The Stalking of Louise Copperfield

by Robert W Fisk

  A second car arrived. A woman in a business suit got out, carrying a doctor’s bag which looked heavy and awkward in her small hands.

  “Doctor Mary Kinsella,” said the medico. “All the men busy with the heavy stuff?”

  “I think so,” said Colleen Jenkins. “The landslide has created one helluva mess.”

  As the two women went to enter the house, Polly Keepa called out from the boot of her car.

  “Stop. Suities and booties. Better safe than sorry.”

  Standing in the porch under cover, the three women tugged on the paper suits and put plastic overshoes on before entering the house. Had anyone been watching from across the road, they looked rather like three fancy dress guests who were getting ready to be white ghosts preparing for a haunting.

  There was no evidence of a forced entry to the house. The ground was very wet and quite churned up around the side of the house. The carpet was wet, a not unexpected result of the heavy rain and people needing to go in and out of the house during the day. The power was on but the team also had large LCD lamps that they set up.

  “Right. What do we have here?” asked the doctor.

  Dr Kinsella inspected the man’s body in situ.

  “I think cause of death would be a severed artery,” she said. “He was obviously taken from behind while focusing on sexual intercourse. No other signs of violence. It’s a neat job, just a small nick on each side of the neck below the carotid sinus, where the artery divides. Used something like a scalpel. Whoever did this knew what they were doing.”

  Polly took photographs of the man from different angles. Then she asked WPC Jenkins to assist her as she wanted to lift the man off the woman. It was obvious that the couple had been having sex. The man was very heavy and the two women were careful to avoid the blood that covered the bedsheets on the right hand side, and the woman underneath him.

  They placed him on a blanket on the floor and then looked at the woman. Like the man she was fit and strong. She was tall but not as tall as him. She lay on the bed naked and exposed. There were no signs of physical violence. She had apparently died peacefully, with a smile on her face but her lips were blue. In the harsh light of the supplementary LCD lamps Charlotte’s lips appeared to be carved from porcelain, looking as if she was on a floodlit stage with grotesque makeup as part of some bizarre play..

  “I'll need to check cause of death but my preliminary opinion would be an overdose of these pills, which appear to be Valium,” said Dr Mary Kinsella. “Supplementary causation might be asphyxiation.”

  “Can you see other signs of her using drugs?” asked Colleen Jenkins.

  “You mean, like heroin? No. This is a once only, possibly by someone who is not used to the effect of high doses of a drug,” Dr Kinsella replied. “Look, here on the bedside cabinet.”

  The doctor paused and pointed to some pills scattered on the top of the cabinet, and a pill bottle lying on its side.

  “There on the bedside cabinet is a prescription bottle. Pick it up please,” she said to Polly Keepa, although they were all wearing surgical gloves.

  Polly picked up the bottle and gave it to the doctor, who read the label aloud. “Alprazolam two point five migs. Take up to four. Shouldn't do much harm in that dosage.”

  “Shall I bag these fallen pills or put them back in the bottle?” asked Colleen Jenkins.

  “Let me see them,” said Dr Kinsella. “These are not Alprazolam. They are Valium, I'm sure. Bag them separately, please, so I can compare them with the pills still in the bottle.”

  “What did she die of?” asked Colleen Jenkins.

  “I cannot tell time or cause of death without a full medical examination, and we need to find the doctor and the pharmacy that issued the Alprazolam. I would think she died of acute respiratory failure brought on by ingestion of a large amount of diazepam, which is doctor speak for Valium but I am not happy with the marks on her neck. She has not had sex recently but the marks on her neck and pubic areas might be from some severe form of foreplay but I would need to check.”

  “But why put Valium in a container for the Alprazolan?” asked Colleen Jenkins.

  “Alprazolam with an em,” Dr Kinsella replied. “I don't know. She lives alone. There is no need to hide pills. The Valium tablets are a very high dosage. As I said, she has had a male visitor, possibly the other victim. I made a quick check when we arrived to make sure he was beyond help. Now his is a violent death, no doubt about it. Let’s have look at him now.”

  Police Officer Colleen Jenkins duly put Dr Kinsella's comments into her notebook. She also noted that the dead woman had been very wet and had taken off all her clothes, including a brunette wig which was on her head.

  Attention turned to the dead male.

  “This is murder. Unless she cut him as part of some bizarre love game,” said Dr Kinsella. “Don’t laugh. Stranger things have happened.”

  The man lay on his face on the wet carpet. His bladder and bowels had evacuated. He was not a pretty sight and an even worse smell. Dr Kinsella rolled him over.

  “It looks like he was having sex when he was attacked from behind,” she said. “He is still wearing a condom.”

  The sheath was still on the victim’s limp penis, which had shrivelled up and reminded WPC Jenkins like a tiny little calf foetus in its grey-white caul. Her farming background had stood her in good stead until this moment but now she desperately needed some air.

  All three women were tired from the early call out and the stress of the crime scene. “Thank you for staying on, doctor,” said WPC Colleen Jenkins. “I need to identify her properly, which means next of kin. The neighbour thinks she is Louise Copperfield so I’ll need to get hold of her nearest and dearest once the neighbour has seen her. Before we leave, a photo of you two, please?”

  They shuffled together for a selfie. The police officer held up her personal mobile phone and took a snapshot of the three of them as a personal memento of the saga of working together in the dark in an emergency situation on a case that was a puzzling crime.

  Colleen Jenkins went back to the Thomsons’. She needed a preliminary identification before contacting next of kin. Sandra made some breakfast for WPC Jenkins while undertakers removed the body from the house. After the hearse had pulled away, WPC Jenkins thought it might be time to take Sandra Thomson to the funeral parlour.

  When the attendant pulled back the cover sheet Louise looked calm and peaceful. Jenkins looked at Sandra Thomson.

  “Can you please identify this person?” she asked.

  “Would you please pull the sheet back all the way?” Sandra’s request surprised both Jenkins and the attendant, a man who hastened to place a small towel over the groin and a larger cloth over the chest.

  Sandra hesitated before saying quietly, “It is not Louise Copperfield. This person is tall and athletic with blonde hair, almost manly except for her large bust. Louise was small and slight, with dark hair and a small bust. The victim looks like the photo we have of the person we called the Stalker, who kept coming into our property to climb into Louise’s garden. We thought it was a man. I don’t know her name. Sorry.”

  “Thank you Mrs Thomson,” said Jenkins, with her mind in a whirl. She and her colleagues had assumed the corpse was that of Louise Copperfield. Once a name got into the system it was very difficult to modify. She called Inspector Chadwick at the Station.

  “Keep the area secured,” he said. “It’s a crime scene. I’ll send someone to relieve you. And don’t worry, I’ll sort out the name issue.”

  “I have to go back to the empty house and secure it until help arrives,” WPC Jenkins told Sandra.

  “I’ll stay with you if you like,” said Sandra. “The shop is closed for the day and I have nothing to do at home.”

  Colleen Jenkins accepted Sandra Thomson’s offer to keep her company. The two women were becoming friends as they sat and chatted and waited for the Station to send someone to stand guard. The sky was still in a turmoil with black
roiling clouds but they were higher in the sky. As Jenkins looked up at the sky, a plane began to land. It seemed the airport was open at last.

  AFTER THE DELUGE

  cleaning up.

  CHAPTER 94.

  Finally there was breathing space from the Deluge. Police, emergency services officers and medical people from other regions helped local forces deal with what eventually became known as the Huatere Landslip Tragedy, or simply, The Deluge.

  People were exhausted. It showed in their faces, it showed in the clothes they were wearing and it showed in their body language. The team of detectives met with Inspector Chadwick for an update on progress of identifying victims and gathering evidence regarding causes of the landslide and the failure of the mall construction.

  “All next of kin of injured or deceased persons in the Deluge have been informed,” said Jayne Hyslop.

  “That was a dirty job,” said Inspector Chadwick.

  “But somebody’s got to do it,” the team chanted. The response was not the normal cheery acceptance of their job but a rather half-hearted mumble. The disaster had taken it out of them even though extra officers had been brought in from other centres, including experts on identification of destroyed bodies.

  “They were the worst three days of my career,” said Tracey Fox. “The Deluge, they call it. It was like living in an aquarium. It will take months to get the town back to normal.”

  “Years, I would think,” said Hans Zimmerman. “People are never going to forget this particular Labour Weekend.”

  They sat around the table, staring at its surface, mentally reviewing the same experience through different eyes. Inspector Chadwick decided to change the subject.

  “I’ve got good news for you,” he said. “Until now you’ve had an acting sergeant to keep you in order and make sure your reports are correct before submitting them to the Inspector in charge of the Station.”

  Inspector Chadwick was joking. The team gave a low chuckle.

  He continued. “Head Office has given us a new sergeant. I know it’s been tough because I have not been readily available for advice and so on. I’ve enjoyed you and your team spirit, but Head Office has accepted that you need somebody closer in rank and more available. Gareth Evans, you have been acting sergeant, knowing that it was a temporary post.”

  The group looked alarmed and disappointed. Gareth had done a good job, and as Acting Sergeant he had remained a working detective to make up the partnerships. They could not see an outsider being as good as Gareth had been.

  Chadwick continued. “That was the bad news. The good news is you are being promoted to Sergeant. You three will report directly to him”

  There were surprised gasps followed by applause.

  “I would like to attend these sessions whenever I can,” said Inspector Chadwick. “I enjoy them, and you are one of the most clear headed teams I have ever come across.”

  “Thank you, Sir,” said Gareth “On behalf of the team, thank you for the effort you have put into coordinating our work and maintaining our focus. We must have been a burden to you.”

  “Enjoyed it,” said Chadwick. ”There’s one other thing. Your team needs to be four, in pairs. I have recommended that PC Bernard Smith joins you temporarily until his transfer to Detective Branch.”

  There was more applause then Inspector Chadwick said, “Well. I’ve got papers to fill in so I’ll leave you in the care of Sergeant Evans.”

  After Inspector Chadwick left, there were minor cases to be dealt with, then Gareth said, “How are we getting on with the three big ones, the attempted murder of Louise Copperfield, the murder of David Bannister and the death of Charlotte Hoar?”

  The two bodies were in the mortuary awaiting word from the Coroner to demand a post-mortem and an inquest.

  Hans asked, “I’ve got some questions. What was Charlotte Hoar doing there? Was Louise Copperfield the intended victim of a faked suicide? Did the killer come back for a second try? Or was Hoar the target all along? Can we look at those photos again?”

  The photographs of the bedroom where Charlotte had died were clear and crisp, all A4 size. They showed the front door, including the lock, which was of the old fashioned 'Union' style with a large metal tang that fitted into a cover set into the door frame. The night button that created a dead bolt was off, meaning the door could be pulled shut and locked behind somebody leaving. The next set of photos showed the approach to the bedroom. The passage was lit by the camera’s flashlight.

  Photographs of Charlotte lying on the bed came next. She looked very peaceful, a slight smile on her face, as if she was having a pleasant dream. A bottle of sedatives was on the bedside cabinet with half a glass of water. It looked as if she had been waiting for Louise to come home, and then had taken some of the pills beside the bed.

  “But Charlotte had no injection mark,” said Jayne. “Louise did. So was Louise doped with heroin then Charlotte stumbled into the scene after Frank Copperfield rescued her?”

  The team was silent while the detectives considered the implication of what Jayne had said.

  “So, did Charlotte do Louise then top herself?” asked Tracey Fox.

  “Perhaps. Let’s look some more,” said Hans.

  There followed a complete sequence of photographs detailing the scene. One showed that the en suite door was open and from the angle the photograph had been taken one could see into the empty washroom.

  “Open and shut,” said Hans. “That's what’s bothering me. It makes one want to say 'Louise made a decision, went to bed, took a handful of sedatives to dull her mind, stuck a ruddy great needle in her arm and topped herself.' Why? No source of heroin, no sign of preparing the drug, no goodbye note, no message for her mother or father, no sentimental photo to cuddle. No depression, no worries, new partner. That is not what I expect in a suicide.”

  One photograph was left. It was a six by four print from a mobile phone, showing three very tired investigators in a selfie.

  “Souvenir,” said Hans. “Look. I think the First on Scene Team wanted to record the event where they worked together in very difficult circumstances.”

  “Look at the toilet seat,” said Jayne, pointing at the photograph. “It's up.”

  “Women!” said Bernard.

  “No. Go back to that shot of the en suite, the A4 photo.” Jayne sounded quite excited. Hans found the photograph.

  “You're right Jayne. Look,” said Bernard. “You can just see in this picture that the seat is up. That shot was taken before any investigator could use the loo. And the First on Scene were all women. All the cops were women. Unless Louise had a male visitor the seat would have stayed down.”

  “There was a male in the house,” said Gareth. “Bannister.”

  Jayne was fired up, thinking outside the square.

  “I think Charlotte’s death, the attempt on Louise and Goran Moravec’s murder are related,” she said. “Charlotte was a stalker. She may have blundered into something unknowingly. Hers may in fact be a random murder.”

  “I think Goran Em something’s murder and that of Joe Hamilton are related to the Council business,” said Tracey Fox. “I’m sure they are related to Charlotte’s death but I don’t see how.”

  “One murder was a beating that a younger man might have survived,” said Gareth Evans. “The other was a brutal beating that killed. Same MO.”

  “Both blamed homosexual involvement,” said Hans.

  “Neither was gay,” said Jayne.

  “Toilets featured,” said Bernard. The team looked at him as if to say, ‘What’s the relevance of that?’ but nobody commented.

  Jayne said, “I’ve been to Christchurch. They are worried about Goran Moravec’s death. They actually wondered if the murderers had made a mistake in fingering a hotel worker who seemed to be a squeaky clean workaholic. No reason to kill him at all. I saw him. Goran. He looked a lot like Nigel Jones.”

  “That could explain a lot,” said Bernard. “Working from cell phone pho
tos, it’s easy to make a mistake. What if both Goran M and Charlotte Hoar were identified by poor photos?”

  “Charlotte in a black wig. Yes. Jones, in a different town, yes.” Hans spoke quickly as if worried his ideas would disappear before he could voice them. “Different town, murderer sends a photo and says this guy is staying at the Ajax Airport Hotel. Kill him for me.”

  Tracey Fox chipped in. “I think that the murderers took Goran M by mistake. Jones was staying at that hotel. He looked like Goran Moravec.”

  Jayne said, “The missing plans that Jones said showed changes had been made. Louise and Nigel are running away to get married. Someone could have said, ‘Take them both out, find the papers and destroy them.’ Done and dusted.”

  “So. Auckland heavies?” asked Bernard. “Fly in when there’s a crowd, then out again.”

  “I think so,” said Gareth Evans.”

  “So, what if the same guys did Hamilton? Both Hamilton and Jones were criticising the Council for the way in which decision making was not transparent, especially decisions about Larcombe and Copperfield. There was a big footie game on that weekend, lots of people travelling to Wahanui. And then Labour Weekend for Louise. Lots of people travelling.”

  “Joe Hamilton threatened to expose irregularities in Council proceedings according to ex PC Stan Rivers,” said Jayne.

  “The Editor of the Wahanui Times confirms that an article was sent in by Hamilton, about which the Editor, Mainwaring, had doubts,” said Hans. “A phone call from an alleged relative asked him to stop the story in view of Hamilton's death. Nobody has heard of the relative since.”

  “And Nigel Jones was going to blow the Wahanui Council away,” said Tracey.

  “Does the paper still have the story?” asked Gareth Evans.

  “Do you have a copy?” asked Hans Zimmerman before Jayne could answer.

  Jayne flicked her laptop to a copy of Joe’s article. The group crowded around the screen to read it.

  Tracey said, “Strong stuff but not enough to kill for.”