He must have suffered greatly. There is no pretending otherwise.
‘Matthew,’ she says. ‘I am so sorry. So sorry.’
She reaches a hand to his face and closes his eyelids. And then she cries. And when it hits her yet again that tears accomplish nothing, she digs deep and finds the anger, the drive, the essence of survival, and she picks up the knife and stabs it again and again into the floorboards.
3
Detective Sergeant Nathan Cody isn’t certain how he’s going to play this, but he’s willing to give it a try.
He pulls up behind one of the many marked police vehicles, then gets out of his car and strides quickly along the street. When he gets to the house, he sees the figures of Webley and Ferguson, familiar even through their white protective Tyvek suits.
‘What took you so long?’ says Webley. ‘We were beginning to think you’d decided not to bother.’
Megan Webley gets away with quite a lot when it comes to her sergeant. It has nothing to do with Cody being a soft touch, and everything to do with the fact that she was once the love of his life. That was years ago, but since she and Cody were thrown together again on the Major Incident Team they have endured much turmoil, both physical and emotional. Through choice or not, bonds have been re-formed and continue to strengthen. Most of the time, Cody chooses to bury his head in the sand about it, but sometimes his strength of feeling for Webley surprises him.
‘Had a few matters to attend to,’ says Cody, although he knows it’s a crap answer that isn’t going to convince anyone. ‘The boss here?’
Webley eyes him with suspicion. ‘She’s inside. Are you okay?’
‘Yeah, fine. Why shouldn’t I be?’
Webley exchanges glances with the towering figure of Neil ‘Footlong’ Ferguson next to her.
‘No reason,’ she says.
It occurs to Cody that this isn’t going as planned. ‘You been in there yet?’
‘No. Weird one, apparently. Bloke’s been nailed to his floor.’
‘Jesus.’
‘No,’ says Footlong. ‘They used a cross for him. Similar idea, though.’
‘Who is he?’
‘Name’s Matthew Prior. He lived here alone, separated from his wife. She’s the one who found the body and called it in.’
‘Possible crime of passion, you think?’
Footlong shrugs. ‘Maybe. Her story is she was on a flight into Manchester when it happened. Doesn’t mean she didn’t get someone else to do it for her, though. I always get suspicious when people have airtight alibis, forgive the pun.’
Cody nods. ‘Right. I’ll get suited up, then.’
He starts to walk away. Halts when he hears the bellow behind him.
‘Cody!’
He turns around again. Sees the stocky figure of DCI Stella Blunt coming out of the house towards him.
‘What are you doing here?’ she asks him.
Cody contorts his features into his best look of innocence. ‘Ma’am?’
‘Don’t play games with me,’ she says. She turns to Webley and Ferguson. ‘You two, get inside and do something useful.’
Cody sees how his two colleagues look at him before reluctantly abandoning him to his fate. Their faces hold the promise of a barrage of questions later.
Blunt waits until they have disappeared, then pulls down the hood of her white suit. ‘I thought I left you with plenty of things to get on with.’
‘You did, but I thought you could do with me here.’
‘You did, did you?’
‘Yes.’
‘Cody, we’ve already had this conversation. I thought I made it perfectly plain that you are not to go anywhere near crime scenes involving fatalities until I give you the all clear.’
‘Ma’am, I’m not a child. If I didn’t think I could cope with this, I’d say so.’
‘No. That’s just it. You wouldn’t say so. You’d keep it to yourself, just like you always do. You have just returned from leave after a pretty traumatic ordeal that landed you in hospital.’
‘It was precautionary, that’s all. There was nothing wrong with me.’
‘I think the doctors would disagree. By all accounts you were in pretty bad shape. And anyway, it’s not the physical injuries I’m talking about.’ She taps her own temple. ‘It’s what’s happening up here that concerns me.’
‘I’ve been through worse.’
‘Yes, I know you’ve been through worse, and that’s my point. Anyone experiencing what you’ve been through cannot be unaffected. I have a duty of care, Nathan. Much as I’d like my best detectives on this case, I have to think about their welfare too. I am not risking causing you permanent mental damage.’
‘So what does that mean? You’re keeping me tied to a desk?’
‘Of course not. I want your assistance. I just don’t want to put you slap bang in the middle of a scene that might turn you into a gibbering wreck.’
‘For how long? I mean, how long will it take for you to believe I can do my job properly?’
‘Again, we’ve discussed this. Have you booked yourself in yet?’
Cody looks away. Taps his foot.
‘Not yet. I’ve been a little busy with all that paperwork you’ve given me.’
‘I thought as much. Good job I’ve done it for you, then, isn’t it?’
He turns to her again. ‘What? Ma’am, I do not need to see a shrink.’
‘Yes, Nathan, you do. That’s exactly what you need if you’re to remain on my team. Your first session is tomorrow morning, nine o’clock.’
‘First session? How many—?’
‘Her practice is on Rodney Street. The street where you live. That means there’s no excuse not to be there. The force uses her a lot for this type of thing, and she doesn’t come cheap, so if I find out you’ve skipped the meeting, you’ll be out on your ear. Is that understood?’
Cody looks into the distance again. He’s fuming now. But he’s been given little choice.
‘And until then? How do I occupy myself while you’re all in there doing what I should be doing?’
‘Don’t be petulant, Nathan. It’s not an attractive quality in anyone. You can help to organise the house-to-house. After that, you can head back to the station and interview the victim’s wife.’
‘Great,’ says Cody.
Blunt takes a step closer to Cody and lowers her voice. ‘Look, Nathan, I’m not doing this as a way of getting rid of you. That’s the last thing I want. But you and I both know that this was always on the cards. You have to admit that your behaviour can be a little . . . erratic at times. Do this for me, get yourself signed off as fit for duty, and I won’t bother you again. Deal?’
Cody looks at her. ‘Fine,’ he says. ‘Whatever it takes.’
But he’s still angry.
And more than a little scared.
4
‘First impressions, Rory?’
Rory Stroud turns his vast bulk towards Blunt, his inquisitor. ‘I can do a mean Cary Grant. Judy, Judy, Judy. What do you think?’
‘Don’t give up the day job. Besides, Cary Grant never actually said those words.’
‘He didn’t?’
‘No. Now can we stick to impressions of the case in hand, please?’
‘For you, Stella, anything.’
Webley can tell that behind Stroud’s face mask he is wearing a huge grin. The forensic pathologist is famed for his way with the ladies.
Stroud waves a gloved hand towards the corpse on the floor. ‘Not a pleasant way to go. Someone has made damn sure this fellow didn’t die quickly.’
‘How quickly?’
Stroud sucks air noisily through his mask. ‘Hard to say. Could have been hours. You see the way most of the nails have been driven through the fleshy edges of the limbs, rather than the head or torso? That suggests the attackers were trying to avoid hitting major arteries and internal organs. They wanted him alive and in pain.’
‘So what killed him?’
‘Again, not easy to say before I do the PM. There’s a lot of blood here, so could be exsanguination. It’s also perfectly possible that his heart just gave out. His system would have been under an immense amount of stress. To be honest, I think he would have been praying for a way out.’
Webley keeps her eyes on the body. She has seen some shocking sights, but this one is way up in the rankings. How could anyone do something like this to another human being?
Blunt says, ‘I know how you’re going to answer, but for the sake of completeness I’m going to ask you anyway. Do you have anything to contribute about time of death?’
Stroud laughs. ‘Let it never be said that you aren’t thorough, my dear Stella. You know the pathologist’s standard response to that, yes?’
‘It’s engraved on my heart. Find out when the victim was last seen alive, find out when the body was discovered, and voila, the time of death was somewhere between the two. Are you going to surprise me today?’
‘Depends. Am I right in thinking that this man’s wife received a phone call from him this morning?’
‘A message was left on her answering machine at about ten o’clock.’
‘And she found the body at . . . ?’
‘About two forty-five.’
‘Then my answer is no – I am not going to surprise you. Those timings are consistent with my preliminary assessment of the deceased.’
Blunt sighs heavily. ‘What about the number of assailants?’
‘Difficult to say. The house looks like a rugby team has rampaged through it, but it’s possible that one person could have done it all. You see these marks on the victim’s head? If they were the initial blows, they may have been enough to subdue him, perhaps even render him unconscious. Once the first few nails were pounded in, he’d have been unable to move.’
Blunt stares again at the body. ‘Poor bugger.’
Stroud nods. ‘Problem I’ve got now is unsticking him from the floor so I can get him back to the mortuary.’
‘Good luck with that,’ says Blunt.
Webley watches as her boss scans the room. She wonders what’s going through Blunt’s mind. All those years of expertise brought to bear on her surroundings. What is she seeing? What conclusions is she already drawing?
Webley has huge admiration for Blunt. More so since she learned about her greatest vulnerability. Even Cody doesn’t know about that particular skeleton in Blunt’s closet.
Although something’s going on between the pair of them, she thinks. Why was Cody prevented from coming into the house? And where is he now?
Blunt moves carefully across the stepping plates to another white-suited figure. ‘Dev? What can you tell me?’
Dev Chandra, the crime scene manager, turns to Blunt. ‘On the face of it, it seems that someone was looking for something and wanted it very badly. Clear signs of a break-in through the back door, the ransacking of the house, and then the torture of the victim, as though they were desperate to get information out of him. That said, appearances can be deceptive.’
‘Anything missing, as far as you can tell?’
Chandra gestures towards the office desk. ‘The computer. We can’t find that anywhere. Without a full inventory of the house contents, though, it’s difficult to know what else might have been taken. We’re searching it as best we can, but as you’ve seen, the place is a tip.’
‘I understand. What about forensics?’
‘Tons of it. Fibres, blood spatters, fingerprints, footprints, DNA – you name it. What we don’t know yet is who they belong to. Could be the attackers, could be the victim, could be the wife, could be previous visitors. There is one standout item, though.’
‘Which is?’
‘Walk this way.’
Chandra leads Blunt out of the room. Webley follows.
‘Here,’ says Chandra. He pulls out a torch, switches it on and focuses its beam on the bannister post. ‘See?’
Webley shuffles up behind Blunt and cranes forward for a closer look.
‘A fingerprint,’ says Blunt. ‘In blood.’
‘Certainly is,’ says Chandra. ‘If it’s Prior’s own blood from the recent attack, then there’s no way he could have left the print here.’
‘Is it a good print?’
‘It’s partial, but it looks pretty well-defined to me. Let’s just hope we can match it up to a known criminal.’
Blunt straightens up. ‘Thanks, Dev. Good work. Keep me informed.’
When Chandra has returned to his evidence collection duties, Blunt turns to Webley.
‘Seen enough?’ she asks. ‘I for one could do with some fresh air.’
Webley nods, then follows Blunt downstairs and out of the house. They both pull off their hoods and face masks.
‘Okay, Megan,’ says Blunt. ‘You’ve seen what I’ve seen. What do you think?’
‘I think . . . I think Dev has got to be right about this. Someone was looking for something. They’ve gone through every room, trashing the place to find it. And they tortured Prior to get him to talk, to tell them where it is.’
‘Okay, so my next question. What is it? What were they after?’
Webley shakes her head. ‘I’ve no idea.’ She looks back at the small unassuming house. ‘What could this guy possibly own that’s worth that much trouble?’
‘And,’ Blunt adds, ‘why wouldn’t he tell them what he knew? I can assure you now, you’d only have to show me one of those nails before I started blurting out answers to everything I was asked.’
5
Cody’s fear has taken a tighter grip of him since he got back to the station.
He’s in a no-win situation. Until he undergoes the sessions with a head doctor, he’s not going to be allowed to participate fully in investigations. On the other hand, what if the doc finds something? What if Cody finds it impossible to keep in all the things he must?
The enforced leave of absence didn’t help. He has been a wreck since his last case. All his problems returning with a vengeance. The insomnia, the anxiety, the hallucinations. Blunt made a good call this afternoon; he’s not sure he would have coped well with a scene that sounded like something straight out of Dante or Bosch.
So yes, he thinks. I’m ill. As bad as ever.
And my biggest worry is that a shrink will spot it from a mile away.
‘Could I have some water, please?’
The voice jolts him back into the here and now. He’s in an interview room – one of the less imposing ones in the station, with comfy chairs and plants and pictures on the wall. Sitting across from him is Sara Prior. Slim and blonde, wolf-blue eyes and with an accent that Cody can’t quite place. And there’s something else about this woman. A distancing he can’t quite fathom.
‘Sorry,’ he says. ‘Yes, of course. You wouldn’t prefer tea, or coffee?’
She shakes her head. ‘Water’s fine.’
He picks up the jug and pours water into a plastic beaker, which he passes across to her.
She nods her gratitude.
‘I know this must be difficult for you,’ he says, ‘but the quicker we move, the more likely it is we’ll catch whoever did this terrible thing.’
‘It’s not difficult for me,’ she says. ‘Ask your questions.’
Her response surprises Cody. She seems so calm, so rational.
‘Okay,’ he says. ‘But I’ll understand if you find this upsetting. If you need a break at any point, please let me—’
‘I’m fine. Please, what do you want to know?’
He stares into those lupine eyes. She does not flinch, but sends back her own challenging gaze. Cody suspects many would crumble under such scrutiny.
He checks the few notes he has in front of him. ‘Matthew Prior was your husband, yes?’
‘That’s correct.’
‘But you haven’t been living with him?’
‘No.’ She flicks a hand towards the paperwork in front of Cody. ‘My address is on your form there. I live in Hale
wood.’
‘How long have you lived apart from each other?’
‘About four months.’
‘And before that, you both lived at the Halewood address?’
‘Yes.’
‘How long were you married?’
‘About three years.’
‘Were you intending to get divorced?’
‘No.’
‘Then can I ask why you separated?’
‘No, you may not. I really don’t see why that’s relevant to Matthew’s murder. In fact, I don’t see why any of these questions about my relationship with Matthew are relevant.’
Cody finds a smile for her. She’s not making it easy for him, but a smile can work wonders sometimes.
‘I’m sorry. Perhaps it would help if I explain how we do things. I’m not just being nosey. I’m trying to build a picture of Matthew’s life. How he lived, his likes and dislikes, who he came into contact with, who might have had reason to kill him. Right now, I don’t know what’s relevant and what’s not. It’s possible that ninety-nine per cent of what you tell me in this interview won’t have any bearing on the investigation whatsoever. But the other one per cent might crack the case. I’m trying to find that one per cent.’
She remains quiet for a few seconds, then nods her head. ‘You’re right. I can see that you’re just doing your job. Please go ahead.’
Cody feels he has just been granted royal assent to enter an area not normally open to commoners. He clears his throat.
‘Okay, so about the separation? If you don’t mind.’
She takes a sip of her water. ‘No real reason. No affairs or domestic violence, if that’s what you’re asking. We just needed some time apart.’
‘After only three years?’
‘It happens.’ She considers her answer for a moment. ‘Perhaps it would be more accurate to say that Matthew needed some space.’
‘Space? Why? Was something bothering him?’
‘Nothing specific. What you have to understand about Matthew is that he is – was – a very private person. He was socially awkward. He would get anxious about the smallest of things. If a taxi was a minute late he would pace up and down with worry. Or if he had a headache he would think it was a brain tumour. He was very introverted. When we met, it was me who had to invite him out on a date.’
Your Deepest Fear Page 2
