by M A Comley
“Sounds feasible to me.”
“What do you think, Patti?”
“I have no idea. All I can give you is the time and cause of deaths on the victims. It’s up to you to come up with the whys and wherefores of the case.”
“Okay, thinking about it logically for a moment, I think you might be on to something, Sean. The first two victims’ bodies were found during the night or early morning. We’ve yet to determine how long this victim has been lying here. However, considering how early it is now, I think it’s safe to presume he was killed around the same time as the other men, yes?”
Patti and Sean both nodded.
“It would appear that way, although I won’t be able to verify that until I’ve carried out the PM,” Patti said. “I see where you’re going, Lorne. You think the men carried out the work in the evening, long after their normal jobs had been conducted.”
“Exactly. It’s all adding up to that line of thinking. I’ve got AJ comparing the first two victims’ time sheets to see if they met up on a site somewhere,” Lorne said.
Sean shook his head. “Maybe we should do an in-depth study of the areas where the bodies were found and try to draw some kind of conclusion from that. Compare tyre prints to the vehicles, soil debris in the moulds, that kind of thing. How difficult can it be to compare sites?”
“Crap, do you have any idea how many people are renovating their homes or businesses in the London area at present?” Lorne asked.
“I can only imagine,” Sean replied.
Patti withdrew from the conversation and carried on with her investigation of the body. “Look, all I can do is search the evidence I have to hand and see if anything significant shows up. Maybe I’ll stumble across a receipt or two for supplies that links the victims. Anything right now will be a bonus, won’t it?”
“If there’s nothing more we can do here, I think we should head back to the station,” Lorne said.
Sean frowned. “What about informing the relatives?”
“I meant after we’ve visited the victim’s relatives, of course.” Lorne smiled. She’d intended to test Roberts, to see if he could still prioritise what needed to be actioned out in the field. He’d passed with flying colours.
He glanced at her through narrowed eyes. Lorne jotted down the man’s address in her notebook then said cheerio to Patti, telling her they’d be in touch later to see if she had any news for them.
“I know what that was about back there,” Sean said, inserting the key in the ignition and starting the car.
Lorne placed her hand over her chest and fluttered her eyelashes at him. “Not sure what you’re getting at, sir.”
“Hmm… oh, look, there’s one of those pink farm animals shooting across the sky.”
Lorne grinned. “Nice to see you’re on the ball anyway. Right, how do I work this complicated contraption?”
“It’s a sat nav like any other, Sergeant. Just punch in the address… here, let me do it. First, I have to think about how to proceed in the case, then I have to plan the route, too. Whatever do you do when I’m not around, Lorne?”
Lorne shook her head and puffed out her cheeks. You walked into that one, girl. “I leave most things for Katy to do. I generally tend to just tag along for the ride,” she told him, glancing out the window as they set off.
“That much I’ve already figured out for myself, Sergeant. Maybe we should investigate your role with a bit more depth at your next assessment. Agreed?”
Lorne snapped her head round to face him, her mouth hanging open. She was ready to give him a tirade of abuse until she realised it was his turn to wind her up. Instead, she tutted and tapped her wrist. “We should get a move on. The first few hours to any investigation are imperative.”
“I’m well aware of the gravity of the situation, Sergeant.”
The rest of the journey was conducted in silence. Then as Sean pulled up outside a small terraced house, in a narrow road on the outskirts of Putney, he said, “I’ll let you take the lead on this, Lorne.”
“Thanks. I’m probably a little rusty myself. Since working with Katy, I’ve tended to take a backseat on this type of thing.”
They left the car and walked up the tiny path to the red front door, which looked newly painted. The road was fairly quiet. Not even a curtain twitched as far as Lorne could tell. She inhaled a large breath and rang the doorbell. A smartly dressed woman in her early forties opened the door.
“Hello. I’m in a rush, so I’d appreciate you being quick.”
“Sorry. Are you Mrs. Whitmore?”
Puzzled, she looked both Lorne and Sean up and down. “Yes, and you are?”
Lorne flashed her warrant card in front of the woman. “Acting DI Lorne Warner, and this is my boss, DCI Sean Roberts. Do you mind if we come in for a chat, Mrs. Whitmore?”
The woman seemed confused. “What? Why? The thing is, I have to go out now. If I don’t leave within a few minutes, I’ll be late for my interview. I need this job, detectives. I can’t be late. Can this not wait until later?”
Lorne tried to put the woman at ease with one of her smiles. “I’m sorry. It really is very important.”
The woman threw open the front door, turned, and walked back into the house. Once they had joined her in the living room, which was nicely furnished in muted brown tones, Lorne cleared her throat and asked the woman to take a seat.
Sensing that she’d misread the situation, the woman sank into the sofa and clutched her shaking hands together. “Now you’re beginning to worry me. Please tell me why you’re here.”
“Well, it’s with regret that I have to inform you that your husband’s body was found this morning.”
The woman’s hand covered her mouth for an instant, then she found her voice again. “You said body. What do you mean by that? Just to clarify something, my husband and I are currently separated.”
“I’m sorry to hear that. We’re treating your husband’s death as suspicious.”
“Death? How? My God, Jeff is dead!”
“Have you been separated long, Mrs. Whitmore?”
“About a month. He works long hours, very long hours, and our relationship has suffered because of that.” Her eyes misted up as she clarified things for them.
“Hence you having to find a job, I gather?” Lorne asked.
“Yes. Good heavens, what am I going to do now? If I don’t turn up for the interview, they’ll think I’m not interested. If I do turn up and people find out I went for the job after you giving me this devastating news, I’ll be deemed as heartless. I’m between a rock and a hard place. My Lord, should I even be thinking about getting a job at a time such as this? My God, I’m so confused. Poor Jeff. Poor, poor Jeff.”
“I can understand your confusion, Mrs. Whitmore, and I appreciate you talking to us. I have to ask if you knew where your husband was working last night?”
She shook her head, and her gaze drifted off to the left, to the wedding photo on the oak sideboard. The picture was taken on a white sandy beach. Mrs. Whitmore was dressed in a stunning white off-the-shoulder wedding dress, while her husband wore a black tuxedo. “We got married in the Caribbean. Forty of us flew out there. It was one of the best days of my life.”
“When did the wedding take place?” Lorne asked.
“Ten years ago,” she replied, sadness emanating from her voice. “We were so in love back then.”
“What happened? Sorry if that sounds too personal. I’m just trying to build a picture of your husband.”
“The hours, his overtime hours. I just couldn’t take it anymore. I’ve been a housewife for years now. At first, I loved being at home, but then he was leaving me alone in the house longer and longer each day. Yes, I know how selfish I sound, especially as he was only working the long hours to make our lives easier. The thing is, the loneliness eats away at you in ti
me. Nothing is really worth being left alone to stare at the walls for thirteen to fourteen hours a day.”
“What about the weekends? Did he have time off then?”
“No. After years of putting up with the solitude, I’d eventually had enough. We agreed to separate, but he cut my money off, forcing me to go out and find a job of my own. I don’t blame him for his callous behaviour—I’d do the same if I were in his shoes. Now you’re telling me he’s dead. Was it some kind of accident at work? I said he should rest from time to time. It’s not good working all the hours he does. His concentration is bound to slip now and then.”
“No. it looks like your husband was murdered, though that’s yet to be confirmed by the pathologist.”
“Why? Who would kill Jeff? He’s hardworking, mate to all and sundry, and never really has a bad word to say about anyone. Why on earth would someone kill him?”
“That’s what we’re trying to find out. It looks like we have a few other deaths in the area that could be linked. We’re just trying to find the connection between the three victims.”
“Three victims?”
“Yes. All the victims were tradesmen, like your husband. The first victim was an electrician, the second a plumber, and then your husband was found this morning. He’s a plasterer, right?”
“Yes. One of the best in the area. He’s never short on jobs because he takes pride in his work.”
“Do you know where he has been working recently?”
“Not really. I know he was working on the side, if that’s what you’re insinuating. His boss didn’t know, so I wouldn’t bother asking him, either.”
“That was going to be my next question—whether his boss was aware of his work on the side. Okay, then my next logical question is, did your husband know either Paul Lee or Victor Caprini? Did he ever mention either man’s name?”
Mrs. Whitmore searched her mind but ended up shaking her head in response. “He might have known them, but I can’t seem to recall their names. Why?”
“They’re the names of the other victims. Are you sure your husband hasn’t hinted at the work he’s been doing lately? You know, something along the lines of it’s an old house that has been gutted by the owners?”
“No. I’d tell you if I thought it would help, I swear.”
“Does your husband have a close friend he confides in? Goes out drinking with?” Lorne glanced over at the wedding photo, hoping to see a best man in the picture. There wasn’t one.
“No. he never had any spare time, Inspector. His work was his life. He very rarely had any downtime.” She nodded at the photo. “That was the last holiday we had. He worked seven days a week, fifty-two weeks a year.”
“I see. The only other line of enquiry we’re following at the moment is, one of the men had gambling debts of sorts. Can you tell me if Jeff ever gambled?”
She frowned as she thought, then she finally shook her head. “Only on the Grand National, nothing more than that really. Mainly because he didn’t have the time to place any bets.”
“What about cards? Did he play cards at all?”
“No,” she replied more adamantly.
Lorne glanced at Sean, who shrugged in response.
Lorne stood up to leave. “Again, I’m sorry for your loss. We better get back to the station now and begin the investigation in earnest into your husband’s death. Will you be all right?”
“I’m not sure. I suppose I’m still in shock.”
Mrs. Whitmore showed Lorne and Sean back through the house to the front door, where she bid them farewell and closed the door behind them.
“What now?” Sean asked as they returned to the car.
Lorne threw her arms out to the side and let them slap against her thighs. “Get back to the station. I’m at a loss what to do next on this one. Three murders in, and we’re no nearer resolving the case than we were after the first death. What are we missing, Sean?”
“We’ll do some brainstorming when we get back over a coffee or two. You’re not alone on this one, Lorne. Don’t go thinking you have to punish yourself for not solving the case by yourself, okay?”
Chapter Eight
Tony and Joe began their investigation into Alec Edmond’s disappearance, by going through the list of people who’d attended the man’s stag party the night he went missing.
“This should be quite easy, as all the partygoers worked at the same factory.” Joe ran his finger down the list as Tony drove through the gates of the metal foundry works.
“It’ll only be easy if the boss gives us permission to speak to the men while they’re at work. If not, we could be in for a long night.”
Fortunately, once Tony explained who they were and what they were trying to achieve, Mr. Powell, the managing director of the factory, was only too willing to open up one of the spare offices so they could carry out the interviews there. He even insisted on putting himself forward to be the first in line.
“That’s terrific. Thanks,” Tony said, relieved.
Tony and Joe sat on one side of the desk, notebooks to hand, while Mr. Powell sat down opposite them.
“Can you tell us in your own words what happened that night, Mr. Powell?” Tony asked.
“Please, it’s Ian. Well, we had all arranged to meet up at the Swan just up the road from here at seven.”
“This was on Friday of last week, yes?” Joe was quick to ask.
“That’s right. We generally work a five-day week, six days when we have a crucial deadline to meet for one of our suppliers. It’s pretty slow right now. I specifically asked Alec to consider having the stag do on a Friday. Less likely to have numerous calls saying people are too ill to work the next day that way. Anyway, by seven thirty, everyone who was due to show up had arrived. We stayed at the pub for another hour and then moved on to Tiffany’s Club.”
“That’s the new lap-dancing club in town, right?” Tony clarified.
“Yes, not our usual hangout, I can assure you, but this was no ordinary night. Our mate was getting hitched, and we wanted to give him a good send-off. Anyway, everyone was enjoying themselves. The girls were gyrating their bits onstage even faster than the beer was flowing. We were all having a great time.”
When the man paused, Tony looked up from his notes. “I sense you’re about to tell us that something changed not long after that. Am I correct?”
“Yes. Well, two guys in the group, Dave and Sid, got a bit mouthy with some college kids sitting at the next table. One thing led to another, and fists soon started to fly.”
“Did the bouncers or security men at the club get involved?”
“Did they ever! Their punches turned out to be far harder than the other guys’.”
“What happened next? Did you get kicked out?” Tony asked.
“Yeah, the whole lot of us, plus the kids who started the ruckus in the first place. We sobered up pretty quickly once the night air hit us outside. We milled around the town for a while, singing and generally enjoying ourselves, until the small hours of the morning. Then the group dispersed, and we all went home.”
“Did you see much of Alec during the night?”
“Yep, he was the centre of attention at all times. We called in at an off licence and bought bottles of cider, vodka, and wine. Took it in turns to hand the bottles around, played a few games, and then went home when we’d had enough.”
“So what happened to Alec? Who saw him home?”
Ian Powell shrugged and looked down at his clenched hands on the table. “I’m not sure, is the answer. I looked around for him and presumed he’d departed in one of the first cabs we stumbled across—I really wasn’t paying that much attention. It wasn’t until we all arrived at work on Monday that we heard he hadn’t returned home that night. We’ve all done our share. Once the guys have finished their shifts, they’ve all gone straight back
out there to search for him. It was my suggestion to call you guys in—well, some form of PI anyway. The police just refused point-blank to investigate his disappearance; said it occurred all the time when men were due to get wed, not that I’ve heard of that many cases over the years.”
“To be honest, that’s our experience, too. I have to ask this—is there any way Alec would have gone off with another woman that night? Did he have a former girlfriend still on the scene, for instance?”
Ian shook his head. “Nope, he’s devoted to Beth. He’d never let her down, ever. Although saying that, just recently, Marissa has been pestering him at work over the last month or so.”
“Marissa? A former girlfriend? Does she work here?” Tony fired off the questions one after the other.
“Marissa Gormon. Alec went out with her for a couple of years, very possessive kind of girl. She heard that he was getting married to Beth and sort of went off the rails. She doesn’t work here, but over the last few weeks, she’s been showing up to see him, pestering him. I warned him to get rid of her once and for all. He told me that he’d tried, but she wasn’t prepared to let things drop. She’d become infatuated with him all over again, he told me. He was distraught about her hanging around here after work. He used to stay later at his station just to avoid being confronted by the bitch outside the gates.”
“I don’t suppose you have an address for this woman?”
“I haven’t, but I’m sure one of the other guys will be able to supply you with one. I definitely think someone should look her up and question her.”
“We’ll do just that. It does seem suspicious behaviour. Did you see her at any point during the course of Friday night?”
Powell’s mouth twisted as he thought. “Can’t say I did, but I was more than a tad drunk. Right, that’s all I can tell you about what went on that night, chaps. Do you want me to start sending the rest of the staff in to see you?”
“That would be great. Let’s hope the others can shed some light on this Marissa woman. It would be good to gather more background information about their failed relationship. Maybe once the stag night came around, the reality of the situation hit home to her, and she tried her hardest to put a stop to the wedding. Pure conjecture of course at this point, but her behaviour does sound as though it belongs in the stalkerish realms to me,” Tony admitted.
