by P R Ellis
Tom Shepherd was standing at the whiteboard with half a dozen men and women facing him, some of whom Jasmine recognised but a couple that were unfamiliar. Tom saw her enter and smiled.
‘Ah, Jas, come and join us. We’re just going over what we know.’ The other faces turned to look at her, some welcoming her with a smile, one or two looking bemused as if wondering who this interloper was. Jasmine joined them. Sasha Patel shuffled to the side to make space in the circle. She greeted Jasmine with a grin. They had met a year before on another case when she had been the “advisor” but Sasha had joined the team since Jasmine had left the police service.
Tom addressed the group. ‘Jasmine has joined us because the nature of the case suggests that she will have particular knowledge and opinions that may be useful to us. DCI Sloane has approved her presence as an advisor. In fact, he suggested it. Now I think you all know the bare facts of the case, but I invited Dr Winslade to join us to give us the details about the victim, Evelyn Bunting.’
The young pathologist who had been standing at the end of the line stepped forward.
‘Thank you, Tom. Great to see you again, Jasmine. Now as you know, Evelyn Bunting’s body was found in the rear ground floor room of the property she shared with her partner Harriet Bunting. The body had a covering of soot and other products of the fire but was not burned. The fire was not the cause of death. Mr, er Miss, Mizz, . . which is it Jasmine?’
Jasmine was disturbed from her listening mode. ‘Um, I’m not certain how Evelyn identified herself. She apparently usually wore female clothes but I’m not sure that necessarily means she considered herself female. I think we need to leave her gender open until we find out more.’
‘Thanks, yes, well, the victim was killed by a blow to the head with a blunt instrument.’
‘A hammer?’ Terry Hopkins offered.
‘No,’ Dr Winslade replied, ‘This is the murder implement, we think.’ She lifted up a large, clear plastic evidence bag from the desk behind her. There was a long, narrow black object inside.
‘It was found amongst the debris in the front room of the shop.’
‘It’s a baseball bat,’ Hopkins said, leaning forward to peer into the bag.
‘Yes, DC Hopkins. It’s not just covered in soot. It was partly burned in the fire so it’s fairly fragile. Because of that we’re not going to get any DNA from the assailant off it or any fingerprints, but its size and shape fits the wound to Evelyn’s head.’
‘You can’t prove it was the weapon used?’ Sasha said.
Tom interrupted, ‘No, but it looks likely and gives us some questions and perhaps answers. Go on Doctor.’
Dr Winslade put the package back on the desk. ‘The cause of death is therefore fairly certain but the timing is not. All I can say is that it was before the fire started. There is no smoke in the victim’s lungs.’
‘So Bunting didn’t start the fire?’ Hopkins asked.
‘No,’ Winslade said slowly as if uncertain. ‘However, we did find a trace of an accelerant on her hands, face and feet.’
A young dark-skinned man standing between Sasha Patel and Terry Hopkins who Jasmine didn’t recognise, spoke. ‘Accelerant?’
‘Petrol?’ Terry offered.
‘That’s right,’ Winslade replied.
Terry Hopkins had a triumphant look on his face, ‘The killer spilled petrol on her when he was setting the fire.’
Tom looked doubtful. ‘Not necessarily. The petrol is only on specific parts of Bunting’s body. It doesn’t look as if she was doused with it.’
‘Oh,’ Hopkins was crestfallen.
The young detective spoke again, ‘Does it show that it was Bunting that was spreading the petrol?’
‘Good point, Hamid. It looks a possibility,’ Tom said, giving the junior detective a smile.
Sasha Patel summed up what Jasmine was thinking. ‘Bunting is implicated in the arson but did not actually start the fire.’
Tom nodded. ‘That’s what it looks like. We’ll come back to that in minute, but we’ll let Dr Winslade finish so that she can get off.’
‘Thanks Tom,’ the pathologist smiled at the group. ‘There were other injuries on the body. There were marks on his buttocks and backs of the thighs and on his wrists and ankles. The marks vary in size and age – some have almost faded away and others are recent. We believe that these, er, injuries are unrelated to the death of Evelyn Bunting but were representative of his, um, lifestyle. Jasmine, I think you can explain.’
Explain was not a word that Jasmine would have chosen. Describe, narrate, or report, perhaps, but definitely not explain. She paused before responding to the doctor’s appeal.
‘Yes, well, I can’t say I understand it but we have established that Evelyn Bunting and his, er wife, Harriet had a submissive-dominant relationship. Evelyn was the submissive and Harriet the dominant. Evelyn was forced – perhaps forced is the wrong word because he did it willingly – he had to wear certain female clothes and wear a chastity cage on his penis. It also appears from Dr Winslade’s description that he was spanked or beaten frequently and perhaps regularly.’ Jasmine stopped but realised that she wanted to add something. ‘I don’t have any personal experience of this kind of BDSM relationship but since yesterday I have been looking into it. Harriet Bunting has confirmed it but has not gone into the details of their relationship.’ She looked at her colleagues and saw Terry Hopkins looking at her leerily, while Hamid, the new detective, had a lip curled in disgust.
Tom gave her a grateful smile. ‘Thanks Jas. I should add, that when SOCO searched the living accommodation above the shop they found a drawer containing a variety of wrist and ankle restraints and collars.’
‘A pair of nutters,’ Terry Hopkins muttered.
‘We’re not here to judge their relationship,’ Tom said.
Dr Winslade went on, ‘And there is no direct link between Evelyn Bunting’s death and their lifestyle. The blow to the back of his head was unlikely to be part of some BDSM scenario.’
Tom continued. ‘But we’re not saying that there is no connection between the relationship Evelyn and Harriet Bunting had and the arson and murder. We have to keep an open mind.’
‘Is Harriet Bunting a suspect?’ Sasha asked.
‘Yes,’ Tom replied, ‘although she appears to have an alibi and seemed distressed on hearing that Evelyn was dead. We will be looking at all possibilities. Which brings us to DS Lockyear.’
All turned to look at the female at the end of the row.
‘Charlotte is a member of the SOCO team. Over to you Charlotte.’
The woman stepped forward and faced the group. ‘Thanks DI Shepherd. We are still investigating the scene but have drawn a number of conclusions that I can share with you. First of all, the fire started at the front of the building. We believe the ignition was caused by something thrown through one of the windows; some glass was found inside while most of the windows were blown out by the fire. There is evidence that the accelerant, petrol, was spread around the front and middle rooms prior to the fire starting.’
‘Er, let me get this right,’ Terry Hopkins said. ‘DI Shepherd said that Bunting poured the petrol in the place but was dead before the fire was lit.’
‘That’s right,’ Tom said.
‘So the killer started it,’ Terry added.
Tom shrugged. ‘It’s a possibility. We don’t know. The killer had to get out. Whether he did that before or after the fire started is uncertain.’
Sasha Patel raised a hand and spoke, ‘There could be three people involved – Evelyn who spread the petrol and then was hit on the head by her killer and someone else who started the fire by throwing something through the window.’
Tom nodded, ‘That’s right, or the killer and the arsonist may be the same person.’
‘We’re looking for DNA all around the building,’ Charlotte Lockyear said. ‘There’s not much chance of getting any from the front and middle rooms where the fire was fiercest, as DI Shepherd h
as commented on in connection with the baseball bat, but we have found a number of possible samples upstairs as well as those instruments that were mentioned. They could reveal if the Buntings entertained, er, guests.’
‘We’ll have to wait for DNA results,’ Tom added, ‘But DS Lockyear does have some more immediate information for us.’
‘Yes,’ Charlotte said, ‘We have Bunting’s laptop. It was pretty badly damaged in the fire but we have managed to retrieve some files from the hard drive. These seem to relate to the business and include the accounts. I’ve made the files available to you.
‘Could the fire have been an insurance scam?’ Sasha blurted out.
Tom chuckled, ‘Very good, Sasha. We need to check his insurance, if he had any. But of course, it doesn’t explain his death. We do though have some of his emails and phone records.’
The group leaned forward expectantly. This was what they were hoping for – names of family, friends and acquaintances that may become suspects when questioned.
‘There are quite a lot of names,’ Charlotte said, ‘but only a few appear a number of times.’
‘They’re the ones we will start with,’ Tom added. He turned to write on the white board, ‘There’s Akash Rana, Gary Nicholls, Lee Clement, S Mcleesh, and Neville Griffith.’
‘Neville Griffith?’ Terry said. ‘That name’s come up before. Isn’t he involved in some shady stuff?’
Tom nodded, ‘I recognised it too, Terry. Could be the same guy. Those are the ones we want to know more about. Who are they? What was their connection to Bunting?’
Jasmine felt urged to speak, ‘What about Harriet and that friend she spent the evening with, Tyler Smith.’
‘Good point, Jas,’ Tom said, ‘Thanks for the rundown, Charlotte. We need to find out more about these people and their connection to Evelyn Bunting.’ He looked at DC Hopkins, ‘You take Griffiths, Terry. Find out if it is the guy we know and how he and Bunting came to be in contact. Hamid, you look into Rana and Nicholls. Sasha – take Clement and McLeesh. I’m going to have another chat with Mrs Bunting and I’d like you with, me Jasmine.’
He was about to send them all off with a wave of his hand, when Hamid spoke, ‘Um, can you explain what Bunting’s business was. I don’t understand.’
‘Yes, of course,’ Tom said, ‘Jasmine, can you give us an outline.’
This was something Jasmine felt happier with. ‘Bunting supplied clothes and other stuff to transgendered people. He advertised online so did postal deliveries but also sold across the counter in the shop.’
‘What do you mean, other stuff?’ Hamid asked.
Jasmine took a deep breath, ‘Basically, aids to help men look more like women or at least let them feel more like women.’
Hamid still looked confused. Jasmine went into more detail. ‘Wigs, false breasts, special knickers to hide their bits, and give them a bigger bum. He even had a line in body suits that can give a man a female figure, big tits, wide hips, a vagina.’
Hamid’s eyes had widened as if he could barely believe it.
‘Are you a customer?’ Hopkins chuckled.
Jasmine tasted acid in her mouth. ‘No, I never have been and I certainly am not one now.’
‘Moved on have you?’ Terry said.
‘Now, Terry.’ Tom cautioned. Tom had seniority of rank but not of age. Hopkins glowered at him.
Jasmine felt sad. Despite going through her GRS she was still going to get these snide remarks from people like Hopkins. People who didn’t seem to think it rude to tease someone about their gender identity to their face. She realised that what she had said wasn’t completely true; she was still stuffing enhancers into her bra to give herself the illusion of fuller breasts. Nevertheless, she was disappointed that she was still going to have to fight for her identity with the Hopkinses of the world.
The team was dispersing to their desks and Dr Winslade and Charlotte Lockyear were hurrying out. Jasmine stood still, not sure where she was to go. Tom saw her and stepped towards her.
‘Are you okay, Jas? Sorry about Terry. His attitudes still haven’t got into the twenty-first century.’
Jasmine shrugged. ‘I suppose I am still going to meet people like him. Who’s the new boy?’
‘Hamid? DC Sassani. Just joined us having transferred from the Met. He told me his parents came from Iran in the 1980s. Seems a keen lad but inexperienced. It’ll be good if you get to know him.’
‘Perhaps, but I’m not planning on spending much time here, Tom. I’ve got a business to run, or I hope I have once I get back to it.’
Tom looked a little sad at that. ‘Yes, of course, Jas, but you can give us a bit of help, can’t you?’
Jasmine smiled. To be truthful, she was loving being back among the team investigating a murder. Not the gore or filth of the body or contemplating the pain the victim may have suffered of course, but the buzz from the search for clues, of finding connections, and teasing information from witnesses and suspects; of bringing criminals to justice an inch at a time. ‘Of course. What do you want me to do? You said you wanted me with you for another interview with Harriet Bunting.’
‘Yes. We’ll do that, but I’ve got some admin to do first. Why don’t you look through the data we’ve collected so far? You used to be good at that. Oh, and find out about this Tyler Smith character.’
‘OK, but how do I do all that. I’m not on the system anymore.’
Tom didn’t hesitate. ‘You can use my desk and log-in.’
Jasmine shrugged. ‘Which is your desk?’ Tom pointed to the back of the room. ‘Oh, you haven’t moved.’
‘No, but I’m in and out of Sloane’s office these days.’ In confirmation, he headed towards the self-contained office of the DCI.
Jasmine walked to the desk Tom had indicated and sat down noting that he had already logged himself into the police computer system. Soon she had called up the corrupted files that the forensic team had dug out of Bunting’s fire-damaged laptop. She immersed herself in the emails, accounts and business files, such as there were. Some were intriguing snippets, others just names and addresses. An hour had passed when she paused. She chuckled to herself. She had hated this work when it was the only task she had been given once she started to transition. It was one reason for her resignation. Now, almost two years later, it gave her purpose again and a sense of being part of the team. Nevertheless, she needed to ease the stiffness in her groin. She stood up and went to the corner of the office where the drinks machine still was. As she waited for the machine to fill a paper cup with black coffee she was joined by the middle-eastern detective. Jasmine looked at him wondering when police officers, detectives even, had started to look young. It wasn’t long since she turned thirty and she didn’t feel old herself but the Iranian’s smooth, olive skin made him look barely out of college.
‘Miss Frame,’ he said as introduction.
‘Call me Jasmine. You’re Hamid?’
He nodded, ‘Yes. Hamid Sassani.’
‘Settling in?’
‘Yes. It’s different to the Met, but I am enjoying being a detective.’
‘I did too.’
‘Ah, yes. Terry said you worked in the unit when you were a man.’
Jasmine felt her face take on a grimace. It was typical of Terry to out her. Actually, she could take him to court for revealing her gender history. Her Gender Recognition Certificate had arrived a few months before her operation. It was supposed to protect her from having her history revealed. But, she reflected, her chances of just being known as a woman in this environment were limited; so many people had known her as James Frame or were aware of her transition.
Instead of launching into a self-defensive tirade she nodded. ‘That’s right. I started my transition right here.’
Hamid bowed his head. ‘I am sorry. It is an intrusion, but I don’t know much about transsexuals.’ He pronounced the word as if it was an unfamiliar part of his vocabulary.
‘Not many people do.’
‘But I have a cousin who is one.’
Jasmine’s expression surprise. ‘Really?’
‘He, I mean she, has had the, er, treatment. Now she is a good Moslem woman. She wears the niqab and she hopes to have a husband.’
‘I don’t know much about Moslem transwomen, or men,’ Jasmine confessed. She was thinking what concealing her body, as many Moslem women did, would mean to her. Would it also mean making herself subservient to a husband as it seemed Islamic women often were? She wanted her relationship with Viv to develop, but had not thought of marriage or becoming a wife.
Hamid nodded. ‘It is difficult. Her parents are traditional and have disowned her saying their son has dishonoured the family. Even my parents have criticised her and they haven’t been practising Moslems since they got out of Iran during the revolution.
‘What do you think?’ Jasmine asked, testing Hamid’s attitude. He looked sad.
‘I’m not sure. I think everyone should have the freedom to follow their beliefs, whether it is their religion or their personal feelings, but I don’t really understand her. I have only met her a couple of times. She seems content now that she is a woman despite all the difficulties and rejection that has brought her. She has been attacked by Moslem men and some have threatened to kill her.’
Jasmine reflected. ‘It is a very deep urge to be the person you feel yourself to be. I am sure that is as strong in everyone regardless of their race or religion. I admire your cousin for going ahead with her transition and I hope she stays safe.’
‘You have had no such difficulty?’ Hamid asked.
Difficulties? Well there had been a few but Jasmine couldn’t imagine that she had faced the pitfalls that Hamid’s cousin had met.
‘It hasn’t been easy,’ she admitted, ‘particularly the wait for my surgery, but I’ve had support from my boyfriend and my ex-wife, and my family.’ Well sister Holly more than Mother, but they got along.
‘The reassignment surgery …’
‘We call it Gender Confirmation now. My surgery confirmed me as the person I know myself to be. I’ve always felt feminine and now my body is too.’ Almost, she acknowledged. Nothing could change her broad shoulders, almost non-existent waist and narrow hips. ‘Actually, the hormones have more effect on outward appearance than the surgery. They soften the features and re-distribute some fat to give a more female figure.’
