by Sarah Flint
‘So,’ Charlie mulled over the facts. ‘Our killer has soaked the seat and groin area of Cookson’s trousers in nail varnish remover, before setting light to the flare underneath him. Once the old wood in the chair has started to heat up, the acetone has caught light, causing the seat of his trousers to catch fire. The flames would have been intense but short-lived; as soon as the flare was finished and the acetone had evaporated, there was nothing really to keep the fire burning. Hence, pants on fire!’
‘Am I missing something?’ Dr Crane was looking at them quizzically.
‘Leonard Cookson was being investigated for perjury,’ Hunter turned towards the pathologist.
‘Ah, I understand. In that case the amputation of the tongue would also fit.’ Dr Crane turned away from the body and bent down over a stainless-steel dish containing the pink tongue tissue. ‘So what you need me to tell you now is what came first: the fire or the tongue removal? And which of those two actions actually killed him?’
There was a loud knock on the door to the laboratory before Hunter could agree. A rather red-faced lab technician clicked the door open before peering round the edge towards the pathologist.
‘I’m sorry to disturb you but there’s a police officer here who says he needs to speak to DI Geoffrey Hunter urgently.’ He shrugged apologetically. ‘I’ve tried to put him off but…’
The door was pushed open wide and Paul squeezed between the frame and the lab technician, his cheeks paling instantly at the sight before him. ‘DCI O’Connor has sent me to take over, boss.’ His eyes flicked towards Leonard Cookson’s dead body before returning to face Hunter and Charlie. ‘There’s been another murder.’
Chapter 15
Declan O’Connor’s voice was clipped, even through the hands-free speakers.
‘She’s an inspector in the Met but she lives in Surrey, and Surrey Constabulary have called us in. If there was any slight initial doubt about whether it is linked to ours, there isn’t now. A red rose was left at this scene too, also with the thorns removed from its stem. They were aware of the previous two murdered police officers in the Met, but they didn’t know about the rose until now, because that detail had been restricted. Now this link has been confirmed, they are happy for us to lead the investigation. Hunter, we need results. That’s all I have to say.’
The phone clicked off and Hunter sighed heavily. ‘You’re telling me, we need results!’
*
Inspector Philippa McGovern inhabited a tiny bungalow, set on its own at the end of a cul-de-sac at the back of Box Hill in Surrey. The last time Charlie had been to Box Hill was as part of a crowd of cheering onlookers at the 2012 London Olympic Games when it had featured in a hill section of the cycling course. It was vastly different now. The bungalow was the last building before the road was swallowed up by woodland. The tarmac petered out as they drove along it, leaving the end more of a rough track, with nothing other than a turning circle and several parking bays. A bright green Hyundai was positioned in the last bay, leaving the rest of the area populated with police vehicles.
‘It couldn’t get much more remote,’ Hunter muttered as their unmarked police car crunched over the bumps.
‘Still, at least what neighbours there are might be more aware of any strange noises,’ countered Charlie.
The bungalow itself had a postage-stamp front garden, ringed with an old stone wall on which ivy had taken root. A rose with perfect pink blossoms clung to a wooden arch at its entrance and a row of silver birches stood resolutely on either side of the archway, meaning that the house was barely visible from the track.
Charlie parked halfway onto the verge at the opposite side of the lane and squeezed out past a hawthorn bush. There was a foul odour in the air, not the usual earthy mix of compost and manure that signalled the more rural areas, but rather a stench that she was by now able to recognise only too well: death.
Hunter was already marching towards a uniformed Surrey officer standing at the gate, his warrant card held aloft. She pushed a sense of trepidation to the back of her mind and joined them.
A narrow stone path led to the front door, which was slightly ajar. It was made from solid, dark oak, the only embellishments being a weighty brass knocker set centrally above a matching brass letter box and heavy-duty black ornamental hinges. The same path branched off around the side of the house, through a wooden side gate towards the rear.
A quick call on the constable’s radio brought an older, more serious-looking man heading around the corner of the building towards them. His hair was jet-black and slick, with a slight dye-line around the front of his ears and his parting. He was clean-shaven and clean-cut. Even the forensic suit he was wearing fitted him perfectly.
The man held out flawlessly manicured fingers towards Hunter, shaking his hand firmly. ‘Detective Chief Inspector Richard Meaden. Thank you for coming so quickly.
‘DI Geoffrey Hunter,’ Hunter returned the greeting before indicating Charlie. ‘And DC Charlie Stafford. Thank you for calling us in. We’re not always welcomed so promptly by other constabularies.’
‘Well, after we found out about the rose there was no hesitation. It’s got to be connected to the two you’ve already had… and it’s a Metropolitan police inspector. We were duty-bound.’ He pulled a clipboard out from under his arm and referred to some notes. ‘The body has been ID’d as Philippa McGovern. She was found by her sister, Fiona Priestley, at approximately 10.30 a.m. when she came round to bring some groceries for her, on Philippa’s return from holiday. It appears, however, that Philippa never actually got away on her break. It looks likely that her attacker broke in just before she was due to go. She was found tied to her bed, unable to move or raise the alarm. Her bags are still in the hallway. I’ll show you where we think the intruder entered first.’
He waited while the constable handed Charlie and Hunter some protective clothing to don. Hunter took a suit, struggling to thread his feet through the leg-holes, never mind pull it up over his outer clothing. There was no way a forensic suit on Hunter would ever be described as anything other than ill-fitting. Charlie’s was not much better.
They followed DCI Meaden around the corner of the bungalow, pausing at a wooden, shoulder-high gate set into another stone wall.
‘This gate was locked when we got here. We’ve opened it to allow easier access. The point of entry is around the back of the premises, into the lounge. It appears that the attacker probably climbed over this gate or wall to gain access to the rear. It’s not that hard.’
Charlie had to agree. There were enough footholds on the gate and the adjoining wall that she herself would have had no trouble scaling it. The back garden was a good size, being mainly laid to lawn. It ran down a slight slope and the view from the end was of woodland, with the aspect of the South Downs looming up behind it. Trees were spaced along either side, affording almost total privacy. A patio ran across its width next to the building and a glass and wicker table and chair set was positioned under a large black parasol. Charlie wondered how likely it would be for the attacker to have come in through the woods. As if reading her thoughts, the DCI swept his hand out towards the trees.
‘I’ve had dogs scour the garden for any possible entry points or dens through the woods, but they found nothing. No scents, no patches of trodden ground. Although the scene is a week old now, the dog handler is as sure as he can be that the intruder didn’t scope out the house or enter from the garden.’
Charlie nodded her understanding and sniffed. Ominously, the smell she had initially noticed was stronger here.
‘As you can probably gather, Philippa McGovern liked her privacy. By all accounts, she kept herself to herself both professionally and personally; even her family do not really know how she conducted her life. She was not on any form of social media and rarely spoke about her life or loves. She liked to go on holiday fairly regularly but didn’t send photos or updates or anything. She’d texted her sister the night before she was due to go away, at ab
out 22.15, confirming what date and time she was due back, and they’d arranged for Fiona to bring milk, bread and a few other bits in for when she arrived. Presumably she might have texted a few other friends or family similar messages, but none of them would have expected to hear anything from her while she was gone.’
‘Hence why she wasn’t found.’ Hunter pulled his handkerchief out from the sleeve of his suit. ‘What about any neighbours? Were any of them due to check the house?’
‘No. We’ve spoken to them. Philippa maintains a friendly relationship with the nearest neighbours but has never asked them to do anything for her while she’s away. And they don’t ask her for favours in return. They did, however, confirm seeing a minicab arrive and leave last Saturday morning. They assumed that Philippa was in the car when it left and she wouldn’t be back for a while.’
‘Do we know what time?’ Hunter wiped his forehead. It was getting hotter with every hour.
DCI Meaden glanced down at his notes again. ‘As far as we know, she was due to fly from Gatwick on Saturday 17th June at 10.20 to Lanzarote. She had boarding passes printed out for Monarch Airlines, which are in the documents by the door. Her green Hyundai is still parked up outside, but there was a business card for a local minicab firm. She would have had to be at the airport by 08.20 and had a cab booked for 07.15. We’ve contacted the company, U-cabs, already and they’ve confirmed that their driver turned up on schedule, rang several times, but eventually left when there was no reply, assuming she’d made other arrangements.’
‘And they didn’t knock at any of the neighbours?’
‘No, they thought it was too early. Anyway, I doubt it would have made a difference, knowing what we now know about Philippa.’
‘What about kids?’ Charlie knew Meg would often ask if she was available for airport runs.
‘She had never married and didn’t have any children. As far as her sister knew, she was going on holiday on her own.’
‘Well I’m sure, had she been travelling with anyone else, we’d have heard as soon as she didn’t turn up.’ Hunter pursed his lips. ‘So finding anything out about her personal life is going to be hard, or at least harder than usual.’
‘According to her sister, she seemed to be well-liked, but even she doesn’t really know the name of any of her friends, or anything much about her relationships.’
‘Wow, that is private… and a bit weird.’ Charlie’s thoughts immediately flew to her family and the close friends she had in the office. Bet, Paul, Naz and Sabira especially looked after each other, and Hunter did too, although he was immune from a lot of the chat, being in his own office. A problem shared was a problem halved, her mother would say… though, unfortunately that didn’t seem to apply to her.
‘Everyone to their own, I suppose,’ DCI Meaden was pointing to a set of windows into a lounge area, a small window immediately above a larger. Both windows were closed, as were the patio doors next to them. ‘SOCO thinks this was the point of entry because there are slight scuff marks at the base of the larger one, as if the suspect has climbed through and partial footprints on the sill and across the carpet. He believes that the small window had been left ajar and the suspect has leant through to open the larger one to gain access. Both windows were closed, though, when the sister got here. It wasn’t any of us that shut them.’
Hunter raised his eyebrows. ‘It’s unusual for a suspect to shut the windows once inside. They usually leave themselves an escape route in case they’re disturbed. Any ideas why?’
Charlie turned her head towards the other side of the bungalow, to another set of identical patio doors and windows, both of which were wide open.
‘And why those ones were left open?’ she pointed towards them.
‘Those were closed too. We opened them.’ The DCI screwed his face up and frowned. ‘Whoever did this wasn’t after any property. Nothing obvious is missing and no cupboards were ransacked. We can pretty much rule out burglary or robbery. No, our suspect closed every window and door and pulled the curtains in the bedroom shut. When she was found by her sister, the heating was on full. The place was like a sauna. Philippa was tied to the bed, with no way of getting water or food, or raising the alarm. She was dead, probably from dehydration, and had clearly been dead for a good few days. There were quite a few flies.’
‘Shit,’ Charlie couldn’t help herself.
DCI Meaden continued, ‘We’ve had to open all the doors and windows at the back to let the heat and flies out. It was too hazardous for any of my officers or staff to be in there otherwise. You can imagine how bad it was. Poor woman.’
Charlie didn’t have to imagine it. The smell of death still hung in the air, though it must have been a hundred times worse earlier. ‘What a way to die… and what a way to find your sister.’
*
The bedroom was as bad as could be imagined. Philippa McGovern lay in her own excrement, still tied to the bed. The restraints employed looked to be identical to the ones used at Leonard Cookson’s murder; metal handcuffs, like the ones used by police, and the same electrical cable looped around the bed and bedposts. In addition, her mouth was taped shut, filled with paper wadding, inhibiting her ability to breathe and soaking up any last saliva from her mouth and airway. She was not getting away and she was not calling for help.
DCI Meaden pointed towards a chest of drawers positioned against the wall at the end of the bed, directly in front of Philippa McGovern’s body; it would have been in her full view. On top of it stood a drinking glass, next to a large jug, less than a quarter filled with what appeared to be water. A mark near to the top of the jug, showed where the water had reached before most had evaporated in the heat. A single red rose protruded from the rim, its stem devoid of thorns. An iPhone in a floral protective case was positioned next to the jug, standing on its base, its cover open to reveal the screen, blank now the battery had died.
The relevance of all the items was not lost on Charlie. Philippa McGovern’s murder was linked to the others and just as cruel, possibly even more so. She could see the means to save her life, but she couldn’t reach them. It was wicked.
The SOCO was already at work within the room, so they waited by the door, not wanting to disturb any miniscule particle that might assist the examination. This was an inside crime scene, unlike the others, so the possibility their killer might have left some tiny speck of DNA that hadn’t been destroyed by the elements, or obliterated by acid or fire, was slightly more of a possibility.
Looking at the dead body in front of them now though, still alive with the movement of maggots, it was hard to see what could be retrieved, but they had to hope.
At the moment, apart from a wilting red rose, that was all they had.
Chapter 16
‘Philippa McGovern is, or was, a Detective Inspector at Sutton police station, working in the Operations office,’ Bet read from the personnel record in front of her. ‘And before you ask, guv, she does have a complaint against her which is ongoing.’
Hunter sat down on the seat next to Bet, while Charlie hovered above them. It was now late afternoon and they’d only just got back to the office, having spent time with the DCI, SOCO, Fiona Priestley and several neighbours. Nothing more had come from the meetings, but it was always good to get a first-hand impression of the reactions and body language of family and friends. Naz and Sabira were ensconced at their work stations having kept themselves busy making further checks on their two suspects and sending off enquiries on the origin of the firework, the electrical cabling and Leonard Cookson’s domestic arrangements. Nick had failed to show.
‘What’s it for?’ Hunter looked tired.
‘Dereliction of duty and falsifying the duty states. That’s why she’s in the Ops office now. So they can keep an eye on her.’
‘Go on.’
‘The complaint comes from when she was working in two community support units in the Met. She worked in our one at Lambeth some years ago, before moving to the CSU at Sutton.�
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‘I thought I recognised her name. I’ve seen it written on some of the older reports, signing off investigations. So what’s she done? … Or not done?’
‘She’s alleged to have failed to supervise investigations and made incorrect decisions as to whether the cases should be further pursued, leading to a number of cases being NFA’d without adequate reason. Several suspects have gone on to commit further offences which might have been preventable had they been dealt with properly the first time around.’ Bet turned the page and continued to read. ‘She is also alleged to have falsely claimed to be on duty when she wasn’t, either for full tours or just late in / early off type days.’ She shut the file and looked up. ‘She had less than two years to go before she retired.’
‘So, in other words, she was acting as if she’d already retired… while still getting paid a full-time Inspector’s salary, which is taking the piss.’ He shook his head in annoyance.
Charlie had to agree. ‘So, she was strapped to her bed and left to die because she was lazy.’
Hunter leant back in his chair and rolled his eyes. ‘The punishment was designed to fit the crime again. But, even so… it’s totally disproportionate to the complaint… even without knowing whether there’s any credence to it. Do we know who made it?’
