‘Speculation,’ Kailisa repeated. ‘I’d need to examine the results in much more detail in order to support or refute that hypothesis. Which I will do in due course.’
O’Connor sighed and sat back down.
Barratt could feel the frustration radiating from his pores as he rubbed his face with both hands. ‘Look, Steve. It’s something we can work with. I need to email Kate – she said the case in Sheffield involved diazepam. It’s another possible link.’
‘Hardly,’ O’Connor responded. ‘Half the population’s on drugs for depression and anxiety and the other half just aren’t paying attention.’
Barratt sighed, frustrated as he tried to focus on the autopsy. The pale flesh looked abandoned, marooned in the harsh light, the closed eyes and slack face somehow accusing. He was relieved when Kailisa called his assistant over to help him move the body onto its front.
‘Another birthmark on the lower back,’ Kailisa said, moving the high-strength, digitally lit, magnifying glass up the body from the feet. ‘Oh, what’s this?’
Barratt stood up, squinting at the scene in front of him, trying to work out what Kailisa had noticed.
‘We have a tattoo.’ He gestured to Nicole, who’d picked up a large digital camera, and pointed out the design on Eleanor Houghton’s shoulder. Standing back while his assistant took photographs from every imaginable angle, Kailisa looked at one of the computer monitors on the counter top which ran the length of the back wall of the lab. He frowned, strode over and clicked the mouse.
Barratt turned his attention back to the pathologist. ‘What sort of tattoo?’
Kailisa muttered something inaudible to his assistant and the television screen in the gallery flickered into life showing a clear image of the tattoo on Eleanor Houghton’s shoulder.
‘What is that?’ O’Connor asked, tilting his head from one side to the other. ‘A tree?’
Like Julia’s tattoo, the ink was faded, the outline blurred by time, but it was possible to make out a general shape. ‘Can you enlarge it a bit?’ said Barratt.
The image became slightly larger and marginally less clear.
‘Is it a weapon of some sort – something medieval?’
‘I think it’s a labrys,’ Nicole said.
‘A what?’ Barratt could hear the New Zealand accent clearly but couldn’t make out the word.
‘A labrys. It’s a double-headed axe. Symbol of the Amazons.’
‘I thought their symbol was a smiley arrow,’ O’Connor joked but Nicole’s mouth set in a straight line of disapproval. Barratt could see why Kailisa might have chosen to work with her.
‘The Amazons were a race of warrior women,’ she explained slowly and clearly as if she was telling a story to a child. ‘The labrys was a symbol of their strength. It also has another connotation.’ Nicole glanced at Kailisa who nodded for her to continue.
‘In the seventies and eighties, it was adopted by lesbian feminists – especially separatists – for its associations with strong women.’
Barratt studied the image again. Another feminist symbol like the one Julia Sullivan had on her ankle. And, like Julia’s, it looked old, possibly done by an amateur, and it was on a part of the body that wouldn’t have often been visible. Something she wanted to keep hidden?
‘How old is it? Is there any way to tell?’
Kailisa shook his head. ‘It’s not in an area that would be exposed to very much sunlight, so I’d expect it to keep some definition for many years. I may be able to use x-ray to see how deeply the ink penetrates the skin but that may not be of much use.’
‘But it could be from the seventies or eighties?’
‘It could.’
‘Can I have a photo of the tattoo? I’ll send it to Kate and Sam. It might help even if it’s not the same as Julia’s.’
‘Already sent,’ Kailisa said, nodding towards Nicole who was looking at a series of images on her monitor. ‘It’s very different from Mrs Sullivan’s though.’
Barratt finished his email and tapped send. The blood results were useful, but the tattoo was a puzzle. What was a lesbian feminist symbol doing on the shoulder of an elderly, married woman?
15
‘Hope I get to retire on a DCI’s salary,’ Hollis said as he turned in to the driveway of Olivia Thornbury’s former home in Totley on the western outskirts of Sheffield. ‘You’d not know you were still in the city if you lived out here.’
The area had a rural feel and Kate knew from the map on her phone that they were only a few minutes’ drive from the edge of the Peak District. The lane that Olivia Thornbury had lived on was narrow with mature trees looming over the tarmac like bereaved relatives peering over the edge of an open coffin. It would have been oppressive but for the bright morning sunlight dappling the road with shifting shadows. The house itself was set back behind a dark hedge of leylandii, a wooden five-bar gate breaking up the deep-green foliage, opening onto a short gravel drive and a block-paved parking area. There were two cars parked – a white Mini and a dark-blue BMW – but still plenty of room for the Audi that Hollis had signed out of the car pool.
‘It’s not bad is it?’ Kate said, taking in the double-fronted two-storey home with its bay windows and large oak front door. ‘I reckon if you marry up a few ranks and never have kids you might be able to afford the top floor.’
Hollis grinned. ‘Too much garden anyway. I prefer my flat: at least I don’t have grass to cut.’
Kate rapped the heavy brass knocker against the door three times and stood back. Nothing. She tried again with the same result. Just as she was about to peer into one of the downstairs windows a figure appeared round the side of the house carrying a rake in one hand and a pair of shears in the other.
‘Can I help you?’ The woman looked as though she was in her late sixties or early seventies with a narrow, dark face and long grey hair tied back in a neat ponytail.
‘DI Fletcher and DC Hollis from South Yorkshire Police.’ Kate took a step forward holding out her ID.
The woman squinted, wrinkles forming deep nests around her brown eyes, before scrutinising Kate’s face. She placed the head of the rake on the ground and slung her right hip outwards, using the handle like a pole to shift her weight to one side. ‘Should I know you?’ she asked. ‘Were you one of Liv’s colleagues?’
‘No, I’m sorry, I never met her. Are you Sylvia Kerr?’
The woman’s eyes gave a quick flick towards Hollis then back to Kate. ‘You look like you’re here on a death knock but you’re a couple of months too late. What’s this about?’
‘We’d like to talk to Olivia’s partner about her death. Would that be you? Are you Sylvia Kerr?’
The woman took a deep breath before offering the briefest of nods. ‘I’m Sylvia. But I can’t imagine you have anything useful to tell me. The case is closed as far as I know.’
There was anger in her tone. She wasn’t happy with the investigation for some reason, Kate thought. Perhaps Cooper had been on to something. ‘We’re not here to tell you anything, Ms Kerr. We’re here to ask you some questions – if you don’t mind giving us half an hour of your time.’ Kate could see that the woman was curious, but her grief was still raw, and her anger may have been the only emotion moving her forward. ‘Honestly, I don’t want to make things worse for you, but I’m involved with two cases similar to the death of your partner and you might be able to help.’
Sylvia gave Kate a sceptical sneer. ‘A suicide? Why would somebody of your rank be investigating a suicide. What are you not telling me?’
Kate sighed. Obviously, years of living with a police officer had made Sylvia suspicious and cynical. She was just going to have to be honest. ‘I’m sorry. I’m investigating two cases which aren’t what they seem. Both look like suicide, but there are strong suggestions that they are in fact murders. One of my team found reference to Olivia’s suicide note in our files and there are some similarities. I’m here to find out if there’s a link. If Olivia’s death wasn’t suicide.’
>
‘Liv,’ the woman said, straightening and throwing the rake over her shoulder. ‘If I’m going to talk to you, we need to get that straight. She was called Liv. Come round to the back garden.’
Sylvia led the way round the side of the house to a huge open space that was split into three different levels. The top was mainly decking and outdoor furniture, a summerhouse dominated the middle level, and the bottom was grass and raised beds.
The view was stunning. The garden dropped to open fields and the purple edge of the Peak District, with Lose Hill clearly visible in the far distance.
‘Wow,’ Kate said. ‘I hadn’t realised we were so high up.’
Sylvia smiled for the first time. ‘It’s quite a view. That’s why we bought the house. Our bedroom looks out onto all that. We–’ The woman’s face crumpled as she struggled with the enormity of her bereavement, but she didn’t give in to the wave of sorrow. With a visible physical effort, she straightened up, leant the rake against the wall of the house and continued. ‘Can I get you both a drink. Something cold perhaps? It’s quite warm back here.’
Kate asked for water and Hollis followed her lead, allowing Sylvia the opportunity to get away from them for a few minutes and regain control of her emotions.
‘Sit,’ she said, pointing to a cluster of chairs encircling a cast-iron table. ‘I’ll only be a minute.’
Hollis sat down and leaned back, crossing his hands behind his head and stretching out his legs. ‘Could get used to this,’ he said.
‘I’ve told you, work hard and marry up. In fact, marry way up. She’ll need to be at least chief super to keep you in this style.’
‘I think a lottery win’s more likely.’
Kate didn’t respond, allowing the warmth and the view to calm her as she mentally worked through a list of questions she needed to ask Sylvia Kerr. The woman was shrewd – she would see straight through any attempt to disguise Kate’s real intent – and she was grieving. The direct approach was the only one likely to work.
‘Here we go,’ Sylvia said, stepping back out into the garden. She seemed much more composed as she placed a tray of drinks on the table and sat down opposite Hollis, who’d had the good sense to sit up properly and look attentive. ‘Help yourselves.’
Kate reached for a glass and took a large gulp. The water was ice cold, refreshing. ‘I’m so sorry to intrude like this,’ she began. ‘But when I saw the note that Liv had left, something started nagging at me. The wording was almost identical to the cases we’re working. Are you convinced that Liv wrote that note?’
Sylvia shook her head. ‘It’s impossible to be certain. It was written in capital letters so there was no chance of recognising the handwriting. It was plausibly Liv’s writing, but I honestly don’t know. Part of me wants to say it wasn’t, because then I don’t have to accept that she killed herself and another part just wants to let it go and move on. Does that sound awful?’
‘Not at all,’ Kate said. Sudden death affected everybody differently and Kate wasn’t about to judge this woman on the basis of a response that was just as valid as any other. ‘Was there anything else that either confirmed suicide or made you suspicious that there was more to Liv’s death? I read a statement from her sister which suggested that suicide was out of the question because Liv was raised Catholic.’
Sylvia smiled and took a sip of water, her eyes locked on Kate’s over the rim of the glass. ‘Catholic,’ she said shaking her head. ‘How likely is that? Do you know what the Catholic church’s attitude is towards homosexuality? Liv had abandoned her childhood religion long before I met her and no, before you ask, I don’t think she was reconsidering her position as she got older. We’d been together a long time, DI Fletcher. I may not know how or why Liv died but I certainly knew how she lived.’
Kate believed her. The woman had an inner calm and dignity which supported her words. Could Kate have said the same about her ex-husband, Garry? Did she truly know him? She doubted it very much. And Nick? Maybe one day, she hoped.
‘How long had you been together?’ Kate asked.
‘Over thirty years. We met through mutual friends. I was a teacher reeling from the implications of Thatcher’s Section 28 nonsense and Liv had just been promoted to detective sergeant. We just clicked despite the age difference and ended up moving in together later the same year. That was that really – Liv moved up the ranks and I ended up as the head of a large primary school here in Sheffield. I think Liv was a bit envious when I retired but she loved her job. We’d planned to travel after she finally gave it all up – India, South East Asia, Australia.’ Sylvia sighed and shifted her gaze to the immense view. ‘She was diagnosed with arthritis in her hip and lower spine, but I honestly didn’t think she was devastated. Upset, yes. Worried, definitely. She loved to climb but she also enjoyed just being in the outdoors. She could still hike and cycle. We’d been looking at electric bikes the previous day.’
Kate thought about the picture Sylvia was painting of her partner. There was nothing to suggest depression or suicidal ideation. Then she remembered something from the PM.
‘What about the diazepam? Why was she prescribed those if she wasn’t depressed or anxious?’
‘She told me they were for muscle spasms. She had a bit of sciatica as well as the arthritis, caused by spasms in her piriformis muscle.’
‘Has her GP confirmed this?’ Hollis asked, notebook and pencil in hand. It was a good question. If the drugs had been for something physical rather than psychological it suggested that Olivia Thornbury’s state of mind might not have been as low as her actions suggested.
Sylvia shook her head. ‘I honestly don’t know. You’d have to check.’
Hollis made a note.
‘Can I ask you about the morning of Liv’s death?’ Kate asked. ‘I know it’s painful, but we need to be thorough.’
Sylvia nodded, her expression eager rather than upset, as if she thought they might be able to unearth some new evidence.
‘When did you realise Liv wasn’t at home?’
‘When I got up. I’m a heavy sleeper so I didn’t hear her leave. It must have been around eight.’
‘And her car was gone?’
‘Yes. I didn’t think too much of it. She’d been struggling with insomnia and pain, so she often went for a walk before breakfast. She said it helped to free up her joints.’
‘Is her car one of the ones at the front of the house?’
‘The BMW. Why?’
‘Did you drive it back here or one of the police officers?’
‘I did,’ Sylvia said, frowning and running a hand through her hair, dislodging long strands from the ponytail. ‘I had to take the spare key because Liv’s was missing. I suppose it’s amongst the rocks somewhere.’
Kate glanced at Hollis who raised his eyebrows slightly in acknowledgement. Similar to the Houghton case.
‘What?’ Sylvia asked. ‘Is that strange? I just thought they’d dropped out of her pocket as she… as she fell.’
‘What about the rope?’ Kate asked. ‘Was it one of Liv’s?’
Sylvia shook her head. ‘I don’t know. I assume so. All the climbing stuff’s in the garage but I haven’t been able to face looking through it all.’
‘But it was climbing rope?’
‘Yes. Knotted around one of the boulders at the top of the edge.’
‘Knotted?’
‘I don’t know. The police didn’t give me specific details of the bloody knot. Liv knew what she was doing with ropes. If she’d wanted to make it secure, she’d have been able to.’
Sylvia Kerr was starting to get irate and Kate was acutely aware that the woman was still in the early stages of grief – anger was probably close to the surface of her emotions most of the time. Kate made a mental note to ask Cooper to access the scene photographs and forensics. If Liv hadn’t fixed the rope, there may be a clue in the way it was knotted.
She stood up and Hollis followed her lead. ‘I’m truly sorry for your loss,�
�� she said. ‘And I’m sorry we put you through this. If we do find a connection, and it’s only an if at this stage, would you be happy for one of us to ask you more questions?’
Sylvia shook her head. ‘I don’t know. I don’t see what good it would do, to be honest.’
Kate understood her sentiment. The connection between the three cases was tenuous at best and it was almost unbearably painful for Sylvia to speak about her partner’s death. Their trip to Sheffield felt like a bit of a wild goose chase and Kate was very conscious that she’d promised Dan lunch if they didn’t find a connection between Olivia Thornbury and the Houghton and Sullivan cases. It looked like the bacon butties were on her.
They didn’t speak as Sylvia led the way back to the front of the house and the goodbyes were lukewarm and stilted.
‘Hang on,’ Hollis said, one leg in the car. ‘What’s that?’ He nodded towards the BMW.
‘What?’ Kate couldn’t see what he was looking at and Sylvia Kerr had turned towards the car looking puzzled.
‘Was that from an accident?’
Sylvia took two steps towards the car and then shook her head. ‘It was like that when I went to pick it up. I assumed somebody had knocked it after Liv parked up.’
She stepped back allowing Kate a clear view of the car. The mirror on the driver’s side was completely shattered.
16
‘You’ve got a broken mirror, similar notes and a couple of tattoos? Is that right?’ Detective Chief Inspector Priya Das was making no attempt to keep the incredulity out of her voice or her shrewd brown eyes. ‘And, based on these elements, you think the three cases are linked?’
Kate didn’t embarrass easily but she was struggling to resist the urge to hang her head or clench her fists. She had a lot of respect for the DCI and had appreciated her support in the past. Das was a career copper but she was never blinkered or restrained by the politics of the job. Her small stature might have suggested weakness, but her immaculate tailoring and expertly applied make-up hid an almost forensic intellect. Not much got past Das and now, faced with the stark reality of the three cases Kate knew that the DCI would see the connections as tenuous at best. Kate felt that there was something there – she just didn’t know how to convey that feeling to Das. She was glad that there was nobody on her team in the meeting to witness her humiliation.
Shattered: a gripping crime thriller Page 9
