‘Have we finished with the cars?’
‘The last one’s being processed. The uniforms have collected all the personal details of the drivers, so once Khan gives the OK, we can let them go.’
‘Good. I wonder if he’s had a chance to talk to the woman at the ticket office.’
‘Why don’t you ask him?’ Janet nodded to where Khan was sitting at one of the picnic tables. He pushed the hood of the white suit back and ran a hand over his hair, down his cheek and across his beard. He was staring across the field to the white tent.
‘What’s on your mind?’ Lizzie said, laying the gardening implement she’d found in the potting shed down in front of him. This time she was careful the blade didn’t tear the clear plastic bag she’d put it in. She’d narrowly missed slicing her finger.
‘North Yorkshire police just called back.’ His voice was deadpan, his eyes resting on the curve of the blade. ‘Chloe Toms is better known as Marilyn Nelson. She’s registered at a bail hostel in York. Our victim also has a name: Taheera Ahmed. She was a staff member at the hostel and Marilyn’s link worker, supporting her resettlement. As it happens, DS Simkins went to have a chat with Marilyn, or Chloe as she’s now known, about Mohammad Asaf. A local Doncaster woman thought she’d spotted Nelson on the Chasebridge estate the day before Asaf died.’
‘She’s the Chasebridge Killer? Jesus.’ Lizzie sat down on the end of the bench. She stared out towards the slope of lawn and the bank of rhododendron bushes, where the white tent stood.
‘Where’s Bill Coldacre?’
Khan paused. ‘Gone home.’
‘Where’s home?’
‘He lives in a tied cottage on the estate. Why?’
‘Did someone swab him before he went?’
‘He has no motive.’
‘And she does?’ Lizzie snapped.
‘She’s certainly a suspect.’
‘Have you spoken to the woman at the ticket booth?’
‘Do you want to swab her too?’
Lizzie turned round to face him. She could have slapped the superior expression off his face.
‘I don’t mean to overstep any lines of command here, DCI Khan, but I do need to get forensic evidence from anyone who may have been on-site at the time of death. So yes, I’d like her DNA, please, and if it’s not too late, I’d like the DNA of every single car owner before they leave.’
‘Good luck with that.’ He turned away and looked across the field again. ‘I’m not a complete fool, Lizzie. I know you’re pissed off with me about Sean Denton. On my way here I had a call from Commander Laine himself.’
Lizzie tried to keep a poker face. There was an old boy network in every walk of life, and even if she wasn’t part of it, her father was, and those old boys hadn’t wasted any time.
‘All right,’ he said. ‘I accept I may have been hasty. I assure you, I will do the right thing and withdraw the disciplinary proceedings against Sean Denton. Are you happy now?’
It was difficult to know how to respond, so she said nothing.
‘Look,’ he said, ‘taking up the time of all my constables to get swabs and fingerprints of twenty-two irate day trippers isn’t going to improve relations now, is it? We have a prime suspect with a motive. What more do you want?’
‘You are unbelievable!’ She stood up. ‘What happened to innocent until proven guilty? There’s no physical evidence that Chloe, or Marilyn, or whatever we’re calling her, killed Taheera Ahmed. In fact all the evidence I’m looking at suggests she didn’t. You know what I think?’
‘What?’
‘I think it’s some ritual thing, I don’t know, like an honour killing. She let her attacker march her across the lawn and over the fence. She didn’t fight back.’
She held her breath, expecting a reaction, but he continued to focus on the white tent at the other end of the field.
‘Did you know her?’ she said.
‘What?’ He snapped round. ‘You think I know every Pakistani girl in South Yorkshire?’
‘No, of course not. That’s ridiculous. But when you first saw her, it seemed personal. I’m sorry. It’s none of my business. I’m prying.’
He sighed and looked back at the tent. ‘It’s our job to pry. I don’t blame you.’
Lizzie replayed in her mind the order in which Chloe had unzipped her jeans, handed her the clothes and done up the white suit.
‘Do you even know, detective, if your suspect is left-handed or right-handed?’
A wasp flew close to her ear and she waved it away.
‘A bit of a coincidence, isn’t it?’ he finally said. ‘A released killer and a murder in the same place? I don’t believe in coincidences, Lizzie.’
‘Neither do I, DCI Khan. I believe in empirical evidence and I’m not seeing any. What if the murderer is still in that group, biding his time until we let him drive out of here?’
‘Call me Sam.’
‘Excuse me?’
‘Call me Sam. It’s my name.’ There was a softness in his voice and a weariness too.
She sat down again, opposite him this time.
‘What’s with the blade?’ he said, as if he’d only just noticed the wooden-handled knife in the bag.
‘It’s not the murder weapon,’ Lizzie said. ‘It’s too big. But it’s very sharp and it’s got me thinking. I want to ask Bill Coldacre where he gets his knives. He’s got a whole selection in there that we don’t usually see in town.’
Khan shook his head. ‘He’s not our man. If he wanted to kill someone he’d snap their neck in one squeeze. Have you seen the size of his hands? No, this is much more precise, more personal. You’re right in that sense. She was crying. Not fighting.’
Lizzie thought about the imprint on Taheera’s arm. The hands were bigger than hers, but were they as big as Coldacre’s?
‘I’d like to check him over all the same.’
A uniformed officer was approaching the table. ‘Sir, Mrs Coldacre wants to get home to see if her husband’s all right. Someone’s told her she’ll need to give a statement. She says she’s ready, so if you could … sorry, her words, not mine … get a move on.’
‘Mrs Coldacre?’ Lizzie looked up. ‘Happy families?’
‘His wife. She was on duty in the ticket office this morning,’ Khan said. ‘I’m sure when you meet her you’ll agree she’s not the type either.’
A woman as broad as the gardener, but a foot shorter, was making her way over the grass towards them. Her wavy grey hair was short and neat and she wore a spotless white blouse over a navy skirt. Her Halsworth Grange badge read – ‘Brenda, Ticket Office, Happy to Help’.
‘Are you the detective?’ she spoke directly to Lizzie.
‘Er, no. This is Detective Chief Inspector Khan. I’m Lizzie Morrison, Crime Scene Manager. I’m sorry if those members of the public were giving you a hard time. It’s my fault we’ve had to keep their cars here.’
All the time, she was looking at Brenda Coldacre’s hands, trying to judge the size of her grip.
‘Don’t worry, pet. Water off a duck’s back to me. You get all sorts in my job. Now, Detective. I’ll give you five minutes then I need to get back to my Bill. He’s had a terrible shock and his heart’s not what it used to be.’
Lizzie tested the hypothesis in her mind that Brenda Coldacre was capable of marching a young woman across a field, over a fence, forcing her down onto her knees and slitting her throat. It had a certain efficiency that suited the older woman, but beyond that it was unlikely.
‘Do you mind if I take some DNA from you,’ she said, ‘while we’re here?’
‘Be my guest. Do you take it from my mouth like they do on the telly?’
Lizzie nodded and got a sample pot from her case, while Brenda opened her mouth like a willing dental patient.
‘That tickled!’ Brenda Coldacre laughed for a moment, then caught herself. She reset her mouth to a grim, tight line.
‘Now. This is what I wanted to tell you. I got to work at eight-thirty this morning, as usual. That gives me an hour to tidy up the hut, process the numbers from yesterday and get everything ready to open at nine-thirty. Bill went up to the big house for a meeting with Giles, the land manager. The girl, Chloe, she came in shortly after nine-thirty. She’s allowed to start late because she comes all the way from York. She has a long journey, but she’s very committed.’