Blunt Force

by La Plante, Lynda

Jane went into the incident room. Spencer was on the phone, his hair looking even untidier than usual.

  ‘Detective Chief Inspector Tyler is at the scene, but he wants a pathologist present as soon as possible. The two we’ve tried to contact are not available. Yes, it is a fucking emergency! Sorry . . . sorry for swearing, but it’s just been a nightmare. Thank you very much.’

  Spencer slammed down the phone and turned to Jane. ‘You will not fucking believe it. We’ve had to cordon off half the street. There’s blood everywhere and the forensic team, AKA Paul Lawrence, is trying to keep everyone from tramping all over it.’

  ‘Is it a murder?’ Jane asked, taking her coat off.

  ‘Murder? I’ve never seen anything like it. He’s been disembowelled, his head is almost severed, there’s pools of blood in the hall, the bedroom and the bathroom. I’ve never seen so much blood. The poor dog was covered in it. Lawrence had a hard time cutting off some of the dog fur for the laboratory as the little bastard has got teeth like a piranha. He’s had a go at everybody. The neighbour said she’d look after it and give it a bath, but she can’t keep it for long as she’s got two cats.’

  ‘Should I get over there?’ Jane asked.

  ‘Right now Tyler’s not letting anyone in until a pathologist has had a look at the victim. And you won’t believe what happened to me. I was told to get back here, get more uniforms, get the bloody pathologist there, and this woman gets out of a Mercedes 280SL, leaves it parked in the middle of the road, and starts screaming at me that she wants to know what’s going on. I mean, right now, Jane, I don’t know what the hell’s going on. It looks like the killer used a cricket bat, left a razor in the bathroom, victim’s got blunt-force trauma to the back, front and side of his head, so we can’t identify him. The woman upstairs wouldn’t come down and take a look at him. She said he’s an agent.’

  ‘What, an estate agent?’

  ‘No, no . . . like a theatrical agent. There are photos of these people all over the flat, and this Mercedes woman starts screaming at me that she wants to know what’s happened. I told her that there had been a terrible incident in the flat. She starts pushing and shoving me, demanding that she goes down the steps. The guv comes out because she’s screaming the place down, and then she says, “Has something happened to Charles?” She almost pushes me off my feet and starts to go down to the basement, screaming that she was his wife. The guv tries to stop her, meanwhile, we’ve got blokes putting the corrugated cardboard down to avoid contamination and footprints in all the blood, and she keeps yelling that she is Justine Harris, Charles Foxley’s wife, and she has every right to know what is going on. That’s when I am told to fuck off and do what I’m told to do.’

  The phone rang to interrupt him. Spencer grabbed the receiver and listened before snapping angrily, ‘Everybody’s waiting. I’ll get there as quick as I can.’

  He slammed the receiver down again.

  ‘Pathologist is on his way. It’s that bad-tempered guy who works over at Hammersmith – nasty little sod.’

  Spencer’s radio bleeped. ‘I’m at the station, guv . . . What?’

  Jane could hear Tyler saying that it looked possible that the body was Charles Foxley and that Justine Harris had been removed from the premises by uniformed officers as her car was holding up the traffic. They would, however, still need to get a formal identification, as the woman was so hysterical, he couldn’t let her near the body.

  ‘Listen, if I hadn’t dragged her out, it looked as if she wanted to give him a kicking.’

  ‘Tennison is here, guv. Do you want her over there?’

  ‘Not yet. As soon as we are able to move the body, I want you both here. There’s enough traffic here at the moment. In the meantime, you and Jane see what you can find out about the victim. I want uniform assistance to start house-to-house inquiries ASAP.’

  Spencer switched off his radio.

  ‘Did you hear that? Charles Foxley, theatrical agent . . . Let’s get started.’

  It was another two hours before the pathologist gave permission for the body bags to be brought in and SOCOs could start assisting Paul Lawrence. He had a specialist in blood pattern analysis and two back-up scientists to focus on the bathroom, the hallway and the bedroom where the body had been found. It appeared that the victim had been attacked first in the hallway. The weapon, a cricket bat, was already bagged and tagged to go to the laboratory. Judging from the blood spattering on both sides of the hallway, it was possible the victim had then been dragged into the bathroom. There were blood-soaked clothes, torn into shreds, and an open cut-throat razor left in the bath, with deep blood pooling around it.

  The trail of bloodstains suggested that the body had then been taken into the bedroom, where a silk bedspread, carpet and pillows were also soaked in blood. The victim was wearing only pants and socks, and attached to his right wrist was a closed handcuff, the other cuff lying loose.

  *

  Jane and Spencer, alongside the rest of the team, began to gather as many details as possible, bringing in civilian staff and a couple of probationary officers to assist them. They were now working on the assumption that the victim was the successful theatrical agent Charles Foxley, even though no formal identification had been done yet, since the body was found in his residence. Justine Harris, it turned out, was his ex-wife. DS Lawrence had asked the team to check with BT urgently to discover what last numbers Foxley had called from his home phone.

  Tyler came out of his office to enquire how much progress they had made. Jane glanced at Spencer as he turned over page after page of his notebook.

  ‘Well, sir, we were informed that he had offices in Wardour Street and a substantial list of television actors. The company name is Foxley & Myers.’

  He glanced towards Jane and she tapped her notebook. ‘When we discovered how well-known Mr Foxley was, we contacted the press office and we got a lot more background information.’

  Spencer nodded. ‘Guv, Foxley was forty-two years old and divorced from Justine Harris. They have one daughter, aged ten, called Clara.’

  Jane lifted her hand. ‘She’s apparently at boarding school, guv. We got a fax detailing a lot of press releases saying his ex-wife was living in the marital home in Barnes, valued at 1.5 million pounds.’

  Tyler whistled.

  Spencer added that the DVLA had confirmed that Foxley owned a Jaguar XK120 sports car and an eight-year-old Volvo estate. Usually the cars were kept in the garage in Barnes. He had a parking permit for Onslow Square.

  Jane interrupted. ‘According to Companies House, guv, Foxley & Myers had a turnover of 2.3 million pounds last year.’

  Tyler puffed out his cheeks. ‘Oh shit, this is getting nastier by the minute. It’s going to be a right handful to deal with.’

  ‘We also know that Foxley & Myers employed four subsidiary agents, two receptionists and three secretaries,’ Jane added.

  All three turned as DC Dors called out that he had something of interest. They watched the fax machine slowly coughing out numerous black and white photographs of Justine Harris.

  Dors carried the pictures over. ‘She’s a famous actress,’ he said. ‘She was in Upstairs, Downstairs.’

  Tyler just stood there, looking wrecked. He turned to Jane, loosening his tie.

  ‘Right, Justine Harris needs to be contacted ASAP to give us a formal fucking identification.’

  Jane raised her hand. ‘Sir, I have been calling her home and the number for her in Barnes, but I am getting no reply.’

  ‘Well, keep trying. And in the meantime I could do with a coffee and a sandwich from the canteen.’

  Tyler went into his office and gestured for Spencer to join him and closed the door.

  ‘I’m not pissing around when I say we need a press blanket on this. If the victim is who we think he is and knows all these famous people, the journalists will be crawling all over us like bed bugs.’

  ‘Didn’t his wife ID him for you, guv?’

&n
bsp; ‘For Christ’s sake, I told you the woman was hysterical. Anyway, she couldn’t see his face properly. There was so much blood you couldn’t even tell what colour his hair was. I don’t know if you also took on board that he had a handcuff on his right wrist. It’s gone with him to the mortuary. Poor old Lawrence reckons it is going to take a couple more hours at the very least. If we can’t get hold of Justine Harris we need to find someone else to ID him. Or we’ll have to get his fucking dentist to do it.’

  ‘I’d say the best bet would be to get in touch with his business partner, James Myers. They own the company together.’

  ‘OK, so quietly does it. I want you and Jane to go over to . . . where are the offices?’

  ‘Paramount House, Wardour Street. It’s full of film companies and agents.’

  Tyler nodded. ‘OK, but no warning phone call. I want you both over there. Have a quiet chat with this so-called business partner Marsh—’

  ‘It’s Myers, guv.’

  ‘Myers, then. Take him to the mortuary. I’ll tell them to clean up Foxley’s face as best they can. As soon as he identifies him, I’ll see you back at the crime scene.’

  There was a knock on his door as Jane entered with a ham sandwich and a cup of coffee. Tyler smiled.

  ‘Thanks, Jane. I hope you don’t mind me asking you to get this for me. You and Spencer have done a great job so far but we have to keep a lid on this horror show as best we can. I want you and Spencer to go and see this . . .’ He rubbed his head. ‘What’s his business partner’s name again?’

  Spencer sighed. ‘James Jarvis Myers, sir.’

  ‘OK, off you go.’ Tyler bit into his sandwich as Spencer closed the door behind them. He nudged Jane to look at DI Arnold’s empty chair.

  ‘This could be just the opportunity I’m looking for.’

  *

  Jane and Spencer drove to Wardour Street. It was a busy one-way street and difficult to find a parking space directly outside the building, so Spencer left the police car log book on the dashboard so that any traffic wardens would recognise it as a police car and not give them a ticket.

  Jane had combed her hair and put some fresh lipstick on but she wished she was wearing something smarter. She lent Spencer her comb as his hair was still standing on end.

  They went through the glass doors to the reception where there was a small desk pushed to one side. On a plaque on the wall there was a list of the various companies who occupied the building and it appeared that Foxley & Myers Theatrical Agents had the entire first floor. There was an ‘out of order’ notice taped to the lift so they walked up the wide staircase to the first floor. On the landing there were two doors with ‘Foxley & Myers Agents’ printed on one, and ‘Foxley & Myers Reception’ printed on the other. They headed towards the reception.

  Spencer looked at Jane. ‘Doesn’t look very theatrical to me.’

  They pushed open the door and Jane smiled at what it revealed. Ahead of them was a corridor with a name plaque on each door. The walls were covered in framed film posters and actors’ awards. On the right was a half-moon desk with four leather and chrome chairs beside it. Two girls sat behind the desk, one weighing and stamping large envelopes and one typing. Behind them were rows of files and volumes of Spotlight, the bible for all theatrical and film contacts.

  The two receptionists were perched on high stools. One had bleached blonde hair with heavy make-up, glossy lips and false eyelashes. The other girl had bright red dyed hair, with matching lipstick. Both appeared to be in their mid-twenties and, rather incongruously, Jane couldn’t help noticing behind them a large wall poster for Night of the Living Dead.

  The blonde girl was talking into one of the handsets of the four phones on the desk in front of them.

  ‘I have the details and I will pass them on to Mr Foxley as soon as he comes in. I do know he has a very full diary for the next few days, but I am sure he will call you back when he gets this message.’ She replaced the receiver, muttering, ‘What an arsehole.’

  The redhead appeared to be reading a contract. Both girls totally ignored the fact Spencer and Jane were standing in front of them. Eventually Spencer tapped the desk.

  ‘I’m Detective Sergeant Spencer Gibbs, and this is Detective Sergeant Jane Tennison. We have an urgent matter to discuss with Mr Myers.’

  ‘Do you have an appointment?’ the blonde girl asked.

  ‘No, but as I just said, it is an urgent police matter.’

  ‘If it’s about the parking, we’ve already had someone here from Scotland Yard.’

  Spencer glared at her. ‘Show me to his office, will you? Do you think you’d have two detective sergeants here in person to discuss a parking problem?’

  ‘No need to be rude,’ said the redhead huffily.

  Perhaps detecting something in Spencer’s manner, the blonde girl got off her stool, leant over the desk and pointed to the end of the corridor. ‘That’s his office at the end. Do you mind if I just call and tell him you’re coming to see him?’

  Spencer waved his hand and gestured for Jane to follow him. As they walked away they could hear a high-pitched voice saying, ‘There are two high-ranking police people coming to see you. They didn’t explain what it was about.’

  Before they had a chance to knock on the rather impressive door to the office at the end of the corridor, it swung open.

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘Are you Mr James Myers?’ Spencer asked, quietly.

  ‘I am.’

  Spencer introduced himself and Jane as he walked into the office, forcing Myers to take a step back.

  ‘I’d like to discuss our reason for being here in private, so would you mind shutting the door?’ Spencer asked.

  Myers closed the door and gestured for them both to sit on an expensive-looking, thickly cushioned sofa in front of his desk.

  As with the outside corridor, his office was lined wall to wall with photographs of clients, or posters of the films they’d been in.

  At first sight, Jane found Myers a difficult man to read. He was very slight, about five foot nine, wearing exceedingly tight fawn trousers and brown leather boots with Cuban heels. He had a pale blue corduroy shirt tucked in tightly at his waist.

  You couldn’t really describe him as handsome or good-looking, she thought, but he had very neat features with expressive eyes.

  ‘This all looks very serious,’ Myers said with a smile.

  Spencer took the lead. ‘I’m afraid it is, sir. We are here on a very unfortunate matter. I understand that you and Charles Foxley are partners. Is that true?’

  ‘Well, only in a business sense,’ Myers said, flippantly waving his hand.

  ‘Well, this is a very personal matter.’

  Myers leant back. ‘Oh God, what’s he done now?’

  ‘It’s not what he’s done, sir, it’s what’s been done to him. His body was found early this morning. I am afraid we will need you to formally identify him as we’ve been unable to contact his wife.’

  Myers sat up in his chair. ‘I don’t quite understand . . . Are you telling me he is dead?’

  ‘I’m afraid that is why we are here, sir.’

  ‘Jesus Christ!’ Myers muttered, clutching the arms of his chair. ‘What happened? Was it a heart attack?’

  ‘No, I’m afraid he was brutally murdered.’

  Myers gasped. ‘Where?’

  ‘He was found in his flat this morning. I’m afraid I can’t go into any more detail, Mr Myers, but we would appreciate you accompanying us to identify Mr Foxley, unless you know of any relatives.’

  Myers shook his head. ‘Both his parents are deceased, and I have no idea about anyone else.’

  Five minutes later Myers had put on a grey cashmere coat and picked up his soft leather satchel. He had been asked not to make the reason for his departure public, so simply waved his hand towards the reception desk. Then he paused.

  ‘Rita, will you make sure my dogs are collected from the groomers?’ He turned to Spencer
. ‘How long is this going to take?’

  ‘Not long, sir, and we’ll return you to your office when we’ve finished.’

  ‘So about half an hour? An hour?’

  ‘I’d say around forty-five minutes.’

  As they headed down the stairs, Jane studied Myers. She was finding it difficult to understand his lack of reaction on being told that his business partner had been found dead.

  Myers didn’t speak during the journey to the mortuary at Lambeth, and as soon as they arrived, asked if he could check whether his dogs had been taken to his office.

  Spencer raised his eyebrows. ‘I’m sure there’s a phone that you can use, sir.’

  Jane and Spencer watched Myers make the call from a payphone in the reception area.

  ‘Can you believe this guy?’ Spencer said.

  ‘No, I can’t,’ Jane said, shaking her head. ‘He seems more worried about his dogs than his dead business partner.’

  They were given permission to go into the mortuary area, where the body would usually have been laid out in the small chapel of rest for identification purposes. But their victim was still waiting for an autopsy, so his body was on the slab covered by a green sheet, with only his head visible. They had cleaned his face up as best as they could, but a number of teeth had been smashed, his nose broken, and one eye had been driven into his skull. They had managed to wash most of the blood from his hair, which was now its original strawberry blond colour.

  ‘Are you ready, Mr Myers?’ Jane asked quietly.

  He nodded, and a mortician led them to the table.

  Spencer looked directly ahead with Myers standing to his right and Jane just a little behind, in case Myers felt faint and keeled over backwards.

  ‘Could you please look at the man on the table and tell me if you recognise him?’

  Myers remained completely still, slowly lowering his head to look closer. He frowned, took a deep breath and sighed.

  ‘Yes, this is him. This is Charles Foxley.’ He turned towards Jane. ‘Can you get me out of here, please?’

  *

  ‘Maybe this is not the time, sir, but I will need to talk to you, and we will obviously have numerous questions to ask,’ Spencer told him on their way out of the mortuary. ‘Can I request that you do not make any contact with the press regarding Mr Foxley’s death? It is imperative we are able to investigate the crime without being hampered by overzealous reporters and journalists. I would also be grateful if you would accompany us to the station where we could take a formal statement from you.’