by Wonny Lea
Elsie got up and led them to a room just down a short corridor from the kitchen and adjacent to the side entrance of the house. She explained that her sister had not been up to using the stairs even with the aid of the lift, and so they had converted this room into a sort of bed-sitting room for her.
There was a bed, a wardrobe, a dressing table, and two upright chairs, apparently all moved from upstairs by the neighbour’s son, and very few personal belongings. ‘They must have taken her in her nightdress, dressing gown, and slippers, not even a coat, because the one I bought her is still hanging in the wardrobe and all the other clothes I got are still here too.’
‘So what exactly did she take with her?’ asked Martin.
‘The indoor clothes I have just mentioned, her clutch-bag, as presumably she would have needed her passport, her toothbrush, and bits and pieces from the wash basin over there. We were going to convert the utility room next to the kitchen into an easy-access shower room. That’s what I don’t understand, we had so many plans, she wouldn’t have just gone off like that – not without telling me …’
For the first time there were signs of Elsie breaking down, and Martin suggested that Helen take her back to the sitting room while he continued to look around the room. Ironically the clothes and shoes in the wardrobe were all from Marks and Spencer and looked to Martin to be the same size as those found in Coopers Field. It was the same with the underclothes in the drawer but this time there was at least one bra!
There was an empty glass on the bedside table and two large-print books, and he noted that the bed was clean but had been slept in, so presumably Elsie had left it as she found it. The only thing on the dressing table was a hairbrush with a silver handle, and Martin remembered from the missing person report that hair from the hairbrush had been used for DNA analysis.
Martin was becoming more and more convinced that the body found in Coopers Field was that of Daphne Mansfield, but if that was the case how was it possible that the maid had seen her in France? That bit made no sense at all.
He joined the two women in the sitting room and asked Elsie if she could describe the stick her sister had been using during the time she had been there. Was still in the house?
‘Oh no, Inspector, it isn’t here, she would have needed it to help her walk so she must have taken it with her – and as for describing it, I can go one better, as I have a photograph of it.’ Elsie moved to a sideboard and opened a drawer stuffed full of photographs, but unlike most people’s boxes of memories these were in an order well understood by Elsie. Within a couple of seconds she had found what she was looking for and handed a photograph to Martin.
‘As I mentioned, all the women in our family suffer with their joints, and on Daphne’s fiftieth birthday William bought her that stick. The wood is oak, but the top is made of silver, and as you can see is in the shape of a globe and etched with the outline of the world’s continents and countries. It’s unique as William had it designed and made especially for her. Over the years she has been offered thousands of pounds for it, but would never part with something that still linked her to her beloved William.’
Martin’s blood ran cold as he thought through the possibility of Daphne being killed by her treasured keepsake.
‘Is it alright if I ask you a question, Chief Inspector?’ Elsie asked Martin.
‘Yes, of course,’ came the reply.
‘Well, I may be old but I still have all my faculties and it doesn’t take a genius to realise that someone as important as a Detective Chief Inspector is not sent on a routine missing person investigation. I also keep up with the news and have heard the details regarding the old woman’s body that was found in Coopers Field. Are you contemplating the possibility that the body is that of my sister?’
Realising the courage it had taken to ask that question, Martin spent time explaining to Elsie exactly where his thinking was and promised to keep her totally informed of any developments. He told Helen to stay with Miss Forrester and he would get a squad car to pick her up later. Martin had two reasons for doing this, the first being just simple compassion for a woman whom he thought deserved some special care. The second was because he knew that within hours he would have the DNA results of the body found in Coopers Field and Helen would be a good person to be around if someone had to pick up the pieces of a very brave old lady …
Chapter Ten
Flawed DNA?
‘Are you absolutely sure?’ demanded Martin, although even as he asked the question he knew that he had already been given the answer, he just didn’t want to believe it.
‘Beyond any reasonable doubt!’ returned Alex for the second time, and with Matt nodding his head in agreement.
The three men were sitting in Martin’s office ploughing through two large plates of assorted sandwiches and an enormous jug of coffee. It had been around lunchtime when Alex had gone in search of Martin with the latest news from the laboratories and met Matt who had just had a message to say Martin was on his way back. Both men agreed that the DCI would be disappointed with the test results and decided that breaking the news with coffee and sandwiches in his office would be the best course of action.
The food and drink had been well received but as expected the news was not. ‘I just can’t believe the DNA is not a match – I think we all expected it to be, didn’t we?’
‘Well we all certainly hoped it would be,’ suggested Matt. ‘Everything else fits perfectly and Prof. Moore and I had a discussion about the dental records. Being such a stickler for accuracy, he followed up our conversation and had another with the dentist who looked after Mrs Mansfield when she lived in Cardiff. Between the two of them they concluded that if a new set of dentures were made from the impressions kept on file they would fit the murdered woman perfectly!’
‘So,’ stressed Martin. ‘The description of Mrs Mansfield given to us by her sister matches the height and weight of the Coopers Field body. Prof. Moore has been able to tell us that the dead woman suffered from osteoarthritis and had cataracts and so did, or does, Mrs Mansfield. I have spent most of this morning listening to Elsie Forrester telling me her sister’s life story and so I know that the obstetric history of both women appears to be identical. The only thing at odds is the DNA!’
‘Well of course there is also the fact that Mrs Mansfield was seen in France the morning after she left the Cardiff address,’ said Matt. ‘According to forensics and the evidence of the till receipt from M&S it looks as if our woman was killed the day before Daphne Mansfield was seen in France – so how does that add up?’
Alex poured out the last of the coffee, claimed the remaining solitary tuna mayo sandwich, and listened to Martin thinking aloud.
‘There are two possibilities here. One is that the body is that of Mrs Mansfield but for some reason the hair taken from the brush in her room was not hers, don’t ask me to enlarge on that, I can’t think how or why it shouldn’t be. In that scenario the maid in France was either mistaken or she deliberately lied about seeing Mrs Mansfield in the Lefevres’ car.
‘The other possibility is that the DNA sample from the hair is that of Mrs Mansfield, and we have found a body that does not match her DNA but in every other respect fits her to such a level of detail that it is uncanny – I simply don’t believe in that level of possibility.’
‘Is there anything else we can do to help with the identification of the body?’ asked Alex.
‘Yes,’ replied Martin immediately. ‘It’s not an exact science but we can ask Prof. Moore if he has any colleagues in the field of forensic facial reconstruction. There are forensic artists who are able to come up with a likeness of the deceased using a three-dimensional facial reconstruction technique. I was at a seminar in Oxford last September when the technique was demonstrated and it was most impressive.’
‘The other thing I thought of was the possibility of lifting fingerprints from the body …’
‘But we would have nothing to compare them with,’ interrupted Matt.
Martin continued. ‘I’ve spent hours this morning with Miss Forrester and we were shown her sister’s room. It looked to me as if the bedclothes and everything else had not been touched since Mrs Mansfield left and I know for certain that there are two books and one drinking glass on the bedside table – her fingerprints could be on any or all of those.’
Alex offered to go and pick up the articles, but Martin suggested that Matt should do it and pick PC Cook-Watts up at the same time. He asked Alex to speak to the professor about fingerprints and about any contacts he may have who could help with the idea of facial reconstruction.
‘There’s a fair chance you’ll get your head bitten off,’ Martin added with a grin. ‘I very much doubt if he will consider the practice to be scientific, more likely in his book to be labelled as some new-fangled nonsense – good luck!’
When Matt and Alex had left his office, Martin sat for some time at his desk with his head in his hands, trying to steer himself away from the feeling of going around in ever-decreasing circles. He hated the idea of not being able to make sense of things, and was also getting concerned that he was placing far too much emphasis on wanting the body to be Mrs Mansfield and so not pursuing other possibilities.
Martin knew his own strengths and weaknesses and was aware that top of the weakness list was his dogged determination to look at the minutiae, sometimes at the expense of the big picture. In some of his performance reviews that weakness had been identified, but no one could deny that his results were second to none.
He mentally listened again to some of the words spoken by Elsie Forrester, and he particularly remembered the numerous times she had said her sister hated being in France – so why had she gone back there? There was also her talk of the plans they had to make the house more comfortable for Daphne by changing the existing utility room to create an easy access, walk-in shower. Everything pointed to Mrs Mansfield staying with her sister and Martin had heard nothing that suggested she would ever contemplate moving back to France.
Then, the biggest thing for him was the fact that Daphne had gone without even saying goodbye to Elsie. Elsie, the sister who at over eighty years of age and with poor mobility and eyesight had made an incredible journey, on her own, to a foreign country, just to see that her sister was alright. That action would have made the strong bond that already existed between the two sisters all the more unbreakable, and Martin could not give credit to the idea that Daphne Mansfield had just left the country without first of all speaking to Elsie.
By reporting her sister missing, Elsie had highlighted her concerns. She believed that even if her sister had gone back to France, she had been forced to go back against her wishes. Martin followed that line of thinking: at least it made sense, and would certainly explain why there were no goodbyes.
It sounded tantamount to abduction – and if Daphne Mansfield was able to tell the authorities that she had been forced into making the journey, then that was exactly what it had been. But how was he going to find out? Over the years Martin had dealt with a number of international police forces, and although their involvement had sometimes been fruitful there had been far too many occasions when language and culture differences had made for difficult working relationships. There were countless arrangements in place to enable the detection of crime to be facilitated between Britain and France, but this arm’s length way of doing things didn’t suit Martin and he picked up the phone to sort out travel arrangements.
While waiting for a call back from the Administration and Finance department regarding the agreed method of travel, Martin took out a blank sheet of paper and jotted down reasons for and possible outcomes of the trip to France. He knew that everything would have to be done officially with his equivalent opposite number in Nantes being made aware of the visit – but that was not his prime concern. Martin didn’t want to risk Superintendent Bryant knowing that a visit to France to investigate a possible abduction was being considered when the DCI was charged with investigating the body in Coopers Field.
The Super was a stickler for protocol and if there was an abduction to investigate, and as yet Martin didn’t even know if there was, it would be for Alan Bryant to allocate the investigating team – not for Martin to take it upon himself. Not for the first time Martin devised a strategy to circumvent the system. He and Matt would be on their way to France before the Super became aware of what was happening.
There was a timid knock on the door and with Martin’s permission in walked a seriously overweight young man carrying a folder labelled ‘DCI Phelps – Foreign Transport Arrangements’. In order to control travel costs all officers making journeys outside the South Wales Police area were required to complete a ‘reason for travel’ form that had to be authorised by Superintendent Bryant in advance of the journey. The form was the top document inside the folder and Martin was about to put it to one side when the young man spoke but in a voice barely above a whisper. ‘I have strict orders to ensure that form RT1 is completed and on Superintendent Bryant’s desk before he leaves for his North Wales meeting at 3 p.m.’
Martin looked at the youth and saw that he was red in the face and his hands were shaking – but why? Was bringing some papers to the office of a DCI such an ordeal? Was the boy under real or perceived pressure to meet the 3 p.m. deadline?
‘I haven’t seen you before, have I?’ asked Martin looking up from the papers. ‘What’s your name?’
‘Harry, sir,’ was the reply. ‘Harry Maidment.’
‘Well, Harry,’ continued Martin. ‘Why don’t you sit down, and I’ll go through these papers. You can help me with the form when I know whether or not I am happy with the arrangements that have been made.’
Harry shuffled and was obviously ill at ease. ‘Mrs Painter would have a fit if I sat down in your office. I have to stand at her desk and she’s not even a detective.’
Martin couldn’t believe that his simple suggestion of taking a seat had caused such angst, and he had the uncomfortable feeling that he was witnessing the results of bullying. He had seen more of that than he cared to remember over the years, and had vowed that if he ever got into a position of influence he would never ignore even the suggestion that someone was being bullied. Harry was an ideal target for a bully, as he was, to put it bluntly, fat, and obviously lacking in self-esteem and Martin resolved there and then to make it his business to find out if there was any substance to his concerns.
Martin thumbed through the papers and then spoke to Harry. ‘How did you reach the conclusion that car and ferry is the best option?’ Martin asked, trying to engage Harry in a conversation where the facts were known to him and so hopefully boosting his confidence.
It worked, and Harry eagerly explained. ‘When we get a request to arrange transport we first of all have to take account of why the officer making the request is travelling. Most of the time it’s to go to a conference or a meeting so it’s a simple train or plane ticket and sometimes an overnight stay at a hotel, but that requires written authorisation and is rarely given.’
‘When the purpose of the journey is to follow a criminal investigation, the officers usually want to take their cars because their plans can change when they are on the move.’
Martin nodded his head in agreement. ‘And in the case of my request, what did you consider?’
‘Well, two major considerations are always time and cost and the first thing I looked at was a flight from Cardiff to Nantes, thinking that would be the quickest, but it wasn’t. There were no direct flights, and the best I could come up with was a one-stop ticket; depending on the time of day that involved either a four- or a six-hour transfer time in Amsterdam.’
‘Believe me I’m glad that you didn’t choose that one,’ encouraged Martin. ‘Go on.’
‘We have a computer programme that allows us to put in all the options with the times and any variables and basically it does the cost benefit analysis in a matter of seconds, it’s brilliant. It always gives at least three options an
d ensures that all the discounts and special deals we have are taken into account.’
‘Sounds like a really impressive piece of software, I must come down and you can demonstrate it to me,’ responded Martin, inwardly thinking that this would be the means of getting a better look at Harry’s work situation.
Harry smiled and Martin saw, beneath the excess layers that plumped and distorted his face, a pleasant and likeable young man.
‘And this is the package you came up with for me, is it?’
Harry nodded. ‘It’s to take your own car, as you requested, from here to Poole and then you go from Poole to Cherbourg on the high-speed ferry. There is just one thing, sir, and for some reason Mrs Painter thought this was funny. She said that as your ferry crossing leaves at 7 a.m. and with about a two and a half hour drive to Poole before that, you would need an alarm call way before 4 a.m.’
Martin said nothing but made a mental note of another reason to ensure he was instrumental in packing the delightful Mrs Painter off on as many deadly boring interpersonal skills training programmes as Shelley’s department could find – preferably courses in Scotland starting at 9 a.m. and not eligible for overnight accommodation.
To Harry he just said. ‘That’s not a problem. Detective Sergeant Pryor and I will share the driving and we have two and a half hours on the ferry so we can catch some shut-eye if we need it. The longest leg of the journey will be Cherbourg to Nantes, and although we are both quite used to driving on the right it always takes a while to get back into it. Even so, we should get to Nantes early afternoon, hopefully around two o’clock, that’s taking into account the hour difference between UK and French times.’
Having agreed the travel arrangements Martin turned his attention to the dreaded RT1 form and completed most of it before turning to Harry. ‘Leave this with me, there are two of us making this journey so you also need a signature from DS Pryor and I know he’s out of the building at the moment. As soon as he gets back I’ll get him to sign and I promise the form will be on the superintendent’s desk before three o’clock.’
