by Nick Louth
On the day of the meeting, a delightfully bright April Monday, he’d got up at five, cycled 20 miles, showered and headed off to the Caterham incident room for seven, where he sat down with a fruit yoghurt and a banana to take a last look at the evidence he was going to put before his team.
For Gillard, a hunch about the case had been growing inside him since talking to Delahaye. A series of emails late last night from Shireen Corey-Williams had turned that hunch into something more certain. The emails included statements for two credit cards in the name of Mrs Pamela Jones. One card they had known about for a year; it had been used to buy the Peugeot in which Martin Knight was found dead in France, and to buy the Le Shuttle ticket which had taken Mrs Jones and her car to France. The second, whose existence Shireen had only just uncovered, was used to buy a series of one-night stays in hotel rooms around Paris at the same time that Martin Knight had been making his cash withdrawals there. It was also used in a tanning salon in Chartres, and in Neuilly at a woman’s hairdresser’s, just half an hour before the woman with the knight tattoo went to the cashpoint. Finally, that second card had been used to buy a one-way business class air ticket from Paris to Bogotá, via Madrid.
Madrid.
Gillard checked the date, but his gut already knew. The flight left Madrid an hour after Gillard had been at the airport with Kincaid. When he had been transfixed by the woman in the duty-free shopping area, who looked so much like Liz. Kincaid, who also saw her, had persuaded him that it wasn’t really her, could not be her. All the evidence backed Kincaid’s view, but the image had just kept coming back. Now Craig knew he hadn’t been imagining things. She really was alive. And she had gone to Colombia. Since the date of that flight, neither credit card had not been used at all. In all probability Liz Knight, newly enriched by her murdered husband’s inheritance, had discarded the identity of Pamela Jones and found another.
She had fooled them all. Brilliantly.
* * *
Craig Gillard walked into the Caterham incident room and smiled at the team gathered there. DCs Shireen Corey-Williams, Michelle Tsu, Rob Townsend, Carl Hoskins and Colin Hodges had been told to expect a momentous announcement about the case, and following the news of the discovery of Professor Knight’s body, they assumed it would be mainly about that. They were wrong. Claire Mulholland, sitting in, was the only officer whom Craig had already briefed.
‘Glad to see you are all here on time,’ Gillard said. ‘The news I’ve got may be quite surprising to many of you, especially as inevitably we get used to certain ways of thinking. Now we have to go right back to the beginning.’
‘Someone killed them both, that’s what I’ve always thought,’ Hodges said triumphantly, then turned to Hoskins. ‘It was Jimmy Bartram, I told you weeks ago. You’ll owe me a tenner.’
‘Sorry, Colin, if that’s what you thought you’re going to be down by a tenner,’ Gillard said. ‘It’s something much more fundamental. Everybody, this began as the investigation of a murder, of Mrs Elizabeth Knight, by her husband Martin.’ He paused for effect. ‘It is now the investigation of the murder of Professor Martin Knight by his wife Elizabeth. And I believe she is still alive, living abroad, probably in Colombia, with the proceeds of her husband’s inheritance.’
There was a stunned silence for a moment. ‘How can that be?’ asked Michelle Tsu. ‘We’ve got all the DNA confirmed on her body parts.’
Gillard smiled. ‘Yes, that fooled us all for a long time. But there is nothing we have that she can’t live without.’
‘The vertebrae, surely,’ said Shireen.
‘And a lot of blood,’ said Hodges.
‘First off, those bones are almost certainly not hers. I don’t know how she got hold of them, but it’s not impossible for someone who had been helping in a makeshift mortuary in the Aegean.’ He relayed what Delahaye had told him about the incompatible levels of salt-induced deterioration between the hair and the bones. ‘The next question is the huge amount of blood. We know that Liz Knight had done some time with St John Ambulance, and we found a phlebotomy certificate from 2002 in her office.’
‘Phlebwot?’ asked Hoskins.
‘She had trained to be able to take blood samples. As Delahaye described it, it would be quite possible for someone to gradually extract, store and freeze several litres of their own blood over the course of a week or two. Once thawed, you could easily give the impression of a massive fatal bleed.’
‘But CSI found some of her teeth, and the pin from her leg in the holiday cottage waste pipe. How did that work?’ Hodges asked.
Gillard shrugged. ‘We don’t know for sure. But it’s quite possible to travel abroad for dental work, say implants, and to request to keep the teeth that are removed. I checked with her British dentist yesterday, and it seemed Liz Knight was a year or more overdue for an appointment at the time of her death. This was uncharacteristic, as she had needed quite a lot of treatment over the years since her road accident, and may indicate that she was getting treatment elsewhere. The leg pin likewise could have been replaced after surgery abroad. This is something we are actively investigating.’
‘What did Delahaye say about the pipe full of human fat at the cottage?’ Michelle Tsu asked.
‘He couldn’t be sure, but you can use oxygen bleach, commercial stain-remover products like Vanish, to remove DNA from organic material, rinse it with lots of water to get rid of all the bleach and then flush through some blood, which would adhere to the fat and flesh with a new DNA marker. The effect would be to substitute her DNA for whatever was there before, making it seem to be her flesh. It may previously have been chicken, pork or even fish.’
There were some very sceptical looks from around the room.
‘I can see what you are thinking: that this is a long shot. But remember, we are dealing with an extremely intelligent and resourceful woman. She has had plenty of time to plan this like the expert chess player she was, or should I say, is. And if you accept this thesis then everything else that we struggled over for many months falls neatly into place. For example, it was Liz Knight who used a laptop purchased by her on her husband’s credit card to research body disposal, knowing we were likely to uncover that search history. Martin Knight probably never knew the laptop existed. The property scam in Spain, in which she appeared to be the victim, was in fact only really possible with her connivance, and it enabled her to cut her husband out of his own inheritance.’
‘We kept coming to that point, but dismissing it because she was dead,’ said Shireen.
‘Exactly. Being dead is incredibly convenient, because it makes her invisible. Yet she was able to recreate an electronic life for her dead husband through cash withdrawals and so on.’
‘What about the card from France?’ Michelle Tsu asked. ‘It was in his handwriting. I had it checked by experts as well as the Knight kids. Ninety-nine per cent certainty it was his, they said.’
‘I don’t know. Maybe she forced him to write it before she killed him.’
Tsu snorted in disbelief.
‘So how did she actually kill him?’ said Hodges, arms folded in scepticism. ‘And how did she get a big bloke like that into the car. She’s only a little thing, ain’t she?’
‘Five-three,’ said Hoskins. ‘Walks with a stick. She must have had help.’
‘Bartram, like I said,’ Hodges muttered, through the side of his mouth towards Hoskins. ‘For a half share in the lolly.’
‘These are all good questions, and the answer is: I don’t know,’ Gillard said. ‘She might have been able to drug him and take him abroad before killing him there. But what I can tell you is that Liz Knight was the only one in a perfect position to create a new identity around Pamela Jones. The real Mrs Jones is a woman who had barely travelled abroad, yet now apparently with passport, driving licence, insurance, two credit cards, bank account, you name it – all applied for well after she ceased to live at the address that Liz Knight owned. I have to hand it to her, it’s a flawless way to
become another person.’
‘But Liz Knight can’t still be using Pam Jones’s ID can she?’ Shireen said. ‘Now we’ve got her bank details. None of the accounts we found have been used for over a year.’
‘No. She may have something set up in Colombia, if that was her final destination. Anyone looking at a map would know Colombia is the next-door country to Panama, where the inheritance money went. With the kind of money she has access to, and fluent Spanish of course, I don’t think a new identity is going to be a problem. I’m pretty sure she’s living comfortably somewhere in the Spanish-speaking world.’
‘So was she the tattooed woman we saw in high heels in the bank CCTV?’ asked Michelle Tsu.
‘I believe so,’ Gillard said. ‘Which if so means she was previously faking the need for a walking stick.’
‘Aw, come on,’ said Hodges. ‘I spent hours looking at the CCTV. That was a tasty-looking piece with a slim figure and lovely legs. Nothing like the worn-out middle-aged woman with a double chin. With or without a walking stick, it can’t be the same person.’
‘Never underestimate what high heels do to a woman’s legs,’ said Michelle Tsu, who when off duty had a penchant for stilettos.
‘And a crash diet, probably,’ added Gillard. ‘It was cleverly done, no doubt about it. I believe she may have taken some drugs that made her put on weight in the months prior to the murder, so she looked different for the pictures we put out to the press. Both the Knight children had remarked on the change in her appearance, which they put down to the prescriptions she was on for arthritis. But from the medical records I’ve seen there actually is no diagnosis to confirm arthritis. It’s an ongoing line of inquiry with her GP.’
A buzz of whispers went around the room.
Hodges put his hand up. ‘I may just be a dim plod, but if Martin Knight was last known to be alive on the Tuesday evening when you spoke to him, then she either killed him there and somehow got him in the boot of that Peugeot, or she persuaded him to travel with her to France. But the Le Shuttle ticket was only for one person – Mrs Jones, right?’
‘Yes.’
‘So the professor was already in the boot, either dead or alive.’
‘That’s a reasonable supposition.’
‘And his wife got him to dress up like an Arab before killing him, because as we all know, dressing a corpse is almost impossible,’ Hodges added.
Gillard shrugged. ‘I know it sounds implausible. But it’s the best theory so far.’
‘So what’s your next step?’ Claire Mulholland asked.
‘We’ve got two areas of inquiry. I’m seeing Liz Knight’s GP this afternoon, and Michelle, I’d like you to contact the clinic in Brasov, Romania which Pamela Jones’s credit card records she visited during her so-called skiing trip in April 2016. I think we’ll find that she didn’t spend much time on the slopes.’
‘But she’s got away with it, hasn’t she?’ Claire asked. ‘In South America, untraceable and loaded.’
Gillard nodded. ‘But she’ll make a mistake. Everyone does. And then we’ll get her.’ Though heads nodded around the room, he himself was far less sure.
* * *
It was almost 7 p.m. and the surgery was closed for the evening when a tired-looking and apologetic Dr Ranveer Jethani was able to see Gillard. They had met once before, briefly, and the detective briefed him on their line of inquiry.
‘What I need you to do is to check whether anything prescribed here could have been used to change Elizabeth Knight’s appearance in the months before her disappearance. From what her family said she gained a great deal of weight, especially around the face and neck, ankles and so on. She’d also begun to walk with a stick.’
‘Really? Well, looking at her records, she hadn’t actually visited the surgery since late 2015.’ The doctor pulled up the screen and read down through the notes. ‘Yes, we have various prescriptions related to her road accident in 2007, and some regular antidepressants.’ He looked across at Gillard quizzically.
‘We know about that,’ Gillard said. ‘Was there anything for arthritis? She’d told her family that she had been diagnosed with it.’
‘That’s actually not true, as I told you on the phone. She had tested negative on the blood tests so far, though that’s not conclusive, as arthritis is a complex set of conditions. No, the only thing that could conceivably have caused any weight gain is Prednisol, which was prescribed for IBS in November 2015.’
‘IBS?’
‘Irritable bowel syndrome. Prednisol is the standard treatment, because it is a corticosteroid. But it is most unlikely the dosage she was on would have caused the symptoms you describe.’
‘What could have happened at higher dosage?’
‘Well, let me see.’ He took a textbook from his shelf and leafed through. ‘Yes. It can produce a “moon face” type swelling, weight gain and redistribution of fat deposits, including to the back of the neck, which is particularly ageing to look at.’
Gillard opened his laptop and selected a video on the desktop to show the doctor. ‘This is Mrs Knight at the time of her birthday party in August 2016. Would you say she was exhibiting the side effects you described?’ He clicked play.
The doctor nodded his head. ‘That certainly looks right. But with such a low dose—’
‘I suspect she got more of the drug from another source. Mrs Knight travelled to Romania in April of 2016, where, as I understand it, prescription medicines can be bought over the counter.’
‘That’s entirely possible, then,’ the doctor said. ‘And the side effects are entirely reversible when the patient ceases to take the medicine. So it would have been ideal for her.’
* * *
Gillard checked his phone on leaving the surgery, and saw he’d missed a call from Michelle Tsu.
He rang her number, and when she picked up asked her how she’d got on with the clinic.
‘They wouldn’t say a thing until I got the Romanian police liaison officer to call them from Bucharest. Eventually they rang me back and confirmed that they did have a patient called Pamela Jones in April 2016, and that she had an operation on her leg in which several pins and screws were replaced. They weren’t able to tell me if Mrs Jones kept the old pins.’
‘That’s great news. If they have email or phone contact details for Pamela Jones we want them.’
‘Okay, I’ll get them.’
As soon as he hung up, a call came in from Gabby Underwood.
‘Bad news, sir. Chloe Knight is in intensive care in Redhill. She’s taken an overdose.’
‘Oh, Christ. Poor thing. How is she?’
‘Not good. She’s unconscious and has kidney problems. I don’t think they know what she took.’
‘Thanks for letting me know,’ Gillard said, and hung up. For some reason he felt guilty, as if the problems of the Knight family were of his making. It was an unseasonably warm evening and he drove straight to the leisure centre, did his usual couple of kilometres in the pool. After his shower, he decided to take a half-hour in the steam room. It was entirely deserted, and as the scalding heat flushed sweat from every pore it suddenly occurred to him that Chloe might through her own grief and misery make it possible to bring this case to a close. Liz had been very close to her daughter, and if there was one thing that might entice her back to the UK, however briefly, it was the knowledge that her daughter might die without ever seeing her again. A plan gradually began to form in his head. It would need permission from the Chief Constable, but it might just work.
Next day
‘You must tell the Knights’ children,’ Rigby said, when Gillard went to see her the next morning. ‘If you have evidence that Mrs Knight is alive, you cannot justify withholding that from the family.’
‘Ma’am, with respect,’ Gillard responded. ‘They’ve only just got used to the idea their father is dead. And we don’t yet have any material evidence that she’s alive; it’s just that everything makes more sense if she is. Besides, if we
tell them that we’re assuming this as a faked death, there is a good chance that Mrs Knight will get to hear about it.’
‘How?’
‘Well, I wouldn’t be surprised if Kathy Parkinson or Helen Jennings were in contact with Liz. She would need her eyes and ears in Britain, and someone’s bound to be keeping her up to date on the state of play of the investigation. We’d frighten her off returning.’
Rigby gave him the blue stare of death, glasses off, for a good half-minute. ‘All right, I see your point. We’ll assume the faked death is just one line of investigation.’ Rigby stuck her glasses back on and returned to her paperwork. Gillard assumed the meeting was over and began to leave.
‘Gillard?’
‘Yes, ma’am.’
‘Let’s hope Chloe Knight pulls through. This case is tragic enough as it is.’
* * *
Gillard tried to put himself in Liz Knight’s shoes. She’d eased herself out of a loveless marriage, kept a multimillion pound inheritance and disappeared into a country where she spoke the language, and where almost anything can be bought. Anything, that is, except the love of her children and the comforts of the settled life, friends and career she’d left behind. Liz Knight was a very self-contained individual, but Chloe’s illness would be a powerful draw. He was certain she would come back.
Gillard had already alerted the UK Border Agency about Pamela Jones’s false passport. He also asked the British consulate in Bogota to forward a list of every Colombian female applying for a visa to the UK, with a copy of all identity documents. That produced a much longer list than he expected. Tweedledum and Tweedledee did the donkey work, sifting through it, and found nothing. Of course there was no guarantee that Liz would already have a Colombian passport. There were all sorts of other possibilities.
Days passed, and there was no news. Chloe regained consciousness, was sitting up in bed and was transferred to a hospital at Caterham Dene, much closer to home. Gillard had Gabby Underwood pop in from time to time. He had taken the risk of briefing her on his theory that Liz was alive, and asked her to watch out for any signs that Chloe had been contacted.
