviously! But – he wasn’t upset? He said nothing about making any sort of…?’

  ‘Complaint? No, sir. Why would he? We followed procedures. The point of this procedure was to confirm the identity of a victim. You could say, in that regard, we got a result. Just not the one we were expecting.’

  Freeman seemed perfectly at ease, and Waters saw this as a significant moment in the squad’s development – the way in which the DCI managed upwards would determine much about their future as a team. Strictly speaking, Freeman should be reporting to Regional Serious Crimes on this case, not to Allen. She would be aware of the fact but had not used it to avoid dealing here and now with the detective chief superintendent.

  Allen said, ‘And do we have any idea who the victim might actually be?’

  Freeman said, ‘No, sir. We just know who he isn’t. I’d still describe that as progress.’

  ‘I suppose so. What do you plan to do with Mr Wortley when he’s had his tea and biscuits?’

  ‘We’ll interview him properly, sir.’

  Allen was on edge again – ‘Interview him? Why?’

  Freeman shrugged and looked at her officers, as if to see whether someone else would like a turn. Detective Inspector Thomas Greene took up the gauntlet.

  ‘Because we could have a suspect now, sir.’

  Later, when Waters thought over this conversation, he was still certain that Greene had not intended to confuse the chief superintendent.

  Allen said, ‘The brother of the man whose body it isn’t? On what possible grounds can you see him as a suspect?’

  Greene’s manner was perfectly calm and level, so much so that the thought occurred to Waters that the DI and John Murray might yet discover they were distantly related. Gree
ne said, ‘No, sir. Michael Wortley. In view of the fact the deceased had Michael Wortley’s ID card, it’s possible the two of them have met at some point. There are some scenarios in which Wortley might have had reason to attack the man who was using his ID. It makes sense to find out what we can while his brother is in the building. I think James Wortley has already agreed to help, hasn’t he, ma’am?’

  Freeman nodded, and said cheerfully, ‘Yes, he’s fine with it. But obviously, sir, if you’d like to sit in or even lead, you’d be very welcome.’

  As one, they looked at Allen expectantly but he had a late-afternoon meeting that he could not miss.

  The best thing was, they all got a proper cup of tea. Priti Hussain brought it into Freeman’s office on a tray, with biscuits. Since the arrival of the vending machines, Waters had given up drinking anything in the office but bottled water; the discovery that proper facilities still existed in some dark, administrative recess would have been viewed as the most significant development in the case so far by DC.

  Freeman had asked Waters and Denise Sterling to sit in, along with Greene. This was entirely unnecessary, of course, but he soon realised why she had done it; though it was an interview, it felt like a conversation. James Wortley was indeed much relieved that he had not just viewed his brother’s corpse, and his response was to talk more freely about the brother who was not dead – though one of the first things he told them was that he didn’t know where Michael was, and he hadn’t known for some time.