The Blissfully Dead

by Louise Voss

  ‘How’s it going?’ Suzanne asked.

  ‘He’s still saying “no comment” to everything, on the grounds that he may incriminate himself. But I’m going to crack him. Don’t worry. We’ve got almost a whole day before we need to charge him. I’ve already caught him out lying, a ton of times. He looks up and to the right when I ask him anything tricky, which, as we all know, is a clear indicator that he’s fabricating instead of remembering.’

  Winkler sounded so smug that Patrick couldn’t help snorting. ‘You’re kidding! You’d be laughed out of court if you use that as evidence!’

  ‘I want Patrick to join the interview,’ Suzanne said.

  ‘No way!’

  Patrick was tempted to say ‘Yes way’, but resisted, even though the horror on Winkler’s face had brightened his mood considerably.

  ‘Patrick has interviewed Mr Hammond before and I believe he was very communicative then.’

  ‘Highly,’ said Patrick.

  ‘Yeah, well, Lennon gets on well with people who hurt kids.’

  Suzanne stepped between them before Patrick could punch Winkler in the face. ‘Adrian. That is uncalled for. Patrick is going to lead this interview from now on—’

  ‘Lead?’ Winkler’s voice rose an octave.

  ‘—and if you make one more comment like that you’ll be looking at a transfer to traffic before the week is out. Do you understand?’

  Winkler glared like a toddler who’d been told to share his precious sweets with his sibling. ‘This was my arrest, though, don’t forget that. I don’t want him getting all the credit.’

  Suzanne hissed at him. ‘For fuck’s sake, we are a team. Do you understand that? I’ve a good mind to pull you out of this interview now and send Carmella in with Patrick instead.’

  ‘Good idea,’ said Patrick. ‘Where is Carmella?’

  ‘In interview room three, taking a statement from Hammond’s housekeeper, Miss Wattana.’

  Winkler had gone purple. ‘You . . . You can’t—’

  Suzanne pointed a manicured finger at him. ‘I won’t do that. Yet. But I want a word with you after this interview. Just get Hammond to talk. Both of you.’

  She turned and marched away, leaving both Patrick and Winkler looking after her. Patrick opened his mouth to say something conciliatory to Winkler, to try to make peace before they went into the interview room. If they didn’t put up a united front, this interview was doomed. But before he could speak, Winkler pushed open the door and went inside, giving Patrick no choice but to follow him.

  Winkler threw himself down into the chair farthest from the wall, leaving Patrick to sit down in the ‘driving’ seat, beside the tape recorder.

  ‘Bringing in the good cop now, are we?’ Hammond said, smirking as Winkler glared at him. ‘Detective Lennon, have you met my lawyer, Cassandra Oliver?’

  The red-headed woman reached across the table and shook Patrick’s hand. Her grip was cold, but she was an attractive woman in her late forties, with green eyes and pale skin. Her name was familiar and Patrick had the feeling she’d been involved in several celebrity trials. No doubt she was ludicrously expensive.

  He switched on the recorder and told the machine the time and date and who was present. Hammond watched him expectantly.

  ‘Mr Hammond, as you know, you are being questioned regarding the unlawful killings of Rose Sharp and Jessica McMasters. Can you tell me where you were between the hours of 7 p.m. and 11 p.m. on Thursday, fifth of February, and Saturday, seventh of February?’

  ‘Your “bad cop” colleague has already asked me these questions,’ Hammond snapped.

  ‘But I believe you didn’t give him an answer.’

  Hammond sat back in his chair.

  ‘Mr Hammond, can you answer my question?’

  ‘What question was that?’

  Patrick sighed and was about to go through the process of repeating his words when the PR man said, ‘Oh for goodness’ sake, I don’t have an alibi for either of those dates, nor when the policewoman was murdered. They happen to be the only three evenings this month when I wasn’t either working, at a social engagement or at the gym.’

  ‘What a coincidence,’ muttered Winkler, so quietly that the tape machine wouldn’t pick it up. Raising his voice, he said to Patrick, ‘He’s got no alibi for Nancy Marr’s murder either.’

  Patrick nodded. They didn’t know exactly when Mrs Marr had been killed, but he assumed Winkler had ascertained that Mervyn had not been out of the country or otherwise engaged for the entire period they were looking at.

  ‘So where were you on the dates I mentioned?’ Patrick asked, still using his politest tone.

  ‘I was at home. On my own. I am allowed to relax occasionally, you know.’

  ‘What were you doing?’

  Hammond looked directly at Winkler. ‘I was playing with my train set, as your colleague would no doubt put it.’

  Patrick blinked. ‘Train set?’

  Mervyn popped a nut into his mouth and chewed. ‘It’s my hobby. I collect and build model railways. I have an incredibly busy life, and it’s how I relax. Unfortunately, it’s something I do on my own. So no, nobody can corroborate my “story”.’ He waggled his fingers.

  ‘What about your housekeeper? Did she see you?’

  ‘She doesn’t work during the evenings unless we have a function. I’m not a slave-driver.’

  ‘You have a bodyguard, don’t you? Kerry, er . . .’

  ‘Mangan. Yes. But he doesn’t work when I’m at home on my own. I don’t expect thugs to come into my home and attack me or my property.’ He looked pointedly at Winkler and Patrick thought, Oh God, what did Winkler do now?

  Cassandra Oliver spoke up. ‘I think we’ve established that my client does not have an alibi for the times you’re interested in. That doesn’t mean he murdered anyone. And these allegations that Detective Winkler mentioned before you joined the interview, Detective Lennon, are pure malicious hearsay, lies from a former tabloid journalist with a grudge against my client.’

  ‘What about the underwear?’ Winkler said, unable to keep quiet any longer. ‘How do you explain that?’

  He reached beneath the table and produced an evidence bag containing the pink knickers that had been found on Mervyn’s property. It was the first time Patrick had laid eyes on them, and seeing them now, slightly crumpled inside the transparent bag, caused a wave of sadness to hit him. He would never forget the way Sally Sharp’s face had folded in on itself as she’d told him what Rose had been wearing the night she was killed.

  He took a deep breath. ‘Mr Hammond, this item of clothing was found inside a bin bag at your house. Do you deny that?’

  Hammond shrugged, a gesture that Patrick reported verbally to the tape recorder.

  ‘How do you explain its presence on your property?’

  Hammond leaned forwards. ‘I can’t explain it. There was a party at my house last night. Dozens of guests, waiting staff, cleaners in this morning. This underwear must belong to one of them.’

  ‘Are you aware that Rose Sharp was believed to have been wearing an item of underwear matching these the night she was murdered?’

  ‘Only because your colleague told me.’

  The lawyer spoke up again. ‘Primark knickers. There must be hundreds, thousands of young women walking around London right now wearing the exact same pair. Have these been DNA tested already?’

  Patrick looked at Winkler, who said, ‘Not yet.’ Patrick suppressed a sigh. Evidence like this would normally be sent straight to the lab for testing, but he guessed Winkler had decided the impact of presenting them in the interview took precedence.

  Cassandra Oliver raised her palms. ‘Then you don’t even know if they were Rose Sharp’s. This is ridiculous. You should release my client right—’

  Winkler cut her off. ‘When w
e do test them, which we will immediately after this interview, I am sure they will match Rose Sharp’s DNA. We received information—’

  ‘An anonymous tip-off.’

  ‘Information that Rose Sharp’s underwear could be found at your house, Mr Hammond. I then undertook a search after questioning your cleaning staff who reported finding the item I was looking for. What were they doing at your house?’

  ‘Like I said,’ Hammond replied. ‘They must have belonged to one of the party guests. I can only assume that somebody sneaked off to one of the bathrooms or bedrooms and got carried away. It all did get, ahem, slightly out of control towards the end. Some people were totally off their heads, skinny-dipping, shouting – actually I wondered if someone had spiked the drinks. The rational explanation is that some daft bint had a shag and was too out of it to put her knickers back on.’

  ‘Only if they don’t contain Rose’s DNA.’

  ‘And if they do – why, if I killed this poor girl, would I leave her underwear lying around at my house?’

  It was a good question, Patrick thought, and one that Winkler had no answer to. Something else occurred to him as he watched Hammond pick up another nut.

  ‘Mr Hammond – are you right-handed or left?’

  Hammond scowled. ‘Well, I don’t see what that’s got to do with anything – but I’m left-handed.’

  Cassandra Oliver leaned forwards. ‘If this underwear did indeed belong to the victim, it seems clear what’s happened,’ she said. ‘My client has been framed. Somebody planted it at his house and called you anonymously. It doesn’t take a genius to work that out.’ She looked pointedly at Winkler.

  Patrick paused, thinking about what to do next. He was tempted to suspend the interview, get the underwear sent for DNA testing, but Suzanne had instructed them to get Hammond to talk, and so far he had said nothing useful.

  ‘Let’s move on,’ he said. He decided to take a risk, to try to get things moving. ‘Mr Hammond, do you have a sexual interest in underage girls?’

  Mervyn Hammond’s expression was one of pure outrage. ‘No, I do not!’ He thumped the desk. ‘How dare you?’

  Winkler sneered. ‘What were you doing visiting St Mary’s Children’s Home last Monday night?’

  For the first time, Hammond’s air of superiority wobbled. ‘What?’ he asked.

  ‘You were seen,’ Winkler went on, ‘entering St Mary’s Children’s Home in Isleworth at 18.49 that evening. What were you doing there?’

  ‘No comment,’ replied Mervyn.

  This was interesting, Patrick thought.

  ‘Have you interviewed the staff of this children’s home?’ asked Oliver.

  ‘There’s a pair of officers on their way now,’ Winkler replied.

  ‘Why did you go there?’ Patrick asked before Winkler could say anything else.

  ‘No comment.’

  ‘I don’t understand what this has to do with your murder investigation,’ Oliver interjected.

  ‘We believe,’ Winkler said, ‘that it shows a pattern of behaviour, that Mr Hammond here enjoys the company of schoolgirls.’

  ‘This is preposterous,’ Hammond said, spluttering.

  ‘Then why won’t you tell us the purpose of your visit?’ Patrick asked.

  ‘Because it’s none of your fucking business, that’s why.’

  Patrick sat back. Could Hammond actually be guilty? They knew he was sleazy. He had paid off Roisin McGreevy after Shawn Barrett hurt her. No doubt that wasn’t the only occasion he’d had to help shut someone up. Patrick also knew that Hammond had represented a rock star who had been shacked up with a fifteen-year-old girl in the eighties, helping this ageing rocker win public sympathy by portraying the girl as a gold-digging hussy who lied about her age.

  So Hammond had shown little moral fibre when it came to the issue of underage sex. Also, he had no alibi. He definitely had the access to teenage girls. It would be easy for him to promise that he would introduce them to members of OnTarget, get them tickets to concerts and signed merchandise, or deliver messages to the boys. Now he was refusing to answer a simple question about this children’s home, was flustered, his usually cool demeanour heating up.

  ‘So you’re not willing to tell us why you visited St Mary’s?’ Patrick asked.

  Hammond folded his arms. ‘No.’

  ‘OK. I’m suspending this interview. The time is 12.25.’

  The two detectives walked to Suzanne’s office, not speaking to one another. As soon as they got inside the office, Winkler said, ‘He’s lying, and he’s guilty. We need to get authorisation for a full search of his house, his office, his cars—’

  ‘Hold on,’ Suzanne said. ‘Patrick? What do you think?’

  ‘I don’t know for sure.’ He ignored Winkler’s puff of exasperation. ‘But what I do know is that Adrian’s almost certainly got one thing wrong.’

  ‘What?’ Winkler squared up to him.

  ‘Your theory about him lying because of the direction his eyes are going is, frankly, bullshit.’

  Winkler blustered with outrage. ‘It’s not! It’s widely known that if a suspect looks up to the right, he’s lying, because he’s creating a visual construct, not a remembered one . . .’

  Patrick resisted the temptation to roll his own eyes. ‘Yes – perhaps. A right-handed person. Hammond’s left-handed, as he just confirmed. Which means that the process is likely reversed. When he’s remembering, he looks to the right, and if he’s making stuff up, he’d look left.’

  Winkler looked mortified and Patrick allowed himself a small moment of triumphal one-upmanship.

  Suzanne interjected. ‘Can we stick to actual facts, please? It’s certainly suspicious that he won’t answer any questions about the children’s home. Who’s gone to talk to them?’

  ‘Gareth Batey’s headed down there.’

  ‘And is Carmella still in with the housekeeper?’

  ‘No. She’s writing up the statement now. But Miss Wattana stated that she’s never witnessed any teenage girls at Hammond’s house except when there’s been a party. Carmella said that Miss Wattana actually laughed when she was asked if she knew anything about Hammond’s sexual preferences. She said, and I quote, “He only like trains.”’

  ‘Yeah. Lying or not, he’s still a weirdo,’ Winkler said. ‘We need to search his house.’

  Patrick put up a hand, refusing to get drawn into an argument with Winkler. ‘I think we’re looking at this all wrong.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ Suzanne asked. She had taken a seat behind her desk and in that moment the sun broke through the clouds outside, brightening the room, catching Suzanne’s hair. She’s beautiful . . . Patrick immediately stamped on the thought.

  ‘This case, it’s not about sex. Don’t forget, none of the victims, Rose, Jessica, Nancy Marr or Wendy, assuming she was killed by the same person, were sexually assaulted. There was no sign of any sexual activity at all. Winkler here is following a trail based on his belief that Hammond is a paedophile. But that doesn’t fit with the murders.’

  ‘No,’ Winkler said. ‘My belief is that Hammond is a paedophile, that all of the victims found out, and he killed them to shut them up, to stop his secret getting out.’

  ‘And that theory could still work,’ Suzanne said, ‘if Hammond isn’t a sexual predator. There could be other reasons he needed to keep Rose, Jessica and Nancy Marr quiet. Some other criminal activity. Drugs, for example. Maybe he deals drugs, sells them to OnTarget’s fans, to the kids or staff at the children’s home.’

  ‘Maybe,’ both Patrick and Winkler said at the same time.

  Suzanne frowned suddenly. ‘Well, whatever it is, we need to decide what to do with Hammond. Patrick?’

  ‘We don’t have enough to charge him.’

  ‘Bullshit,’ said Winkler.

  ‘No, we don’t. Not without
a DNA test on the underwear. If we charge Mervyn and then they turn out to belong to someone else . . .’ He didn’t need to finish the sentence. ‘Let’s see what Gareth comes back with from St Mary’s and get the underwear through the lab ASAP. How quickly can they do it if we ask them to make it priority one?’

  Suzanne looked at the ceiling. ‘I’d have to ask Stretton to twist some arms, try to get it done overnight.’

  ‘And in the meantime, we hold Hammond. If the DNA matches Rose, if the children’s home can’t give us a good reason why he was there, then we can search his property. But if we go in now, tear his place apart without even knowing who those knickers belong to, we’ll all be famous. The dumbest police since the Keystone Kops. With you, Winkler, as the dumbest of them all.’

  Chapter 46

  Day 14 – Patrick

  Patrick loitered outside Suzanne’s office for a moment, watching Winkler stomp off towards the custody suite. Usually, it would give him great pleasure to piss Winkler off, but Patrick wasn’t feeling joyful right now, just satisfied that they had bought a little time. He needed to talk to Carmella. Because while they waited for the DNA results, there was another line of inquiry he was desperate to follow.

  Carmella wasn’t at her desk, so he headed towards the canteen, hoping he would find her there again. As he turned into the corridor that led to the canteen, he saw Gareth Batey walking towards him.

  Gareth stopped in his tracks when he saw Patrick.

  ‘Gareth.’

  ‘Boss.’

  ‘A word, please.’ He gestured towards an empty meeting room and the detective sergeant followed him inside.

  Before Patrick could speak, Gareth said, ‘I need to report back to Winkler.’

  ‘Your new best mate.’

  Gareth’s face as usual turned a shade of pastel pink. He was clearly having to work hard to maintain eye contact. ‘I need to report back to him. I’ve just been to—’

  ‘St Mary’s Children’s Home. Yes, I know. I’m leading this investigation, remember? And I’ve just been interviewing Mervyn Hammond. Tell me what you found out.’