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Chapter 99

‘Hehid in the bloody strong room, boss!’ Poe shouted into his phone.

‘Youhaveto be joking,’ Flynn replied. ‘Are we in an episode ofScooby-Doo?’

‘Ha! That’s exactly what I said! We think he must have sent Estelle the text from Elcid’s phone, inviting her to dinner. Probably planned to kill him just before she was due to arrive so there would be no time discrepancy between Estelle leaving work and how long he’d been dead. Unfortunately, by the time he’d killed him it had started to snow, so he couldn’t leave the house without leaving footprints. He had no option but to hide before Estelle arrived. He locked himself in the strong room and the Murphy door closed behind him. It’s weighted to stay in the closed position, a bit like a fire door closes after you’ve walked through it.’

‘And the smell of Elcid’s corpse fooled the search dog?’

‘That’s what we think happened.’

Poe was standing outside, shielding his phone from the fresh easterly wind. CSI were inside, processing the strong room, and Bradshaw was typing everything into a statement that Poe could sign for the judge in chambers bail hearing the following morning. Poe reckoned they now had enough to get Doyle out.

‘How big’s the bloody thing?’ Flynn asked.

‘About the size of a telephone box. Not as tall. Big enough to stand in or sit on the floor with your knees hugged to your chest, too small to stretch out.’

‘The shotguns?’

‘The contents of the strong room match what’s on Elcid’s shotgun certificate. Nothing’s missing. Apart from the gun rack, therest of the strong room was full of shotgun cartridges, gun belts and Elcid’s cleaning kit. Rolls of cleaning cloth. Lots of loose threads on the floor. Must be where he got a couple snagged in his shoes.’

‘Was the murder weapon in there?’ Flynn asked.

‘Nope. Still missing.’

‘How long do we think he hid in there?’

‘At least two days,’ Poe said. ‘CSI were in the office for twenty-four hours after Elcid’s body was removed. After that, there was just one uniformed cop on the front door. Beck must have waited until he couldn’t hear anything, then snuck out of the en-suite window. It’s at the back of the house and explains why it was unlocked when we were there the first time.’

The inside of the strong room had smelled. The sour stench of stale sweat. Concentrated urine. Faeces. Poe had wondered why Beck had made no attempt to clean it, but quickly realised he couldn’t have risked the exposure. Once he’d opened the door, he’d had to get out of the house. And he wasn’t able to douse it with bleach or set it on fire as that would have telegraphed the framing of Doyle. Poe reckoned he had taken a calculated risk that the strong room would remain locked until long after this had ended.

‘If it was locked, how the hell did he get out?’

‘It has an internal handle. Most safe rooms have them, apparently. Safety feature in case someone gets locked in by accident. Bit like the doors on walk-in freezers in meat-packing factories.’

‘Do you think there’s enough evidence in there?’

‘CSI have already sent samples for DNA matching.’

‘And you’re certain it’s Frederick Beck?’

Poe told Flynn about the conversation he and Tai-young Lee had had about the leaked prison photo.

‘I don’t think she believes in her own case any more, boss,’ he said. ‘Beck must have been watching Low Newton to see who visited Estelle. When he saw me and Tilly, he decided he didn’t like that. We think it was him who leaked the photo. He didn’t want me clearing her.’

‘Estelle’s good, Poe, but she’s not the only pathologist we work with.’

‘I know the theory doesn’t make complete sense, but it’s more convincing than anything else we have so far.’

‘We’ll know soon enough, I suppose. What are your next steps?’

‘Tilly’s typing up a statement for tomorrow’s bail hearing. As soon as it’s ready, I’ll drive it over to Estelle’s solicitor. Get her to run her eyes over it. Take it from there.’

‘OK.’

‘How’s Douglas Salt?’ Poe asked.

‘Still a pain in the arse. Threatens to kick us out every ten minutes. He never will though – he’s way ahead in the vote. I think it’s finally hit home that he’s in real danger.’


Tags: M.W. Craven Thriller