Left You Dead

by James, Peter

  ‘And the lowest?’

  ‘Three – which often indicates brainstem death.’

  ‘So, seven is some hope?’

  She nodded bleakly and replied in a whisper. ‘Yes. Some hope for sure.’

  He nodded.

  ‘Listen, Roy, we’ll stay here tonight so we can be close to Bruno in case anything happens. Leave the arrangements at home to Kaitlynn and me.’

  They returned to Bruno’s bedside. Grace looked down at his vulnerable young son and held his hand. ‘Don’t worry, Bruno, we’re both here for you, we’re not going home.’

  They were interrupted by Bruno’s personal nurse, who said she needed to carry out some checks and asked them to return to the Relatives’ Room. Cleo took Roy’s arm and they walked down the corridor, sobbing.

  48

  Tuesday 3 September

  ‘You’re not coming in?’ It was a bad reception area and Glenn Branson’s voice crackled fuzzily through Roy Grace’s phone.

  ‘No, Cleo and I need to be with Bruno, it’s not looking good. Can you run things for me?’

  ‘Of course, Roy, seriously, leave it all with me.’

  ‘Do me a favour. When I do come in, probably tomorrow, will you ask everyone not to ask me how I am, because—’ He took a moment, choking on his words.

  Sounding deeply and genuinely sympathetic, the Deputy SIO said, ‘Absolutely. But make sure you’re certain about coming in.’

  ‘I will,’ he said heavy-heartedly.

  ‘How is Bruno?’ Branson asked.

  ‘Not good – not at all good. He’s in an induced coma, which they’re hoping will reduce the swellings on his brain, but he has multiple head injuries.’

  ‘God, it’s awful, you both need to be with him. I’ll run the briefing and give you an update afterwards.’

  ‘Thanks. I appreciate it. You’re a good friend.’

  ‘You helped me when I was splitting up with Ari, when I went through all that shit of the separation and she tried to stop me seeing my kids. I’m here for you and always will be.’

  Grace barely managed to utter his thanks. His eyes stung with tears.

  49

  Tuesday 3 September

  Twenty minutes later, Glenn Branson sat at the head of the crowded conference room table, with his briefing notes and Policy Book in front of him.

  ‘This is the third briefing of Operation Lagoon,’ he said, then coughed and sipped some water, clearing a frog in his throat. ‘The investigation into the disappearance of Mrs Eden Paternoster. As we know, she was last seen by her husband in the car park of the Tesco Holmbush superstore two days ago, just after 3.15 p.m. on Sunday the first of September – if her husband is to be believed.’ He said the last few words with cynical emphasis. ‘There have subsequently been a number of developments giving us grave concern for Mrs Paternoster.’

  He looked down at his notes. ‘I’m going to summarize the information – and evidence – we have so far. First is that Niall Paternoster claimed he dropped his wife at the store to buy cat litter, saying they had run out of it. When he met with uniform officers at his home yesterday, he told us that his wife, Eden, was annoyed with him because he’d forgotten to buy any cat litter himself, the day before. But this story has been thrown into doubt by Chris Gee’s team – they discovered two large sacks of cat litter clumsily hidden at the back of a cupboard in the utility room. Would anyone forget they had two sacks of the stuff? From what we know so far, Eden Paternoster was a clever, intelligent and efficient lady – I’d say it was pretty unlikely she’d have forgotten she had two whole sacks of the stuff in the house.’

  He looked around at his team and saw nods of concurrence. Several of them were making notes.

  ‘Next,’ he said. ‘Despite the Tesco store having CCTV coverage both of the exterior and interior, there was no image of Eden Paternoster at all. But there is footage of Niall inside the store shortly before closing. There is also no footage of her from the CCTV cameras of the immediately neighbouring Marks and Spencer store or the McDonald’s. To add substantial weight to this, there is the photograph on Niall Paternoster’s phone of his wife in front of the lake at Parham House. He claims he took this earlier that afternoon. But according to the analysis done by Aiden Gilbert’s Digital Forensics Team, this photograph was date stamped over a week earlier, on Saturday August twenty-fourth. This is corroborated by the plot of Paternoster’s mobile phone, showing he was there at exactly that date and time.’ He looked at Louise Soper. ‘I believe you have further information on this, Lou?’

  ‘I do, boss. On the advice of the Collision Investigation Unit, I had the Paternosters’ BMW Three Series transported to the local main dealer in Portslade. They carried out an analysis of the data from the car’s onboard computer system. Its movements tally exactly with the plot of Niall Paternoster’s phone and the journeys we know about. It was stationary at Parham House, West Sussex, during the exact time the photograph of Mrs Paternoster was taken, at 1.50 p.m. on Saturday August twenty-fourth. This tallies with the three ANPR cameras that picked up the BMW on both its outward and inbound journeys. In addition, we have the plot of the car’s journey first to Ashdown Forest early last Friday morning and then to Shoreham Harbour, with corroborating evidence from four ANPR cameras.’

  Branson thanked her. ‘We’ll come on to the findings, so far, at Ashdown Forest in a few minutes. But before we do that, something I feel is very significant are two rings found underneath bedroom floorboards by the Forensic Team. One is almost certainly Eden’s wedding band and the other would seem likely to be her engagement ring. Removed and concealed. The first question this begs is why someone would remove their wedding and engagement rings? And, secondly, why they would hide them?’

  ‘Fear of being burgled?’ Norman Potting ventured.

  ‘Fair point, Norman,’ Branson replied. ‘But it makes you wonder why she removed them – if indeed she did. Could it have been her husband, thinking that would make identifying her body harder?’

  ‘What do we know about the state of their marriage, boss?’ Jon Exton queried.

  Branson turned and looked at the association chart behind him. ‘Have any of our Outside Enquiry Teams talked to her friends yet?’

  ‘Her immediate family – including mother and sister – have been contacted. Her mother didn’t have a good word to say about her son-in-law,’ EJ Boutwood answered.

  ‘You should talk to my ex-mother-in-law!’ Norman Potting said.

  ‘All four of them?’ EJ quizzed.

  Potting blushed. ‘Yes, well – don’t think they’d have many good words to say about me.’

  ‘Any good reason for that?’ EJ asked cheekily. ‘And by the way, how did that Swedish detective you were sweet on work out?’

  ‘Don’t ask.’

  ‘OK, you two,’ Branson admonished. ‘You haven’t contacted any of her friends yet, EJ?’

  ‘I have the names of four of her best friends, sir. I’m planning to speak to them tonight.’

  Branson turned to the Intelligence Cell and asked for an update.

  Martyn Stratford replied, ‘Sir, I’ve been doing some background on Niall Paternoster. I’ve found two things that might be of significance. First, he started his career as a butcher’s assistant – working for a firm up near Fiveways in Brighton. The second and possibly more significant thing is that he emigrated to Perth, Western Australia, when he was twenty-two. His business partner, an Aussie called Karen Dale, wasn’t wealthy but had a bit of money. They worked, at the time, as sailing instructors. They were with a client in a small yacht off the coast of Perth and according to him they were caught out at sea one night in a storm and she went overboard. Her remains were never found.’

  ‘And he inherited the business?’ Branson asked.

  ‘Well, he sold the business off soon afterwards for about thirty thousand pounds. He returned to the UK and a couple of years later he received a caution from Brighton and Hove Police, for a minor assault that occ
urred in a late-night taxi queue altercation, so we have his DNA on record. But, other than that, he’s clean.’

  Branson stared at him. ‘That’s very interesting indeed, Martyn. And it could well be extremely significant. Well done.’ He made a note. ‘OK, the next thing I have from the Digital Forensics Team is Eden’s lack of activity on social media. She normally posted daily on Facebook, Twitter and Instagram. But there’s been no activity on any of her accounts since 7.17 p.m. last Thursday August twenty-ninth. This coincides with the very concerning report from the Outside Enquiry Team about the row a neighbour heard the Paternosters having on Thursday evening. And, subsequently, the sound of the Paternosters’ BMW being driven in the early hours of Friday morning, on a journey which has been plotted by the car’s onboard computer, tallying with the plot of Niall Paternoster’s phone from Digital Forensics and from a number of ANPR cameras that clocked the vehicle’s journey first to Ashdown Forest, then to Shoreham Harbour and then back to their home in Nevill Road, Hove.’

  He paused to let this sink in before continuing. ‘Under Chris Gee’s direction, Forensics Teams have been deployed at Ashdown Forest, and the dive team, Specialist Services International, in the area around the harbour mole.’

  ‘Would that be at a mole-ecular level, boss?’ Norman Potting quipped, and chortled, looking around a sea of blank faces for an audience.

  With everyone aware of the gravity of the situation with Grace’s son, even though Grace himself wasn’t present, no one was in the mood for Potting’s humour.

  Branson gave him a withering glance. ‘Thank you, Norman. Chris will be giving us a significant update shortly.’ He looked down at his notes, then at DS Alexander again. ‘Jack, it says here that Eden Paternoster didn’t go into work at the insurance company, Mutual Occidental, last Friday morning.’

  The Detective Sergeant nodded. ‘Correct, sir. She was expected at a staff meeting, at 8.30 on Friday morning, but she never appeared, nor did she phone in sick. I’ve got Polly going back to the company tomorrow to speak to her work colleagues.’

  Branson turned to the Crime Scene Manager. ‘Chris, what can you tell us about the blood found in the Paternosters’ house?’

  ‘Quite a bit, sir. The Forensics Team found some recent bloodstains at the house. Some was in the kitchen, which Niall Paternoster claimed came from his cutting his finger on a potato peeler that was in a kitchen drawer while rummaging for a bottle opener. But that doesn’t explain a bloodstained T-shirt found hidden behind the panel in the en-suite – blood which the forensic lab has confirmed has Eden Paternoster’s DNA. As well as the blood found around the kitchen unit, which is a mix of both hers and Niall Paternoster’s.’

  ‘The kitchen knife is still missing?’ Branson asked.

  ‘Well,’ Gee said, and hesitated. ‘Maybe, but possibly not.’

  ‘Meaning what, Chris?’ Branson prompted.

  Looking expansively at the team, Gee said, ‘It’s early doors, but as the boss told you, we have a major search of an area in Ashdown Forest currently under way. Just over an hour ago a woman’s blue-and-white trainer, with a matching shoe size to Eden Paternoster, was found alongside what looks like a shallow grave with no body in, which we have declared a crime scene and is currently being excavated. Close to that we’ve recovered a kitchen knife with bloodstains. I’ve not had a chance to examine it myself, but from the photographs that have been sent to me, it looks a pretty close match to the one missing from the knife rack in the Paternosters’ house. It’s being sent to the DNA lab for priority analysis.’

  ‘This knife,’ Branson said. ‘It was the largest in the rack?’

  ‘Yes,’ Gee confirmed.

  Branson shot a glance at DS Stratford, then back at Gee. ‘The kind a butcher might use to cut up an animal?’

  ‘Quite possibly, yes.’

  ‘Are you excavating through the night?’

  ‘We are, until midnight.’

  ‘If you find any human remains, please call me, and I’ll come over.’

  ‘I will do, sir,’ Gee said.

  Branson thought about the knife. He knew that in any stabbing where a knife without a hilt, such as a kitchen knife, was used, when plunged into a human body it would very likely strike bone, causing the assailant’s hand to slide forward from the handle onto the blade and create a deep cut. In the majority of stabbings the offender’s blood would be mingled with the victim’s. If this knife which had been found had any trace of Niall’s DNA, it would be a major step forward.

  He made a note then looked up at the Crime Scene Manager again. ‘Did your team have any luck locating a will in the house, Chris?’

  ‘Not so far, sir, no. But they are still going through the contents of filing cabinets in a spare room being used as an office, and two more cabinets we found up in the loft.’

  Branson nodded, then turned to Emily Denyer. ‘Emily, you’ve been investigating the Paternosters’ finances. How’s that going?’

  ‘Well, quite interesting, sir – particularly in light of what we’re hearing and from the interview with her husband. Mrs Paternoster seems to be a wealthy woman – in relative terms. She is very much the breadwinner in the relationship, earning substantially more than her husband. The house is in her name, probably because she is the one who put down the original deposit when they bought it. That lump sum came from a combination of her savings and an inheritance from her grandmother, who died five years ago. The mortgage appears to be paid off, possibly unknown to Niall, and at the present time, Eden Paternoster has just over £10,000 in cash savings, invested through her personal account at the HSBC bank in Ditchling Road, Brighton. I’m awaiting replies on her rental properties and there are still a couple of organizations I need to hear back from, too. I’m also trying to track down any life insurance that may exist.’

  Glenn Branson thanked her and made some more notes, giving time for this significant information to sink in to everyone. ‘Nice work, Emily,’ he said.

  Exton and Potting updated the team on the interview that had taken place earlier, and then Glenn addressed them all. ‘We’ve heard the evidence so far, which points to Eden Paternoster being murdered by her husband. We also now have a motive – in fact, possibly two motives. The first is financial. Would Niall Paternoster stand to gain from his wife’s death? Clearly yes. In the event of her body not being found, he would have to wait seven years for her to be declared legally dead. He could sell the marital home – which would, subject to the provisions in any will, of course – net him a considerable sum. The house is worth, at current values, around £600,000.’

  He paused to look at his notes. ‘Of potential interest to us is a discovery from text messages on his phone, as well as the O2 data, that he had a liaison at 5.30 p.m. on Sunday with a person – or persons – unknown. The number appears to be for an unregistered pay-as-you-go, and there was no answer when we tried calling. It is my hypothesis that this as yet unknown person could be his girlfriend. From all the evidence I’ve heard so far – and from having met the man myself, along with the boss – this enquiry has the hallmarks of a marital breakdown due to infidelity.’ He paused again for a moment to make another note, before continuing.

  ‘From my reading of Niall Paternoster, we have a man with an inferiority complex. This is not helped by his wife earning far more than him. And her owning the marital home. Let’s consider for a moment that his assignation last Sunday might have been with a lover. What does that leave us with?’

  Potting raised a hand, but Branson, seeing from his expression that another fatuous remark was coming, ignored it, instead continuing himself. ‘A very real and compelling motive to murder his wife. Her money, his lover, or both.’

  He looked around the table. No one stirred.

  Then he looked at his watch. ‘We can hold Niall Paternoster in custody until 9.45 a.m. tomorrow, after which we either have to charge him or go for a further court extension or release him on police bail. I am speaking to CPS but, from all
I’m hearing, we may have sufficient evidence to charge him with his wife’s murder, if we want to go that route. Does anyone disagree?’

  No one did.

  50

  Tuesday 3 September

  Ending the meeting, Branson asked Norman Potting and Jon Exton to come to his office. When the door was closed and they were seated he said, ‘OK, let’s consider our options. As I said, I’m pretty confident with what we have that the CPS would sanction us charging Niall Paternoster with his wife’s murder, despite there being no body – so far. But I’m not sure that would be our best tactical move and, of course, we don’t know the full results from the searches in the forest.’

  ‘Tactics? Why do you say that, sir?’ Exton asked.

  ‘If her body, or part of it, is found, that’s one thing. But I’m puzzled by the trainer and the knife being discovered outside this shallow grave. If Niall Paternoster went to the trouble of taking her body out to the forest and burying it, why not bury the trainer and the knife with it?’

  ‘Perhaps he did, boss,’ Potting suggested. ‘And forest wildlife predators disturbed it – we’ve enough past experience of that happening.’

  Branson nodded. ‘Yes, very much a possibility, Norman, animals might remove body parts and items of clothing, but I don’t know any animal that would take a kitchen knife. We’ll see what Lorna’s team find from their excavations but my sense is that it will only be items of clothing, and that her body might well have been dismembered and disposed of in bits – especially now we know that Niall was once a butcher – most likely in Shoreham Harbour. If that happened last week, most, if not all, would have been picked clean by crustaceans and fish by now. Either of you having shellfish for supper tonight?’

  Both Potting and Exton grinned. Exton looked queasy. ‘Actually, Dawn is cooking me a prawn curry.’