Siren (A Kate Redman Mystery

by Celina Grace

  “Really?” Kate felt a little caught on the back foot. But then, how was she supposed to have known that? Really, one of the team should have stayed behind, especially now they were working at full capacity, what with Chloe having joined them.

  “Yes, it was a candlestick, a metal candlestick. The twin of that one there, I would think.” Kate’s gaze followed Kirsten’s pointing finger, to a small chest of drawers over by the outer wall. A heavy, ornate metal candlestick stood at one end, looking out of place without its matching companion and – if this wasn’t too silly a thing to say about an inanimate object – rather forlorn.

  “Hmm.” Kate rubbed her jaw for a moment, thinking. The fact that the weapon was something already found in the bedroom where the killing had taken place was suggestive. It meant that the killer hadn’t brought along a weapon. Did that mean that the murder was not premeditated? But then, what had the motive been? She mentally shook herself. “So, you’re saying he was killed by being hit on the head with a candlestick – right?”

  Kirsten had packed up her case and was standing politely by Kate, waiting for her to move out of the way of the exit. “Well, on the first pass, that’s what it looks like. But we’ll know more at the PM.”

  “Right.” Kate stepped aside to let the other woman through. She called after Kirsten, who had disappeared down the staircase. “What time will the PM be tomorrow?”

  “I couldn’t say for certain yet, Kate. I’ll email you later and let you know when I’ve got a definite time.”

  “Great. See you then.” Kate called a final goodbye and turned back to the bedroom, facing the bloodstained bed.

  Simon Farraday had obviously arranged a clandestine meeting with someone here, for kinky sex. Who had it been? A woman? Kate’s eyes went to where the fluffy handcuffs had been snapped around the bed frame. They were gone now, bagged and removed as evidence. Would they get any finger prints? Would the candlestick show any? It was pointless speculating, Kate told herself. She would just have to wait for the forensic results.

  She walked forward slowly, eyes on the bed. So, what were the possibilities? Had Simon Farraday been handcuffed and then killed, by the woman with whom he was having an affair? Had she, whoever she was, been merely a one-night stand? Had he even been handcuffed willingly? Perhaps the leather and the handcuffs were a smokescreen, a blind – perhaps he’d merely met someone here for an innocent reason and, for whatever motive of their own, they had killed him and then staged the bondage scene? Perhaps his killer hadn’t been the woman or the man he’d been meeting for sex? Perhaps there had been more than one killer?

  Kate rubbed her temples. The possibilities were beginning to overwhelm her. She made a mental note to check whether there had been any signs of burglary or robbery, remembering a case several years ago where robbery had been the prime motive in what had at first seemed like a sexually-motivated murder case.

  With one last lingering glance at the room, she began the slow walk down the steep stairs. From the sounds of it, Mia Farraday’s alibi – if Councillor Smelton could confirm it – meant that she was cleared of the murder of her husband. She hadn’t seemed a very likely suspect to Kate, as it had been: the crime was an especially violent one, and it was unusual for a woman to murder, especially a well-to-do, middle-class mother. But then, you never knew, did you? Kate reached the front door of the house, braced herself for the flash of the cameras, and let herself out.

  *

  By a small miracle, every member of the Abbeyford CID team was present in the incident room when Kate walked back into the office. Even DCI Anderton himself was there, busily scribbling on the whiteboards that ranged across one of the longer walls. Olbeck stood next to him, every so often pointing out something that Anderton had obviously missed. Chloe, Rav and Theo were gathered around Theo’s desk, leaning over and reading from Theo’s computer screen. As Kate got closer, she could see they were monitoring the press coverage of the murder.

  “Blimey, Chloe, could you have a face any more like a slapped arse?” Theo exclaimed, as footage of a scowling Chloe exiting the Farraday town house was briefly played.

  Chloe gave him an annoyed glance. “I hate the press.”

  Kate had reached her desk by now. Anderton glanced up and saw her. “Ah, Kate, I hope you’ve got the bare bones for us?”

  “As much as I could get, I hope.”

  “Right, let’s not waste any more time. All right, team, gather round. Gather round.”

  The officers took up their usual briefing positions. Chloe perched herself on the table next to Kate, who sniffed appreciatively. Chloe always wore very nice, expensive perfume and the one she had on today was no exception, a kind of smoky, bittersweet scent. Kate made a mental note to ask her colleague what it was.

  “Right,” Anderton said, beginning to pace as was his wont. There was actually a small track worn into the carpet at the front of the room, so many times had he marched up and down it while addressing his team. “The victim, Simon James Farraday. Fifty-three, married with three children. Managing director of Porthos Consultancy Group. High net worth individual, as the bankers like to say. Found by his wife, dead at their holiday let townhouse, this morning.” He stopped pacing and swung back in the opposite direction. “I’m assuming all of you will have seen some of the preliminary crime scene photographs, even if you weren’t on the scene itself today.”

  There was a flurry of nods and ‘yeses’ around the table. Anderton looked over at Kate and raised his eyebrows. “Kate, you’ve just come from the preliminary medical examination. What was the verdict?”

  Kate brushed her fringe out of her eyes. “Death was from multiple head injuries, caused by a heavy metal candlestick, which was actually at the house already—”

  Olbeck was grinning. “A candlestick? It’s too Cluedo for words.”

  “Professor Plum in the townhouse with a candlestick,” Theo said with a snigger.

  “All right,” Anderton said, quite sharply for him. “Let Kate finish.”

  Kate finished rolling her eyes at Theo. “Anyway, the post mortem’s taking place tomorrow – I’m happy to attend that if nobody else is desperate to do it – and we should know more then.”

  Anderton nodded. “You go, Kate. Report back tomorrow afternoon. Did Kirsten mention the time of death?”

  “Yes, and that’s important, because she didn’t think he’d died after eleven thirty. Certainly not after midnight.”

  Anderton’s thick, grey eyebrows shot up. “Ah, is that so? Well, for those of you who don’t know, Simon Farraday’s wife, Mia, has a fairly robust alibi for that time. She was spending the evening with her friend, Councillor Dorothy Smelton, who I’m sure you’ve all heard of. Unless Mrs Farraday has persuaded the good councillor to lie for her, a pretty unlikely turn of events, then that means she’s in the clear for the murder.”

  “Was she ever a prime suspect, guv?” Chloe asked, shifting position on the table and re-crossing her legs. Kate saw Anderton’s gaze dip minutely to take in the movement and was surprised at the jab of jealousy that followed. Get a grip, she told herself. It doesn’t mean anything, and even if it did, it’s nothing to do with you.

  Anderton’s concentration had only been momentarily jolted by Chloe’s long legs. He turned and strode back to the whiteboard, where both the names of Mia Farraday and Simon Farraday were written in black marker pen. “She’s the wife, Chloe. Of course she’s a suspect. But if that alibi holds – Rav, can you go and confirm it with Councillor Smelton first thing tomorrow, please? – If that alibi holds, then she’s in the clear. We can check CCTV as well, see if there’s anything to be seen around the square or en route to the Farradays’ house.”

  Anderton paused in his pacing, hands on his hips. “Right, what else? Naturally we’re waiting for forensic reports to come in. The PM’s tomorrow. Theo, make a start on the CCTV in the immediate area of the crime scene. We’ll have uniform do a house to house for any pertinent witness statements in the area. Um�
�” He stopped again, one hand tousling his hair. “We’ll need interviews, again with Mia Farraday, her nanny, Rav, you’re doing the councillor, Simon Farraday’s work colleagues...”

  “So, just another day in the mad house then,” Theo said, grinning.

  “Quite right.” Anderton dropped his hand from his head, swung around and headed for the door. “That should be enough to be going on with. I’ll be in my office, if anyone needs me.”

  As was usual, they all sagged a little as the door shut behind him. Chloe looked over at Kate and rolled her eyes. “Blimey. Where do we start?”

  “We start with coffee, of course. I’ll make it.”

  As she headed for the little kitchenette area, Kate spared a thought for exactly how much work would ever get done if coffee was ever outlawed. It was a horrible, if not very likely thought. She made a mug for herself and one for Chloe and carried them carefully back over, trying not to spill any.

  “Where’s mine?” Theo demanded as she handed the brimming mug to Chloe.

  “I’m only making coffee for women this week,” Kate said, grinning.

  Theo snorted. “Tin’s been away too long.”

  Kate poked him. “Don’t be stupid.”

  “Children,” Chloe said patiently. “Could we get on?”

  “You sound like Anderton,” said Kate, smiling, but she sat down obediently and turned her attention to work.

  Chapter Four

  The next day, Kate opened her bedroom curtains to blinding sunlight and a dazzling blue sky. Cheered by the sight, she almost bounded downstairs to prepare her breakfast and feed her cat, Merlin. Her energy was unusual, given the late night she’d had the night before. The Abbeyford team had stayed in the office until way past normal working hours, collating reports, chasing up evidence, telephoning to book appointments with witnesses. It had been almost eleven o’clock at night by the time Kate had returned home. Merlin had been so affronted with her that he’d merely flicked his tail in contempt as she guiltily filled his food bowl. Then Tin had phoned, and they’d talked for almost an hour before Kate had pleaded her early start the next morning and had finally crawled into bed.

  Merlin had obviously forgiven her. As Kate munched her wholemeal toast and Marmite, Merlin jumped up onto her lap and curled himself into a comma shape, tail occasionally giving a lazy flick against Kate’s leg. She stroked him absentmindedly with her free hand. She was thinking about Tin. Her boyfriend had been in New York for almost three months now, having moved there to take up a foreign correspondent’s role for The Independent. Kate knew he was expecting her to join him out there at some point. Not for a visit, like the one planned for a week’s time, but to actually move there permanently. That was the problem. Kate really didn’t know whether she wanted to go or not. She missed Tin – she missed him terribly – but was she going to truncate the career she’d worked so hard for, give up her home and her pet and her friends, and what little left she had of her family, for a man she’d known less than a couple of years?

  Frowning, her good mood of the morning dimming, Kate gently pushed Merlin off her lap and went up to clean her teeth and prepare herself fully for the hard day’s work ahead.

  The bright sunlight was deceptive. Kate stepped outside her front door dressed only in a light jumper and gasped as the cold air struck her. It was freezing. Quickly, she grabbed her jacket and hurried to the car. She wondered whether New York would be any warmer when she got there.

  She began to automatically take the route towards the police station before she realised with a start that she was due to attend Simon Farraday’s postmortem that morning. Quickly, she corrected course but still had to go all the way around the one-way system that bisected the middle of Abbeyford before she could find the right road. Luckily, she was early. Kate was almost always early.

  It was Doctor Andrew Stanton who was conducting the autopsy that morning. He was an old boyfriend of Kate’s but was now married with his own little boy. Any awkwardness that had once existed between them had long since dissipated. Kate was happy to find that she was actually genuinely pleased to see him.

  The body of Simon Farraday had been denuded of all the black leather that had wrapped him like a shroud. It was piled over on one of the other gurneys. Kate wandered over to it as Andrew started up the circular saw. Kate wasn’t particularly squeamish, but the screech of the saw as it met bone was never something she relished hearing.

  “Can I have a closer look at this?” she shouted over the noise.

  Andrew didn’t look up, concentrating as he was on his task but he nodded and then shouted confirmation. “Just glove up, obviously.”

  Kate snapped on a pair of surgical gloves and began to cautiously pick through the pile of leather. She wasn’t exactly sure what she was looking for. A manufacturer’s label? Something that might help them track down Simon Farraday’s mysterious visitor? The leather was heavy, the mask that had covered the face and head stiffened with dried blood. The whole lot stank, of old sweat, blood and other, less identifiable bodily fluids. Kate found herself making a face. There were no labels in the clothing, anyway – there had been once, but someone had cut them away so only a few threads remained. Was that significant? Or had the labels just tickled or chafed so that they had to be removed for comfort? Kate found herself inwardly smiling at that thought. People didn’t put on a bondage suit for comfort. She found her mind turning towards an image half amusing, half horrifying – a bondage suit that was shaped like a soft, baggy tracksuit...

  “What are you grinning about?”

  The noise of the saw had stopped and Kate turned around to see Andrew up to his elbows in the chest cavity. She averted her eyes. “Sorry. Just had a funny thought.”

  “Want to share?”

  Kate shook her head. “Not really. Not really appropriate in this setting.”

  Andrew wasn’t really concentrating on her answer. “Mmm, I see.” He turned his attention back to the body, and Kate pulled off the surgical gloves, dumped them in the appropriate waste bin, and found a seat over at the side of the room.

  The examination proceeded mostly in calm silence, Andrew’s terse comments occasionally punctuating the quiet. He had a rather abrupt way of working that was at odds with the warm, friendly man he was at times outside of the examination room. Kate listened and nodded as he spoke.

  “Death was due to catastrophic head injuries – blunt force trauma – high blood alcohol content, I can tell just from the smell but we’ll have to wait for the toxicity tests, that could take a while – some white powdery residue inside the nostrils, could be cocaine. Again, the tests should show anything untoward – in reasonably good shape for his age, some subcutaneous fat around the waist but muscle tone is high for his age, I’d say he was a regular gym goer – decent teeth, he’s had some expensive work done – a vasectomy, I’d say in the past year or so—“

  Kate listened and made notes as all of this was mentioned over the course of the examination. She asked again for a definite time of death.

  “What did Kirsten say?” Andrew asked. They’d all known each other for so long now that none of them bothered with titles any more. “Half eleven at the latest? Yes, I’d say that was right. Given the lividity, the establishment of rigor, yes, I’d say that was correct.”

  “So, midnight would be too late, right?” Kate made a mental note to check with Rav whether Councillor Smelton had confirmed Mia Farraday’s alibi.

  “That’s correct.”

  “Okay, thanks.” Kate thought of something else. “Is there, erm, any traces of somebody else? Any other bodily fluids?”

  Andrew looked amused. “Not at first glance. He hadn’t ejaculated and the swabs from the outside of the leather, or indeed from his genital area don’t show any signs of vaginal fluid. Or indeed, somebody else’s sperm.”

  “Right.” Kate stared ahead for a moment, perplexed. If Simon Farraday had been meeting someone else for sex, then clearly it hadn’t yet happened when the mu
rder was committed. So did that mean, as she’d hypothesised before, that the murderer was actually someone different to the person Simon had assumed he was meeting? But why would he get all trussed up without being sure of his lover being there? And was it even possible to handcuff yourself to a bed without outside help?

  Kate came back to reality with a start, realising that Andrew was beginning the clean-up of the operation. She busied herself with putting away her notebook, checking her phone for messages – none so far – and reaching for her jacket.

  “Oh, by the way,” Andrew said, settling a green sheet over the eviscerated body of Simon Farraday. Kate had the fleeting thought that bodies after a post mortem always looked smaller, somehow diminished. “Juliet and I were wondering if you’d like to come over for dinner, sometime. Meet Hamish?”

  “Oh, that’s kind,” said Kate, automatically going to give an excuse. Then she reconsidered. Why not? It wasn’t that she had any burning desire to meet Andrew’s wife, although the thought of a cuddle with a cute toddler was always going to appeal. But her social life at the moment, with Tin away, was pretty thin and the thought of a home-cooked meal at Andrew’s lovely house was actually quite a pleasant thought. “I’d love to, Andrew. When were you thinking?”

  Once they’d sorted out the date and the time, Kate made her way back outside into the spring sunshine. It was a little warmer by now, although still very much coat and jacket weather. Kate unlocked her car, got in, and drove off, thinking about what she’d just arranged. If she had been Mrs Stanton, the last thing she would have felt like doing was having a cosy home dinner with one of her husband’s ex-girlfriends. I mean, there’s no harm in it, thought Kate, secure in the knowledge that any remnant of sexual tension between her and Andrew had long since disappeared. But – was it odd? Perhaps she’s just a better person than I am, thought Kate, changing gears rather moodily. It didn’t help that she’d have to go on her own. Tin was obviously overseas, and there was no one else, bar Olbeck, that she’d want as her plus one. Should she ask Olbeck? Kate pondered as she drove into the police station car park and made up her mind to ask him. And if he wasn’t free, then she’d just have to suck it up and go on her own. Briefly, she considered her friend Stuart but dismissed the thought. She hadn’t seen Stuart for months – she had a nasty feeling there was going to be an engagement announcement from him and his girlfriend in the near future - and she wasn’t sure how Stuart’s other half would take to Kate asking him along to a cosy couples’ dinner. She locked her car and marched towards the building, feeling unaccountably cross. Something her friend Hannah had once said to her resurfaced in her memory. Other people’s marriages are totally mysterious. Well, Hannah – ironically happily married herself for nearly twenty years – was right, there. Not that Kate would know. She passed her security card across the scanner to let herself into the station and let the heavy security door slam shut behind her, blocking out the golden spring sunshine.