Hidden Killers

by Lynda La Plante

  Everyone waited as Tomlinson lit a cigarette, drew on it deeply and then exhaled the smoke before he continued.

  “Along with Detective Johnston, who was with me at the hospital, we checked out the mortuary. The main doors into the mortuary are directly across a courtyard into the hospital, and there is an exit door that opens straight onto the street.”

  At this point Johnston, a young, fresh-faced officer, took over.

  “We decided that it would be possible for Dawson to take off his porter’s jacket and leave the mortuary via the street exit without being seen. We then timed the journey from the mortuary to Dawson’s address. If he got a taxi he could travel there in under half an hour. There are also a number of bus routes that he could have taken and that would add a good half-hour on to his journey. But it is possible that he could have returned to his flat, and been there at around 8:45 a.m.”

  Jane leaned forward, taking it all in. Her annoyance at not being involved was superseded by excitement. She was stunned by the amount of basic legwork the detectives had achieved, and by what they were suggesting.

  Shepherd nodded his approval.

  “Well done. I don’t suppose you were able to find any witnesses who actually saw Dawson leave the mortuary?”

  “No, sir, but at that time in the morning the hospital is very busy with breakfasts and patients waiting to go into theater for operations.”

  Again Shepherd tapped the page in front of him with the tip of his pencil.

  “So, let’s just walk through what we’ve got . . . Shirley is expecting mother-in-law to babysit. She prepares her little girl’s food, then puts her in the playpen. She has a hair appointment for 9:30 a.m. and is maybe ironing the blouse she is going to wear. The doorbell goes, and this might even coincide with the phone ringing, but Shirley buzzes open the front door. It is possible that it was Katrina Harcourt, but Shirley is expecting her mother-in-law so she presses the door release. Shirley was already suspicious that her husband is having an affair, and has even taken photographs of this woman. Then there is a bitter argument—”

  “Could I just interrupt here, sir?” It was Tomlinson again. “What I didn’t mention was the fact that inside the porters’ rest room there is a phone that connects to the wards. You can’t make any outgoing calls as it’s just intended for calling the porters for duties, and is an extension. If Katrina Harcourt worked as a nurse at the hospital she would be aware of the extension number and could actually call the hospital directly and ask to be put through to the porters’ rest room.”

  “That’s supposition, isn’t it? Unless you have a witness who saw Dawson take a call in the rest room early that morning?”

  “No luck, sir. But Dawson was there, and was on his way to the mortuary. It’s possible that Katrina Harcourt could have contacted him there to tell him his wife was dead.”

  Shepherd rubbed his head and checked his watch. Lawrence pointed to the photographs of the iron and the wound to Shirley’s head.

  “Not dead but unconscious. We can conjecture what might have happened next . . . Barry returns and he and Katrina run a bath. Maybe Shirley started to come round, struggled, hit her head on the tap . . . they might even have held her down . . . It’s imperative we find a time frame that confirms that the pair had liaised together.”

  “Of course it bloody is,” Shepherd replied. “Did Barry and Katrina plan this murder? Or did Katrina, who may possibly have been wearing the patent leather high-heeled shoes and was maybe let into the flat by Shirley, become part of a spur of the moment attack? Because we have to be on firm ground to charge this duo.”

  Shepherd glanced at his watch. “Let’s take a late lunch break, and be on standby for the interrogations this afternoon.”

  Jane returned to the incident room and flopped into her chair. She was exhausted and felt completely deflated. She knew that every one of the detectives had worked from the information that she had compiled, and she had received no credit for it. It was as if she hardly existed.

  DS Lawrence appeared in the doorway and gave her a rueful smile.

  “Well, that was impressive in there. I have to say, when old Shepherd gets to work he really shows his experience.”

  “And everything that I had reported was taken and used, but not one of them even looked in my direction.”

  “Get over it, Jane—they all worked their butts off.”

  “And I didn’t? If it wasn’t for me, Shirley Dawson would have been buried by now!”

  Lawrence held up both hands in a gesture of peace.

  “Look, I’m just on my way to the Dawsons’ flat to check the rubbish bins . . . do you want to come along?”

  “Why not? Give me the dirty work . . .”

  Edith watched with narrowed eyes as Jane followed Lawrence out.

  Jane sat in the passenger seat of the patrol car. Lawrence found a parking space a short distance from the Dawsons’ building and together they moved down the basement steps, the old iron gate swinging back on its rusty hinges.

  Lawrence wrenched open the wooden door into the old coal hole of the property. The bricks were coated in dusty cobwebs and the curved walled outbuilding had a grid in the ceiling that, in the old days, would have been opened and filled with coal for the fires in the house. Now it only contained four large lidded bins with flat numbers painted on each. They opened the bin labeled “Top Floor.” It was empty but still had a very strong odor of moldy food and soiled nappies.

  “Nothing here,” Lawrence said, replacing the lid.

  “Did you empty that bucket we saw in the bathroom?” Jane asked. “No.”

  “Well, maybe somebody else did . . .”

  “Yes,” he said tetchily, checking the other bins. Two of them contained a lot of paper bags and rubbish.

  “Mrs. Dawson told me there used to be a person that cleaned the hallways, a sort of maintenance cleaner, who was hired by the landlord. But he’d got rid of her, so Shirley would have had to cart the rubbish down the stairs.”

  “What is the point to this, Jane?”

  “It’s the small trapdoor by the front door. You would put your bags of rubbish inside, lock it and the maintenance cleaner would collect them on certain days and take them down to the basement for you.”

  Jane sensed that she was irritating Lawrence, but couldn’t really see why. As they still had the house keys they let themselves in and moved up the stairs to the top floor. They could see that the ground-floor flat had blocked in their trapdoor, and the same on the newly decorated second-floor flat. Workmen were inside painting, and from the amount of packing cases and boxes it looked as if a new kitchen and bathroom had been delivered.

  They reached the top floor, and Lawrence sniffed. He bent down and slid the small bolt across the trapdoor to remove a dirty bag full of moldy food and soiled nappies. Without saying a word, he took the bag downstairs with Jane following quickly behind. Lawrence placed the stinking rubbish bag in the boot of the patrol car and they headed back to the station.

  In the incident room Lawrence tipped the bag out onto a desk covered with newspapers. Ignoring Edith’s protests, he began to pick through the rubbish. The stench was overwhelming. There were old milk cartons, clusters of rice and baby food, dirty disposable nappies, and even an old terry nappy had been thrown out. There were dog food tins and numerous soup and baked bean cans. Caught on the edge of a jagged tin lid was a small, folded, pale pink gingham headscarf. On one side of the scarf was a burnt V scorched into the cotton, with strands of dark hair attached.

  Lawrence glanced at Jane and carefully used a pair of tongs to place the scarf into a paper bag. It was a very important find because it meant it had to have been removed from the victim by the person that struck Shirley across her head. The question was who had willfully murdered Shirley by placing her unconscious body in the bath?

  DI Gibbs opened the door and instantly covered his nose.

  “Christ . . . what is the stink in here?”

  “Rubbish fr
om the Dawsons’ bins. How was Katrina?”

  “She’s being held in cell one. She’s refused to have a solicitor and is creating merry hell.”

  He handed over the patent leather shoes in an evidence bag, and perched on the edge of the desk.

  “You do know Katrina’s mother has changed her statement regarding the day her daughter went to London? But we checked with the petrol station where the father holds an account—they verified that he authorized for her to fill the tank of her Mini on the seventh of October. We might be able to use this when we question her.”

  Lawrence reacted. “At the same time, we don’t actually have a witness that saw her in London that day.”

  “I know. Are you in on the interrogation, Paul?”

  Lawrence shook his head. “Nope, I’m down to be in when they question Barry Dawson. But I want to get this over to the lab to do a few checks.”

  DS Lawrence gestured to Jane. “Right, I’ve got everything I need . . . you can get rid of the rest of it.” Before Jane could protest he’d already left.

  Jane found it really extraordinary that both men seemed capable of not only talking across her but completely ignoring her presence. When they left the incident room Jane looked over to Edith.

  “Am I invisible?” Jane asked tetchily.

  “Yes, dear . . . that’s why I’m doing clerical work. I got frozen out of any hope for promotion and this job will pay toward my pension. You can’t change anything, as I have repeatedly told you. And you had better supply this incident room with some form of air freshener. That disgusting heap of rubbish should have been taken to the laboratory, not tipped out here. God forbid that DCI Shepherd should come in—it smells like a lavatory.”

  Jane began to wrap the newspaper around the remains of the rubbish as Edith continued speaking.

  “Do you know why we put up with it? I’ll tell you why . . . DCI Shepherd may have a rather pasty face, and thin twitchy fingers, but you underestimate him at your peril. I know he’s had words with you, as have I, and I can tell that you’re not exactly a happy bunny, but I’m not asking you to lick DCI Shepherd’s boots . . . although there are some here that are more than happy to do so—”

  She stopped abruptly as DCI Shepherd appeared in the doorway.

  “I want you to sit in on the Katrina Harcourt interrogation, WDC Tennison. Fifteen minutes, my office.”

  Jane nodded, and waited for him to leave before she looked at Edith. She had two bright pink spots on her cheeks.

  “Oh God, do you think he heard me?”

  Jane, heading off to dispose of the rubbish, said “I don’t think he heard you.”

  “Thank God. He’s got the stealth of an ocelot.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  The door was ajar so Jane went into DCI Shepherd’s office, knocking respectfully before she entered. Shepherd turned and nodded toward her as he carried on sifting through notes and statements. He checked his watch as she waited patiently, then instructed her to place a hard-backed chair up against the far wall. Sitting at his desk he motioned for her to put in place another chair directly in front of him.

  “Right, you sit back there. I don’t want you to be in her peripheral vision but I need to see you. If I nod my head toward you I want you to give a slight cough and I will make some kind of interaction with you . . . not sure what yet . . . I think it is going to take a lot of work to unnerve this lady.”

  “What . . . when I sit behind her?”

  “Yes. I’ve used these tactics before—the interviewee just needs to be aware of someone behind them. It unsettles them, and by coughing you will distract her and give me the opportunity to choose my next line of questioning.”

  Jane was still unsure of what Shepherd’s intentions were, but placed the chair for Katrina Harcourt as requested. She then went and sat at the far end of the room. DS Lawrence knocked and entered. He was carrying a large evidence bag containing the patent leather shoes.

  “Put them on the desk,” Shepherd said, and then asked how Katrina was behaving.

  “Fairly quiet; she’s not said anything and is refusing to have a solicitor present. She was more irritated than emotional in the car from Hove. She’s sitting in the small interview room with DI Gibbs and had been given a cup of coffee and a cigarette when I last saw her.”

  “What about Barry Dawson?”

  “He’s in cell two, as it was empty. But he seems much more upset than Katrina. He asked us to call his mother, not a solicitor, as he wants her to know where he is.”

  “Thoughtful son . . .” Shepherd said, then checked his watch again.

  “Right, let’s have a go at her, shall we? If you get DI Gibbs to start on Mr. Dawson then we can swap over, all right?”

  A few minutes later DS Lawrence came back into the office with Katrina Harcourt. She was wearing a tailored green linen suit and white blouse with high-heeled leather court shoes. Her flame red hair was loose and hung in natural curls to her shoulders. Jane took a good look. She had very pale skin and yet her eyes were enhanced by thick mascara lashes and dark gray-green eye shadow. She wore no jewelry.

  Jane listened as Shepherd quietly went through the reason Katrina was being questioned, informing her again that she had the right to have a solicitor present if she wished. There was a brief moment when Katrina turned around to look directly at Jane. A flash of recognition registered on her face. She then sat straight-backed in the chair, facing ahead. She spoke in a very calm, clear voice and crossed her legs as if unconcerned about why she was being interviewed.

  “I declined having a solicitor present because I have done nothing wrong. I would like to know why I have been subjected to having my poor parents’ home searched and why I have been brought here for questioning with regard to Mr. Dawson’s wife.”

  “You have been told that you are under arrest for murder, Miss Harcourt, but let’s hope this unfortunate situation can be dealt with very expediently so that you can return home.”

  Jane noticed how charming Shepherd appeared, as if he was only interested in gaining Katrina’s confidence and was on her side. He leaned back in his chair, smiling at her.

  “Let’s just go through the scenario, Miss Harcourt, because you have admitted quite freely that you do not want any representation. Is that correct?”

  “Yes, simply because why would I need anyone to represent me when I have done nothing wrong? I have said from the outset that I have never met Barry Dawson’s wife. I have also admitted, and I am not proud of this at all, that I did have a very brief affair with him because I was unaware that he was married, or that he had a young child. When I discovered this and found out that he had lied to me I ended the relationship immediately. I also left my place of work, since being there meant that I would obviously come into contact with him as we were both employed at the same hospital.”

  “That was very commendable of you.” Shepherd casually glanced through the statements in front of him, then looked up.

  “It must have been very distressing for you when your engagement to a doctor and hopes for future marriage were shattered, and the wedding never took place. Then to form a relationship with Mr. Dawson only to discover he had lied to you about his circumstances . . .”

  Katrina shrugged her shoulders.

  “Yes, but then I am too trusting . . . some would call me foolish.”

  “Oh, you seem to be a very intelligent woman to me. Nevertheless, you must have felt some degree of anger toward Mr. Dawson, perhaps even his wife?”

  “I couldn’t be angry with her as I never met her. As I said previously, as soon as I found out, although I was obviously hurt, I ended the relationship.”

  “I understand. Perhaps you could just clarify for me if this is you in this photograph?”

  Shepherd held the three photographs that Jane had found on the film in the camera at the Dawsons’ flat. He laid one down like a playing card and pushed it toward the edge of the desk so Katrina could clearly see it.

  “Is t
his you, Miss Harcourt?”

  She leaned forward and looked at the small black and white photograph.

  “Yes.”

  “Where was this taken?”

  She sat back in her chair and looked up to the ceiling.

  “I don’t recall.”

  “Take another look, Miss Harcourt.”

  She looked again, then prodded it with one finger.

  “I think it might be in Regent’s Park.”

  “What about this one?”

  Shepherd placed down the second photograph.

  “This is you again, isn’t it?”

  “Yes, I think it might be again . . . I mean, it is me, but it could have been in the park again.”

  “But you’re not wearing the same coat?”

  “I don’t recall it being taken as it appears to have been taken when I was unaware.”

  “What about the third one, Miss Harcourt? Again you are wearing a different outfit. So it is quite possible these were taken on different days and at different times.”

  “If you say so.”

  “These were taken by Shirley Dawson. So it is clear that she was aware of you, and knew that you and her husband were having an affair.”

  “Maybe she was suspicious . . . I mean, he is obviously a liar. As I have said, I had no idea that he was married and had a daughter.”

  “So Shirley Dawson never approached you?”

  “No, I never met her.”

  “Did you go to their flat?”

  “No, I did not.”

  “So tell me, Miss Harcourt, how did you find out that Barry Dawson was not only married but also a father?”

  “He told me.”

  “Yes, but was there some reason why he admitted to you that he had lied? Because it was quite serious, wasn’t it? He had given you a ring?”

  Jane could see Katrina’s body tense as she swiveled in her chair and flicked back her long hair. Shepherd remained at ease, picking up the three photographs and stacking them together, tapping the edges of the desk. He appeared to be very calm, almost as if he was having a friendly conversation with the suspect rather than an interrogation. Jane found his demeanor interesting as she had never seen any of her other senior officers, particularly Moran, conducting an interview in such a relaxed manner.