Reynolds cleared his throat. ‘Right now, it’s likely she may have committed suicide. The suicide note and all …’ he said to all of us.
I looked at the blasted note in Herbert’s hand. I couldn’t argue with what they were saying. The note didn’t show that she had scrawled out a string of words haphazardly in duress; her handwriting was neat, smooth and contemplative.
‘But we want to rule out the possibilities of a homicide here,’ Reynolds was saying. ‘The scene is being thoroughly investigated.’
‘Not a word to the media,’ Herbert added warningly.
While in a cab back home, I thought about how full of life Kiki had been when we spoke just a few hours before. Now, I would never see her again. Good Lord. Why was I losing people I loved? First, my Mom … then Saahil … and now Keisha who had taken me under her wing like an older sister in the big, bad media world. A shard of intense pain clutched my stomach. I wrapped my topcoat around me more tightly. The events unraveling in my life seemed to carry a damning ring of unpredictability. And I felt entrapped in that ring. As I went over Jeff’s half-baked explanations, a dreaded question fought its way into my train of thought. Was he behind the mystery at Bread Breakers’? Was he involved in Keisha’s death?
10
On the Skids
15 March
Dr Edwin Hardy, known to many as Eddie, had been a barrister for the Crown Prosecution Service for five years before deciding that prosecuting criminals wasn’t his cup of tea – a move that urged him to enroll in medical school. Today, he was a home office pathologist held in high regard for his astute observations. Unsurprisingly, Eddie was Herbert’s natural choice for Keisha’s inquest.
‘There are no signs of a struggle,’ Eddie reported to a grim Herbert at 8.00 a.m. on Thursday, as he and his toxicologist, Rodney Pike, finished their post-mortem examination on Keisha’s body in London Chest Hospital’s dingy mortuary in East London.
‘Acute barbiturate poisoning was the instant cause of death,’ Eddie added. ‘She consumed 100 mg of chloral hydrate and 40 mg of ametyl sodium. She appears to have been in generally good health. She did not have sex before she died.’
‘We found small portions of food residue and an odour of champagne in her stomach,’ Rodney said. ‘There was also a BAC of 0.2 in her blood.’
Herbert raised a brow in surprise. ‘Alcohol?’
Rodney nodded. ‘Didn’t you locate traces of alcohol in her chambers?’
‘No,’ Herbert said, puzzled. ‘We never even found a champagne flute anywhere.’
‘I’d check again if I were you,’ Eddie advised. ‘Quite likely she consumed alcohol and food, trashed them out and overdosed on the pills about an hour later. We estimate the approximate time of her death at eight p.m. yesterday.’
Herbert exhaled tensely. ‘You sure ’bout that?’
Eddie nodded. ‘I can’t give you an exact time. But, dead sure it was before nine.’
Herbert’s suspicions began to mount. This revelation made Ken Butler the prime suspect.
‘Well, I don’t wish to eliminate the possibility that she could have been injected with those chemicals,’ he said aloud.
‘We’d have identified a needle mark even from a subcutaneous insulin injection, Sir. We haven’t found any needle marks on her. It was an oral overdose,’ Rodney said.
‘Would you be able to tell me if that was self-administered?’
‘I’m afraid we can’t say that, Tim,’ Eddie stated candidly. ‘Is the lab testing the fingerprints on those bottles?’
‘Yes,’ Herbert said shortly. ‘And the fingerprints on the note she wrote, too.’
Eddie gave a brisk nod.
‘Thanks, Eddie. For the most part, I’d say it still looks like suicide,’ Herbert said.
Eddie nodded again, though decidedly less certain this time.
‘It’s a wonder how many fruitcakes pop up like this one,’ Herbert remarked pensively. ‘Young and alive and healthy. The minute they decide they can’t cope with their lives … boom!’ He snapped his fingers. ‘They snuff themselves out. Just like that, Eddie.’
‘I’d like to consult a bacteriologist and run some special tests,’ Eddie said somberly. ‘I also need to do more blood work. That’ll take some time, but the autopsy report will be ready in a week.’
Herbert left the hospital with a nagging doubt.
This champagne business needs to be investigated, he thought.
Despite my efforts to keep the media at bay, news of Keisha’s death spread like wildfire by Thursday afternoon. I barely slept a wink last night. Just after dawn, I called Charlotte’s office and delivered the news to a devastated Megan. After that, I spoke briefly to my father and brother. Both of them picked up on my low energy. Citing preoccupation with LSE coursework and my other ongoing activities, I managed to brush their questions aside. Although they knew about my work for Lionheart and Streetsmart, they weren’t aware of what I had seen at Bread Breakers’, and I wasn’t intending to update them about the drama going on here. But just hearing their voices and listening to Sri prattle on about his new girlfriend calmed me down a bit.
By mid-morning Alfred rang me, panicked.
‘Would you know what exactly happened to Keisha?’ he demanded. ‘I can’t believe she’d really go out there and commit suicide.’
I briefed Alfred about my visit to Keisha’s apartment on Wednesday night and Herbert’s update of his meeting with the pathologist this morning. ‘I suspect foul play, Alfred,’ I finished. ‘We need to …’
‘Let the police do their job,’ Alfred completed.
‘I know, but …’
‘Will you do the show?’ Alfred chimed in suddenly.
I wasn’t sure I had heard him right. ‘Wh-what?’
‘Streetsmart. I know you’re no expert but I do think you can pull it off with some guidance. If you can’t, we’ll find someone else. We need to find a replacement soon. Dear Lord …’
In sunnier circumstances, I would have pounced on the opportunity to host a top-rated BBC show. Now, I was miffed that all Alfred could think about was how Keisha’s demise would be detrimental to his show. ‘I’ll think about it,’ I said tightly.
‘We’ll assign a murder squad to investigate Ms Douglas’ case. And we’ll need concrete evidence to conduct a raid on that care home,’ Herbert said grimly, after I reported last week’s incidents to him, including what I had seen at Bread Breakers’, in his dilapidated office at the Bethnal Green police station, an hour later.
‘I’ve recorded instances of abuse there,’ I revealed. ‘It’s all on video.’
‘That’d be pretty solid,’ Herbert intoned. ‘Where’s it now?’
I realised I had no copy of it. ‘The film is on Keisha’s computer. The file is password-protected. I don’t know what the password is. But I’m sure we can find a way to open that file and make copies. Anyhow, her boss, Alfred has seen it. Maybe he has a copy of it.’
‘You should have made copies and reported it to the police right away,’ Herbert barked.
I stared down at my lap.
‘Let’s do it this way …’ he said finally. ‘We’ll contact the murder investigation team. They’ll touch base with you soon. Meanwhile, get hold of that film.’
I hesitated as I rose from my seat. Herbert caught on. ‘What is it?’ he inquired.
‘Well, I think Jeff is hiding something,’ I admitted. ‘I don’t know him anymore than you do. But that’s the hunch I’ve had since last night.’
Herbert’s face darkened. ‘Well, he certainly wasn’t in his office last night. Guy gave us a cock-and-bull story.’ He rose from his seat and shook my hand stiffly. ‘Leave Jeff to us.’
I marched into Jeff Stuart’s office later that afternoon.
‘How can I help you?’ Jeff rumbled.
I gingerly took a seat. He reached for a Zippo lighter. I lost my nerve.
‘Keisha was pretty upset about your response to the tour delay,’ I began lame
ly.
Jeff blew out a ring of smoke and tapped his cigar into an ashtray that sat beside him.
‘Yes. And I’m afraid we’re withdrawing our funding for Lionheart,’ he informed decisively. ‘With Keisha gone, I can’t imagine how we can proceed further. I also understand the police may be raiding a nursing home on Lambeth and that you happen to be involved,’ he added.
I froze. Why had Herbert told Jeff about my investigation when he had agreed that Jeff was acting suspiciously?
Jeff smiled coolly. ‘Whatever’s going on in that care home,’ he went on, ‘I’m glad it’s being looked into. But SIGNAL can’t endorse this campaign any longer. We don’t want to stir up any controversy with it. No hard feelings. It’s a business decision.’
He blew out another puff of smoke in my face. I coughed and pulled out my inhaler.
‘A care home is exploiting its residents to the core!’ I cried indignantly. ‘I thought SIGNAL would step in to investigate this rather than back out.’
‘The police will look into it and the Mayor will review mental health care policy if it comes to that,’ Jeff said slickly. ‘That’s their job, not ours.’
As I rose to leave, three champagne bottles on a shelf behind Jeff’s workstation caught my eye.
I remembered what Herbert had told me about the champagne traces they had found during Keisha’s post-mortem. I fled from his cabin, terrified.
Ritchie called me worriedly that night.
‘I’m sorry about Keisha, San,’ he empathised. ‘It’s all over the media now. Even NPR in New York has picked it up. Hope you’re doing okay.’
‘Barely,’ I moaned. ‘I suspect it’s homicide, Ritch. First, Nimmy was the target, then Charlotte … now Kiki …’ I began sobbing.
‘Stay cool and strong, San,’ Ritchie said. ‘I know it’s tough …’
‘… Everything’s turning into a nightmare,’ I wailed. ‘SIGNAL has withdrawn funding for Lionheart. I have to answer to fifteen schools and care centres that have signed up for our workshops … the media will sniff on it and my name will be floating around in newsrooms. Streetsmart is hanging in the balance and my only source of income from that show could be gone. All I’m involved in right now is a controversy with Bread Breakers’. And I lost a dear friend. I don’t even know if Charlotte will make it. My relationship with Nimmy is on the rocks and Asha will be sterilised very soon. God knows if they’re safe too. And my life is at stake. Good heavens, Ritch …’
‘Your fears are baseless, San …’
‘I suspect Jeff is behind all this,’ I cut in. ‘And in some bizarre way, Carl Wright too … that friend of Nimmy’s.
Ritchie chuckled. ‘That’s a good thing, isn’t it?’
‘Excuse me?’
‘Isn’t it good that you’re getting closer to nailing the offenders?’ Ritchie clarified.
I sighed. ‘I don’t know. Nothing makes sense anymore.’
‘You remember the Gregersen International Scholarships I told you about?’ Ritchie said suddenly. ‘I think you should apply for it. I know it isn’t much, given the mess you’re in right now … but it’ll ease your purse strings a bit.’
‘I’ll put that on my to-do list,’ I muttered.
‘Fight for it, San,’ Ritchie advised. ‘The dust will settle soon.’
I hung up and sat exhaustedly in bed.
Nimmy poked his head in. ‘I’m really sorry I … I … well, you know, about last night … about me hitting you …’ he began.
‘That’s the least of my concerns right now,’ I snapped. ‘Kiki is dead and there are a zillion things I need to sort out around me or I’ll go crazy. If I don’t, someone else will. Get out of here.’
Deciding that I needed my own space, Nimmy retreated hastily. When I checked my emails, my inbox flashed with another note from [email protected]:
Enjoying the drama, aren’t you?
20 March
‘It’s a pretty complicated case,’ Inspector Craig Davenport stated emphatically on Tuesday morning as I sat in his office, sipping stale coffee.
Tall, green-eyed and well into his fifties, Detective Chief Inspector Davenport, appointed by Scotland Yard, was investigating Keisha’s murder on behalf of the Homicide and Serious Crime Command of the Specialist Crime Directorate as part of the East London Murder Squad. The former Merchant Navy officer had once worked closely with the Home Office to help revise criminal justice legislative clauses. Stepping into the role of a victimologist with natural ease, Davenport was burning the candle at both ends to fit the jigsaw pieces together, just as soon as the case of Keisha’s mysterious death fell on his lap on Thursday evening.
Keisha’s family had flown down to London in an inconsolable state on Thursday night.
‘My girl would never do anything like that!’ Mrs Douglas cried when she and her husband were questioned on Friday morning. ‘As a child, she always loved movies, documentaries and writing. She believed there was so much more to life than what most of us tend to live for.’
‘We don’t think what happened was a suicide or an accident. We want justice for our daughter,’ Mr Douglas seconded in a shaky voice.
The Douglase’ tearful avowals drove the squad into the inquiry with stoic resolve. By Friday noon, the investigation, launched as Operation Douglas, was in full swing.
Jeff was summoned on Friday afternoon for further questioning. I heard he had come up with a revised story when a detective pointed out that, contrary to his claims, he hadn’t been in his office on Wednesday night. The modified explanation was some hogwash about working in an undisclosed subsidiary office because his British Telecom proposal was top secret.
Even as detectives were speaking to Alfred and Keisha’s friends, associates, and colleagues, Ken Butler, who was on Davenport’s radar as a prime suspect, had simply vanished – as it turned out – the morning after Keisha’s death. A background check in his name yielded no results. He didn’t have a national insurance number either. A sales receipt at the Sainsbury’s store near Keisha’s apartment revealed that the name on his credit card account was Dario De Luca.
A UK driving license had been issued in that name, five years ago. By early evening on Friday, a bunch of detectives had alerted airports, train stations, and border officials about Dario’s disappearance.
By Monday morning, a scruffy picture was shown around to everyone from security guards to the senior management of his professed employer, IBM, but no one had seen anyone who looked like him. Neither had they heard of a Kenneth Butler or a Dario De Luca.
Davenport had called me last evening with a request for information on Keisha and the Lionheart campaign. Now, I had just spilled out everything in my list of concerns to him, including the incident of Asha’s rape two years ago, my limited knowledge of the Sawants’ history with Rosie at Bread Breakers’, and my misgivings about Carl and Jeff.
‘Thanks for listening to my story. You’ve been very patient and kind,’ I said in response to his statement on the perceived level of complexity in this case.
Davenport smiled benignly. ‘You’ve been incredibly helpful yourself. You might soon become an important witness in this case.’
‘I received another threat last night,’ I reported, turning in a copy of both emails I had received from Bloodfonso.
Davenport studied them squarely. ‘We’ll need to trace the IP address for both emails.’ He hastily clicked away on a small tablet on his desk.
‘I just emailed the team an update on Bloodfonso,’ he informed after a minute. ‘We’ll keep these printouts with us. I’d advise you to be careful.
‘Jeff’s evasiveness and the boyfriend’s disappearance have put us on high alert,’ he added darkly. ‘The boyfriend said that Keisha told him she was out on a work-related emergency when he rang her at five past eight last Wednesday. But the CCTV footage we’ve got doesn’t show Keisha stepping out after she entered her apartment at seven-thirty. If he’s on the run now, I’m hoping a border agent hands
him to us. They’ve got his picture on their system. And Jeff is lying to us. The British Telecom guys claim they had no idea an assistive technology proposal was coming their way.’
‘What about Carl Wright and the teddy bears?’ I reminded.
Davenport cocked his head. ‘Did Carl know Keisha directly?’
‘I don’t know,’ I said. ‘But I think he spiked Nimmy’s drinks after my care home investigation.’
‘Okay, let’s take it one step at a time, Ms Raman,’ Davenport said firmly. ‘Investigating Ms Douglas’s death is top priority. Unless we have something that proves Carl is directly related to it, we’re focusing only on our immediate suspects.’
‘Who are the other suspects, besides Ken and Jeff?’ I asked curiously.
Davenport crossed his arms on the table before him. ‘We can’t disclose every detail at this juncture. All I can say is that there could be alibis or accomplices.’
He raked a hand through his balding head. ‘By the way, one of our detective constables mentions that a receipt for a four-month membership contract at Fitness First in Shepherd’s Bush was found in Ms Douglas’s handbag. Would you have any idea if she frequented a health club?’
‘I’m sorry, Inspector,’ I said apologetically. ‘I didn’t know much about Kiki’s personal life.’
Davenport looked pensive. ‘I’d like to get my hands on that piece of film you were talking about,’ he said suddenly. ‘If your theory on these events being related is consistent with what we find, we’ll investigate the care home and bring Carl Wright in for questioning. But the squad will need to see the film first. I’ll put you on to my colleague, Sergeant Dennis Wheeler. He likes to be called Wheeler. Can you direct him to the care home videotape?’
I swallowed tensely. ‘The videotape is on Kiki—Keisha’s Mac, and the folder is password-protected. Can we retrieve the password?’
Davenport chuckled. ‘That’s not a problem. Wheeler has been with the Interpol before. He’s an expert with computers.’
Victims for Sale Page 16
