An Eye for an Eye (Detective Kate Young)

by Carol Wyer

  ‘Yes. Thanks for stopping.’

  The man slipped his earbuds back in and ran off. Kate checked for cuts and, finding none, began a slow jog back to her car. The thought she’d had before the hallucination was still anchored in her mind, and she needed to act on it.

  She phoned Harvey Fuller from her car. He answered after several rings.

  ‘Morning, Harvey. Sorry to ring you so early. I wondered if you’d completed the post-mortem on Ian Wentworth?’

  Harvey’s voice was thick with sleep. ‘Morning, Kate. As it happens, I finished it in the early hours and emailed you the report before I left the lab.’ Kate glanced at the dashboard. The digital display showed it was only six thirty. Harvey would only have had about four hours sleep, at best.

  ‘Did you check Ian’s blood for drugs?’

  ‘In light of the toxicology report for Alex Corby, we checked for GHB and, before you ask, yes, he tested positive. There were, in fact, greater traces of GHB in his system than in Alex’s.’

  ‘Ingested?’

  ‘Surprisingly not. It was most likely administered by injection, which is a more unusual method of getting it into a person’s blood system. It’s a drug that’s easily absorbed, hence it’s used to spike drinks, but we found slight scratches and what looks like a pinprick entry point on his neck, and believe the attacker administered it directly into the jugular vein.’

  ‘That suggests the killer surprised Ian and injected him with GHB rather than waiting for him to imbibe it.’ It must have been impossible to get Ian to sit down and drink.

  Harvey was still talking. ‘When GHB is absorbed through the stomach, it can take between five and ten minutes, even longer, before the victim begins to feel the results of it. By shooting the drug directly into both the victims’ veins, these effects – drowsiness, relaxation, dizziness, motor control loss – would be experienced far sooner.’

  Kate’s pulse increased. ‘Both of them?’

  ‘Following the discovery on Ian’s body, I checked Alex and found a similar entry point, again on the neck, overlooked during the first examination. It was microscopic and had become swollen. Consequently, it had been mistaken for acne, but now I think it was where he also was injected with GHB.’

  ‘Do you have any further thoughts about the scratches on the palate and inside the cheeks?’

  ‘They’re almost identical abrasions produced by the same metal implement, or one quite similar. Forensics swabbed Ian’s mouth for alien DNA and came up with nothing. If there’d been traces of Alex’s DNA on whatever was used on him, it ought to have been transferred to Ian’s mouth. The killer either cleaned the device thoroughly before reusing it on Ian or had a replacement one.’

  ‘Have you ever come across marks like these before?’

  ‘I can’t say I have. If you trace the lines of the abrasions, they appear to form the shape of a leaf – that’s the only way I can describe them.’

  ‘Could you do me a quick sketch of what you mean and email it across?’

  ‘Sure. I’ll do it immediately.’

  ‘Thank you, Harvey. I appreciate your speedy work on this, and apologies again for troubling you so early.’

  ‘It’s okay. I had to get up soon anyway to take my daughters to school, and as for being speedy, I was under orders to work quickly.’

  ‘From John Dickson?’

  ‘If it wasn’t him, it was somebody else high up. William told me I was to pull out all the stops.’

  ‘Did you email the superintendent a copy of the report?’

  ‘No. William asked for a copy, though. I sent it to him when I sent yours.’

  ‘Okay. Thanks again.’

  Kate ended her call. It was strange that William had requested a copy of the post-mortem. She was in charge of the investigation. He had no need to get involved. Was he ensuring there was nothing in the files to incriminate Dickson, or was she reading too much into the situation?

  She made the ten-minute journey home, where she poured a bowl of cereal. Leaning against the sink to eat it, she picked up the remote control and turned on the television set fixed to the wall. Chris had insisted on having a TV in the kitchen, and when he was home and not engrossed in work, it was never off. He caught every news bulletin. She lifted the spoon to her mouth. As was to be expected, the lead story was about Alex. A female reporter in a blue dress and white jacket stared mournfully at the camera and commented on the lack of progress being made in the Alex Corby investigation. A piece of crime scene cordon, broken free in the recent winds, had become entangled in the hedge above her head and flapped exhaustedly, a reminder of the horror that had taken place behind the firmly closed gates of the Corbys’ home.

  ‘Fiona Corby, Alex’s wife, was unavailable for comment. She and their two children are staying with relatives during this terribly upsetting time. Police are still searching for the intruder believed to have murdered Alex Corby last Thursday lunchtime, and are appealing for any witnesses. This is Theresa Dulwich for ITV News, Hoar Cross, Staffordshire.’

  Kate snapped off the set. At least her own name hadn’t cropped up. She dropped her spoon into the empty bowl and stared at the blank television screen. She needed to get going and rouse her team. Both victims had been injected with GHB. They had another piece to this puzzle.

  Harvey’s sketch was in her inbox, as was the post-mortem report on Ian Wentworth. She read through the latter then printed out the picture. Harvey had drawn an outline definitely resembling the shape of a spoon, a pear or a leaf. She deduced that whatever it was, it needed to be strong to force open the jaw and keep it that way for the length of time it took the killer to torture and dispatch their victims. She put the drawing to one side and concentrated on something else – Ian’s holiday cottage near the Peaks.

  Morgan and Emma arrived together, voices loud as they marched into the office.

  ‘For fuck’s sake, Emma. I’m going to say something. We need to tackle her about it—’

  ‘You’re going about it all wrong,’ Emma said.

  ‘Going about what?’ Kate asked. Morgan looked equally puzzled.

  ‘Hunting for Cooper. You should start with his mobile and find out where it was last used.’

  ‘You did check out his mobile, didn’t you?’ asked Kate.

  ‘Er, no,’ said Morgan.

  ‘Best get on to it straight away. We’ve heard back from Harvey and it appears both our victims were injected with GHB. There were injection marks on the necks of both bodies.’

  ‘What the fuck!’ Emma’s eyes widened.

  ‘According to Harvey, the drug acts more quickly if it is injected.’

  ‘Then the killer must have had some knowledge of the drug, its effects and the most effective way to administer it,’ said Morgan.

  ‘Or they couldn’t administer it via a drink,’ said Kate. ‘Either way, we know both victims were drugged. The second piece of information is this.’ She held up the sketch. ‘What does this look like to you?’

  Morgan answered first. ‘A pear.’

  ‘It looks like an ovoid leaf to me,’ said Emma.

  Morgan pulled a face. ‘What the hell is an ovoid leaf?’

  ‘It’s sort of oval, with a pointed end. Nan used to work at a garden centre. I spent loads of weekends there helping her out, and learnt all sorts of stuff.’

  Kate glanced at the sketch again. ‘What sort of leaf could it be?’

  ‘There are quite a few that resemble the drawing: birch, hornbeam, alder, beech – there are literally loads. Why?’

  ‘Harvey said whatever was used to keep the victims’ mouths open looked like this.’

  ‘Can’t be a real leaf then.’ Emma peered more closely at the sketch. ‘Buggered if I know what it is.’

  ‘That makes two of us,’ said Morgan.

  Kate put the drawing to one side. It was a clue but, until they identified the object, not a useful one. ‘I think we need to dig even deeper into Ian Wentworth’s life. I’d like one of you to se
arch his holiday cottage near Ashbourne.’

  ‘The Derbyshire boys won’t be happy,’ said Morgan.

  ‘This is our investigation, and Ian was murdered on our patch, so we’ll check out his cottage. Emma, will you do that?’

  ‘What am I looking for?’

  ‘Anything suspicious.’

  ‘I’d also like to go through his phone records,’ added Kate.

  Morgan ran a hand over his chin. ‘I thought the tech team were handling those?’

  ‘Are they? I’ll check with them, then. Any questions or anything you want to add?’

  Met with shakes of heads, Kate departed to talk to the tech team. No sooner had she left the office than she heard angry voices behind her. Her officers were not in the best of moods. The investigation was taking its toll on them. She palmed the pill sitting in the bottom pocket of her jacket and absent-mindedly dry-swallowed it, and drifted towards the lab.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  MONDAY, 7 JUNE – MORNING

  The technical department was housed in a separate building adjacent to where Kate worked, and accessed via a coded door. Kate punched in the correct numbers and entered the room, which contained a table and two benches that reminded her of school science lessons and a glass-fronted office where the person she was seeking sat in front of a computer screen. Geeks came in all shapes, sizes and sexes, and Felicity Jolly was the least geeky person imaginable. At fifty-seven and with steely grey hair, she had an air of authority normally associated with a headmistress or a barrister.

  She looked over the top of fashionable Cath Kidston orange-framed spectacles and sighed. ‘Look who it is! I suppose you’ve only come back to hassle me.’

  ‘Nice to see you too, Felicity. How’s Bev?’

  Bev was Felicity’s partner of thirty years, a comic-book illustrator obsessed with manga who had more recently got into designing characters for a popular computer game.

  Felicity chuckled deeply. ‘Too busy. Spends all her time huddled over her boards. I told her she’ll grow into a female Quasimodo if she doesn’t watch out.’ She stood up suddenly and folded Kate into a warm embrace. Kate was lost in her sizeable frame, and it felt strangely comforting. Felicity then held Kate at arm’s length and studied her up and down. ‘It’s good to see you. You look fine. Bit skinny. Still look fierce. I guess inside you’re still shot to pieces. Tough times, eh?’

  Kate was saved from having to continue the conversation as Felicity pulled away just as quickly and picked up some manila files. ‘Are you here about Ian Wentworth?’

  ‘His phone records. You finished with them?’

  ‘We are, and there’s nothing unusual to report. There were calls made to work, hospitals, colleagues, secretaries, restaurants, private clubs and his dentist. I suppose the only curious thing I picked up on was he seemed to be completely friendless. I don’t think I’ve analysed a call log before that hasn’t contained any relatives or friends.’

  ‘None?’

  ‘Not one. We went back to the beginning of this year and every call he made was to a business or was work related. Saddest guy I’ve come across.’

  ‘He must have some friends. Was he using anything else? An app, or social media?’

  ‘The guy was a reputable surgeon. I shouldn’t think he had many occasions to hang out on social media liking photos of people’s pets.’

  ‘You on social media?’

  ‘I am, but I’m incredibly sociable and nothing cheers me up more than a photo of a cute cat or a daft meme.’ Felicity gave another wry grin and pushed her glasses back on to her nose. ‘We discovered a couple of dating site apps on it. You can chat and message people from these. He was on Grindr, for one. We’re still working on that encrypted file on his laptop. I’ll get in touch as soon as we get into it. For now, here’s a list of the deleted sites we recovered from both his phone and laptop.’

  ‘He deleted them?’

  ‘He dumped a load of sites, mostly porn related, the day he died.’

  ‘I wonder why he chose to delete them that day.’

  ‘Maybe he was concerned somebody would get hold of his phone and laptop.’

  ‘And why did he delete some sites and not others?’

  ‘I can’t help you there. Could be he hadn’t got around to deleting them all, or he left some of his browsing history visible purely to throw someone off the scent, away from these deleted sites. They contain highly explicit material.’

  Kate accepted it was possible. Ian was an intelligent man, and if he was as tech-savvy as Felicity thought he was, he could easily have hidden every site he visited. ‘How far back do these phone records go?’

  ‘A year. You want more?’

  ‘No, these’ll do, thanks. While I’m here, what about Alex Corby?’

  ‘We couldn’t find any unusual activity on his phone. We tracked all his calls, and again they were mostly work associated. The process has taken longer than usual because he made so many overseas calls and we had difficulty tracing all the locations. Hang on. I’ll see if we’re finished with the list. Oh, by the way, we sent Fiona Corby’s phone back to her. I’ve got the transcript of all her messages to her lover, Rory. It’s like reading a Mills & Boon novel – no, make that Fifty Shades of Grey.’

  Felicity disappeared into a back office, giving Kate little time to assimilate what she’d learnt before reappearing with two manila files. ‘You’re in luck. Lance just this second finished with Alex’s. A couple of numbers have been flagged: this one is a Derby number we couldn’t identify, and the other is to a club near Stafford called the Maddox Club. Only reason we red-flagged it is because Ian Wentworth rang the same number around the same time in December last year.’

  ‘Do you know anything about the club?’

  ‘Me? Never heard of it. You have to remember, my clubbing days are over. I’m more a cup-of-cocoa-while-watching-a-documentary person these days.’ She gave a wink. ‘Besides, Bev’s got me on a health kick: early to bed, disgusting vegetable smoothies for breakfast and no fucking alcohol! God knows what I see in her.’

  Kate knew she was kidding. Felicity adored Bev. ‘I’ll grab these and scoot.’

  ‘Good luck, and don’t be a stranger.’

  With the files in her hands, Kate returned to the now-empty office where she flicked through the transcripts of the conversations between Rory and Fiona, and after ascertaining they only contained X-rated dialogue about their sex lives, turned her attention to the telephone numbers Ian had rung. Felicity had colour-coded those that had been repeatedly dialled, and the number for the Maddox Club was highlighted in green. Kate ran the name through her search engine and determined it was a private members’ club, founded and run by Raymond Maddox in 2005.

  Kate knew little about such organisations, other than they’d originally been set up for middle-and upper-class gentlemen. To her, they conjured mental images of old fossils dozing in wing-back chairs, although, she reasoned, her thoughts might have been swayed by television period dramas. She rang the number and spoke to the manager, Xavier Durand, who informed her Mr Maddox would be returning to the club within the hour and, if she wished to come and visit, she’d be more than welcome. She took him up on his offer.

  The Maddox Club was located near the village of Lower Loxley, set on a small hill overlooking the meandering River Blithe as it cut a swathe through vast green countryside. It had once been a seventeenth-century dower house – built for the widow of the estate – then had been refurbished and enlarged to become the magnificent three-gabled Elizabethan structure it was today.

  Inside was impressive. An ornate stone fireplace graced the reception, manned by an elegant man in a blue suit who held out a hand and introduced himself as Xavier.

  His French accent was silky smooth; his handshake firm. ‘Mr Maddox should return shortly. Maybe you’d like me to show you around first?’

  Curious to know what went on in a private members’ club, Kate followed the lithe man as he sprang from behind the rec
eption desk and escorted her to a nearby room. The club resembled a five-star hotel, with elegant furnishings and carpets so thick her feet sank in the rich pile. Xavier guided her first to the library, not typical of any she’d visited, with bookcases containing hardback books and racks of magazines and newspapers downstairs and a wide spiral staircase leading to a galleried landing where a couple of men sat reading on plush settees.

  ‘Here our members can enjoy freshly brewed coffee or possibly an alcoholic beverage. We also offer a butler service.’ Xavier pointed to a vintage-style black-and-bronze telephone with a rotary dial and a brass handle on the desk by the door. He lifted a hand in greeting to one of the men, who’d looked up from his paper querulously, and steered her back outside.

  Xavier bounced lightly along the corridor, pointing out various rooms. ‘We offer rest, relaxation and complete privacy. Members may also stay overnight in one of our five suites, or hold a meeting in our private function room. In brief, we cater for all our members’ requirements. Our chef is excellent. He’s from the same town as me in France – Albertville, you know it?’

  Kate shook her head.

  ‘It’s in the Savoie. So beautiful.’

  The tour lasted some fifteen minutes and terminated at the reception area, where Xavier left her to see if Raymond Maddox had returned. He had, and Kate was ushered into his office.

  Raymond was approximately five foot eight, weighed little more than eight stone and looked like he’d benefit from a long holiday. His eyes rested in dark hollows, the sclera off yellow, and his weak chin was covered with day-old growth. He drank from a bottle of Evian water, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and asked her what she wanted.

  ‘Does the name Alex Corby mean anything to you?’

  ‘I know Alex. He’s a member here.’

  ‘And Ian Wentworth?’

  ‘Also a member. Why?’

  ‘Have you not read or seen the news recently?’

  ‘No. I’ve been incredibly busy.’

  ‘Then I’m very sorry to tell you both men are dead.’

  Raymond tightened the top on his bottle of water, his eyes focused on a point behind Kate. ‘I see.’