The Cold Hand of Malice

by Frank Smith

  ‘Oh, it’s you,’ she said tonelessly. ‘I thought it might be the doctor. Have you spoken to him?’

  ‘No. But a nurse told me the doctors are still with Miss Chase, and it may be some time before they’re free to talk to us.’ He sat down facing her, noting as he did so that she wore a wedding band. ‘Can you tell me what happened, and how you came to be at the shop, Mrs Marshall?’ he asked.

  Michelle lifted her head and Paget could see tears in her eyes, and she was older then he’d originally thought. Perhaps it was the clothes, or the fact that she had little or no make-up on. She’d always looked trim and smart in the shop, but tonight she wore faded blue jeans, a denim jacket, and trainers. Her hair was in disarray, and a woollen hat lay in her lap.

  ‘Thank God I did go round,’ Michelle said with feeling. ‘And it was just on the spur of the moment because Susan sounded so low when I spoke to her on the phone, that I decided to take Brandy back tonight instead of tomorrow morning as I’d planned. So I picked Brandy up from Mrs Johnson’s and took her round to the shop.’

  ‘Do you remember what time it was when you got to the shop? Approximately.’

  ‘About nine, I think. Susan said she was going to have an early night, once she’d finished checking tomorrow’s orders, so I wanted to get there before she went to bed.’

  ‘She was working?’

  Michelle shrugged. ‘It’s the way she is. I know she trusts me to carry on while she’s away, but she can’t help wanting to know everything as soon as she gets back. She tried to talk to me about how things had gone over the weekend when she first got home, but I told her to get some rest and we’d talk about it tomorrow. But I knew she’d phone back. I knew she wouldn’t be able to wait until tomorrow.’

  ‘I see. So, you took the dog around to the shop. What happened when you got there?’

  ‘I couldn’t see any light in the window upstairs, but there was a light coming from the back of the shop, so I thought Susan must still be working. I should have known something was wrong, because Brandy was getting all excited, jumping up and scratching at the door, and she’s never done that before. Anyway, I let myself in and that’s when I saw her. She was lying there at the foot of the stairs. One of her crutches was broken and lying under her, and there was blood all through her hair . . .’ The words caught in her throat and tears welled up in her eyes. ‘I thought she was dead,’ she ended faintly. Michelle took out a tissue to wipe away the tears and blow her nose hard.

  Paget waited. ‘I was going to try mouth-to-mouth,’ Michelle continued. ‘I took the CPR course years ago, but I’d never had to do it to anyone, but I didn’t know what else to do. The trouble was Brandy kept getting in the way. She was all over Susan, whining and licking her face, and making an awful fuss, so it wasn’t until I’d tied her up and got down on my knees that I realized Susan was breathing, so I called the ambulance instead.’

  Michelle glanced at the open door of the lounge. ‘I wish they’d come and tell us something,’ she said. ‘This waiting . . .’

  ‘It is hard,’ Paget agreed. Then: ‘Tell me,’ he said gently, ‘why did you call the police?’

  Michelle shook her head. ‘I didn’t. They were passing and saw the ambulance, so they came in to see what was happening. They said they’d just come from an attempted burglary at the top end of the street, so they stopped to see if the two things were related. It was only when they were about to leave that I thought to mention the back door. It was probably nothing, but Susan was always very careful about locking up, and I know that door was locked when we left the shop at six.

  ‘Anyway, one of them got on the phone, and the next thing I knew he said they’d been told to stay there. He wanted me to stay as well, but I wasn’t having that, not with Susan on her way to hospital, so I left.’

  ‘Tell me about the back door. Are you saying it was unlocked?’

  ‘It wasn’t even fully closed,’ Michelle said, ‘and I know Susan wouldn’t have left it open like that. Especially at night.’

  ‘She was taking strong painkillers, which would tend to make her drowsy and a little bit out of it,’ Paget pointed out. ‘Perhaps—’

  Michelle dismissed that idea with an emphatic shake of the head. ‘Besides,’ she countered, ‘I thought it was my imagination when I first opened the shop door, but the more I think about it the more I’m almost certain that somebody was there.’

  ‘Where, exactly?’

  ‘Back there behind the stairs. It was . . . I don’t know, more of a feeling, but I could almost swear something moved in the shadows as I came in. But I was so shocked to see Susan lying there on the floor that it didn’t really register at the time. It was only while I was waiting for the ambulance to arrive, and I felt a draft, that I went to look and found the back door partly open.’ Michelle shivered. ‘It gave me a funny feeling, I can tell you.’

  ‘Did you happen to look out in the lane behind the shop?’

  ‘No way!’ Michelle said with feeling. ‘I just shut the door and locked it as quick as I could.’

  A tall, bald-headed, bespectacled man in surgical blues appeared in the doorway. ‘Mrs Marshall?’ he asked, looking at Michelle. She nodded. ‘My name is Mr Carradine,’ he said. ‘Are you a relative?’

  ‘No. I work for Miss Chase, but I am—’

  ‘And you, sir?’ he asked, peering over the top of his glasses.

  ‘Detective Chief Inspector Paget.’

  ‘But not a relative?’

  ‘No, but Mrs Marshall and I are very much concerned about Miss Chase’s condition, so we would appreciate your prognosis.’

  ‘Can either of you tell me if Miss Chase has any close relatives and where we might reach them?’ Carradine persisted.

  ‘Her only living relative is her father, who has Alzheimer’s,’ Michelle told him. ‘He’s in a home and hasn’t recognized Susan for years.’ Her voice rose. ‘But why do you keep asking? Why can’t you just tell us how she is? Is she dead?’

  Carradine shook his head. ‘No,’ he said wearily, ‘but her condition is extremely critical. She has a compound skull fracture, which means in this case that small fragments of bone have penetrated the brain, and they are lodged in a particularly sensitive area. It’s far too early, and frankly, too dangerous to attempt to remove them until we can get the swelling down and relieve some of the pressure. Even then . . .’ Carradine shrugged and spread his hands in an eloquent gesture that said more than words.

  Paget frowned. ‘She suffered that much damage from a fall on the stairs?’ he said. ‘They are metal stairs, but even so . . . Where is the head wound, exactly?’

  Carradine pointed to a place on the right side of his own head, low down behind the ear. ‘It’s on the suture between the occipital and parietal bones,’ he said. ‘It’s where the two bones meet; not the best place for it to be, I’m afraid.’

  ‘I wonder . . .’ Paget said with a thoughtful eye on Carradine. ‘Have you shaved her head around the wound?’ he asked.

  The surgeon frowned at the question. ‘Is this a police matter?’ he asked.

  Paget said, ‘I honestly don’t know yet, but I’d appreciate it very much if you would have someone take pictures of the fractured area in case it does become a police matter.’

  ‘First thing tomorrow morning,’ Carradine said crisply. ‘You’re in Charter Lane, are you?’ Paget nodded and handed him his card. The surgeon glanced at it briefly, then turned his attention to Michelle. ‘I’m sorry about your friend,’ he said, ‘but you can’t do anything for her by staying here, so please go home and try not to worry. You can rest assured that we will be doing everything we can for her.’

  ‘Did you come by car?’ Paget asked Michelle as Carradine left the room.

  ‘By ambulance,’ Michelle told him. ‘They weren’t supposed to do it, but I badgered them so much that the ambulance men let me ride with them. I walked from Bishop’s Gate to the shop to give Brandy a bit of a run before handing her over to Susan, because
I knew she couldn’t get out to walk her, so my car is parked in front of Johnson’s gift shop.’

  ‘In that case, I’ll give you a lift,’ Paget told her, ‘but I’d like you to come back to the shop with me first, and show me exactly where you found Miss Chase.’

  They were almost there before Paget thought to ask, ‘What happened to Brandy? Where is she now?’

  For the first time since they’d met that evening, the taut muscles around Michelle’s mouth relaxed. ‘Being spoiled, I expect,’ she said. ‘The last time I saw her, one of the policemen was feeding her a piece of his sandwich.’

  Michelle opened the door with her key, and Tregalles and a uniformed constable came forward to meet them as they entered the shop. ‘Didn’t know exactly what you wanted,’ the sergeant greeted him, ‘because it looks as if Miss Chase simply tripped over her crutches coming down the stairs and fell and hit her head. But since you asked for the shop to be secured, I assumed you weren’t satisfied with that explanation, so we just sat tight and didn’t touch anything. How is Miss Chase, by the way?’

  ‘Not good, I’m afraid,’ Paget told him. ‘We may know more in the morning, but right now she is in a critical condition. Fortunately, Mrs Marshall decided to bring the dog back this evening instead of waiting till tomorrow morning. Otherwise I’m not sure if Miss Chase would be alive now.’ He glanced around the shop. And said, ‘Where is the dog?’

  ‘Behind the counter, sir. She was fussing that much, I had to tie her up,’ the constable told him.

  ‘Right. Let’s leave her there for the time being,’ Paget said. ‘Now, Mrs Marshall, I’d like you to show me exactly how Miss Chase was lying when you first saw her.’

  Michelle led the way to the bottom of the stairs. ‘She was lying more or less on her back just there,’ she said, pointing to a dark patch on the carpet. ‘You can see where her head was, and her legs were over there. One of the crutches – that one,’ she said, indicating the two pieces of a broken crutch lying some distance away, ‘and the other one was more or less where it is now.’

  ‘Did you move her?’ Paget asked.

  Michelle shook her head vigorously. ‘I was afraid she might have broken her neck,’ she said. ‘I don’t know much about first aid, but I do know you shouldn’t move anyone if that’s a possibility.’

  Paget examined the iron steps. ‘Looks like skin and blood on the fourth step up,’ he told Tregalles. ‘Let’s make sure no one goes up or down these steps until SOCO’s had a look at them.’

  ‘You don’t think it was an accident?’ Tregalles ventured.

  ‘I don’t know yet,’ Paget admitted, ‘which is why I would like to make sure. Now, Mrs Marshall, do you know where Miss Chase was calling from when she rang you earlier this evening?’

  ‘From the office. She was going through the orders for the week, and they’re in there.’

  ‘What time was that?’

  ‘Quarter to eight, something like that. I can’t tell you exactly.’

  ‘Did she say if anybody was with her?’

  ‘No, but I think she would have said if there was someone there, because we were on the phone for a good fifteen minutes.’

  ‘So she was already downstairs at that time. Was the light on or off in the office when you came in?’

  ‘Off. The only light on was this one on the stairs.’

  Paget moved to the office and turned the light on. The desk was tidy, the filing cabinet was closed. ‘Susan Chase wasn’t coming down when she fell,’ he said. ‘She’d been working here and was going back up. Which makes me wonder how she managed to hit the back of her head rather than the front.’

  ‘She could have tripped, spun round and fallen backward,’ Tregalles suggested.

  ‘The spiral’s too tight,’ said Paget, ‘and that makes me wonder how she managed to end up on the floor the way she did.’

  Thirty-One

  Wednesday, March 25

  ‘I stopped at the hospital to see how Susan Chase is,’ said Paget as he took off his coat and joined Ormside, Tregalles and Molly in front of the white boards. ‘She’s still unconscious and by no means out of danger, so if this wasn’t an accident, we could have another murder on our hands. Has SOCO been informed?’

  ‘Should be on their way now,’ Ormside told him. ‘Tregalles filled me in last night, so I let Charlie know.’

  Paget stifled a yawn. It had been half-past one when he’d dropped Michelle Marshall at her car, where she’d left it in front of the gift and chocolate shop in Bishop’s Gate, and two o’clock before he climbed into bed, where Grace was still awake and anxious to hear what had happened.

  ‘I told Mrs Marshall the shop will be closed until we’re done with it, so she can sleep in this morning – which is more than I’ll be doing,’ he concluded as he buried his face in the pillow.

  ‘You should,’ Grace said softly. ‘You know you won’t go to sleep right away. You’ll lie there thinking about everything that went on last night. You need something to take your mind off it; you need to relax.’

  He felt the warmth of her as she snuggled up beside him; felt her slender fingers slide beneath his pyjama jacket to caress his skin; felt her breath against his ear . . .

  He groaned. Resistance was pointless – not that he intended to try very hard. ‘You are a witch and a temptress,’ he said sternly, ‘and you are asking for trouble.’

  Her hair brushed his face. ‘Yes, please,’ she murmured as her lips came down on his.

  That was the other reason for being late.

  ‘Tom Maxwell in Forensics left a call for you last night,’ Ormside said. ‘He wants you to call him before nine this morning, because he’ll be tied up in meetings for the rest of the day after that.’

  ‘Did he say what it was about?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Let’s hope it’s good news,’ Paget muttered as he picked up the phone. ‘We could certainly use some.’

  ‘Was it?’ Ormside asked cautiously when Paget put the phone down.

  Paget nodded. ‘I think we might be getting somewhere at last,’ he said. ‘First of all, they’ve identified a perfume on the tissue the rings were wrapped in. It’s called Fetish.’

  Molly looked up from the notes she was copying from the board and said, ‘That’s Peggy Goodwin’s perfume.’

  ‘Is it?’ said Paget, smiling broadly. ‘I wonder why that doesn’t surprise me? And it makes sense of something else Tom Maxwell told me. He says the tissue also contains someone’s DNA. Apparently someone used it to wipe their nose.’

  Molly grimaced. ‘Then used it to wrap the rings?’ she said. ‘That wasn’t very nice.’

  ‘Perhaps it was unavoidable,’ said Paget. ‘The last time I was in Tavistock Road, the spring flowers were in bloom, and there was fresh green on some of the trees. A deadly combination for someone who has allergies – someone like Peggy Goodwin. If Laura’s rings were planted in Susan’s car, and it was Peggy who planted them, she might well have had a fit of sneezing and had to use whatever came to hand.’

  ‘Even so . . .’ Molly said.

  ‘On the other hand,’ Tregalles suggested, ‘perhaps she was making a statement, showing her contempt for Susan.’

  ‘That’s even worse,’ Molly muttered, wrinkling her nose. ‘You’d think she’d have—’

  ‘Maxwell also told me,’ Paget broke in, ‘that the blood on the clothing found in the skip matches Holbrook’s blood, the trainers have fibres stuck to them from the bedroom carpet where Holbrook was killed, and there were tiny particles of glass that match the glass from Susan Chase’s car embedded in the soles and heels of the trainers.

  ‘As well, they found a finger dressing with blood on it inside one of the rubber gloves. They’ll be doing DNA tests on that and the wrapping around the rings.’

  ‘Little finger, right hand,’ Molly said. ‘Remember, sir? Goodwin cut her little finger when Holbrook shoved those papers at her the other day.’

  ‘I remember,’ Paget told
her, ‘and I think this little lot is going to clinch the case against Peggy Goodwin. We’ll need search warrants for all three locations: Goodwin’s office, her flat, and her mother’s place in Bishop’s Gate,’ Paget said.

  A uniformed constable entered the room and made straight for Paget. ‘Something for you, sir,’ he said. ‘Delivered by hand from the hospital.’ He handed Paget a brown envelope.

  Paget thanked the man and opened it. Six high-definition pictures, together with a folded note slid out on to the desk. The pictures were close-ups of a shaved area of Susan Chase’s skull, and there was a note.

  ‘Since Dr Starkie is more familiar with the sort of thing for which you may be looking,’ Carradine had written, ‘I asked for his opinion, and you will see his comment at the bottom of the page. Hope this proves to be of some value.’ An indecipherable squiggle followed.

  Starkie’s note was short and to the point. ‘Look familiar?’ it said.

  Starkie was right. The shape of the wound looked very much like those on Laura Holbrook’s head. Paget turned to Ormside. ‘I want someone assigned to the hospital immediately,’ he said. ‘If Susan Chase’s injuries are the result of an attack rather than an accident, I want to make sure that no one tries to finish the job.’

  ‘A woman from SOCO is in the office, sir,’ the uniformed constable told Paget as he entered the Basket of Flowers. ‘And a bit of all right she is, too, if you don’t mind my saying so. Name of Lovett.’

  ‘Really, Constable?’ Paget said. ‘I shall have to take a look for myself, then, shan’t I?’

  Paget went through to the back and stood in the open doorway to the office. Grace was on her hands and knees behind the desk, and she wasn’t aware that he was there until he spoke. ‘I’m told by the constable out front that the woman from SOCO is a bit of all right,’ he said. ‘I think you have an admirer there.’

  Still on her knees, Grace popped her head up above the desk. ‘I suppose I should be flattered,’ she said, ‘but I suspect that anything in a skirt would be a bit of all right to that man.’