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‘Hi, may I speak with one of your sergeants, preferably one that’s been there for over fifteen years?’
‘Excuse me?’ the female voice answered.
Yeah, she was going to need to give a better explanation than that. She introduced herself and continued.
‘It’s about an active murder investigation and a name has come up from your area. It’s a long shot but I just need to talk to someone about him.’
Stacey wore the silence while the woman chose between telling her to naff off or actually trying to be helpful.
‘One sec,’ she said, before chamber music entered her ear.
After about three minutes of repeat a gruff voice came on to the line. ‘Sergeant Brownhill.’
‘Sergeant, thank you for sparing the time to talk to me,’ Stacey offered. ‘I explained to the—’
‘Name?’ he growled.
‘My name is—’
‘Not yours. I’ve been told that already. Your person of interest?’ he asked irritably.
‘George Markinson. That’s Father George Markinson. He was vicar at St Matthew’s in Tewkesbury from 2006 to 2007.’
‘I was a beat officer back then,’ he answered.
‘Do you recall any kind of complaint made against the man?’ she asked, holding her breath.
‘You checked the records?’
‘Yes,’ she said, fighting the deflation. ‘No criminal charges, but that doesn’t necessarily mean there was no chatter.’
‘As you say, there were no criminal charges and it was a long time ago.’
‘It was, but thanks for talking to me anyway.’
‘No probs. This your mobile number?’ he asked.
‘Yes, why?’
‘No reason. Just in case I remember anything of interest, like when I’m on a break or something.’
Stacey felt a rush of hope. All calls were recorded. He couldn’t be talking to her about rumours and hearsay on an official police line. From his own phone to hers was a different story.
‘Again, thanks for your time, Sergeant Brownhill.’
Stacey ended the call and, like a word association game, thoughts of Father George inevitably led to the face of Terence Birch appearing in her mind.
A rock plummeted to the pit of her stomach every time she thought of him. No matter how many times she told herself she’d been mistaken, the feeling of dread wasn’t leaving her stomach.
She had a sudden idea.
‘I’ll just be a minute,’ Stacey said, stepping out of the office, unsure why she was explaining her actions to Richard, whose attention was very firmly fixed on his laptop. She key-carded herself out of the building and finally stopped moving about twenty feet away from the station entrance.
Her gaze did a quick sweep of the area but she was being stupid. Her mind was just playing tricks on her after seeing his aggression and knowing what he’d done to Charlotte.
Even so, she decided to reassure herself by calling someone who could put her mind at rest.
She leaned against the wall and scrolled to the contact in her list.
