by Franklin, JJ
‘DS Withers. Sam,’ he added, holding out his warrant card and smiling. She smiled back before checking a list on the desk.
‘Oh, I don’t seem to have you on this list.’
‘Probably not. Slim only rang an hour ago.’
‘I’m sorry. I’m just filling in. It’s Babs’s birthday. They’re having a bit of a party, you see. I’ll just go and check, if you don’t mind.’
Sam didn’t mind at all, as he watched her uncoil her long legs from behind Babs’s desk.
‘Not at all.’ Sam found himself running his fingers through his hair in an effort to tidy it, even though it always looked untidy no matter what he did. Maybe he should sit on the edge of the desk, one leg dangling like they did in detective movies. That always looked sexy. His deliberations were interrupted by Slim’s voice and the young lady, as she held open the door to the inner office.
‘Sergeant Withers, come in,’ Slim shouted.
She held open the door for him so that he had to pass close.
‘I’m Kim,’ she said when he was directly opposite.
‘Sam.’ He offered his hand and she took it and smiled up at him.
The moment was broken by Babs who appeared at his side with a huge slice of chocolate cake that she pushed towards him. ‘Put the student down you letch and have some cake.’
Reluctantly taking the cake, Sam let the door swing shut but not before he watched Kim glide back to her desk. ‘Thanks and a very happy birthday.’
‘Big one. Bet you can’t guess which.’
‘No and I’m not going to try.’
‘Coward.’
Slim whispered in Sam’s ear. ‘Tricky one, try forty, as it’s fifty.’
Sam nodded his thanks and nibbled at his cake. Cake was the last thing he needed before viewing Sandi’s body. But to the lab personnel it seemed to present no problem, since the desk, doubling as a buffet, was piled high with food, and everyone was tucking in. Sam supposed they had to get used to dealing with the dead or they would never eat at all.
Moving towards the small table that held the soft drinks, he poured himself a Coke and managed to leave the cake tucked behind the orange juice cartons.
He had only taken a sip of his drink when Slim came towards him. ‘Come on. Let’s get back to work, Sergeant.’
As Slim led the way, conflicting emotions battled within Sam. The first sight of the bodies lying on the slabs, cold and alone, always made him feel sick. But as soon as Slim started to explain the workings and what he looked for within all the gore, Sam had to admit it was fascinating. If he could liken it to anything, it would be like working on his first car, when he would take bits out and learn from his dad what they did.
‘Here we are.’ Slim removed the sheet from the nearest table to uncover Sandi.
Sam thought how pathetic she looked and was glad that the autopsy was already over.
‘All finished. Same MO as before. Full findings and photos are ready in the office.’
‘Thanks.’ Sam made to turn away. Maybe he would have time to chat up the lovely Kim.
‘But there is something here I would like you to see.’ Slim took Sam’s arm and led him to another covered body.
Sam took a step back. Even the sophisticated air conditioning system couldn’t carry away the smell of decaying flesh, which permeated the air from the bloated corpse that lay there.
‘Drowning. I thought suicide at first. But come here.’
He tried not to breathe as Slim encouraged him closer, pointing at the neck of the girl.
‘Fairly faint, nearly missed it, but there is also internal damage.’
‘A bruise?’
‘Yes, same place as the other two. So maybe not suicide at all. She could have had help from our chap.’
‘My God. Then why didn’t he—?’
‘Dress her up? Slim interrupted him. Who knows? That’s for you to find out. And I wish you would hurry up. I don’t like this place filling up with young women. They ought to be out enjoying themselves.’ Slim went to cover the girl.
‘Any ID?’
‘Pretty soggy. We passed it all over to uniform. They might be able to make sense of it.’
‘Good. Let’s hope they have got somewhere.’
Sam thanked Slim. After wishing Babs a happy fortieth birthday, which made her giggle, he stopped by the office to pick up the paperwork on both the women. He was still puzzling about where the second body fitted in when he left, so he failed to catch the special smile bestowed upon him by Kim.
Torn between ringing Jenny or Matt, Sam gave in to his immediate instinct to ring Matt.
‘Hi, Guv. Just been to the PM. Slim says same MO.’
‘No surprise there then.’
‘There is one—he has another young woman there with similar bruises on her neck. Found in the River Avon near Welford-on-Avon Sunday night. Drowned. It looked like a suicide till Slim found the bruises.’
‘ID?’
‘With uniform in Stratford.’
‘Get over there pronto, Sam. Hang on…what does Jenny say?’
There was an awkward pause as Sam thought how to tell Matt that he hadn’t told Jenny yet.
‘Sam. Don’t play silly buggers. Tell her now.’
‘Will do, Boss.’
‘I’m sure she will come to the same conclusion. But if not, maybe you could lead her gently in the right direction.’
‘You are kidding, aren’t you?’
‘She’s good—just give her a chance.’
‘OK.’
CHAPTER 48
A rather flustered, middle-aged woman responded to Fluff’s enthusiastic pressing of the buzzer. She wiped her hands on a small flowered apron. On notification that they were police officers, Matt thought she might need a chair.
‘Oh dear. It’s not Mr Clive is it?’ She paused and seemed to be running through all the family in her head. ‘Or Margaret, Elizabeth? Not little Emily?’
Fluff moved forward to reassure her that their visit was merely a routine follow-up concerning those people who had been at the health spa at the time of Saturday’s murder. Relieved that the shadow of death was not visiting the house, she explained, as she led them into the hall, that Mrs Draper was having her lunch.
‘We do understand, Mrs…?’
‘Sinclair. Marjory Sinclair.’
‘We understand that it will be extremely inconvenient for Mrs Draper, but it is vital that we talk to her. She may have noticed something that no one else has. That something could help us catch this killer before he strikes again.’
Mrs Sinclair gave a gulp and, without a word, turned back down the hall. Fluff raised her eyebrows to Matt.
‘Well done,’ he said.’ What do you think of that?’ Matt nodded towards the picture hanging in the small lobby.
Fluff gave it a quick glance. ‘Not my cup of tea. But I bet they are worth a bit. He must be doing alright.’
Mrs Sinclair returned and indicated that they should follow her. She led the way to a pleasant dining room towards the rear of the house. The glass doors opened onto a patio, bright with colour from several potted chrysanthemums.
Mrs Draper sat at a glass table and was halfway through a chicken salad. She indicated for Mrs Sinclair to bring over the electronic wheelchair, which was parked in a corner of the room. Once the chair was alongside hers, she stood and made the two steps towards it on her own. Matt had moved forward ready to help but backed off at a signal from Mrs Sinclair.
‘Shall I save this for you, Mrs Draper?’
‘No thank you, Mrs Sinclair,’ she replied, manoeuvring herself easily from the room and along the hallway towards the front of the house, causing Fluff to flatten herself against the wall. ‘Come along then, Inspector.’
Once they were seated in the sparse living room, she opened the conversation. ‘I expect you are here because of that dreadful murder on Saturday night. If there is anything we can do to help, of course we will.’
‘We are checking
with everyone who was at the health spa that evening. I understand that you and your son, Clive, dined there that night,’ Matt asked. ‘May I ask what time you left?’
‘Certainly. It was gone nine. It meant I was late going to bed in fact,’ she added grumpily.
Matt thought she must be a difficult woman to live with. ‘Were you with your son all evening, Mrs Draper?’
‘Of course, we had gone there to dine together,’ she snapped, her eyes suddenly wary.
Fluff pretended consulting her notebook. ‘Did you see a Mrs Mooney about having a course of massages?’ she asked in all innocence.
‘Oh that. Clive thought it might help. With the aches and pains,’ she replied, indicating her legs.
‘And Clive was with you during the consultation?’ Fluff persisted.
Again the slight sense of wariness and this time a hesitation. ‘No, he was not, but I was with the woman for a very short time.’
‘So would you say it was five, ten, fifteen minutes, or longer, Mrs Draper?’
‘I don’t know. About ten minutes, maybe a little longer. What are you suggesting?’
Matt stepped in. ‘We are simply trying to establish where everyone was at around the time of the murder, Mrs Draper. Did you notice anything or anyone suspicious during the evening?’ He smoothly distracted her away from concentrating on her son. She had already told them what they needed to know. She didn’t trust him.
She looked as if she was making her own connections, and she answered automatically. ‘No, nothing.’
Matt rose as if satisfied and Fluff followed. ‘Thank you very much, Mrs Draper. It was good of you to see us.’ She nodded as they began walking towards the door. Matt turned, as if on an impulse. ‘Oh, do you happen to know where we could find your son at the moment?’
‘He will be at work, Inspector,’ she replied, turning her chair away from them in an obvious dismissal.
Mrs Sinclair was hovering and showed them out. As soon as the door closed behind them, Fluff expressed what they were both thinking. ‘She doesn’t trust her son.’
‘And, although that doesn’t automatically make him a murderer, we need to find him as soon as possible. Give his work a ring, see if he’s got back there yet.’
‘Would you take your mother along if you were going to commit a murder, though?’ Fluff asked as she dialled.
‘It would be a brilliant cover.’
‘Yes, but it ties him into that very tight time frame, doesn’t it.’
‘Maybe he got a kick from having his mother on the scene.’
‘It could be something simple. Like she doesn’t like a girl he is seeing?’
‘Possible.’
Fluff snapped her fingers. ‘Or…now this is more likely, he can’t tell her he is having it off with his fawning assistant Ben.’
Matt had to admit it was a possibility. Still, whatever the reason for Mrs Draper’s mistrust of her son, he was aware of a tiny quiver deep within. Was Clive Draper their murderer?
He was disappointed when Fluff shook her head.
‘Seems he was called out again.’
CHAPTER 49
Although the bed was comfortable, Eppie had managed to get little sleep. She had already become accustomed to Matt’s warmth beside her, so the empty space loomed large, reminding her constantly that he was out there alone and possibly in danger.
Her dreams of Matt were interspersed with Sandi and hundreds of model soldiers, which marched relentlessly on towards them. Eppie kept kicking them out of the way, but they came on and on like an army of ants, until she woke in a cold sweat.
In the darkened room, she couldn’t remember where she was for a moment, until she felt the patchwork bedspread, and it all rushed back. Had the dream meant something? Was Matt in danger? Eppie had been upset when he told her that he had gone back to the flat, although he had tried to make light of it. Why did she have to be protected and hidden away while he was putting himself at the mercy of the killer?
Matt had tried to reassure her, explaining that the murderer was targeting young women not fit young men. It was a logic that Eppie found hard to dispute, but it didn’t help her feeling of helplessness and the hidden feeling of guilt. By ignoring Matt’s pleas to stay away from the health spa, she had given the killer an opportunity to invade, not only their home, but their lives. Although she hadn’t yet accepted the little flat as home, now that it was threatened, it seemed very precious.
Far worse was the thought that she had put Matt in danger. She knew that there were times in his work when he was at risk, but this killer was taking a delight in targeting him. If only she hadn’t insisted on having her own way. Marriage was so much harder than she thought it would be.
She did know that if she lost Matt now, like Tom had lost Sandi, she didn’t know whether she would want to go on. A wash of anger swept over Eppie. How could one person devastate so many lives? This man may be mad, but he was astute enough to hide behind an ordinary life, every day pretending, so that he could emerge to kill again and again.
Eppie sat up in bed, going over in her head all the people that she and Sandi had welcomed and helped at the front desk. All had seemed so normal. Well, except maybe for Mr Spires, who couldn’t seem to remember his way to the changing rooms and complained that the notices were too small. Had that been a front? No, Eppie decided that, unless he was acting a very clever part, he was too dumb to carry out the murders.
It would take someone with intelligence. She started thinking of possible suspects she had encountered and, after searching in her bag for her notebook, she turned on the bedside light and began writing them down. By the time she had finished, the light was starting to slide into the room past the edge of the curtain. She had six possibilities. None of them stood out as the murdering kind, but that was the point, really.
There was Ken, who came in after work every day. Sandi said he was training for the London Marathon, so surely he had other things on his mind. Ross and Stuart came in Saturday morning to tone up for their game with the local football club. The team had won their away match Saturday, so they must have been busy celebrating their win over in Kettering, so that let them out.
That left an older man whose name she didn’t know, that nice Clive who came in on Friday about his mother, and a dark-haired man of about thirty, who only wanted to speak to Sandi. Could he be the one? Should she tell Matt or ring the sergeant who had interviewed her. Where was the card he had given her? She found the card tucked in beside a damp tissue and put it on the bedside table. There were sounds of Jane moving about the flat, and Eppie wondered if she should discuss these suspicions with her.
However, by the time she had slipped on her robe and moved into the hallway, she heard a click as the front door shut. Jane had left a note on the kitchen table, reminding her to help herself to anything she needed and saying that she didn’t know when she would be home. Half-heartedly, Eppie made herself a cup of instant coffee. She would return to her list after she had had a shower.
Jane had opened the curtains in the living room, and the sunlight was streaming in. Eppie edged as close as she dared and looked out as she drank her coffee. Across the road, the sun was catching the spire of St Nicholas Church. Matt had told her there used to be an abbey next to the church, and she could just make out a portion of ruined wall.
Kenilworth Castle was one of the places she had always wanted to visit. She had read in the local paper that the Castle had opened an Elizabethan Garden, recreating the one built by Robert Dudley to impress Queen Elizabeth I. Promising herself that she and Matt would see the garden next summer in all its glory, she went for her shower.
It was well past lunchtime when Eppie had refined her list of suspects for the tenth time, writing down everything she could remember, no matter how small, so that each suspect now filled two pages. Well, except Mr Squires who she couldn’t imagine being able to tie his own shoelaces, never mind murdering anyone. At least it had given her something to do, something t
hat might help solve the case before anyone else became a victim.
She had been pouring over her list for too long, so standing and stretching, she enjoyed the warmth of the sun pouring into the room. She longed to go for a walk in the fresh air. How long would she have to stay cooped up like this? She had even finished her book, and the flat contained little reading matter to interest her. Matt had promised to send a couple of books via Fluff, but she couldn’t really hold him to that as he would be busy.
Instead she decided to get lunch, and this was an adventure in itself. Although Fluff had the perfect kitchen, her interest in cooking was no match for it. Besides the nearly full tin of biscuits, Fluff’s staple diet, there were two slices of dry bread, no milk, and some out-of-date eggs, a squashy banana, and an apple. Eppie tried the cupboards that yielded only two tins of soup, several tins of corn, an obvious favourite, but little else.
Not feeling imaginative, Eppie settled on the soup, with toast and an apple to follow. She wanted to get back to her list of suspects. She would have loved to stock the kitchen with food, but that was out of the question. There would be no chance of preparing a meal for when Fluff came home, which was a pity, since she would have enjoyed working in that kitchen.
With lunch out of the way, Eppie returned to her list, visualising each of her suspects in turn and trying to imagine them committing cold-blooded murder. No one stood out, so she began enlarging on their actions, writing down what each of them had said or done until she started to get a headache. Feeling the need to move, she was doing some stretching exercises when Fluff came in.
She looked tired and, throwing her small shoulder bag on the couch, had disappeared into the kitchen with nothing more than a grunt, returning with the open biscuit tin from which she was selecting all the jammy dodgers, munching as if she hadn’t eaten all day.
Eppie thought it was the wrong time to mention her list.
‘Bad day?’
Fluff nodded and sank down on the sofa, kicking her shoes off with a sigh.
‘Fancy a brew?’
Spitting out small biscuits crumbs, she answered. ‘Please.’
