Animal Instinct

by James R. Vance

  Massey left the incident room as an enthusiastic buzz from the team reached a crescendo.

  *****

  Whilst Massey was briefing D.C.I. Wainwright, the housekeeper from the mill called D.S. Roker with the news that her employer was due back later that same evening. On receiving the information, a hastily convened meeting was arranged to formulate a plan of action to ensure that a reception committee would be in place to greet Charles Howard on his return. Wainwright managed to secure a search warrant later in the day. The whole of the local police force was now on standby.

  Roker had also contacted the intermediary service, which provided him with detailed information about Lara's birth mother. D.S. Bill Kingdom, an older experienced detective was despatched with D.C. Jones to interview her.

  At precisely seven p.m. the remainder of the murder squad, supported by uniformed officers set off to surround the mill. The heavy rain clouds had finally drifted off in a north-easterly direction to be replaced by a fine drizzle, which hung over the area like an ominous misty shroud.

  A police van parked up amongst the horse chestnut trees in the picnic area on the far bank of the river. The rear doors opened to disgorge a group of uniformed officers, who crossed the river via an ornamental footbridge leading to a towpath and open pastureland. Unprepared for the rain-soaked terrain, which they encountered, they squelched their way across the marshy field towards the rear of the mill.

  “Bloody C.I.D.,” muttered one constable as he kicked off mud from his boots against a low stone wall. “I bet they're sat in their soddin’ cars with the heaters on full blast.”

  “Probably with flasks of coffee and sarnies,” added his colleague. “They reckon this guy's not due back until after eight o'clock, so why such an early start?”

  “We'll be like bloody drowned rats by that time.”

  A sergeant intervened. “There's every chance that he might return earlier, so we have to be on station just in case he decides to do a runner.”

  “Well, if he shoots off in this direction, he won't go far. He'll be stuck all night in this bloody quagmire, sarge. We could pick him off in the morning.”

  “Maybe you should call the D.C.I. and offer him your alternative game plan,” replied the sergeant.

  They plodded on in silence apart from the rhythmic squelch from their boots. The drizzle prolonged their misery as the officers spread out into a line stretching from the river up the slope towards the far reaches of the landfill site.

  At the front entrance to the mill, Massey and his team were indeed enjoying the comfort of the warm, dry protection of their vehicles. Three unmarked cars had parked unobtrusively at intervals along the lane leading to the mill. Roker had ascertained from the housekeeper that Charles Howard drove a Mercedes… ‘a big silver one’ was her precise description.

  Massey glanced at his watch. “Eight forty.” He breathed a deep sigh. “He's late.”

  “Perhaps he's changed his mind because of the shit weather,” said Turner who was in the driver's seat. “It could even be tomorrow.”

  “I'll give him until midnight before I call it off,” replied Massey. “Any more overtime for this lot and the Super will chew my balls off.”

  “We have the search warrant. Could we not just pile in?”

  “I want to see his reaction when we confront him. Initial signals are important to me. Forget all this psychological profiling crap. There's nothing better than looking a person in the eye.”

  “The uniform bods won't be happy, standing around in this downpour,” said Turner, looking up at the dark sky as veils of droplets slithered incessantly down the car's windscreen. He froze momentarily as the lane became illuminated by bright light. A sleek, metallic silver Mercedes 320 coupé glided gently past their vehicle towards the wrought iron gates of the mill. The milky yellow glow changed to deep red as the driver applied the brakes.

  The electric gates swung open allowing the vehicle to enter the curved driveway before disappearing from view round the building towards the front entrance. Turner was the first to react, accelerating through the gates as they started to swing back. He stopped at the head of the path leading to the door where they had met the housekeeper. As he switched off the engine and lights, Roker followed close behind in his car, but scraped the metal gates as he drove through the narrowing gap. The rear nearside wing received a deep gash. The third vehicle was too late; the gates clanged shut barring its entry. A large white police van containing the forensic team drew alongside, having emerged from the darkness. Summoned by Massey, it had been parked out of sight further along the road leading to the landfill site.

  The detectives waited until lights began to appear in some rooms within the house. Massey stepped from his vehicle into the rain and walked down the short path towards the rear door of the mill. He rang the doorbell and waited. No response. He rang again. Seconds later lights appeared in lanterns on both sides of the doorway, bolts were withdrawn, a lock clicked and the door opened.

  Charles Devlin Howard stood in the open doorway, dressed in dark casual trousers and a beige lamb's wool sweater. The collar of a check shirt protruded from the crew neck. He was of medium build, sun-tanned with brown hair greying at the temples. He sported a thin moustache. Massey put his age at fifty plus.

  “What the dickens…!” protested Howard, startled by the unexpected intrusion.

  Massey examined the man's expression as he thrust his warrant card towards him. Howard looked up at the inspector, stared beyond him and spotted the uniformed police sergeant alongside Roker. A realisation of what was happening replaced his initial fears.

  “Open the main gates to allow access for my team please, Mr. Howard.” Massey thrust a sheet of paper towards him. “We have a search warrant for your property.”

  Initially, the mill owner protested, but accepted the inevitable after a brief explanation of his rights. He ignored the various questions put to him by Massey and Roker, refusing any form of cooperation until he had called his solicitor. In the meantime, the forensic team had gained entry and were conducting a systematic search of the property.

  “What did you reckon to his initial reaction?” asked Turner, referring to Massey's remarks made whilst they were waiting in the car.

  The inspector turned to face him. “Have you ever been the recipient of what was meant to be a surprise party, but which you knew about all the time, so you act surprised so as not to disappoint anyone?”

  “Not really, but I think that I know what you mean.”

  “That's how he reacted,” said Massey and walked away, leaving the young detective to ponder over his comment.

  After discussing the situation with his solicitor, Howard elected to be formally interviewed in the presence of his brief at police headquarters. Within the hour, he sat, seemingly quite bewildered, in interview room one. Alongside him sat his solicitor. Facing him were D.I. Massey and D.S. Roker.

  During the interview, they established that Howard did have strong connections in the fashion industry. He had started his career in his father's clothing manufacturing business, learning basic skills on band cutters and industrial sewing machines. He had also studied dress design and pattern grading at college. His father had grown the business from a small factory producing children's wear for mail order companies. During the early sixties funding had been available in the form of government grants for new factories in depressed areas. By taking advantage of these generous financial packages in the form of two new outlets, production had increased, satisfying the huge demands during that boom period.

  When cheap imports began to flood the market, a decision was taken to close the two establishments at Runcorn and Skelmersdale. Following his father's retirement, Charles Howard opted to convert both outlets into luxury apartments, thereby jumping onto the property ladder as the Thatcher enterprise ‘bandwagon’ was gathering momentum. Eventually selling his property investments at a great profit, he returned to his ‘rag trade’ roots by channelling the proc
eeds into fashion houses where he could financially support new designers.

  An impromptu visit to a local fashion show had sparked Howard's interest in Lara Crawford's career. She was almost certainly the star attraction and Howard, realising her potential, saw her as just another investment opportunity. An associate suggested using Kam-A-O studios based on their faultless reputation. Yes, she had visited the mill on several occasions to receive advice, guidance and to discuss her career prospects. He had last seen his protégée the week before Easter and was completely unaware of her death until the police confronted him on his return from London.

  “Who funded the photo sessions?” asked Massey.

  “As I explained previously, she was an investment, so naturally I financed all her requirements.”

  “Why the nude photos?”

  “It was her suggestion,” replied Howard. “She was proud of her body, she had a perfect figure. She was young and vibrant with this relentless zest for life. I warned her that, in the wrong hands, they could potentially harm her career. She insisted and I gave in on the proviso that the poses must not be erotic but more artistically based.”

  “How was that communicated to her?” asked the inspector. “I, for example, would not be aware of the difference.”

  Howard looked across at his solicitor before answering, knowing that what he was about to say could be misconstrued. “We held a ‘dummy run’ at the mill.”

  “She was naked, alone with you?”

  “We used various parts of the house to suggest an appropriate pose for a specific style of setting. She was only naked for the actual photos. She made notes to take with her to the studio.”

  “What did you do, besides direct her?”

  “More or less that…advised her, discussed certain details, sometimes we argued until we could agree. Apart from that, I just admired her. She looked fantastic.”

  “Did you have sex with her?”

  Howard's solicitor leaned across the table. “Where is this leading, Inspector?”

  “It's okay,” said Howard. “I don't mind answering the question. I'll admit that I was tempted, but the relationship was purely business. I'm afraid that money excites and motivates me more than sexual dalliances.”

  “Really?” said Massey, looking directly into his eyes. “Did you have sex with Lara Crawford last Thursday morning?”

  “I told you, Inspector, that I last saw her the week prior to Easter week.”

  “Did she refuse to have sex with you, Mr. Howard? Did she spurn your advances? Is that why you murdered her?”

  The solicitor leaned forward once again. “Inspector, my client told you that he only learned of Miss Crawford's death from your officers on his return home.”

  “I find that extremely hard to believe,” said Massey. “The reports of her murder have been splashed across the front pages of every tabloid and broadsheet, together with headlines on the television news channels since last weekend.”

  “I was in London on important business. Newspapers and television are for the bored masses.”

  Massey leaned back in his chair. “Were you aware that Lara was pregnant?”

  Howard shook his head for a few moments before replying. He raised his eyebrows. “You're joking!”

  “This is a serious interview, Mr. Howard. I do not joke. Lara was pregnant. She was on her way to have an abortion. Did you make the arrangements with the clinic?”

  “She never said. I would never have guessed.”

  “Was it your baby, Mr. Howard? Did you force her to have a termination? Was it against her wishes? Were you angry at the potential loss of your investment if she refused? Did you argue about it on that fateful Thursday morning? Was her death a mistake, an accident? Did you panic and try to cover it up before disappearing to London?”

  Howard sat impassively opposite the two detectives. The solicitor leaned across and whispered in his client's ear. He turned towards Massey.

  “This is pure conjecture on your part, Inspector. My client denies all these allegations. If you are not in a position to charge him, we would like to leave. My client is extremely tired following his drive from the capital and wishes to retire.”

  Massey terminated the interview, hoping that forensics had found some hard evidence to contradict Howard's denial of his involvement in Lara Crawford's murder.

  *****

  Despite the damp weather, the forensic team completed their examination of the mill and the adjoining land. They arrived back at police headquarters as Howard and his solicitor were on the point of leaving. John Nuttall met with Massey and Roker to update them on their findings. He reported that there was certainly sufficient evidence to connect the mill owner with Lara Crawford, but they had uncovered nothing to incriminate him with her murder. All the forensic evidence merely corroborated the statements made during his interview.

  “We extracted samples from the bedrooms, bathrooms and living rooms including carpet fibres, several strands of fair hair, et cetera, but as he has not denied the girl's presence there, I cannot see their value,” said Nuttall.

  “The housekeeper mentioned a framed photograph of her in one of the rooms. Were there others?” asked Roker.

  “There were several folders of photos dotted about the place, which merely confirms his interest in her modelling potential.”

  “Any photos of her naked?” asked Massey.

  “None at all. Why, should there have been some?”

  “Several artistic poses of her naked were taken at the photo studio. I find it strange that he didn't even have one in his possession. Anything else of interest?” asked the inspector.

  “There was a leather shoulder bag containing a few items of ladies clothing, mostly underwear and make-up. I've brought it back to test against her D.N.A. and fingerprints. It could belong to the victim.”

  “That's interesting,” said Massey. “That could be the bag which contained her personal items. No money or evidence of owner's identity in it?”

  “Just clothes and make-up. We also checked the fir tree boundary line as you suggested and, yes, your assumptions were correct. We extracted quite a number of bin liner shreds from the ground below the firs. I'll have them checked against the samples from the landfill site.”

  “Is that it?” asked Massey.

  “We lifted from various rooms a stack of paperwork with references to the girl, mostly letters to and from agencies and the like. It may be worth sifting through them. There was also some letters and a brochure from that clinic at Northwich, which she was due to attend.”

  “What?” exclaimed Massey. “Where can I lay my hands on that?”

  “All the documentation which we brought out is in those cartons.” He pointed to a nearby table. Massey crossed to the large cardboard file boxes, which had been sealed with tape. His expression changed. The hint of a smile spread from the corners of his mouth.

  “Not so clever, after all. He lied during the interview,” said Massey triumphantly.

  “Lied about what?” asked Nuttall.

  Roker answered. “He stated that he was unaware of her pregnancy and, of course, her intended abortion.”

  “I think Charles Devlin Howard has some explaining to do,” said Massey.

  Nuttall smiled. “You've soon perked up. I had you down as potentially suicidal a few moments ago. Oh, something else which I forgot to mention amid all the excitement. The D.N.A. and chemical analysis results arrived earlier today.”

  “And?”

  “Not such good news, I'm afraid. The D.N.A, report is a little strange. From the samples, they ascertained that there were two distinct strings to analyse. The results suggested that they were almost identical, but, because of the contamination from the chemical substance, the enzymes had reacted differently. Nothing therefore was conclusive. One matched eighty-five per cent with Lara's hair sample. The other had similarities, but much less of a match. In court, both would be inadmissible as evidence because of the changes caused by contact
with the chemical substance.”

  “Are you saying that both samples related to Lara?”

  “It's possible. Originally, we were certain that the other string was from her assailant, but maybe we were mistaken. Unfortunately the chemicals have clouded the issue.”

  “These chemicals,” continued Massey, “what's the score there?”

  “The conclusion is that it is some type of cleaning fluid. There were traces of sodium hydroxide and sodium hypochlorite.”

  “So who would use something like that?”

  Nuttall spread his arms and puffed out his cheeks. “Your guess is as good as mine. Sodium hydroxide is to be found in soaps, detergents, paint stripper, drain cleaner and, in a more diluted form even in wine making, hairdressing and food processing. Take your pick!”

  Massey sighed. “What about the other one, sodium hypo-something?”

  “Sodium hypochlorite…in other words bleach, or it can be used as a disinfectant agent against bacteria.”

  . “So, this weird smell caused by these chemicals, this caustic solution could be found in virtually any domestic or industrial premises?”

  “There was something else which may narrow it down slightly,” said Nuttall, smugly.

  Massey's face lit up again. “Well?”

  “There were also traces of saccharomyces cerevisiae.”

  “What the hell is that?” asked Roker.

  “It is more commonly known as yeast. Anyone involved with home brewing, beer or wine could use it…or even brewers, wine producers.”