attention to Inspector Brooke, the commander of the Special Operations Unit. ‘Sir, we’ve only got until the end of the day, and I can only stay here a further half-hour. So can you get your boys to move it along a bit?’
He nodded. ‘I can, but it won’t be quite so detailed.’
‘Can’t it be quick
and
detailed?’
Brooke smiled at her. ‘I’ll have a word.’
As he said it there was a shout from one of the officers at the end of the group. ‘Over here!’
Both Bradbury and Brooke moved across quickly to where the officer was kneeling, making sure to remain behind their line. By the time they reached him he had marked the location of the object he had found with alarge yellow peg. The object was small, black and square in shape. Bradbury couldn’t quite make out what it was.
Brooke handed him a clear plastic exhibit bag, and the officer picked the object up carefully with a pair of tweezers and dropped it inside the bag before sealing it and handing it to Bradbury. She held it up for both herself and Brooke to examine. It was a small but perfectly made teacher’s mortar board: the type Bradbury had seen students strutting about in during their graduation at posh schools. It even had a small tassel. It came from one of the dolls: the teacher doll that had been removed from the bunker, almost certainly, if Lapslie was to be believed, by Leslie Petersen’s killer. He must have been in a bit of a panic to drop it and not realize. It wasn’t much, but at least now she knew that the killer did make mistakes.
Bradbury noticed that the toy mortar board had been found next to a small path that seemed to lead from the edge of the wood to the manhole cover that sat over the bunker. Leaving Brooke with the exhibit, she followed the path to the edge of the wood. She scanned the scene but there was nothing, not even a tyre mark. About two hundred metres in front of the wood was an opening, which she knew led onto the B1053.
She walked up to it and looked each way. As she looked to her left and right she noticed that there were yellow-boxed speed cameras on both sides of the road. She wondered whether, having slipped up the once, the killer might have slipped up for a second time. There might be a picture of his car and his number plate, and with cameras on both sides of the road it wouldn’t matter which way he’d gone. It was a shot in the dark, but if they struck gold with this past Army boyfriend and got a plate match with his car, then it closed that particular circle.
*
‘Can you please state your name for the record?’
‘Michael Gerald Stowell.’
Bradbury got confirmation of his age, twenty-eight, and address, then informed Stowell that she would be conducting the interview with Chief Inspector Lapslie.
‘Also present is solicitor Giles Brent, representing the accused, Michael Stowell, and the purpose of this interview concerns the murder of Leslie Petersen, whom we believe to have been known to the accused.’
They were in an interview room deep in the bowels of Chelmsford HQ, one floor below street level. Lapslie and Brent announced themselves for the benefit of the tape,then Bradbury’s opening questions revolved around Stowell’s past relationship with Leslie.
‘And how did you feel when she dumped you?’
‘Cut up, of course.’
‘Cut up enough to kill her?’
Brent looked uncomfortable at the comment, but Stowell answered before he could intervene.
‘Of course not. I was really hurt at the time – but got over it long ago.’
Lapslie watched Stowell intently. He preferred Bradbury to handle the opening, perfunctory questions, because then the contrast and element of surprise invariably gave more of an edge to his own questions. He leant forward across the interview table.
‘Yes. We can see how “hurt” you were from your email at the time.’ Lapslie passed across a sheet of paper. ‘Is this the email you sent to Leslie Petersen just after she dumped you?’
Stowell’s
He nodded. ‘I can, but it won’t be quite so detailed.’
‘Can’t it be quick
and
detailed?’
Brooke smiled at her. ‘I’ll have a word.’
As he said it there was a shout from one of the officers at the end of the group. ‘Over here!’
Both Bradbury and Brooke moved across quickly to where the officer was kneeling, making sure to remain behind their line. By the time they reached him he had marked the location of the object he had found with alarge yellow peg. The object was small, black and square in shape. Bradbury couldn’t quite make out what it was.
Brooke handed him a clear plastic exhibit bag, and the officer picked the object up carefully with a pair of tweezers and dropped it inside the bag before sealing it and handing it to Bradbury. She held it up for both herself and Brooke to examine. It was a small but perfectly made teacher’s mortar board: the type Bradbury had seen students strutting about in during their graduation at posh schools. It even had a small tassel. It came from one of the dolls: the teacher doll that had been removed from the bunker, almost certainly, if Lapslie was to be believed, by Leslie Petersen’s killer. He must have been in a bit of a panic to drop it and not realize. It wasn’t much, but at least now she knew that the killer did make mistakes.
Bradbury noticed that the toy mortar board had been found next to a small path that seemed to lead from the edge of the wood to the manhole cover that sat over the bunker. Leaving Brooke with the exhibit, she followed the path to the edge of the wood. She scanned the scene but there was nothing, not even a tyre mark. About two hundred metres in front of the wood was an opening, which she knew led onto the B1053.
She walked up to it and looked each way. As she looked to her left and right she noticed that there were yellow-boxed speed cameras on both sides of the road. She wondered whether, having slipped up the once, the killer might have slipped up for a second time. There might be a picture of his car and his number plate, and with cameras on both sides of the road it wouldn’t matter which way he’d gone. It was a shot in the dark, but if they struck gold with this past Army boyfriend and got a plate match with his car, then it closed that particular circle.
*
‘Can you please state your name for the record?’
‘Michael Gerald Stowell.’
Bradbury got confirmation of his age, twenty-eight, and address, then informed Stowell that she would be conducting the interview with Chief Inspector Lapslie.
‘Also present is solicitor Giles Brent, representing the accused, Michael Stowell, and the purpose of this interview concerns the murder of Leslie Petersen, whom we believe to have been known to the accused.’
They were in an interview room deep in the bowels of Chelmsford HQ, one floor below street level. Lapslie and Brent announced themselves for the benefit of the tape,then Bradbury’s opening questions revolved around Stowell’s past relationship with Leslie.
‘And how did you feel when she dumped you?’
‘Cut up, of course.’
‘Cut up enough to kill her?’
Brent looked uncomfortable at the comment, but Stowell answered before he could intervene.
‘Of course not. I was really hurt at the time – but got over it long ago.’
Lapslie watched Stowell intently. He preferred Bradbury to handle the opening, perfunctory questions, because then the contrast and element of surprise invariably gave more of an edge to his own questions. He leant forward across the interview table.
‘Yes. We can see how “hurt” you were from your email at the time.’ Lapslie passed across a sheet of paper. ‘Is this the email you sent to Leslie Petersen just after she dumped you?’
Stowell’s
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