Souls of Men

by A. R. Ashworth

  He handed her the cup of coffee. “I’ll let you adulterate it yourself. Sugar and cream are on the table.”

  She looked at his hand as she took the cup. No bruising, but if he owned some rubber gloves, he could have avoided harm. He was a surgeon, and he would have taken precautions. Time to swing into action. “Black’s fine.” She nodded at Willend’s shirt. “Odd name for a rowing club. I would have thought haddock or maybe herring.”

  Willend looked down at his shirt and hmmphed in amusement. “Halibut would work too, if we were a rowing club. Those aren’t oars; they’re called crosses. We’re a lacrosse team.” He turned away and took a seat on the gray leather sofa, watching as Benford dropped his usual three lumps of sugar into the coffee. “How can I help you?”

  Elaine stood by the piano with her back to the light that filtered in through the large bay windows. She retrieved her notebook from her bag and looked at Willend. “Can you please relate to us your movements this past Friday night?”

  Willend took a moment as he studied her. “I was at work most of Friday evening. I got home by midnight, I think. I didn’t go out after that.”

  Elaine’s voice was flat. “Be more specific, Dr. Willend.” She kept her face expressionless while she looked at him. “If you don’t mind.”

  Willend raised his eyebrows. “Okay. I got off duty at Saint Stephen’s Hospital just after eleven. I changed into my street clothes, went outside, and walked to the bus shelter. The bus stopped a few minutes later and I got on. I got off on the high street and walked to Khoury’s store to pick up some dinner. While I was there, I talked to Hassan. I was there for about ten or fifteen minutes, then I walked home. That usually takes about fifteen minutes. I can’t be more specific. I’m not obsessive about checking the time. Besides, I wasn’t aware anyone would care.”

  “That was a cold rain to walk home in.”

  “You can’t control the weather.”

  “Do you like keeping things under control, Dr. Willend? Women, for example?”

  Elaine knew from his reaction that she had hit a mark.

  “Where did that come from? Of course not! I mean, situations, yes. People, no.”

  “I wonder how you normally control”—she nodded at the photos—“a situation. An athlete. Competitive. A soldier. Accustomed to violence. A surgeon. God complex. Seems to me you’re the kind of man who likes to impose his will on others. You’re used to getting your way.”

  Willend’s voice remained steady. “Hold on, now. You don’t know me well enough to start psychoanalyzing me.”

  Elaine’s mobile rang and she turned away to answer it. Benford continued. “Can anyone confirm the time you got home?”

  “I share the house with my sister, Kate. She’s abroad, so unless one of the neighbors noticed, no.”

  Elaine grunted “Thanks” into her phone and muttered something in Benford’s ear. He nodded and turned back to Willend. “May I ask what kind of car you own? What color?”

  “A black MINI Cooper Clubman.”

  “Do you often ride the bus?” Elaine asked.

  “Yes, I do.”

  “One might think that a respected surgical consultant at a major teaching hospital would prefer to drive to work.”

  Willend’s mouth curled. “One might not like to drive in London traffic. One might think the bus is more convenient than driving because it gives one a chance to think.”

  Benford shifted his bulk in the chair and slowly sipped his coffee. When he had finished, he asked, “Where are you from, Dr. Willend?”

  “I’m originally from Texas.”

  “What brought you to London?”

  “I was tired of hot, dry places.”

  Benford tilted his head. “Come now. It was a simple question.”

  “I moved here seven years ago to be with my sister and mother. My mother is a British subject. My parents met when my father was stationed here with the US Army.”

  Benford continued to probe. “That’s a common story—and a rather unfortunate one, in my mind. Do you have dual citizenship?”

  “Yes. Mom insisted.”

  “Mom. So you grew up there. You don’t have what I would call a Texas accent.”

  “We never say ‘Mum’ in Texas. Yes, I grew up there. And I have a normal Texas accent, not the exaggerated drawl you hear on TV. Or that you heard from Dubya.”

  “You’re from Texas and you mock the junior Bush?”

  Willend smirked. His voice took on an exaggerated twang. “Y’all think they was Texans? Them Bushes was a herd a carpetbaggin’ Yanks, hankerin’ after our oil. Dubya just liked playin’ at bein’ a big, bad Texan. Shoulda run ’em clear back to Connecticut afore they bred.”

  Benford chuckled. “They say all you Texans are tough. Frontier mentality and all that.”

  Willend’s voice reverted to normal. “It depends on what you mean by ‘tough.’ Many of us are. Nothing wrong with that as long as a person separates myth from reality. Times have changed. We even do heart transplants and build computers in Texas, believe it or not.”

  “Do you know what this is about, Dr. Willend?”

  “No, I don’t. But I bet you’ll be telling me that it’s something serious any minute now.”

  “Why would you think that?”

  “It’s obvious.” He turned his head toward Elaine. “You and the lovely inspector wouldn’t show up on my doorstep on a Sunday morning simply to nose around and enquire about my heritage.”

  Interesting, Elaine thought. Curious, not defensive.

  “Good point. My wife cooks an excellent Sunday roast, which I will miss because of you. And Inspector Hope is one of the best detectives I’ve ever worked with. She’s very good with liars. Tenacious. She could suss out liars for England.” He leaned forward, his eyes fixed on Willend’s face. “Saturday morning a teenage girl was found murdered. A small dark-colored car was seen in the area shortly before her body was discovered.”

  Willend leaned back in his chair in surprise. After a moment, he looked at the ceiling and exhaled tiredly. It was a few seconds before he spoke. “I’m so sorry to hear that. I didn’t know. I wouldn’t have been so flippant.”

  “I wonder.” Elaine folded her notebook and replaced it in her handbag before continuing. “Would you mind coming down to the station, Doctor? I think we should continue our discussion there.”

  “I don’t understand why you’re interested in me.” Willend looked wary now. “Am I under caution?”

  “No, we’re merely asking for your assistance. We would like you to view a CCTV video. We believe you may have seen something related to a crime. For now, you can agree to assist us or not.”

  FIVE

  Elaine watched Willend through the observation window of the interview room. He sat quietly, his hands in front of him on the table, fingers interlocked, eyes closed. He appeared to be concentrating on his breathing. Meditating, she thought. Calming himself. Maybe he needed to think and rehearse. He had had the opportunity to kill Sheila. He had been a soldier, had seen death—maybe he was a murderer. Her gut said no. But he was still a suspect, and Benford was still her boss.

  She snapped out of her thoughts when Benford, along with their superior, Detective Chief Superintendent Alec Cranwell, walked in. Cranwell was speaking in a dry voice. “You and Hope think this could be the man, do you? I take it you caught him on camera.” They ignored Elaine.

  Benford nodded. “On the bus, but I have a feeling we’ll get more from him . . . maybe enough to take it to the Crown Prosecutor. I know this kind of bloke. He’ll be nonchalant early on. Cheeky. But when we turn the screws, he’ll crack. Nothing much gets past Elaine. She gets into their heads.”

  “Perhaps she’ll do so this time.” Cranwell finally acknowledged Elaine. “What do you have, Hope?”

  “Hello, sir.” Keep your opinions to yourself for now, Lainie. She looked at the autopsy report in her hand. “Whoever beat Sheila knew what he was doing. Kumar is certain, about two hundred pe
rcent, that Sheila’s attacker was male. It would require too much power and upper-body strength for a woman to inflict such precise damage. The guy is a boxer or has had martial arts training. It appears the killer didn’t use any blunt weapon other than his fists. He placed the blows to cause maximum pain and damage and pounded her repeatedly to the same places, mainly the ribs, liver, and spleen. From the blood and bruising patterns, Kumar is certain he beat her torso first, then her face. Nearly every bone in her face and jaw was shattered, most of her teeth were broken, and she was bleeding in her brain. Kumar thinks the back of her head came into contact with something hard and flat, like a concrete wall, so she has injuries to the rear of her skull too. In her hair, he found some flakes of what he thinks are paint.”

  “I thought he’d stomped her to death.”

  “He stomped her several times, once she was down.”

  “What about the laceration to her face?”

  “The slash came last. A large heavy-bladed weapon, perhaps a hunting or commando knife. Sharp, like a Fairbairn. He only cut her with it. He didn’t stab her. It took her about an hour to die, bleeding to death internally from her spleen and liver. Kumar said death was inevitable unless she had gotten heroic medical care. He’ll try to get DNA results from scrapings off the contusions where she was beaten, but not much hope there.”

  “Was she raped?”

  “That’s interesting. There were no signs of rape, thank God. She wasn’t a virgin, but there was no sign of recent sex that Kumar could find. We fast-tracked the toxicology, and he got reports back as we talked. Blood alcohol indicates she was drunk, about .12. Tox shows a high level of Xanax and elevated GHB. No telling how high the GHB peaked . . .”

  Cranwell looked confused. “I’ve heard of Xanax. But GHB? Refresh me on that one.”

  “It’s a date-rape drug.” She consulted the report. “Gamma-hydroxybutyric acid. The trade name is Xyrem. Doctors use it to treat narcolepsy and alcoholism. Xyrem has a similar effect to Rohypnol. It occurs naturally in the body, and the concentration in the blood rises for a while after death. But the high level the lab found is indicative of someone drugging her defenseless. So he did that, but he didn’t rape her. He drugged her, beat her, and stomped her to death.”

  Benford was musing. “And afterward he calmly carried her body to the waste area and dumped her.”

  Elaine continued. “I don’t think he cared whether she lived or died. Just a feeling. She was alive when he left her there.”

  “She was so drugged, she probably wouldn’t have remembered much about the attacker, if anything.”

  “Probably not, but why would he take that chance? Wouldn’t he make sure she was dead? And what was the motive? We’ve ruled out rape, and she had little or no money, so robbery wasn’t a motive. There’s no indication that she was on the game. I think it’s the punishment he did it for, like she was a punching bag in a boxing gym. Or rage, perhaps. I wonder if he suspended her from something while he was hitting her.”

  “Maybe he had an accomplice?” Cranwell suggested.

  “Maybe. Or ropes under her arms or around her wrists, something like that. She was so drugged, something had to hold her up while he hit her. There’s no indication of any restraints in Kumar’s report, but I’ll call and double check.”

  “Anything else before we go in?” Benford asked.

  “Well, yes, sir. While we were at Willend’s house, I asked Paula to send someone to check out the Khoury’s store. She sent Simon and Liz Barker. They called back a few minutes ago. The store has been closed since last Thursday. The sign in the window says that ‘Sam and Leyla will return on Wednesday next.’ We need to nail down Willend on that. And request his criminal and military records from our FBI friends at the American Embassy.”

  Cranwell asked, “So what do you think, Marcus?”

  “I’m confident he’s our killer. The evidence is circumstantial so far, but it all adds up. The timeline fits. He was on the same bus and got off at the same place. He lied about stopping at the shop. He drives a small dark car. He followed her when they got off the bus. He was the last person to see her alive. Too much for coincidence.”

  “You sound quite confident. You’re sure?”

  Benford nodded. “I think he’s a good actor. We’ll confront him with the Khoury’s store being closed and he’ll start to waffle and adjust his timeline. He’ll crack.”

  “Elaine, what do you think?”

  “Well, with all due respect to the chief, I’m not sure. It’s a gut feeling, mostly. He was calm when we first arrived at his house, and he only got ruffled once, when I got personal with him. I watched him throughout, and I never saw any indication that he was hiding anything. He wasn’t defensive, even when he got cheeky.”

  Benford snorted. “Good actor.”

  Elaine continued. “Could be. From the photos on his piano, he doesn’t strike me as a man who dehumanizes women. Women are a big part of his family life. Besides, he’s a surgeon. Why would he risk damaging his hands by beating someone?”

  Cranwell glanced through the window. Willend’s eyes were closed. “Women are a big part of many men’s lives, but sometimes they murder them. You said yourself, it’s mostly a gut feeling. Women’s intuition can be wrong.” He continued to stare through the window at Willend. “He’s probably stewed long enough, so stay sharp and get to it. He’s our only suspect so far.”

  “Yes, sir,” both Benford and Elaine chimed simultaneously.

  Once the detectives were seated at the interview table, Elaine inserted a DVD into the recorder and pressed a button.

  “Sunday, 27 January, 12:57 PM. Those present are DCI Benford, DS Hope, and Dr. Peter Willend. Dr. Willend, we are going to play a CCTV recording for you. This recording was made on the 432 bus last Friday night.”

  She slid a disc into a small DVD player and watched Willend closely as he gazed at the fuzzy black-and-white images from the CCTV recording. He registered no reaction, except for focusing on the sections showing pictures of Sheila.

  “Why did you not mention this girl to us before, Dr. Willend?” It was Benford.

  Willend hesitated only for a moment. “Because you didn’t ask me. You asked what I did, not about who else was on the bus.”

  “Please tell us everything that happened, from the time you left work until you got home. Try not to leave anything out this time.”

  Willend started his account again, beginning with the hospital. Elaine listened and watched him intently. When he arrived at the bus stop, she asked, “Was the girl already there when you got to the bus stop?” They had no CCTV showing what happened there.

  “You don’t have that on video?”

  “Please answer the question. Was the girl already there when you got to the bus stop?”

  “No. She ran up about a minute later.” He hesitated. “From across the road.”

  “Did you speak with her?” Elaine asked.

  Willend shook his head. “No. Why would I? I had no reason.”

  “Oh, come now. A nice-looking young girl sits next to you at the bus stop and you don’t chat her up? Even to remark about the weather?”

  “She didn’t sit next to me. She stood off to the side.”

  “So you were sitting under the shelter, and she was standing in the cold rain. And you didn’t try to communicate with her?”

  “Yes. No. I mean, yes, she stood in the rain. And I did motion to her to move under the shelter.”

  “And did she?”

  “She didn’t. Perhaps she was being cautious.”

  Elaine made show of writing a note. “Really. Why would that be?”

  “Hell, I don’t know. I’m not a young girl. Maybe it’s an urban survival skill?”

  That got a bit of a rise out of him, she thought. But not much. She studied her notebook and spoke without looking up. “You said she ran up to the stop. Did she appear frightened?”

  Willend hesitated. Elaine looked up at him with raised eyebrows.
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br />   He continued. “No, she was holding a bin bag over her head and running through the rain. She ran across the street. Nearly got killed.”

  “How is that?” Elaine asked as she wrote in her notebook.

  “She ran between some cars. They had to slam on their brakes and swerve to miss her. All the drivers were honking.”

  Elaine finished the note she was making and held her notebook so Benford could see it. She pointed to a spot on the page, then replaced the notebook on the table, folded her arms, and stared at Willend.

  Benford continued the questioning. “Please continue with your statement.” When Willend reached the point at which he exited the bus, Benford spoke again. “Which direction did she take when the two of you got off the bus?”

  “She went to the left. That would be south, or maybe southeast.”

  “And which direction did you take?”

  “I went to the left too.” He paused. “Toward the store.”

  Benford harrumphed. “You followed the girl, then.”

  “Well, I went in the same direction as the girl, but I was going to the Khoury’s store.”

  Elaine repeated the statement with emphasis. “You followed the girl.”

  Willend looked back and forth between Elaine and Benford. “There’s a difference in intent between ‘going the same direction’ and ‘following.’ It didn’t matter to me which way she went. I was going to the store.”

  Elaine threw up her hands. “Fine. Fine. So you walked to the Khoury’s store. Tell me what happened there.”

  “When I went in, Hassan was cleaning the floor in front of the fridge. We chatted for a minute, then he asked what he could get me, and I told him I wanted a gyro . . .” Willend caught himself. “In America we call them gyros, here you call them kebabs. Anyway, a kebab with lots of tzatziki sauce, plus a quarter-kilo of couscous and cucumber-and-tomato salad. He joked with me that I must have been really hungry because I usually don’t buy the couscous. He got the food, and we chatted for a while longer.”