Blunt Force

by La Plante, Lynda

  Bellamy nodded. ‘Well, good luck. I have to return to Oxford tonight. But I’ve given DI Miller a character study from the tape recordings.’ He moved away slightly, before turning back to Jane and looking down at her. ‘You may find my conclusion interesting.’

  Jane stacked the papers from the printer. ‘Oh, yes?’

  He nodded. ‘I’m aware that in the UK, criminal profiling is not seen as particularly relevant, but eventually time will rectify that. In my estimation it is, and will continue to be, essential in all murder investigations.’

  He walked away with a smile Jane thought a little arrogant.

  By the time she had filed the report, then passed a copy to one of the clerics to give to Tyler, it was almost time for the briefing in the boardroom. On her way there she bumped into a disgruntled-looking Spencer.

  ‘I hope this bloody briefing won’t take long. I need to get home for my crisis meeting with the in-laws.’

  Their conversation was cut short as the officers began to fill the seats around the boardroom table. DI Miller walked in and sat at the far end, with his tape recorder and neat array of tapes. He then proceeded to pass round the table the typed-up transcripts that a secretary had worked on since his return to the station. He glanced at his watch with a frown. The last to arrive was Tyler, who was beginning to look jaded and clearly needed a shave. He sat down next to Miller and nodded to the young DC to shut the door.

  ‘Right, we’ll make this as brief as possible. As you may be aware, we have already lost the very helpful DCI Collins and the FBI agent Harry Bellamy, who have both assisted our investigation to date. We have had a report in from the laboratory, and although tests are still being carried out, they are certain that the one trainer brought in by DS Jane Tennison is the left size six that will match the right bloody footprint. But we are still testing the bloodstains on the coat owned by the ex-Mrs Foxley. We have confirmation that the cocaine brought in is of a very high quality. There is also a residue of cocaine on three rolled-up twenty-pound notes. The drinking glasses brought in from the deceased’s bedside table are being tested for prints. The video cassettes are being reviewed, but they are all hardcore porn, along with pornographic magazines. We are also, at this time, checking through the many documents brought in by DS Tennison, which were removed from a desk drawer in the deceased’s bedroom. We will be able to give further details on the various receipts and on a small leather-bound notebook, but not until tomorrow. I would now like you all to read the transcripts and pay attention to DI Miller as he walks you through each section.’

  Jane and Spencer had to share a transcript between them as there were not enough to go around.

  Miller, Jane noticed, had changed his shirt and was now wearing a fresh blue shirt without the usual white collar and cuffs.

  ‘First, before I begin to take you through the tape of my interview, one of the most important questions I needed to ask the ex-Mrs Foxley was: did she recall any incident, or time, in her ex-husband’s life that would have given him such a propensity for his use of brothels, and in particular why he chose to be humiliated and beaten by obese women? This is her reply . . .’

  Everyone in the room waited, even though they had the transcript in front of them.

  The tape began: ‘I was unaware that Charles ever had any sexual perversions. He was always a considerate husband, even though early on in our marriage I had to be the main breadwinner.’

  There was a soft, girlish laugh, her voice sounding breathy and young.

  ‘You see, you may not be aware but I was at one time very well-known. I was working on a successful television series – I was actually the star. My husband was feeling insecure at the time because he was basically unemployed. I introduced him to my then agent, who was a very dear man. He agreed to take Charles under his wing and train him to be an agent. As I said, I was very well-known, and to help my then-husband’s career, I asked him to be my agent.’

  They all listened as Miller fast-forwarded the recording. Jane noticed that he never included his voice – he was only playing Justine’s answers – while on the transcript they had the questions.

  ‘Did your then-husband find the situation difficult to deal with?’

  ‘Yes, I suppose he did at times, but then he began to take over the agency and was acquiring more and more clients to represent, and he decided to open his own agency. I financed him again and I think it was around this time that he started to become argumentative. He was never physically abusive towards me, but I left him. I had an affair with an actor who was starring with me in a film . . . I regretted it, but then Charles actually chose to represent him.’

  It slowly began to dawn on Jane that Justine Harris talked in different voices. Her high-pitched laugh, when she mentioned anything about her relationship with her husband, was breathy, like someone imitating Marilyn Monroe. But at other times, specifically when she was asked about the gaps in her successful career, her voice became more strident and snappy – denying that there had ever been any lulls that had not been her personal choice. When referencing herself there was always a slightly aggressive tone. She continually repeated that she had always made the choices to have any breaks, because her husband was becoming successful and no longer needed her financial support.

  They carried on listening. When asked if her husband was faithful to her, Justine’s voice changed again. She sounded child-like as she said in a sing-song voice that she herself had often been a very naughty girl. This had driven Charles to become obsessively jealous.

  Everyone in the room was astonished at the sound of Justine giggling, seemingly enjoying repeating how much her infidelity had tortured her husband. She said it made him insanely jealous and he started stalking her. On one occasion he threatened her lover, who ended up throwing the weeping Charles into a swimming pool, fully-clothed. Foxley was humiliated by the experience.

  Miller exchanged one tape for another. They listened to Justine’s ability to switch effortlessly from being shamelessly promiscuous to a doting wife. She then used a warm, maternal voice as she explained in detail how everything in their lives stabilised when she became pregnant. She made the choice to give up her career and take care of her daughter and her husband, who then formed the partnership of Foxley & Myers.

  They continued to listen for another half an hour as Justine described the happiness in buying their wonderful property in Barnes, and how much their beloved daughter meant to them. She then discovered that Charles was using prostitutes, and even described an occasion when he had been with a prostitute who had later been found murdered. He had been terrified that he would be exposed in the press, and Justine had protected him by giving him a false alibi.

  Miller turned off the tape. ‘We know someone else was convicted of the murder, but it’s interesting that Justine seems to have a compulsion for repeating how she had protected her then-husband.’

  Miller looked around the table. ‘Does anyone have any questions? If not, I’d like to give you the appraisal that the FBI profiler put together after analysing the tapes.’

  Miller waited a moment, then carried on. ‘Justine Harris had a number of psychiatric problems, evidenced by the medication she was taking, the suicide attempts, and her stays at the Priory. She clearly has a manipulative side to her. Although she has attempted suicide three times, in each instance she made sure that someone would find her. She has benefitted financially from her ex-husband’s will, inheriting not only his shares in the agency but also the property in Barnes and the flat in Kensington. In the interview she discussed her ability as an athlete and spoke of being a proficient tennis player and skier. In my estimation, at almost five foot ten, she appears to be a very fit woman.’

  Jane was surprised when Spencer raised his hand. ‘Do you mean that Justine Harris was physically capable of the murder of her husband?’

  ‘In my estimation,’ Miller replied curtly.

  ‘So, she is suspected of hitting her husband over the head,’
Spencer continued, ‘dragging him to a bathroom, cutting his throat, then lifting him and dragging him to the bed—’

  Miller held up his hand, interrupting him. ‘We have still not been able to determine if there was more than one person involved.’

  ‘Yes, sir, but what I’m finding it difficult to come to terms with is that if she had committed this murder and left the premises knowing he was dead, would she then have returned several hours later, when we had discovered the body?’

  Miller looked unimpressed. ‘It could be that returning to the scene provided a way of explaining the bloodstains she already had on her clothes.’ He looked around the table. ‘Anyone else?’

  No one responded.

  Tyler checked his watch. ‘OK, we’ll reconvene at eight tomorrow morning. We need to get all the results back from the laboratory, but the consensus is that our prime suspect is now Justine Harris.’

  *

  Jane was giving Spencer a lift to Shepherd’s Bush so that he would be in time to meet his in-laws.

  ‘You were quite impressive in there, Spence.’

  ‘Yeah, well, he did his best to cut me down to size. I think he’s a right prick.’

  ‘I agree,’ Jane said. ‘And don’t forget, I had him all day. Tell me, do you think Justine could have done it?’

  Spencer shook his head. ‘I think they’re barking up the wrong tree. From what I’ve heard she doesn’t sound very likeable, but I think she’s probably just a woman with a lot of problems. There’s something else too . . .’

  Jane pulled up at a red light as Spencer continued.

  ‘It’s the dachshund. If she had organised someone to kill Foxley, would she really have taken the dog and left it there? Or, if he had the dog and she did the business, wouldn’t she have taken the dog with her? It was the dog that raised the alarm to the neighbour.’

  Jane’s head had started thudding. ‘Well, she’s got all three dogs now. I don’t know . . . I honestly don’t think we have enough evidence.’

  She dropped him off and headed home. There was no thought of fish and chips or Dexter; she just wanted to have a good night’s sleep. But as tired as she was, she made a mental note to tell the team doing house-to-house calls to check the garden at Justine’s Barnes property. She remembered George Henson telling her that Jack, the Jack Russell cross, often stole things and buried them in the garden.

  She was just about to step into the shower when her phone rang. She decided not to answer and leave the caller to go through to her answering machine. It clicked on.

  ‘Hi, Jane. This is Elliott. I was just wondering—’

  Jane picked up the phone. ‘Hello, Elliott. I’ve just walked in.’

  ‘Oh, hi, Jane. Look, I’m sorry if we got off on the wrong foot the other morning . . . I’m not used to training females.’

  ‘Oh, I’m an exception to the rule, am I?’

  ‘I treat you no differently, even though you are a very attractive woman.’

  Jane was completely taken aback and not sure how to take his compliment.

  Elliott continued. ‘I have a session booked at the Milton firing range in Gravesend. It’s a military and MOD police training centre, and I think you’d really benefit from learning how to shoot at moving targets.’

  Jane was in two minds whether to ask him how he had found out about her situation with the Sweeney. If Dabs had not been talking to him, then she needed to know where Elliott had got the information. But in the end she didn’t have the strength.

  Elliott gave her the address. ‘And make sure this time at the club by six forty-five.’

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Jane was determined not to be late and as a result had given herself double the time she would need. She had fetched her tracksuit out of a washbag, and as before, she put her towel in her overnight bag along with a fresh skirt, shirt, jacket and court shoes, ready for work at the station. She headed out towards Marble Arch and then Horseferry Road. She drove through Lambeth, across Westminster Bridge and on to the New Kent Road, eventually getting on to the A2 slip-road towards Dover.

  It was quite a complicated route, and she missed one turning before finally finding the appropriately named Shooters Hill Road, before joining the B262 towards Gravesend. Eventually she found herself on a narrow road with high fences and a barred gate at the end with a small guard box and an armed uniformed Ministry of Defence police officer inside. As she pulled up by the gate Jane checked her watch and was pleased she was fifteen minutes early, though she wished she’d had something to eat and drink before she left home as her stomach was rumbling. She opened her glove compartment and took out a packet of Polo Mints, and had just popped one in her mouth when she saw Elliott, wearing a black tracksuit with the hood pulled up and carrying a metal briefcase. The MOD officer came out of the hut and had a brief conversation with him. Elliott then walked over.

  ‘Do you have your ID with you?’

  She opened her handbag and passed it to him. He went back to the MOD officer, showed him Jane’s ID and signed her in as a guest. Returning to the passenger side of Jane’s car, Elliott opened the door and got in beside her.

  Following Elliott’s instructions, Jane turned right onto a narrow tarmac lane until they arrived at what looked like a warehouse. There were numerous white-painted parking spaces but no other vehicles and Elliott instructed her to continue towards a glass-fronted door with a keypad beside it.

  ‘Is this used for training Met and Kent police officers as well?’ Jane asked as they got out of the car.

  ‘No,’ he said simply.

  Jane pursed her lips, determined not to be riled by him. She collected her handbag, locked the car and followed him to the entry door. There was a long corridor, with various safety notices and rules and regulations in glass-fronted frames screwed into the wall. Elliott moved quickly along the corridor, then opened another coded door at the far end.

  ‘OK, we are going to go down to the indoor moving-target range. We have the facility for half an hour before the troops come in.’

  Jane followed him down the staircase to a long room, with wooden sections that looked like shops but with no glass in the windows. The only furniture in the room was a bare wooden table and two old chairs. She noticed a switchboard at the side of the entry door, which had eight green push button knobs, which she assumed was for controlling the moving targets.

  Elliott pushed back his hood and lowered the zip on his tracksuit as she placed her handbag down on one of the chairs. He opened his briefcase, then took out a handgun and a box of bullets.

  ‘You are going to be using this Smith & Wesson snub-nose revolver, which fires .38 calibre rounds. It’s got a lot more kick to it than the .22 you used last time.’ He carefully placed the gun and bullets on the table and, with his hands on his hips, gave Jane a sideways look. ‘Have you been practising your breathing?’

  ‘Yes, I have.’

  ‘Good. Now, I want you to pick up the gun and, with both arms outstretched, exactly as you would if you were aiming at a target, move around the entire perimeter of this range. Get the feel of the gun and your surroundings, keep moving and continually look to both sides of your body as well.’

  Jane picked up the revolver and checked that it was empty. Elliott gave her a nod of approval. She extended both arms and carefully positioned her hands and thumbs in the correct way. Elliott watched with his arms folded as she began to walk around the room.

  ‘Keep the gun up,’ he barked. ‘And look to the sides.’

  Her muscles were already aching and she found it hard to maintain the shooting position and, at the same time, walk and turn without losing her balance.

  ‘Keep steady. Concentrate!’ he shouted.

  By the time she returned to the table, her arms felt like lead weights and it was a relief to put the gun down. At that moment, the door opened and an official-looking man wearing army combat fatigues walked in and approached Elliott.

  He looked at his watch. �
��You’ve got fifteen minutes before the MOD police need the range.’

  ‘We’ll be ready to go in a couple of minutes,’ Elliott said.

  The man nodded and went and stood beside the green-buttoned switchboard.

  Jane waited to be introduced, but Elliott just went over to the door and switched on a red light.

  ‘OK, we are up against it a bit time-wise, but let’s see what you can do. What’s going to happen is you will do a walk round the building as you just did, only this time the targets will pop out in front of you from both the left and right sides of the range. You will have some targets that pose a threat and innocent bystanders that don’t, with a split second to decide if you shoot or not. It is also imperative you keep on the move.’

  Jane could feel her heart begin to thump. Even more so when Elliott loaded the gun with five bullets and said there wasn’t a safety catch on it before handing it to her.

  ‘So, I just press the trigger when I see the first target?’

  ‘That’s depends on what the target is,’ he replied. ‘The primary method double-action revolvers use to prevent accidental discharges is in the trigger press. Unlike other firearms, these triggers offer more resistance and take a hard squeeze to fire.’

  Jane gritted her teeth and took a deep, slow breath to calm herself. Elliott instructed her to take position at a small cross six feet in front of the table.

  ‘Shouldn’t I be wearing ear defenders?’ she asked.

  ‘No. I want this to be as real an experience as possible,’ Elliott replied.

  Jane wanted to remind him she knew what it felt like to be shot at, after her near-death experience on the Flying Squad.

  She took some more deep breaths, trying to control the panic she felt, and then he quietly said from behind, ‘Take your time. When you hear me shout “go”, you start moving forward down the range. You only stop when you hear the Klaxon sound.’

  Jane nodded, holding the revolver with her finger on the trigger, ready for the life-like targets to appear.