That echoed what Theo had said about his wife. ‘What did you mean about Joe’s relationship with Lyn — did they fall out?’
‘Not as such. He tried to get her to go easy on Lily and Pearce, but as I said, she wasn’t having it. I overheard them having a heated discussion one day when she was treating him and afterwards, she was muttering that he should mind his own business. Lyn invited people to comment on her situation, but if she didn’t like what she heard, she could bite your head off.’
‘Did Lyn have any problems here at work — any disputes with patients?’ The first investigation report stated that she’d had no issues at the clinic.
‘No problems that I was aware of, and she’d have told me as we worked closely together. She was skilled at her job, very professional. She’d had some problems where she’d worked previously . . .’ Antonia hesitated and then carried on. ‘I remembered recently, she once mentioned in passing that standards there hadn’t been as she’d have wished, and it was one of the reasons she’d left. I’d forgotten all about it until a couple of months ago when I saw something on the news about a whistleblower at a dental clinic.’
‘So you didn’t mention this in 2013?’
‘No — I’d forgotten, as I said, and it was just a remark Lyn once made.’
‘Where did Lyn work before she came here?’
‘I’m not sure. She’d been a stay-at-home mum for a while, when Adam was little. Theo would be able to tell you.’
Antonia’s next appointment had arrived. As she showed Siv out, she pointed at her boots.
‘I like those. Good foot support.’
‘Thank you. My mother doesn’t rate them.’
‘Mothers! What do they know?’ Antonia laughed her rippling laugh, and beckoned to an overweight woman with puffy ankles who lumbered towards her leaning on a stick.
On her way home, Siv got a call from Steve Wooton.
‘We found Lyn’s DNA on the mattress at Steiner’s. There was a smear of her menstrual blood and a couple of her hairs. Also, her fingerprints and saliva were on two wine bottles, one by the side of the mattress, one in the kitchen and also on a mug in the sink. The mug had contained wine from one of the bottles.’
‘Any other matches?’
‘Still checking. I should have all the results in the morning.’
She drove on, weighing this unexpected development. What on earth had made fashion-conscious Lyn go to a derelict building to swig wine, and had she willingly lain on the mattress or been forced onto it?
Chapter 11
The incident board was satisfyingly full.
‘The DNA results take us a step further, but also widen our possibilities,’ Siv said. ‘Unless someone took empty wine bottles and a mug that Lyn Dimas had drunk from and placed them at Steiner’s, which seems highly unlikely, she drank wine there. It seems weird from what we’ve learned of her, but that suggests she might have been hanging out in that dump. She was in contact with the mattress there and she leaked menstrual fluids onto it. Either she was abducted and held there, or she was having consensual sex, or she was raped. I wonder if she was menstruating the night she vanished. Lily might be able to tell us, although I’m not sure she took that much notice of her mum. Steve, any other results?’
He spoke in his usual rush. ‘There was no one else’s DNA on Lyn’s underwear or her dress. That was a busy mattress — we’ve got DNA from eleven different semen residues, a few hairs and multiple traces of saliva and sweat. There are lots of fingerprints around the building, especially in the office and kitchen. All the core staff from the builders, including the boss, gave DNA samples and prints, and we found no matches for them. No one from Building Blocks ever came near the site, and the architect they commissioned visited Orford End but never entered Steiner’s. I’ve checked all the results and none of the DNA or fingerprints match anything on the database. No arrests were made during the previous investigation, so there’s no DNA from any suspects back then to compare with. Oh — the batch the mattress came from was made in 2012. It’s available in lots of places, including online, but I didn’t find an outlet selling it locally.’
‘Let’s focus on people now,’ Siv said. ‘We need to ask all the names on this board to volunteer fingerprints and DNA samples. I’ll go through what else we have. When I spoke to Adam, he gave me two new pieces of information. One was that on the night she vanished, Lyn turned down Jeff Downey’s invitation to his barbecue, saying she’d prepared a meal. She hadn’t. Maybe she lied just because she didn’t want to spend time with Downey, or maybe it was because she had other plans that she didn’t want him to be party to.’
‘Or maybe for both reasons,’ Ali said.
‘True. The second thing Adam told me was that before she left the house, his mum had brushed her hair out and used hair mousse. That suggests that she might have been meeting someone, and if so, someone she wanted to look presentable for.’
‘So probably a man.’ Patrick ran a finger around the rim of his coffee cup and flicked the side rhythmically.
‘Seems likely,’ Siv agreed. ‘If that was the case, whoever this person was, she was willing to leave Adam on his own, but she wasn’t expecting the meeting to take long, and surely not long enough to be drinking wine at Steiner’s. Antonia, her colleague, told me that Lyn was image-conscious and worried about ageing. Adam confirmed that she’d been spending on clothes and make-up after his dad left. It’s hard to believe that she would consent to have sex with someone at Steiner’s, but we have to consider that she did. It might not have been on that night, of course. She could have been meeting someone there previously, and more than once. The likelihood is that she was abducted on the night she vanished and possibly raped before she was murdered.’
Ali screwed up his mouth. ‘Why would Lyn have agreed to have sex at Steiner’s? She could have afforded a hotel if she’d had an affair. She’d no need to go to that skanky dive. And there was no indication that she’d been seeing anyone.’
Siv shrugged. ‘It’s bizarre, but she drank and made contact with that mattress for some reason. Wine and sex quite often go together. The way her body was left tied to the fridge indicates that this murder wasn’t carried out in a moment of anger or passion. It was planned. Lyn’s killer wanted to humiliate her, even in death, and they assumed that her body wouldn’t be found for a long time. We need to dig more into her history. Antonia Santos said that Lyn was low on self-confidence and her husband’s lack of interest fed that. If she was feeling unattractive and vulnerable, she might have taken risks, sought out excitement.’
Patrick leaned forward. He’d pushed up his shirtsleeves and his angular elbows stuck out like blades. He’d cut himself shaving and his cheek was raw. ‘I found a connection to Steiner’s with Trudy, Lyn’s sister.’ He explained what Trudy had told him. ‘I’ve asked her to check when she went to Orford End with her class. She said it was a while ago, before Lyn went missing.’
Siv stared at him. He looked tired and bleached, as if he could do with a fortnight’s sleep, and his constant fidgeting got on her nerves, but he had a way of digging out information that she valued. ‘Did Lyn know that Trudy had been there?’
‘Trudy couldn’t remember if she’d told her, but it was possible. These days, her loyalties lie with Adam and his dad. She can’t stand Pearce Aston — says he’s very opinionated — and she’s not fond of her niece. Claims she’s selfish and was unkind to her mother.’
Ali was contemplating the ceiling and scratching his scalp between his centre cornrows. He might have a soft belly and a jovial manner, but Ali was no pushover, and Siv had seen him sideswipe people with a sudden switch from kindly to a bracing tone.
He focused and glared at Patrick. ‘Would Trudy recall who was in the school party she took there?’
‘I can ask her.’
‘Aye, I’d say you should, wee man. Maybe one of those pupils told Lyn about the place or remembered from that visit that it was a potential hideaway for a body. T
hen we’d have another link to work on.’ He rocked backwards on his chair. ‘I saw Monty Barnwell. He said nothing new. Told me about how Lyn visited the hospital and caused trouble, going on about AIDS. He was very understanding and forgiving about her. Maybe a bit too much, given that she caused him and Dimas such grief. I dunno, I didn’t quite buy it. He and Dimas had big-time motives, guv. Lyn was badmouthing them, and with her gone, they’ve got the house and an easier life together. Home free.’
‘And Dimas got access to his son again,’ Steve pointed out. ‘It’ll be interesting to get their DNA samples.’
‘Coming back to the builders, we should check all of their staff out, to see if any of them had a connection to Lyn,’ Ali said.
Steve narrowed his eyes. ‘Why? None of their DNA was on the mattress, just fingerprints in places, which can be explained by their presence there.’
Siv shook her head. ‘Doesn’t mean they weren’t there with Lyn. You’re assuming that whoever was on the mattress with her killed her. That doesn’t necessarily follow.’
He couldn’t keep the irritation from his voice. ‘But she was hardly likely to be meeting one of those tabloid-reading gorillas from Haddon’s.’
‘Doesn’t matter. We follow up on them and their boss, see if there’s any link.’ Siv smiled tightly at him. ‘Let’s consider alibis from people interviewed in 2013, because several of them have no other verification. Dimas and Barnwell said they were together, Jeff Downey and Trudy Kemp were each home alone. Antonia Santos was confirmed to have been with family, so hers is tight, as is Pearce Aston’s, because he was at the prom from seven forty-five. Joe Dimas said he was at his church, St Demetrius, from seven thirty to nine thirty, planning a fundraising dinner with Pater Basil, the priest, who confirmed that to the previous investigation. Coming up to date, Lewis Haddon states that he was alone during the evening. His meeting at his office until five thirty checked out. We need all our forensic results soonish, Steve. One other thing. Antonia Santos mentioned that Lyn might have had problems at a clinic in Seaford, where she worked previously. I’ll see what I can dig up on that.’ Siv gestured at the board. ‘Patrick, can you round up any fingerprints and DNA samples we don’t have already and liaise with Steve. Check Haddon’s background and any of his personnel who visited Steiner’s. Ali, talk to Pearce Aston, go back to the flats where Barnwell and Dimas were living at the time, and speak again to anyone who was living there. We still need to contact Maria Steiner. I’ll see Theo Dimas again, Jeff Downey and Joe Dimas. Steve — I doubt we’ll need you at the next meeting and I’m sure you’re busy. You can email anything of interest.’
Steve stood. ‘Sure, whatever. After all, you’re the boss.’
Siv sounded chilly. ‘That’s right, well spotted. Thanks, everyone.’
* * *
A fine drizzle was misting the air when Izzie Sitwell drove to work at Berminster Station. She’d checked the forecast, and saw that a pulse of rain would clear the South East by mid-morning, when warm sunshine was due. That was good, because fewer passengers complained when the weather was fine. No one had any inkling why. Maybe it was down to the fact that the trains usually ran on time in clement conditions, or perhaps people were just less grumpy.
Izzie could do without jabbing fingers and raised voices today and the familiar litany of, Why is there only one ticket machine working? Why is the lift still out of order? Why are the toilets closed? What happened to the 7:54 to Victoria? She wasn’t in the mood for dishing out the usual bullshit, and she couldn’t give the true reasons — Because Bodgit & Scarper, the company who provide the machines, are cheap and crap. The part has to come from Hungary and the first idiot who came to check it placed the wrong order. The Victorian plumbing’s knackered and there’s no budget for the foreseeable to have it dug out. The driver rang in sick at the last minute and although I’m convinced he’s lying, there’s sod all I can do about it. Her mum might tell people (embarrassingly) that she was Queen of Berminster Rail, but frequently she felt like a pretender to the throne.
She had staff performance reviews to do this morning and was hoping to be uninterrupted. She needed a clear head, but right now, she was anxious and muddled. As she neared the entrance to Orford End, she slowed the car. Maybe if she sat and mulled things over for a few minutes, she’d be able to focus. She’d done a mindfulness course last year but she hadn’t been much good at it. When the course leader had said, Sense the points of contact between your body and the chair. Be aware of your breathing and now visualise a cornfield or a beach at dawn, her mind had roamed to monthly staff returns, or she’d wondered if the cod she’d cooked for last night’s dinner had been a bit off. Busy Izzie, her mum called her, saying she had an active brain. She made it sound like an allegation.
She pulled in by the kerb and squinted through the drifting, grey rain towards the police tape. There was no one around. The steady rhythm of the windscreen wipers was soothing. She’d been shocked when she had heard about Lyn’s murder. Like the rest of Lily’s ‘girls,’ she’d been convinced that her mum must have committed suicide. Izzie had been so fond of Lyn. Sometimes, she suspected — no, knew — she’d liked her more than her own daughter had. Lily used to say such awful, cutting things. Izzie could hear her now. God, she’s so embarrassing and clingy — I wish she’d get a life and leave me alone! Lily had been lucky to have such a caring mum — Izzie had once plucked up the courage to say so to her. And it had taken courage because Lily was Queen Bee in the Damsels. She could bite your head off if you crossed her. When Lily was good, she was very, very good and when she was bad, she was horrid. But on that occasion, Lily had just stared at her as if she was talking in another language.
Izzie’s dad had died when she was eight, leaving just her and her mum, who then took to religion in a big way and was always out at services, Church fundraisers and charity events. Lyn had always been welcoming and warm. Even after the terrible stuff about Lily’s dad, she’d remembered Izzie’s birthday and bought her a shimmery top from Monsoon and cosmetics that toned with her brown skin. Izzie had called to the house several times a week after Theo left, even if Lily hadn’t been in. Especially then, because once Adam was in bed, Izzie had had Lyn pretty much to herself, and the atmosphere was relaxed. When Lily was around, it had been unpredictable, with Lyn trying too hard. Sometimes it seemed as if Lyn was Lily’s hostage, always trying to placate and please her.
On some evenings, Izzie had gone upstairs with Lyn while she’d tried on the new stuff she’d bought and they’d chatted comfortably. Izzie had recognised Lyn’s lack of confidence and the way she tried to disguise it, because it was how she saw herself. Every day was a masquerade, hoping that no one would call your bluff. Lyn was pretty, and Izzie had told her so as she’d held up hangers. That had made Lyn smile, although she’d always gazed dubiously at her reflection in the mirror. Izzie had been studying Psychology for A level, and she’d grasped that Lyn was buying love because she missed it so much and her life was empty. She’d watched her in the soft light, trying to cheer herself up, wondering aloud, with that undercurrent of anxiety in her voice, if Lily would like an outfit. Then Izzie had thought that Lily was a right bitch. But she was also a powerful one and Izzie had liked belonging to the Damsels, so she’d navigated her way around Lily with care, like a ship’s captain keeping a wary eye on icebergs.
Then there was Pearce. Izzie’s hands grew clammy on the wheel. The group of friends had been giddy and transfixed by Lily’s fast romance with the slim-hipped, muscly guy who was like a cross between Jamie Dornan and Tom Hardy. They’d all eyed him when he swaggered into their study room to sort out their computers. He’d played to the gallery as he surveyed their ancient machines. Wow, this stuff should be pensioned off! I need to get you amazing people up to speed. Inevitably, it had been Lily who’d snagged his attention because, quite simply, she’d deemed that she deserved it.
When she’d believed that Lyn had killed herself, Izzie’s doubts about Pearce had fade
d away. Not that she really understood what those doubts were. She’d gone to Lily’s wedding, uncomfortable at betraying Lyn, who’d disapproved so strongly of her daughter’s relationship. It had been a grand occasion in a sumptuous hotel overlooking the Channel. Seated among the beautiful flowers, sparkling crystal glassware and snowy linen, she’d listened as Pearce said that Lyn would always be missed. He’d gestured to the empty chair and place setting they’d laid for her, with her name on the card. The guests had been impressed and moved, listening to this handsome young man speak so eloquently about his missing mother-in-law. When he’d said, If only she could be here with us, to share our special day, Izzie had detected a note of sarcasm beneath the bland sentiment. Some people in the room had understood how much Lyn had disliked Pearce, and how appalled she’d been when Lily had said she was going to marry him. But maybe she’d been wrong, and Pearce was just trying his best to make things okay for Lily, who’d sat smiling up at him adoringly.
It was hard to decide about Pearce.
She just wasn’t sure what she recalled or what she’d seen. Or thought she’d seen. It was all a bit vague, about Lyn and that night at the prom. They’d all been half-pissed by the time they’d left Lily’s, because Rosie had been passing around bottles of cava while they’d been getting ready. Izzie’s head was full of blurred images, as fluid as the rain sliding down the windscreen.
She didn’t want to make a fool of herself with the police and she certainly didn’t want to cross Lily. Lily still had the power to make you an outcast, and Izzie needed the Damsels as much now as she had back then.
One of the gang. One of the girls. On the inside, protected by the magic circle.
She drove on to work, to the safe ground of performance categories, attendance levels and customer involvement.
* * *
The coast road was breezy and bracing and the sun glowed between fleeting clouds. Ali tasted salt spray and had the illusion of wellness as he cycled along. His blood sugar readings had been well above his target range for over a week now, due to guilty pleasures like cans of Coke, croissants, white bread sandwiches, pretzels and key lime pie. He was due to see Marcy Keene, the formidable nurse at the diabetic clinic soon, and he didn’t want to face her frown and wagging finger. Some men seemed to get off on women in nurses’ uniforms, but they made Ali weak-kneed in a nerve-racking way. He found Nurse Keene — ‘Keene by name, keen by nature,’ she was fond of saying as she frowned at his charts — truly terrifying, and he had a childlike need to placate her. Hence he’d decided to bike to his interview with Pearce Aston. The only problem was that cycling gave him a terrific appetite and he’d crave all the bad carbs later. You couldn’t win — life was always waiting to trip you up. He glanced at Patrick and Noah’s house as he wheeled past and saw Noah’s silhouette through the partly drawn curtains, facing the flickering TV screen.
NEVER CAME HOME an addictive crime thriller with a twist you won't see coming (Detective Inspector Siv Drummond Book 2) Page 14
