Maybe there had just been some kind of accident and the emergency services were being overly-cautious. Or maybe they’d uncovered an unexploded bomb from World War Two. Or maybe anything else could have happened which would require so many trained professionals to descend on an otherwise quiet residential street.
The uniformed officer standing just inside the cordon eyed her with suspicion as she continued on past, forcing her to look away, and adopt the posture of any normal curious bystander. Beyond the officer, she could see that the front door was wide open as a flurry of technicians examined it. Beyond them the central staircase was covered in plastic sheeting, but Megan couldn’t tell whether that was something they had put there or whether Janice and her husband had had decorators in. Megan reached the end of the closed off area, and slowly wheeled across the road looking at the scene unfolding from a sideways viewpoint.
A bald man, his skin pale, was sitting in the back of a police car, his legs dangling out through the door, and a person in overalls, asking him questions and scrawling notes on a pad. Megan had only briefly met Janice’s husband Darren once, but that had been years before. The pale man in the car looked the right age, and from his clothing, she guessed he wasn’t with the police or ambulance service.
Megan couldn’t get close enough to hear what was being said, and felt intrusive even watching the tearful scene unfold. But what was more worrying was that she couldn’t see any sign of Janice.
They were supposed to have been going to Paris for a romantic break. That’s what Janice had said. So why hadn’t they? Why was her husband sat in the back of a police car, looking close to tears and even closer to death? Why was there a tent over the car?
She had to keep calm. There was nothing conclusive to suggest that her waking up in a blood-stained bed, and the police scouring Janice’s home for evidence were connected in any way. For all Megan knew, Janice could be inside making cups of tea.
She tried to remember the breathing exercises on that glossy leaflet Dr Marshall had given her, but the ache in her head was too great. Why had she agreed to go drinking with Janice? And why the hell couldn’t she remember what had happened after Janice had stepped into her house?
One thing was for sure, hanging around outside the cordon was not doing her any favours. So as calm as she could, she rolled back across the road and began to head back the way she had come. Back to the safety of the bus stop.
But there was suddenly a commotion coming from within the perimeter. Megan didn’t dare look back, increasing the rotation of her arms, her brain barely able to function with each movement like a dagger stabbing it.
‘Hey, you there,’ a voice called out from behind Megan.
She didn’t stop, and she didn’t look around. They had to be calling someone else.
But then a pair of feet suddenly rushed in front of her, and she immediately recognised the detective who’d been speaking to the man in the car. Gripping the tyres, she immediately pulled to a stop, certain he could read her mind and knew exactly why she was bolting from the scene of her crime.
Taking a deep breath, she looked into his eyes and forced a thin smile. ‘How can I help?’
FORTY-SEVEN
Slipping the Hyundai into fourth gear, Jake pressed hard on the accelerator, cutting through the light traffic as pedestrians all around him made their way to work on the last day before the weekend. For Jake, the trip back to New Milton held greater promise. He would meet Harry Venables first to find out exactly what he had learned yesterday from Carlos’s neighbours. But it would also be an opportunity for Jake to visit the Poole and Bournemouth practices of Better Health Partners. Dr Patel had been less-than-forthcoming about Carlos’s mental health, and even less so about Megan Hopkirk. The niggling voice in the back of Jake’s head still said that there was something not quite right about the woman in the wheelchair, but he still couldn’t see what or why.
Maybe it was just his age. Fifteen years in the force had left him a paranoid wreck, suspecting everyone of everything. Or maybe he was just being hard on himself.
He squinted against the sunlight flooding through the windscreen, eventually lowering the visor for some protection. And then running a hand through his grade-2 hair, he was surprised at how much moisture was returned on his hand.
Pressing redial, he tried to get through to the SOCO office once again. He’d tried twice since leaving Southampton, but mobile signal was intermittent at best through the New Forest and his previous attempts had failed to connect for any length of time. But the signal strength looked good, as he glanced at the mobile in the hands-free kit.
Jake introduced himself, and was quickly transferred to Mary-Beth Jakupovic who’d been heading the operation at the lake for the last two days. It sounded like she was outside, and he could only presume that meant she was back at the lake.
‘Mary-Beth, Charles Xavier’s phone: has it been logged into evidence yet?’
‘Mobile phone?’ she asked, her accent still with a trace of her Polish birth.
‘Yeah, yeah, was it found on the body?’
‘Sorry, Jake, no mobile phone has been recovered as yet.’
‘It hasn’t? Has the car been fully processed yet?’
‘Primary investigation was completed at the site, but it’s due to be fully inspected at the garage today. The only items recovered from the body were a wallet, and handkerchief. There was nothing of personal note inside the car, save for a couple of maps, the vehicle’s service history, and a wind-up torch.’
Jake pictured Carlos on the security feed, taking the call and then pocketing the phone. ‘And you checked all his pockets?’
‘Everything was removed from the body before it was transferred to the mortuary. You know the procedure. All clothes and personal effects have to be bagged up. Oh, there was a wedding ring recovered from his finger, but definitely no phone.’
Jake thought for a moment. ‘Is it possible it could still be in the lake? I know he had a mobile phone in his pocket when he left home that night, and I would have expected it to be recovered. Could it have slipped out of his pocket and drifted out of the window like he did?’
He heard her sigh down the phone. ‘Listen, anything’s possible but short of spending the next month with divers trawling the lake looking for what amounts to a needle in a haystack, probably isn’t worth it. I’m sorry, Jake. I’d better go.’
‘Are you at the site now? I’m on my way there now.’
‘No, we’re all done there. Haven’t you spoken to Inspector Carlton? She led me to believe the case was all but closed.’
Jake didn’t like the sound of that, and he definitely hadn’t received a call to that effect. But he knew the park owners were probably cranking up the pressure to get the park reopened ASAP. With rain due over the weekend, it would be a fisherman’s paradise.
‘Where are you today then?’ he asked, hearing loud voices in the background.
‘Stabbing at a house in Chandlers Ford. We were drafted in to lend a hand with the clean-up operation. It’s a real mess. I’m surprised DCI Toshack hasn’t called you here yet.’
He didn’t want to tell Mary-Beth about his enforced absence from the Major Investigation Team. ‘He knows I’m tied up down here.’
‘Well, consider yourself lucky. I’ve seen some bloody scenes in my time, but this...it’s like a horror scene. Blood everywhere!’
Jake shuddered at the thought. Knife crime was the fastest growing statistic at the moment, and the troubling thing was anyone from anywhere could lay their hands on a knife. Hell, they even sold chef’s knives in supermarkets! At least there were better – albeit not perfect – rules governing guns. He’d seen plenty of examples of how much damage a knife could do. Often it only took one puncture. Knick an artery and there was little paramedics could do to stem the bleed out. It was why they’d been dressed in stab-proof vests when they’d knocked on McGregor’s door at the start of the week.
‘Domestic case?’ Jake asked glumly
.
‘To be determined. Woman in her early fifties. Husband discovered the body, but I don’t think he’s been ruled out as a suspect yet. Listen, I need to go. If Xavier had a phone on him when he got into that car, then I suppose it’s possible it could be in the lake, but I can’t see how it would float out of his trousers,. He was wearing jeans when he hit the water – tight ones – but if the phone was in his hand then maybe it could still be out there. Are you able to triangulate the phone’s signal? If you could you might be able to pinpoint whether it was in the car when he went into the lake.’
Jake thanked her and hung up, but without the phone’s number, it would be impossible to triangulate the signal.
Harry was waiting at the entrance to the park as Jake pulled in. The crime scene tape was long gone and a new wooden gate was being fitted by a group of three men in shorts and t-shirts, wearing high-vis vests. They looked at Jake warily as he got out of the car and shook hands with a Lycra-clad Venables.
‘What, you run here?’ Jake asked, as they headed in to the wooded area where they wouldn’t be overheard.
‘Sure. It’s only five miles from where I live. I needed to get out and stretch. Do you run?’
‘I try to,’ Jake nodded. ‘Carlos did too. Twice a day from what I’ve seen from the last week. What was so important that you needed to see me?’
‘I must have knocked on every neighbour’s door in the street where he lived in Lyndhurst, but he was a virtual ghost.’
‘What does that mean? Deal in facts, not suppositions.’
‘Okay, well the two properties immediately next door to his plot, didn’t even know his name. They mentioned the running thing, but said he kept to himself. They’d never had cause to complain about late parties or overgrown gardens. And apart from the odd glimpse of him pounding the pavement, they never saw nor heard from him. He was a recluse.’
‘Job? Personal life?’
‘Ah now, one of the neighbours recalled he used to be a chef of some sort, owned a chain of restaurants from Brighton to Devon, but he sold those some years ago, and apart from the running, he never seemed to go out.’
Jake nodded. ‘That ties in with the security footage from the last week.’
‘I requisitioned his bank accounts to check whether he was being paid regularly.’
Jake raised a disapproving eyebrow. ‘I hope you had permission.’
Harry simply smiled, waving his hands in a calming gesture. ‘Relax! It was all above board. I thought you’d want me to use some initiative. Anyway, no regular fixed monthly payment going into his account, but from his bank balance he didn’t need it. Absolutely loaded. Six million sitting untouched, with interest accruing daily. And looking at the transactions, he was spending less than he was making in interest. If I was sitting on that kind of balance I’d be splashing it every chance I got.’
It wasn’t Harry’s fault. It was the problem with the younger generation: no consideration for the years ahead. Despite all the government warnings about saving for retirement and investing in the future, they just wanted to spend, spend, spend. But Jake hadn’t been much better at that age. He’d been paying the maximum into his work pension, but the house was in Isabella’s name, because her father had bought it for them, and Jake was pretty sure he wouldn’t see a penny from its sale after the divorce.
‘The recluse-thing might tie in with his mental health. I think he might have been seeing a psychiatrist,’ Jake said. ‘I should be able to confirm that later on. Did you find out anything about his wife? They had a son too.’
‘Haven’t found anything on the wife yet. One of the neighbours, a woman in her nineties vaguely remembered a woman living at the property, but again that was quite some time ago. I’m going back to the registrar’s office later today to check for a marriage certificate, but I do know a bit more about his son.’
‘Andres was his name, right?’
‘That’s right. Andres Javier Xavier, to be precise. Committed suicide fifteen years ago.’
Jake’s eyes widened. That could explain why Carlos was so cut up about the death. Maybe he felt he could have done more to save his son.
‘When did Andres kill himself? What date?’
Harry screwed up his face. ‘I don’t have my notepad with me. I can’t remember the exact day, but it was April. The anniversary has just passed.’
Jake froze. ‘Let me know that date as soon as you have it again. And do me a favour, try and find the number of Carlos’s mobile. Someone called him immediately before he left home and drove here, and I want to know who. But no phone was found with the body. See what you can dig up.’
FORTY-EIGHT
‘That’s her! She’s the last one to see my wife alive!’
Megan’s head snapped round as she looked to see who was shouting in her direction. Janice’s husband, his face now flushed, and a lot less pale, was being restrained by two men in blue overalls as he strained to get closer to her.
Megan’s breath shook as the eyes of all those just within the perimeter fell on her. Did they know? Had someone seen her escaping from Janice’s home, caked in the poor woman’s blood? Why could she still not remember what had happened?
Megan wanted to scream out; to tell anyone who would listen that she had no recollection of killing Janice, and that she couldn’t have been in control of her body. But as she opened her mouth to speak, the grim-looking detective who had stepped in front of her, gently patted her arm.
‘Do you fancy a cup of tea?’
Back on the high street where the bus had deposited her less than an hour before, Megan’s wheelchair was squashed beneath a round, aluminium table, while she waited for the detective, now in a shirt and tie, to bring out their drinks. Was he trying to lull her into some false sense of security? Was that why he was being so friendly and had suggested they speak away from the crime scene? Was he going to probe and question her until she admitted the truth, at which point a transportation van would appear from nowhere and she’d be cuffed and sent to prison?
She couldn’t keep her hands from trembling on her lap, and if he saw them he was going to see through her veiled attempts to conceal the truth. Darren had eventually been talked down and pulled back from the perimeter. Although he’d held back from accusing Megan of his wife’s murder, his tone and angst had virtually said it for him, at least that’s how it had sounded to Megan. For the first time that morning, the sharp pain in her head was beginning to dissipate; thank heaven for small mercies.
‘Here we go,’ the detective said, placing a brown plastic tray with two tea cups on the table.
He reached for two of the sachets of sugar, and tearing the ends, poured them into one of the cups. He offered a third sachet in Megan’s direction, but she shook her head.
‘How are you feeling now?’ he asked, tilting his head to look at her.
She shrugged, sure he would take the quiver in her voice as a sign of her guilt.
‘It can be hard to see all the commotion that develops with a crime scene, particularly at the scene of a murder,’ he said, her noticing a Welsh accent for the first time. ‘Had you know Janice for long?’
So that was that: he’d confirmed Janice had been murdered, and his admission inferred that she already knew that to be the case.
‘We used to work together,’ Megan said quietly.
‘And you were out with her last night?’
Megan nodded, determined to limit what she said, to preserve any chance of avoiding arrest.
‘From what Darren said, the two of you shared a cab home. Is that right?’
Megan wanted to reach for the tea, but her fingers were trembling more than ever. Coiling her left hand over her right, she tried to focus on steadying her breathing.
‘We caught a taxi from the pub back to her house.’
‘And roughly what time would you say that was?’
She honestly didn’t have a clue what time they’d arrived back in Chandlers Ford.
‘I�
�m not sure. I’m sorry.’
‘Had you been drinking?’
Megan nodded, bile pooling below the sides of her tongue.
‘I thought as much,’ he said, grinning. ‘God knows I’ve had a few hangovers in my time. You don’t look well. Have you eaten anything yet this morning?’
‘Not really.’
‘Do you want me to buy you a sandwich or something?’
She shook her head.
‘I’m sorry, I’m sure this can’t be easy for you,’ he continued. ‘Hangovers are hard enough, but then to learn one of your friends was killed following the night out...’ His words trailed off, as he took another sip from his cup.
Behind him a woman was struggling to get a pushchair in through the door, and the detective immediately moved across and held the door for her. He didn’t look old in the face, the skin around his eyes barely wrinkled, but his hair resembled a thick bush covered in snow, and after every sip of tea, he made the effort to smooth the moustache above his lip. He had a pleasant way about him, but she was sure he was carefully restraining a beast within.
He was straight down to business when he retook his seat. ‘When the taxi dropped Janice home, did you see anyone else hanging around outside?’
Megan frowned. ‘To be honest, I’m struggling to remember anything about last night. The last thing I can remember is seeing Janice going in through her front door. I’m sorry.’
‘The memory can be a funny thing at times.’
‘Can you tell me what happened? How did she die I mean?’
His mouth twitched left and then right, as he weighed up how much to confide in her. ‘According to Darren, he heard her return around half past eleven, stumbling in through the door, and singing to herself. He said he wasn’t surprised as he knew what state she and her friends usually get into when they’ve been out, so he rolled over and went back to sleep. He said he was sure he’d heard her close and lock the front door.
Déjà Vu Page 24
