by ML Rose
"Right. If we can't get hold of her, then tell her secretary to contact her and arrange an appointment with me and Harry. We need a statement from her."
Arla explained to them about the images on the parking CCTV, and the man who had accosted Dr Vaughan inside his car. Both her detective sergeants looked shocked.
"But guv," Rosslyn said. "This man is our number one suspect, right?"
"A suspect, yes. But not the only one. He got into his car, and they drove off together. But that doesn't mean they drove back to the victim’s house, and he killed the victim. Anything could have happened after the car left the parking lot."
"I'll get onto traffic straightaway," Lisa said, clearly excited. "Grandholme Road doesn't have any CCTV, but the surrounding roads do. It leads on to the A3, and we should be able to pick up his car there. Not that many Maserati convertibles on the road."
"Yes, let's do that. It might take a while, but it's worth tracking the movements of his car last night. DI Mehta took some photos of a boot print next to the victim's car. After this guy jumped off the wall, he left a print where he landed. It's not great, as the ground is tarmac’d, but it had rained the night before."
Rosslyn said, “Mary would like to visit the site herself."
Mary Atkins was the forensic gait analyst, who was much in demand all over London.
"Yes, arrange that. Have the uniform teams been organised to search the area of the common opposite Dr Vaughan's chambers?"
Lisa nodded. "Three teams are going out at 9 AM."
"Good."
Arla didn't have to remind her capable sergeants that the first 48 hours after a murder were critical. The killer could still be at large, and more prone to making mistakes as he tried to cover his or her tracks. With any luck, Arla thought they would find something in the common. She told them about John Churchill and how he reminded her of the figure on CCTV.
"But his face is barely visible, so it will be virtually impossible to make a positive ID." Lisa said.
"Yes, but there’s something about John Churchill I don't like." Arla took out her phone and scrolled to John Churchill's house number. She wrote it down on her notebook, as the next thing to do.
"Any word of Dr Vaughan’s ex-wife?"
Rosslyn said, "Natalie Chapman, to use her maiden name. She lives in Balham, which is close by."
"You spoke to her on the phone, right? How did she react?"
"She was silent for a while. Quite shocked, I think. She said she'd be happy to speak to us."
"Excellent. Bring her down here, please. Was she at home last night?"
"Yes."
"In that case, she could easily have gone to the victims house. Depending on where she lives in Balham, it can't be more than half an hour's drive, right?"
"She lives in Winders Road, and you're right, it's not far at all."
Arla leaned back in her chair and rubbed her chin with the tips of her fingers. She thought aloud.
"So, it's quite plausible that she went to see him last night. They had dinner together, and maybe something happened after that. They had a row. Maybe even a physical fight. Then she poisoned him. Or he had a stroke, and died of natural causes."
All three of them were silent for a while. Arla said, "it's all hypothetical, but I think we need to count her as a suspect. Mrs Farquharson didn't seem to think they were on good terms. We need to find out more about their relationship, and their divorce settlement. Any news of the daughter?"
"Caroline Vaughan is a fourth-year medical student at Newcastle University. Her mother said she would pass the message on. She said Caroline would be devastated."
Arla inclined her head. "Yes, it's very sad." For a while, the thought of Caroline receiving that awful phone call lingered in her mind. She would like to meet Caroline one day. "I want to speak to her as well. Can we please organise a time?"
CHAPTER 20
Harry was driving, and Arla had put the car seat back, and stretched her legs out. The sun was humming outside, the mellow heat morphing into a gelatinous, sticky miasma that coated the grime covered, worn out streets.
Human beings of every colour and shape moved raucously in an explosion of life, Caribbean men wearing yellow string vests, their dreadlocks reaching down to their waists. Mothers pushed prams, beggars on sleeping bags asked for money, and sharp suited businessmen and women who stepped over them in their rush to catch the next tube.
London was a cauldron of humanity, and it was the only place Arla had known as home. She gazed absentmindedly at the monotonous single lanes congealed with traffic.
Harry drummed his fingernails impatiently on the steering wheel. "Not much further," he fumed.
"Any word from Banerjee?" He asked. Arla shook her head.
"I'll call him after we meet the ex-wife."
The lights turned green up ahead, and with a shudder, the phalanx of cars lurched into motion.
Balham was close to Clapham, but the habitual traffic this could make a 5mile journey 50 minutes long. Harry turned into a residential street, a row of handsome, turn-of-the-century terraced family homes. He stopped outside number 44, and checked the address on his phone. They got out, and Arla rang the bell.
The woman who answered was just getting past middle-age. Her forehead was Botox smooth and her liquid blue eyes were large and attractive.
She wore light mascara, and her blonde hair was open, up to her shoulders. Arla examined her with interest. The hair was naturally blonde, and she was about 5 feet 6 or 5 feet 7, a couple of inches shorter than Arla. She matched the description of the woman who had visited Dr Vaughan last night.
Arla showed her warrant card and the woman glanced at it.
"Natalie Chapman?" Arla asked. She introduced herself.
They stepped inside and Natalie shut the door. The interior was a typical family terraced home. The lobby was reasonably wide, and a staircase went up from the left. Two rooms opened up on the right side, and straight ahead was the kitchen and diner.
Natalie led them into the room that was next to the kitchen. It had a dining table, and the back doors opened out into a medium sized garden. There were photos of Natalie with her daughter on the wall. Unlike her ex-husband's house, the photos here didn't include Dr Vaughan.
"How did he die?" Natalie asked simply. She sat with her spine erect, hands folded on her lap. Her eyes flicked from Arla to Harry. Her face remained impassive.
"We don't know as yet. We have several lines of enquiry open. When we have some more information, we will let you know." Arla told her when and how the body was found.
Natalie frowned, and her jaws flexed as her Adam's apple bobbed up and down.
"I'm sorry," Arla said. "I know you were divorced, but this must be upsetting." She observed Natalie closely. The frown cleared from the attractive woman's face. She was close to 60, Arla guessed. She looked after herself however, and her figure was slim. An absence of lines on the forehead, around her eyes and mouth gave her a younger appearance.
Natalie said, "Yes, it is upsetting. Especially when I have to tell Caroline. She was very attached to him."
Natalie held Arla's eyes, and her voice was calm. After the initial turbulence, her features had resumed their relaxed look.
"When did you last see Dr Vaughan?"
Natalie stared at the carpet for a few seconds. "I can't remember, and that's the truth. We certainly didn't make a habit of seeing one another."
Harry said, "What about Caroline's birthdays? Did she come down to London for them?"
"Her birthday is 15th March, which is term time. She is normally at university then."
"When she came down to London, does she live with you, or with Dr Vaughan?"
"About 50-50. During the summer holidays, which is the longest spell, we share Caroline equally. But I must say, now that she is starting clinical medicine, she is busy during holiday times as well, due to her hospital attachments."
"Did you drop Caroline off to your ex-husband's house?"
>
"Yes, I did. And sometimes he did the same."
"What were you doing last night between 6:30 and 10 PM?"
"I was at home. I spoke to a couple of friends on the phone, then made myself some dinner and watched TV."
"Were you alone?"
"Yes." Natalie's blue eyes focused on Arla. "Why do you want to know, Inspector?"
"It's part of our routine enquiry."
"How did Stephen die?"
"We don't know for certain at this point in time."
"But you must treat his death as suspicious, hence you're here, and asking all these questions."
Harry butted in. "Do you think his death is suspicious?"
Natalie stared at Arla for a few seconds more, then shifted her attention to Harry. "I don't know, Inspector. That's your job, isn't it?"
Arla asked, "Did Caroline mention anything unusual about your ex-husband? Was he stressed or worried about anything?"
"She last saw him over the Easter weekend, and in June. I can't remember her mentioning anything."
"And you're sure you can't remember the last time you saw your husband?" Arla persisted.
Natalie sighed. "If you must know, he rang the bell in early April when he came to pick Caroline up. I opened the door. I can't remember saying anything to him, or he to me. That was the last time I saw him."
"Which day in April?"
"April 2, Good Friday."
"And before that?"
"As I've already explained," Caroline made a show of her impatience by crossing her legs and huffing. "I didn't see him socially, and we only met when he came to pick Caroline up. Before Easter, I think it was Christmas time."
"And each time you saw him, did anything seem unusual? Or anything you noticed that bothered you?"
Caroline shrugged. "No."
Arla decided to change direction. Natalie was being reasonable, and while her mannerisms didn't arouse any suspicion, something about her bothered Arla. She didn't care about her ex-husband any more, and the fact that she was calm wasn't surprising. But still, Arla couldn't put a finger on it. Her sixth sense was ringing loudly.
"Do you work?"
"Yes. I'm a librarian for Balham Council. I work there full-time."
"Did you work yesterday?"
Natalie nodded. "I came home at 4.30. Then I spent the evening alone."
She glanced at her watch. She rubbed her hands on her Navy-blue slacks and looked at Arla meaningfully. "Will that be all, inspector? I have some errands to do."
Arla stood and handed over a card. Natalie promised to call if she remembered anything. She went to the door and held it open. Arla and Harry said their goodbyes and walked out.
*****
Natalie locked the door and went upstairs. From the bedroom window, she observed the female Inspector and her tall sidekick enter the car, then drive off. She opened a drawer of the sideboard next to the bed, and took out the burner phone. She powered it up and rang the only number on it.
The call connected. She said, "It's me."
Charlie's voice answered. "So, you've heard?"
"Yes." Natalie shivered, and suddenly felt cold. Her right hand balled into a fist, and she gripped the phone tightly with the left. Hearing Charlie's voice was scary. He spoke very slowly, and the menace in it was unmistakable. But she wasn't just concerned about Charlie.
"I didn't want this to happen," she tried to keep the tremor out of her voice and failed. A cold fist of fear sunk in her abdomen, chilling her insides. She sat down on the bed, and tried to stop her hands from shaking.
There was silence for a few seconds, then Charlie spoke. "The police came, didn't they?"
"Yes."
"What did they say?"
Natalie told him, halting every now and then. Her memory was already sketchy, and she wanted to erase this whole thing off her mind, this nightmare she was forced to live through. Had she not suffered enough?
"So, they don't know how he died, right? Good. We want to keep it that way."
Natalie squeezed her eyes shut and touched her forehead. "There's no we, here. You're on your one, do you understand?"
She could hear him smirk down the line. "And what do you think the police will do when I tell them about you?"
"You wouldn't dare do that."
"Wouldn't I?" His voice hardened. "If you know what's good for you, keep your mouth shut. I will call."
"No. Don't call me. I never want to see you again. If you keep bothering me, I will tell the police." Natalie's voice shook. Her throat was closing in and she could barely speak. Her heart hammered loudly against her ribs.
"Really?
"Yes."
There was a pause, then he spoke again. "Newcastle is not that far from London, is it? Only a few hours on the train. I know where the medical school is."
Natalie's spine jerked straight as fear blossomed inside her in a yellow blaze.
She rose to her feet. Her voice was cracked, high pitched. "Leave Caroline alone. She has nothing to do with this!"
"That depends on you." The line went dead.
CHAPTER 21
Natalie Chapman stared at the phone for a few seconds. Waves of fear cascaded down her spine, making her body numb. She threw the phone down on the bed, and averted her eyes. She left the bedroom, and stumbled down the stairs.
She opened the kitchen cabinet that contained alcohol. With shaking hands, she poured a tall glass of gin, putting in a lot more than usual. She filled the glass up with tonic. She sipped the concoction; the familiar, bittersweet taste making her grimace. She drank, and kept going till the glass was almost finished. She slammed it down on the counter, gripping the edges with her cold hands.
Her head hung down, blonde curls swinging before her blurred eyes. The gin burnt as it went down her throat, and then she felt it spreading into her stomach, suffusing her slowly with a nice warm buzz. She finished the rest of the glass, then stumbled into the lounge. She felt restless.
She opened the glass panelled doors that lead into the lawn. It was well tended, with flowering plants on each side. Natalie turned her face up to the sun. A tremor rose up inside her, a soft whisper of voices, slowly gathering force. They merged, a hundred little shouts and cries, till it became a cacophony that burst against her eardrums. She held her head in both hands, and sank down to the grass. Tears blossomed in her eyes.
What had she done?
She had lived a life of regrets, and she had postponed it for too long. Didn't people always say not to live a life of regrets?
But what did they know?
Life was never as easy as people thought. She had wanted to leave Stephen, several times. But each time she planned on leaving, she stared at her growing daughter’s face. What would life be like for Caroline, growing up without a father?
Natalie had planned on moving far away, maybe to America, where her mother lived. Upper state New York seemed like a world away, and she had no doubt Caroline would lose her father, and his money. And yet, she now knew that she should have done it.
She should have left him, and forged a new life with her daughter.
She couldn't live with his womanising, and his reckless ways. The world didn't know Stephen Vaughan. They only saw the respectable doctor, the scholarly physician who had written textbooks, and was an examiner for the Royal College. He wasn't just a member of the college; he was a fellow. Only a few physicians made that mark.
But his private life was entirely different. Dark and tortuous. Full of lies and deceit. Natalie wiped her running nose with the sleeve of her blouse.
If only. If only she had cut the cords when Caroline was a baby.
Who knows, she might have met someone else, and made a new life with that person. Instead, she had carried Stephen’s secrets till the burden became too heavy to bear.
And now, both she and Stephen had paid for it. But he had paid the heavier price, she had to admit.
However, she had done what was right. She had no doubts about that. Sh
e had no regrets about telling Charlie. Natalie rose, and went back into the kitchen. She blew her nose on a kitchen tissue, then poured herself another drink.
It was reckless, but she was feeling that way. She wasn't an alcoholic. The lure of drinks and sleeping tablets had always been there. But she had looked after herself. For Caroline’s sake, as well as for her own life. She was almost a decade younger than Stephen, and she could still have a life with another man, couldn't she?
She would be 60 next year, and she was still in good shape. She had a few dates with men were both younger and older than her, and she knew she could still attract them.
But although she had told Charlie the truth, getting involved with him had been a mistake. Initially, she was flattered that such a younger man was interested in her. Later on, she realised why. But by then it was too late.
With Charlie, she had fallen for the age-old blunder of a lonely older woman. He had seduced her, both physically and mentally. She had succumbed to his charms, and the way her body felt when he touched her. Parts that had not been touched for years. She had gone with the flow, and her throat filled with bitter bile as the memories clouded her brain.
True, the nights of passion she had shared with him were unforgettable. But that pleasure was now double-edged as a dull ache.
Apart from the physical attraction, they had other things in common as well.
Like their mutual hatred of Baroness Pitt. A despicable, filthy woman as far as Natalie was concerned. Her eyes widened as a sudden thought occurred to her.
Charlie had gone after Stephen, as she had known he would. She didn't expect it to end in Stephen's death, and even though regrets filled her heart, it was done. But what would Charlie do to Sandra Pitt?
A new panic started scratching inside Natalie's guts. As much as she hated Sandra, should she warn her? But what would she say?
There was too much water under the bridge. Too much hurt and pain. Nothing would make it better. She knew what Charlie was thinking. He wanted to puncture the festering wound and let the blood flow. Natalie shuddered as fear overcame her again. Her shoulders caved in as she folded her arms and sobbed in silence.
