‘She was in a terrible state after what she’d been through. I felt sorry for her. I said she could stay with us for a few days.’
‘Is she here now?’
‘I’ll go speak to her,’ Sonia muttered, and Kathy said firmly, ‘I’ll come too.’ She lifted the counter flap and followed Sonia through a door at the back of the kitchen into a cramped hall with a staircase. They climbed three floors, and by the time they reached the top the older woman was breathing heavily, one hand on the banister and the other pressing her knee.
‘Wait,’ she panted, and pulled a bunch of keys from a pocket beneath her apron. She tapped on one of the doors and, hearing nothing, fitted a key to the lock and opened it.
‘Poppy…’ she cooed, then stiffened and rushed into the room with a little scream, Kathy at her heels. Poppy was lying on a narrow bed, fully dressed in jeans and jumper and shoes, half a dozen foil capsule holders scattered on the floor beside her. Her pallor was frightening, and Sonia hesitated, but Kathy felt her body warm, and found a faint pulse ticking in her throat. She grabbed her phone and keyed in triple-nine.
29
Brock looked exasperated. ‘Kathy, I told you- I ordered you, to stay at home.’ ‘Just as well she didn’t,’ Bren said, putting down the phone.‘The hospital says Poppy’s been stabilised. They give her fifty-fifty.’
‘I should think the ambulance people must have wondered which one they were supposed to be treating. You look half-dead.’
‘I’m okay,’ Kathy said, though the frantic activity had left her feeling limp.
‘I should send you home now,’ Brock grumbled.
‘You can’t,’ she said.‘Not till we sort this out.’
Brock conceded reluctantly. ‘The forensic people should be here soon. Want something to eat?’
She shook her head. Bren offered her a file.‘This might help,’ he said.
‘What is it?’
‘Transcripts of email correspondence between Abbott and Wylie. It arrived this morning.’
As she turned the pages she felt herself observing something like an ongoing domestic squabble between a married couple. Wylie was irritated at the way the girls were getting sick; he blamed Abbott for not looking after them properly, and for not stealing a better sedative from the pharmacy of the hospital where he worked. Abbott resented being scolded and complained that he was having to do all the chores. The callous banality was breathtaking and utterly incriminating. She finished the last message and looked bleakly at Brock and Bren. ‘But no mention of Tracey.’
‘No.’
‘Brock…’ Kathy hesitated; the past forty-eight hours was still confused in her mind and she wasn’t sure how much she’d missed while she’d been out of action.‘I’m not convinced the profiler is right, about an outsider stalking the people in the square.’
‘Go on.’
She saw Bren listening to her, ready to challenge what she was about to say. ‘We’ve picked up some interesting leads, Kathy,’he said.‘Some of the messages on the flowers outside Rudd’s house are pretty weird.’
‘Okay, maybe there are stalkers out there, but Poppy was researching artworks about a missing child two days before Tracey disappeared.’She described her discovery at the Soane Museum.‘And now she tries to kill herself after hearing from Gilbey that Betty may have been her mother. Gilbey is convinced that she knows something about Betty’s death.’
Brock nodded. ‘I’ve been thinking the same thing. I’ve also been wondering about the way Poppy used Tracey as a model, and about the fact that both Wylie and the judge knew her work.’
Bren shrugged. ‘Well, let’s see what the evidence says. The others should be here by now.’
The forensic experts took their seats once more around the table in the large meeting room, this time including the pathologist, Dr Mehta. He sat next to Morris Munns, whom he knew and liked, and leaned over to whisper some remark that made Morris’s shoulders shake with laughter. Kathy had hoped to get a seat that didn’t place her facing the large bloodstained map of her nightmares again, but when she arrived she found that it was all that was available. She thought Sundeep Mehta scrutinised her with an almost clinical interest, as if measuring her up for his stainless-steel table, but then he gave her a friendly grin and she decided it was just her imagination.
Brock began. ‘We’ve now found the missing woman, Poppy Wilkes, soon after she’d attempted suicide. She’s currently in intensive care and may not survive. We’ve also learned that she seems to have had knowledge of Tracey Rudd’s disappearance before it happened, and may be implicated in some way with the subsequent deaths of Zielinski, Dodworth and Rudd. We need to re-examine the evidence in the light of this.’
There was a murmur of interest around the table. Brock went on, ‘Let’s start with the first death, Betty Zielinski’s. Before she tried to kill herself today, Wilkes discovered that Zielinski may have been her natural mother. Her reaction to this information was apparently one of extreme distress, possibly indicating a sense of guilt over her death. Could she have been involved?’
The laboratory Reporting Officer cleared his throat, and Kathy sensed his resistance to Brock’s argument.‘We found no fingerprints or traces of Wilkes’s DNA at the scene, either in Zielinski’s house or in the basement of 13 West Terrace. There were many different footprints inside number thirteen, most of them builders’.’ He paused, thumbing through his file. He found the sheet he wanted and said,‘All right, the smallest size recorded was an eight. We should check her footwear, obviously. We can also confirm from their DNA whether Zielinski really was her mother, if that helps.’ From his tone, he plainly didn’t see how it would.
‘Check Reg Gilbey from number fifteen, too, would you? He may be the father.’
Kathy watched Dr Mehta, who was obviously intrigued by this, questioning the detective at his side. Her eyes strayed up to the map behind them. She saw that her imagination had exaggerated its menace; the red was more the colour of brick than of blood and, apart from the writhing Thames itself, the blue ribbons of waterways were nothing like snakes, but more like fine capillaries spreading out from it. There was one odd one that ran horizontally across the map, from somewhere above Heathrow in the west to meet the Thames at Limehouse in the east, not far from where they were sitting.
‘Kathy,’ Brock was saying, ‘what about Dodworth? Do you have any insight into the relationship between him and Wilkes?’
‘They lived near one another in The Pie Factory and they were both sculptors, using similar materials, so I suppose they spent time together in the workshops. She seemed protective when she found us searching Dodworth’s room after he disappeared. I think there may have been quite a close bond there, although not as close as that between Wilkes and Rudd. Reg Gilbey told me that they were together a lot, the three of them, much as Dodworth, Rudd and his wife Jane had been when she was alive.’
‘Jules et Jim,’ Dr Mehta said, and then, realising he’d given himself away, added, ‘I believe it was a popular movie, years ago, about two men and a girl-not that I was around then.’ People were giving him quizzical looks, so he quickly went on, ‘Wilkes surely couldn’t have hanged Dodworth against his will. Are you suggesting that she may have persuaded him to kill himself?’
‘Would that be consistent with what you found, Sundeep?’
‘Well… I suppose it might. There were no signs of a struggle, but also no evidence that he had handled the rope.’
‘And she had access to the building.’
‘We have got one new result for Dodworth,’ the RO said. ‘We’ve traced the clay that was found in the grooves of his shoes. It was a modelling clay, and we had assumed that we’d find a match somewhere in the workshops of The Pie Factory, only we didn’t. Instead we found it in Rudd’s studio, as DI Gurney suspected. The deposits hadn’t completely dried, and we estimate that Dodworth picked them up some time during the forty-eight hours before he was hanged.’
‘Interesting.’
> Brock glanced at Bren, who said,‘We did check Rudd’s place on the Thursday that Betty was found, and there was no sign of Dodworth then. He must have gone there later.’
‘But there’s still no positive evidence that Wilkes was involved in his death,’ the RO objected.
‘No. But she was present at the third death, Gabriel Rudd’s. Is it possible that she was the hooded figure that attacked DS Kolla and PC McLeod?’
‘No,’ the RO said firmly.‘There were no bloodstains on her at all. It would have been impossible for her to have killed Rudd without getting blood on her shoes…’
‘Hang on,’Brock said.‘I didn’t ask if she could have killed Rudd-that was going to be my next question. I asked if she could have been the hooded figure who appeared at the top of the stairs before Rudd was murdered.’
There was silence as they digested this. Kathy said, ‘I thought the figure was taller than Poppy.’
‘Could you have been mistaken?’
She saw the image in her mind, but she knew from experience how distorted witnesses’ memories could be. ‘We were looking from below, which exaggerated the perspective. Yes, I suppose it’s possible I’m mistaken.’
‘You’re suggesting Wilkes was cooperating with the third person, the killer?’ The Reporting Officer was openly sceptical.
‘I’m just trying to establish what possibilities are compatible with the forensic evidence. Is this a possibility?’
Reluctantly they agreed that it might be.
‘All right,’ Brock continued, ‘let’s consider another possibility, that there was no third person. Could Wilkes have killed Rudd, then dumped the bloodstained shoes while Kathy and PC McLeod were recovering at the foot of the stairs, then returned in a pair of fresh shoes, taken sedatives and feigned unconsciousness. Is this compatible with the evidence?’
‘No, Brock,’Bren spoke up.‘There wasn’t enough time for her to do all that before Kathy broke in. We did test runs for each of the stages of the action. It just doesn’t work that way.’
‘All right,’ Brock persisted. ‘Suppose she dumped the shoes before she attacked PC McLeod and killed Rudd.’
‘But the shoes were bloodstained.’
‘Rudd had a cut on his arm, didn’t he, Sundeep?’
Mehta was looking keenly at Brock.‘Indeed.’
‘Could Poppy have incapacitated Rudd-he had drunk a lot remember, and he had a bruise to the head-and made that cut first, staining the shoes, and laying a false trail out into the lane. Then she returned, went through the charade with the disguise and made the noises to attract Kathy and McLeod up the stairs to witness the intruder before killing Rudd.’
There was silence as the others considered this. From their expressions, they were more impressed by its ingenuity than its probability.
‘It would explain the blood splash that we found overlapping the footprint,’the RO conceded,‘but it would mean that Wilkes carried out the final assault on Rudd without getting a drop of blood on her second pair of shoes. I just don’t think that’s possible.’
‘All the same,’ Brock insisted, ‘I’d appreciate it if you’d have another look at the bloodstain evidence, just to be sure.’
Reluctantly he agreed.
‘Thank you.’ Brock turned to the forensic psychologist, who had said nothing so far.‘What about motive?’
The man scratched his ear. ‘Well, I’m having some trouble with this line of thinking, I must confess. It isn’t the direction I was pursuing at all, as you know. But the idea of the killings being “within the family”, so to speak-if we can think of the community of Northcote Square as a family-has appeal. And the close relationship between the three artists is intriguing. You’re thinking of jealousy, perhaps? But what has it got to do with the disappearance of Tracey Rudd?’
‘I was thinking along the lines of Poppy punishing the others for neglecting Tracey, or even conniving in her abduction.’ Even as she put the ideas into words Kathy realised how bizarre they sounded.
‘One step at a time,’ Brock said. ‘Let’s establish the forensic options, and hope that Poppy regains consciousness.’
As the meeting broke up, Dr Mehta came over to speak to Kathy. ‘How’s my favourite lady detective?’ he murmured, with a jokey leer. ‘I was watching you, you know. You’re not well. If you don’t look after yourself, you’ll end up on my table, and you wouldn’t like that.’
‘No, I wouldn’t,’ she said, managing a smile despite his apparent enthusiasm for the idea. She was preoccupied. She’d been looking at that odd blue line on the map again, and was convinced that she’d seen it somewhere before. Then Brock interrupted her thoughts.
‘I wanted to show you something, Kathy,’ he said, and produced a copy of the photograph they’d found in Rudd’s studio.‘Have you seen this before?’
She took in the faces, especially that of the pale woman holding the baby. She looked ill, a strained smile forced onto her face, very different from the buoyant young woman whose pictures Kathy had seen at West Drayton. ‘That’s Jane Rudd,’she said.‘Must be Tracey’s birthday, just before she died. She doesn’t look well, does she? No, I haven’t seen it before. Where did you get it?’
‘It was pinned to the wall of Rudd’s studio.’
Kathy was puzzled.‘Whereabouts?’
Brock described the place, not far from the hidden exit door and in plain view.
‘I’m positive it wasn’t there before the attack,’ Kathy said. ‘I spoke to Gabe in his studio on Tuesday afternoon before we went to see Wylie’s lawyer, and I’m sure it wasn’t there then. Gabe must have pinned it up after I left.’
‘His prints aren’t on it,’ Brock mused. ‘And I wonder who was behind the camera?’
Kathy was staring again at the face of Jane Rudd, noticing the cut of the hair, the big eyes. ‘She looks a bit like Princess Di, doesn’t she? It was soon after this that Stan did his shocking sculpture Bye Bye Princess and had his breakdown. I wonder if the “princess” could have been Jane rather than Di. Maybe he was in love with her.’
The face on the pillow looked drained of life, dark hollows around her closed eyes made more stark by the whiteness of her face, but the monitor beside the bed insisted that she was alive. Although there were two other police at hand to avoid losing Poppy for a second time, Kathy stayed on, hour after hour, wanting to be the first person Poppy saw when-if-she opened her eyes. To keep her mind occupied, she studied a sheaf of printouts from the official Gabriel Rudd website and a London A-Z. Several times she fell asleep, and finally, jerking awake in her chair, she decided to have a wash and get a coffee and something to eat.
When she returned twenty minutes later, she saw the armed cop outside Poppy’s room talking with a dark-coated man she didn’t at first recognise. He was holding a bunch of flowers and as she got closer Kathy recognised Reg Gilbey’s voice, arguing with the guard to let him see his daughter and at the same time trying to see past him through the open door. Perhaps the sound of Gilbey’s voice triggered some reaction in Poppy’s brain, for they suddenly heard a plaintive call from inside the room,‘Reg? Reg?’
Kathy nodded to the guard and took Gilbey’s arm, steering him in towards the bed, where a nurse was checking the drip. Poppy was staring up with wild, unfocused eyes.
‘Gabe’s dead, isn’t he?’ she asked hoarsely. ‘It’s not a dream?’
The old man murmured a reply. ‘Yes. I’m sorry, girl, he’s gone.’
Poppy sobbed. ‘It’s all so awful. I didn’t understand. Everything’s ruined.’
Then she stared up at Gilbey and her voice dropped to a whisper.‘I should never have come to the square.’
‘I’m glad you did,’the old man replied.‘I’m very glad you did.’
Poppy’s eyes closed and the life seemed to drain out of her again. The nurse checked her and said,‘She’s all right. I think she’s going to be fine. But you’d best be going now.’
Kathy led Reg away, taking him down to her car t
o give him a lift home. Along the way he said,‘She was telling the truth, wasn’t she, about not understanding what was happening? She wasn’t involved, was she?’
Kathy kept worrying at that thought after she’d dropped him in Northcote Square, and also at another possibility that was throbbing in her head. As she drove back through the dark streets, she began to wonder if she, too, had been infected by the dark fantasies of Henry Fuseli.
30
The laboratory RO cleared his throat, rather smugly, Kathy thought. ‘We’ve done a thorough reanalysis of the blood patterns,’ he said, ‘and there’s absolutely no possibility that Poppy Wilkes could have cut Rudd’s throat and got herself back to the bed where we found her without getting blood on her shoes and leaving footprints in the bloodstains. Sorry, Brock.’
Brock shrugged.‘Thanks for trying.’
‘We also compared the DNA of Reg Gilbey, Betty Zielinski and Poppy Wilkes, as you requested,’ the RO continued, conciliatory. ‘You were right, they are related. Poppy Wilkes is their daughter.’
He paused to take a sheaf of photographs from his folder and passed them round. ‘One other result. The analysis of the marks left by the tool on the doorjamb. It was a chisel with a half-inch wide blade, and the marks are identical to those left on the door to the basement where Zielinski was found, and on her back door, and also on Tracey’s window.’
Brock examined the pictures, some taken through a stereo microscope. ‘What about Aimee’s and Lee’s windows?’
‘No, those were different. Actually, he didn’t manage to open the studio door. That would have been quite difficult with a chisel. It looks as if he was trying and Rudd heard him and opened the door to see what was going on.’
‘Does anyone else have something new?’ Brock asked.
No one spoke, and after a pregnant silence people began to gather their papers. Kathy felt a knot of anxiety tighten inside her. Although she’d been wrestling with it half the night, she didn’t feel confident about what she had to say in front of this group of highly qualified scientists. She would have preferred to have discussed it first with Brock or Bren, but hadn’t had the chance.
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