Isolation

by Jay Nadal

  “What have we got from Ashman?” Scott asked, turning to Abby as he glanced up and down the corridor.

  “Nothing much, Guv. Uniform couldn’t get much out of him. The paramedics were treating his facial wounds. He had abrasions to his wrists, which as you can see from the other chair match the cable ties. The uniform I spoke to said Ashman kept muttering to himself and had this vacant look on his face.”

  “But he got free?”

  Abby shook her head. “No, Guv. It seems that he was cut loose from his bindings. Maybe the killer had a change of heart?”

  Whilst SOCO carried on their analysis, Scott and Abby used their time to step outside and survey the locality. Initial door-to-door enquires offered little in the way of information or clues. Neighbours on either side described the Ashmans as a hard-working couple, social and friendly, who had few visitors. Raj and Helen arrived on the scene not long after Scott and coordinated enquires.

  “There’s nothing to suggest that the Ashmans were in trouble, no reports filed, no disagreement with neighbours, nothing,” Raj offered as he reviewed his notes.

  “CCTV?”

  “Still checking the street, Guv. There are a few houses further down that have cameras. Helen’s gathering copies of last night’s recordings.”

  Two hours later, SOCO gave the all-clear to allow Scott access to the body and the crime scene. The dining room formed part of the through lounge. Landscape pictures adorned the walls, and a dark grey carpet offset the light grey walls, drawing the eyes towards the small but comfortable lounge area. The traditional three-seater sofa and two armchairs arrangement sat facing the television fixed above the fireplace.

  There were no signs of disturbance commonly found with a burglary or aggravated burglary. Scott examined the two chairs placed opposite each other, a gap of four feet between them. He took a moment to imagine the horror that Ashman had witnessed.

  The violent nature of this hideous crime sent a shiver up Scott’s spine. For one partner to witness the other partner being murdered, took this heinous act to a different level. He imagined Samuel Ashman pleading for his wife’s life. Crying. Imploring. He shook his head at the final moments that Janet endured, and the fact that Samuel had been powerless to do anything to save his wife as they looked into each other’s eyes.

  “Any sign of a forced entry?”

  “No. The back door is secure. Nothing appears to have been disturbed in the kitchen. In fact, I can’t see anything out of place.”

  “SOCO are combing the rest of the house. That might throw up something.”

  “Uniform had already confirmed that the front door hadn’t been forced, nor had the windows been compromised. That evidence suggested that the Ashmans knew the killer, or had invited them inside the house,” Abby speculated.

  Scott felt the radiators, indicating a timer ran the central heating system. Their warmth penetrated the room which only added to the dank and mustiness that had built up.

  Scott crouched to inspect Janet’s face that was still bowed towards the floor. From this angle, the true extent of her injuries and suffering became clear. Silver duct tape had sealed her mouth. No wonder the neighbours hadn’t heard anything. Snot trails and blood merged to form a crust above her top lip. Severe bruising to her eye sockets had led to extensive swelling. Abrasions and cuts peppered her face.

  The killer had been determined on inflicting prolonged and sustained punishment on his victim. Her face had swelled to more than half its size again through the repeated blows. But something else caught Scott’s attention. In cases where the face had been hit repeatedly, it was common to witness large swellings in and around the eyes. Janet’s eyelids appeared to be sunken.

  With his gloved hand he pushed back her eyelid with his thumb and recoiled in horror. “Jesus fucking Christ.”

  Abby stepped around from behind the body, her mouth a tiny oval of surprise. “What?”

  Composing himself, he lifted a second eyelid, and stared in disbelief. “Whoever did this removed her eyeballs.”

  Abby leant over and looked for herself. Her lack of expression mirrored Scott sentiments. Samuel Ashman had seen his wife tortured, her eyeballs removed and her abdomen cut.

  Abby scanned the surrounding floor. SOCO had marked out points of interest on the floor, but had found no evidence of the missing eyeballs. “Where the fuck are they?”

  Scott hadn’t averted his gaze from Janet Ashman’s face. He rose and took a few steps back. His mind calculated all the different scenarios that could have played out here, and the potential motives. Why had she been killed and Samuel spared? Could he have staged it considering there’s no forced sign of entry?

  4

  “What do we know about Ashman?” Scott asked as he pinned pictures of Janet and the crime scene on the incident board.

  “Ex-lawyer, now crime journalist. Freelance, but is also on the payroll of The Argus. He’s been vociferous in recent years on several key issues.” Helen offered the information as she flicked through her notes before continuing. “Importation of drugs, human trafficking on the south coast and police ineptitude. He was always on the press circuit in London. But his investigations landed him in hot water with those he was investigating, particularly the criminal gangs.”

  “A grudge perhaps? It sounds like he could have pissed off many people.”

  Scott jotted down pertinent points on the whiteboard as he entertained Mike’s speculation. “That’s plausible. Knowing the violent tendencies of some of these gangs, like the Albanians, it could be one way of punishing Ashman.”

  “Mike, can you make some enquiries with the Met Police? Find out what dealings they had with Ashman in the past, and whether they considered any of these threats to life serious.”

  “We’ve got no sign of a break-in. Either the killer was known to the Ashmans, and invited in, or they had some means of gaining access to their property. Helen, can you look in to all the usual things, family, financial dealings, bank statements, social media, wills, insurance policies, phone records?”

  “Do you think it could have been a random attack?” Helen asked.

  “We can’t discount that as a possibility. There are too many unknowns. We have to consider every possibility and angle until we build a better picture of their background, the timeline of events leading up to Janet’s death, the post-mortem results, and any CCTV footage.”

  “Abby, you and I will see Ashman; we’ll reconvene later today for an update.”

  The Royal Sussex County Hospital sent shivers through him every time he entered it. The unmistakable odour of antiseptic and bleach clung to every surface and had the uncanny knack of weaving its way into every fibre of the clothes you wore. For the sick, the ill and the dying, it provided sanctuary, their last hope, and for a few, their final resting place.

  Walking through accident and emergency brought with it fear and dread as Scott’s stomach lurched. He’d been here many times before on police business, but for one poignant moment in this sterile place, he’d said goodbye to his family.

  Tina and Becky had both been admitted with catastrophic injuries after being mown down by a hit-and-run driver. Becky had passed away minutes after arriving even though paramedics had fought to save her life. Tina had slipped away several hours later from significant internal bleeding. He had held her hand throughout as her life drained away in front of him. His whole family, and his reason for living, had gone in a matter of hours. This place felt like the shroud of death.

  His body guided him on autopilot past the waiting sick and injured. A young boy with a gash to his chin clung to his mother as they waited. An elderly Sikh man stroked his long, white wispy beard as he sat in a wheelchair with his left leg elevated and bandaged. A crying toddler was being rocked from side to side by his father to soothe him as he walked up and down the corridor.

  Whilst waiting for SOCO to complete their investigations, Scott had listened a few times to the call made to emergency services. Ashman’s soft, cr
oaky and flat voice drifted through the recording as if the emotion had been sucked out of him. “I need help. My wife has been murdered.” Those haunting words kept repeating as if on an endless loop of agony. The operator repeated her questions several times in order to identify what had happened, the location of the incident, and if imminent danger remained. One particular phrase stuck in Scott’s mind. “I watched her die.”

  Two uniformed officers stood guard outside the room. Scott and Abby flashed their warrant cards, before asking for an update.

  “We’ve not been able to get any further update from him, Sir. He’s heavily sedated. The nurses said Ashman went through phases of complete silence and then talking gibberish. At one point he attempted to leave, saying he needed to get back to his wife. She would wonder where he was.”

  Abby grimaced at the extent of Ashman’s shock. She felt sympathy for the poor man. Hearing the news of a loved one’s murder chilled even the strongest person, but to watch it devastated the soul.

  “Who’s looking after him?”

  “Dr McAllister,” one officer began, as he flicked through his notepad. “Dr Jeff McAllister. He’s away in theatre, so we’re unsure when he will be back.”

  Sedation was probably the best thing for Ashman, but he was the only witness, and his earliest thoughts and recollections would be vital for the investigation.

  Scott and Abby had no choice but to retreat to the hospital canteen and wait it out. Hospital food turned the stomach at the best of times, so Abby played safe with just a cup of tea and a banana. Famished from having been up so early, Scott grabbed the chance of a cooked breakfast. The sausages looked thin, dry and crinkly. The beans had a thick skin on them. The fried eggs looked as if they’d been dunked in a vat of oil and the grilled tomatoes were barely grilled.

  Abby winced, gritted her teeth and pulled her lips back in disgust. “How can you eat that shit?”

  “It’s not that bad. I’ve had worse. Besides, I’m not sure when we’ll get another chance to eat.”

  Abby put in a call to Helen for a further update. “Any further developments? Any witnesses, any CCTV?”

  “I’m going through the footage now along with two constables. We’ve not seen anything as yet.”

  Abby asked her to keep plugging on, and to call them the moment they found anything, before she hung up.

  “Do you know what I don’t understand? Why would someone go to such extreme lengths to kill someone? It was sadistic torture. If someone is out for revenge, you could assume that they would kill them both?”

  Scott didn’t have any answers for Abby. “The fact is, it could be a multitude of reasons. It could be revenge because of something Ashman had said in the past. Or something he had revealed. One of them could have been having an affair, it came to light, and the jealous partner flipped.”

  Scott’s phone bleeped. Ashman was awake.

  5

  Both constables stood and shuffled on the spot as Scott and Abby returned.

  “Sir. Dr McAllister is in with Ashman now. No one else has visited him other than a nurse who popped in to check his vitals.”

  “Did Dr McAllister say anything?”

  “No, Sir. He walked past us as if we were invisible.”

  Scott rolled his eyes. A typical response from many doctors he had come across in his career. They carried this air of authority and arrogance that riled him.

  Dr McAllister exited Ashman’s room a few minutes later. He cast his eye up and down Scott and Abby as if to suggest that they were blocking his route.

  Not perturbed by the doctor’s behaviour, Scott extended his hand. “Dr McAllister?”

  “Yes,” McAllister answered before pursing his lips and narrowing his eyes. His thin face, angular features and pointed nose made him resemble a skinny bird squawking his displeasure.

  “I’m Detective Inspector Baker, and this is my colleague Detective Sergeant Trent. I’m the senior investigating officer on Mrs Ashman’s death. We need to talk to Mr Ashman as he was present. How is he doing?”

  McAllister spoke, his words precise. “He’s stable, but in shock. He has superficial injuries to both wrists and ankles.”

  “Can we see him?”

  McAllister shook his head. “I’m afraid not. We’ve just managed to stabilise him. He’s been through a significant and traumatic experience.”

  “Yes, we know. We’ve just arrived from the crime scene.” A tinge of flippancy clipped his voice which only served to irritate McAllister further.

  “Hmm.”

  “It’s a suspicious death that we’re investigating. It’s vital we speak to Mr Ashman. He was the last person to see his wife alive. It’s likely he saw who committed the crime. Speed is of the essence here. The quicker we can get vital information relating to what happened at their house, the quicker we can act.”

  “I appreciate your position, Inspector. But I will reiterate, he has experienced significant trauma. He may not exhibit much in the way of external evidence, nor symptoms, but such an event can create significant psychological trauma.”

  Scott drew on all his resources to connect with Dr McAllister. “I appreciate what you’re saying, Dr McAllister. The last thing we want to do is make the situation worse. But I’m hoping you understand the sense of urgency. The first twenty-four hours in any suspicious death is crucial to an investigation. Mr Ashman may be able to give us a description of the perpetrator. He may have seen or heard something. Just a few minutes?”

  McAllister contemplated the request as he played with one end of the stethoscope draped around his neck. His eyes flicked between Scott and Abby before giving them the slightest of nods. “Just a few minutes, and then you will have to leave him alone.”

  “Doctor, before we go in can you give us more details regarding the injuries he has sustained?”

  McAllister drew in a breath as his shoulders stiffened in frustration. “We had to treat superficial injuries to both wrists and both ankles. There is heavy bruising and underlying tissue damage to all four areas. They appear consistent with some form of restraint. With time they will heal.”

  Scott nodded in appreciation. “And the psychological trauma you referred to earlier?”

  McAllister glanced at his wristwatch as if to highlight the importance of his time. “Emotional and mental trauma can have a significant impact on someone’s physical well-being. Anxiety, panic and depression, are just some of the things that such an event can trigger. I’ve known similar cases where the surviving victim has shut down and become catatonic for months and even years.” He glanced back towards the room. “I have organised for an assessment by a clinical psychologist.”

  McAllister led them back into the room.

  The broken form of Ashman lay beneath the covers. From all accounts, the man was tenacious, aggressive, inquisitive and often outspoken. But lying there now, he resembled a shadow of his former self.

  McAllister spoke first. “Mr Ashman, this is Detective Inspector Baker, and Detective Sergeant Trent from Brighton CID. They would like to ask you a few questions.”

  Ashman’s eyes tracked back and forth between the two officers. He licked his dry lips and spoke with a raspy tone saying, “Yes, I know of you, Inspector. It’s unfortunate that our paths cross in such a difficult situation.”

  “We won’t take up much of your time, Mr Ashman.” Scott began, looking at Dr McAllister from the corner of his eye.

  “If at any point it becomes too much, I’ll ask the officers to leave.”

  Ashman waved off the doctor’s suggestion.

  “I’m sorry for your loss. I can’t imagine what you’re going through. Would you like me to assign a FLO to help you through this difficult time?”

  Ashman shook his head.

  “It would help our investigation if you can tell us what happened last night.”

  Ashman stared at Scott for a few moments. Even though he didn’t say it, he knew Scott understood grief and loss. As part of his research into the loc
al constabulary, he had read about the tragic deaths of Scott’s family.

  Scott watched Ashman’s gaze wander around the room, as if seeing his environment for the very first time.

  “I came home from work. It was a normal evening. Janet and I spoke for a few moments. We had dinner. She said she was going upstairs for a shower, but then returned a few moments later. He must have been in the house already. She came into the dining room, and all I remember was this dark figure of a man standing behind her, and the glint of a silver blade resting beneath her chin.” Ashman paused, as he tracked back in his memories. “She looked terrified.”

  Scott steeled himself as the first breakthrough came. Ashman identified the perpetrator as male. “Can you describe him?”

  “Black jacket, what looked like black combat trousers and a black balaclava. He was tall, wide shoulders, muscular.”

  “His voice?”

  “He didn’t have an accent. Just an everyday London accent I guess. But his words were sharp. Even though he rarely spoke, every word was tinged with aggression and menace, just like his eyes…”

  Ashman’s voice trailed off as he drifted away into his private agony. Scott was keen to push on before McAllister interjected.

  “If you’re okay to continue, what happened next?”

  Ashman stiffened as a shiver of fear raced through his body. He pulled the bedcover up in defence. “The man told me to pull up two dining chairs and place them facing each other a few feet apart. We were made to sit opposite each other. He tied me up. There was nothing I could do to…” With moistened eyes, his final few words trailed off as he stared at a vacant space on the wall.

  McAllister cleared his throat. “Inspector, I think Mr Ashman’s said enough for the time being and he needs to rest.”

  Ashman waved his hand, and ignored the doctor’s protests. “It needs to be said.”