by Ali Gunn
A quick glance around the kitchen revealed a wooden knife block upon the counter. There was one knife missing. Judging from the gap in the knife block, it was the same knife that Matthews had been killed with.
‘He didn’t plan to kill her,’ Elsie said. ‘The murder weapon belongs to the homeowner. He didn’t bring it with him. That doesn’t fit.’
Everything they’d seen about the Lady Killer so far suggested premeditation, planning, forethought. He’d managed to get in and out of highly trafficked central London locations unseen. This was the opposite. It felt like a crime of passion using any available weapon. Then again, even that thought was contradictory – Matthews had no visible signs of defensive wounds. If she’d seen her death coming, she’d have fought tooth and nail, but there were no nicks, no cuts, and no bruises on her arms. Nor were there any signs of rope marks or restraints. If, as Elsie expected, her toxicology report was as clean as that of Layla Morgan and Leonella Boileau, then it meant Matthews willingly faced her killer and didn’t see the knife coming until it was too late to defend herself.
‘What doesn’t?’ Spilsbury asked.
‘Our killer is impulsive. He lost control, grabbed a knife and stabbed Matthews. Doctor Burton Leigh—’
‘You know Bertie?’ Spilsbury asked.
‘He’s my godfather,’ Elsie said. It was mindboggling to think that Spilsbury also knew Uncle Bertie, like the moment Elsie had had as a child when she first saw her primary teacher outside of school. It almost felt as if she were in a bad dream watching, dissociated, as the events of the day unfolded. She recognised her own detachment as shock, a way to avoid the inevitable feelings of anger and guilt that were no doubt lurking just beneath the surface.
‘I had no idea,’ Spilsbury said, snapping Elsie back to reality.
‘No reason you would have,’ Elsie said. ‘He thought the killer was a contradiction. He’s smart enough to get in and out of St Dunstan in the East and Chelsea Physic Garden without being seen. He isn’t on any criminal database.’
‘And,’ Spilsbury added, ‘He knows about anatomy. Your killer was massaging the body to break rigor when he was interrupted. That was how he was dressing and posing his victims.’
Annie had obviously been eavesdropping from the next room. She shouted out. ‘He wasn’t that smart!’
‘Do you want to get in here and tell us why,’ Elsie called back.
Annie appeared in the doorway. ‘He keeps leaving trace evidence behind. He barrelled past the cleaner today – clearly in a panic – and he left transfer on her and on the doorway. I’m rushing those samples to the lab now by motorbike so we can confirm he’s our serial.’
It was a catastrophic mistake. The previous bodies had been dumped in public places. This was a primary crime scene. Why had the killer chosen this house? How had he got in? It clearly wasn’t his. Could he be a friend or relative of the Larkins family?
‘Cover her up, doc,’ Elsie said. ‘Unless there’s something that you need to show me.’
‘Nothing new. The killer followed the same pattern of trying to pose the body. The underwear she’s wearing is hers, and it’s bloodstained.’
Elsie hadn’t thought about what the victims had been wearing underneath the dresses they were posed in.
‘Is that consistent with our previous victims?’
‘It’s not inconsistent,’ Spilsbury said. ‘Ms Burke?’
The crime scene manager hesitated. ‘I haven’t run DNA samples from the victims’ underwear. We prioritised samples from male donors. What’re you thinking, that the killer might have supplied both the dresses and the underwear?’
Elsie shuddered. That was far more intrusive than just the dresses. What was with this psycho?
‘Let’s find out,’ Elsie said. ‘Run the samples for me.’
‘Rush job?’
It came back down to money. The cost of the investigation was spiralling. With three victims, the media pressure would ramp up again. No doubt Hamish Porter would call in his favour too. And they still didn’t know who was leaking information to the press.
‘No, standard turnaround on those. We need the lab to confirm that this is the Lady Killer first and foremost.’
‘On it,’ Annie said. She disappeared out of view to corral the rest of her team leaving Elsie standing with Spilsbury.
‘When will you be doing the autopsy?’
‘As soon as I get the body to the mortuary,’ Spilsbury said. ‘She was one of our own. That puts her at the front of the queue in my book.’
‘Thanks, doc. I’ll be attending myself so I’ll meet you there as soon as I can.’
She left the doctor to it, returned to her car, and collapsed into the driver’s seat, slumping over so that her head was resting on the steering wheel. Matthews deserved better than this. She deserved for her death to be investigated by someone who wasn’t fighting every moment to keep her eyes from glazing over. The tiredness got worse whenever Elsie was stressed and being tired caused her more stress. It was a self-perpetuating cycle that needed several days of rest and relaxation to break. It would have to wait. Now that she was two weeks into the hunt for the Lady Killer, Elsie was overworked to the point of exhaustion, stacking “normal tired” on top of chronic fatigue. She shut her eyes. She’d be okay in a minute. She had to be. For Matthews’ sake.
Chapter 43: The Neighbours
Paramedics were keeping Xavier company when Elsie knocked on the door. A plump woman answered the door for him.
‘DCI Mabey,’ Elsie said. ‘Is he in a fit state to be interviewed?’
‘I think he ought to be okay so long as you’re calm,’ the plump woman said. ‘Don’t bring up the body, poor gent seems to have suffered a bit of a shock seeing that lady dead on the floor like that. I’ll introduce you and then leave you to it, shall I?’
A silver thermal blanket covered Xavier’s lap when Elsie was shown through to the living room. His skin was ashen and when he shook Elsie’s hand it was clammy to the touch.
‘Hi, Xavier, I’m DCI Mabey. Are you up to having a little chat?’
He nodded. ‘I’m fine, lass. I don’t know why everyone is making a fuss. It’s nothing I haven’t seen before. I was in the war, you know.’
Which war? Elsie wondered. Surely the man sitting in front of her couldn’t be old enough to have served in World War Two? That would make him at least eighty.
‘Then I’ll crack on. I promise I won’t take up too much of your time.’
‘Take all the time in the world, lass. I’ve got nowhere to be. Can’t walk too far these days.’
‘Must be nice having Holland Park on your doorstep.’
He brightened up at the mention of the royal park. ‘Love it. I’ve been here fifty-five years now. I can’t imagine anywhere better to be.’
Behind Xavier’s chair, there was a collection of knick-knacks and photographs on the shelf. In the very middle was a picture of a much younger Xavier with a beautiful woman.
‘You were a handsome man,’ Elsie said.
‘Were?’ he joked. ‘I think you’ll find I still am. That’s my late wife by the way. She’s been gone for twenty years now. I miss her every day.’
‘I’m sorry,’ Elsie said. Rattling around a big beautiful house for two decades... it had to be hell.
‘But you didn’t come to hear an old man ramble. What do you need from me, inspector?’
‘Tell me what you saw.’
‘I didn’t see much,’ Xavier said. ‘It’s what I heard. I heard a noise. I thought maybe the cleaner had suffered a fall. When I found the front door open, that’s when I saw her – Catriona, I think her name is – on the floor. She said a man had barged past her.’
‘Did you see him?’
‘I’m afraid not. He was long gone by the time I could get next door.’ Xavier gestured at his right leg. ‘I’m still walking around with a bullet in there so I’m a bit slower than I was as a young man.’
‘How quickly did you get the
re?’ Elsie asked. ‘Was anyone else about?’
‘Two, maybe three minutes. The idiots at forty-three – the other side of the Larkins – were gawping through the window, squinting out into the darkness. I’d hazard a guess that they might have seen the back of the man as he escaped. Perhaps you ought to talk to them.’
‘I will,’ Elsie said. ‘Before that, I want to ask you about the Larkins.’
His expression darkened. ‘I don’t like to speak ill of people.’
‘So, you’re not a fan.’
‘Was that a question?’
‘Merely an observation. Why don’t you get on?’
He sighed. ‘If I must talk, I have one condition. Not a word to the neighbours.’
‘Deal.’
‘The Larkins are all bullies and the husband is the worst of the bunch. His family owns virtually every house in the street. My home is rented from them. Despite being here for years, he jacks up the price every September. He never allows me to paint or refurbish. The Larkins like to control everything and everyone and they do it through money. They are rarely even here. Their house next door is rented out too on one of those online short-let websites.’
‘Then the man who came running out could have rented the place out.’
‘I doubt it. Before each guest, they send a cleaner. If he had booked it out, the lady I found on the floor would never have been in the house.’
‘How do you know this?’
‘I handle the keys for Mr Larkins. In return, he charges me a tiny bit less rent. All I have is my pension so I have no choice.’
‘Can’t you move?’
‘This,’ Xavier gestured grandly around, ‘is home. It is the only place I have ever felt truly myself. My wife lived here. My son was born here. I will die here.’
By the pallid look of him, death might not be too far away. She put one of her business cards on the coffee table. ‘Thank you for your time, sir. I’ll let you get some rest. Call me if you think of anything.’
THE REST OF THE TEAM had arrived while Elsie was interviewing Xavier. Knox was sitting in the passenger seat of Stryker’s car, seemingly unable to pull it together long enough to get out. Stryker gave a little shrug as Elsie approached. She saw him nudge Knox and point in her direction. Knox slunk down in her seat, dabbing uselessly at her smudged mascara as if a tissue would undo the flood of tears.
Stryker got out and jogged around to the pavement. ‘We only heard that Matthews was the vic when we got here. Knox doesn’t seem to be taking it too well. Bit of an overreaction, though isn’t it?’
‘Don’t forget that Knox has known Matthews longer than you or me. Matthews did her placement with Fairbanks’ team. Besides, emotions always run high when it’s a colleague,’ Elsie said. ‘We all feel it when one of us gets hurt because it could be us next. Naturally, we’re overprotective of our own.’ The fear of death bred a level of camaraderie that those outside the force would rarely know. The Met was one big, very dysfunctional, family, and no doubt there would be a tsunami of support from that family to try and solve Matthews’ murder. Elsie vaguely realised that as lead detective, all eyes and expectations would be on her. She wasn’t just investigating any old murder now. One of the Met’s own was dead and her colleagues would be out for blood. At any other time, that thought would have terrified her. But right now, she just felt numb.
‘So, what do you want to do with her?’
‘Leave her to it,’ Elsie said. ‘I’m going to go talk to the neighbours and then head to the autopsy. While I’m doing that, I need you to find out everything you can about the man that Matthews had dinner with last night. She was out on a date somewhere near here, somewhere posh. Find it, speak to the staff, and get me a proper description of our killer.’
‘And then?’
‘Go and pick up Doctor Burton Leigh.’
‘You want me to babysit the shrink?’ Stryker said. ‘Can’t we send a constable to play taxi service?’
‘Go and pick him up. Brief him on developments, get him to the incident room. He predicted this killer would accelerate. The Lady Killer is down to a week between murders. If he’s going to lose control and strike even faster this time, we need the best profiler we can get and Doctor Leigh is that man.’
‘Fine. What about talking to the landlord?’
‘I’ll have Knox on that when she calms down. She’s got as long as it takes you to find where Matthews had dinner last night to pull herself together.’
Chapter 44: Blue & Black
The navel-gazing neighbours on the other side of the Larkins from Xavier were clearly enjoying their five minutes of fame. The father was quick to jump in with his story as soon as Elsie appeared as if he had been waiting for this moment his entire life.
‘There we were,’ he said, ‘enjoying Saturday Kitchen as a family. We do it every weekend so we can decide what to cook. My wife, bless her, is a grand old cook when it comes to the everyday stuff but she’s no sense of adventure. Why, if it weren’t for James Martin, lovely chap that he is, we’d be eating meat and two veg just about every day of the year bar Christmas. He was just cooking this tarte au-’
‘Ahem, I don’t need to hear about your culinary plans for tonight, sir,’ Elsie said. ‘What was it you saw exactly?’
‘Well, several things really. We heard a bit of a noise really early.’
‘Before Saturday Kitchen?’ Elsie prompted. Didn’t it start at ten o’clock?
‘Oh, you’re confused about the time. We watch it a week behind the live show. I record it on my TiVo box so we can fast forward over all the bumph. Can’t stand all that celebrity nonsense where they decide if the celeb gets their food heaven or food hell. Utter drivel. Just show me a proper chef making a proper meal and give me enough so I can go away and make it for the fam later in the day.’
‘If you keep bringing up the contents of the show, I will arrest you for wasting police time. Do I make myself clear?’
‘There’s no need to be so snippy!’ the husband said. ‘I just wanted you to know when we were watching. It was over breakfast. We eat every Saturday at half past six precisely so it would have been just after then.’
‘And what was it you heard?’
‘The wife thought it was a scream. I told her, “Lucrezia, darling, it’s just a fox.” They make such a racket, you know. It’s like howling banshees around here and all because that old fool Xavier has to feed them. He made such a big deal out of me threatening to shoot the little rascals. One of them had a go at my chickens!’
The man was so far up his own backside and he veered off topic so frivolously that Elsie couldn’t decide if she should chide him for threatening to shoot a protected species or try and steer him back on topic.
‘As sir is no doubt aware, shooting a fox is illegal,’ Elsie said. ‘So, if you could get back to this morning, I’d appreciate a more expeditious answer. What did you do in response to the noise?’
‘Nothing,’ he said proudly. ‘We ignored it, didn’t we, boys?’
He looked to the two young children sitting on the other sofa engrossed in an iPad. ‘Didn’t we, boys?’ he prompted again.
This time they looked up and realised that their father was staring at them expectantly. ‘Yes, Daddy,’ they said in unison.
‘You ignored it. What then?’
‘Then that behemoth of a man came flying out of the house, his dark, greasy, mangy hair flying everywhere. He was like a whirlwind. Probably high on coke or something.’
It had still been dark when the man had escaped from the Larkins’ house. How could these self-important idiots have seen anything? As Elsie couldn’t be quite that rude without risking the man getting offended and shutting down the interview, she asked, ‘Could you describe the man to a sketch artist?’
‘Oh no, we only saw him from behind, didn’t we, boys?’
Another chorus sounded. ‘Yes, Daddy.’
Shocking. The husband was backtracking faster than a government minister.<
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‘And then,’ the husband continued, ‘Xavier, the bloody fool, came limping out of his house. At first, I thought he’d gone to check up on the foxes or some such nonsense. It’s just the sort of thing he’d do. Poor chap came back from the war with more than a dodgy leg if you ask me. But then he disappeared into the Larkins’ place.’
So obnoxious. ‘What happened next?’
‘The old codger came back out and started talking to my youngest. Told him to call an ambulance. The cheek of it! Why didn’t he call one himself?’
‘Perhaps because he didn’t have his mobile to hand.’
The husband harrumphed. ‘Well, he could have trotted on back to his little pigsty of a house and called from there if he’s so careless as not to grab his phone in an emergency situation.’
‘Did you call an ambulance?’
‘Of course,’ he said. ‘As soon my son said he saw that poor lady lying there in the Larkins’ hallway, I got straight on the blower.’
‘And then?’
‘Then there were flashing lights and sirens and everything. You lot were on the scene before we knew it and we’d missed the end of Saturday Kitchen.’
‘Didn’t you say you’d recorded it, sir?’
‘Quite right you are. When my poor dear Lucrezia recovers – she’s convalescing from the shock upstairs now – we’ll have to get the rest of my recipe.’
‘Could I speak with her?’
‘What for?’ he demanded. ‘No, no, no. I just told you she’s recuperating. She’s not fit for visitors. Now if there’s nothing else that I can help you with, I shall bid you good day, madam.’
Elsie didn’t move. ‘Which way did the man go?’
‘He got into his car, didn’t he? Some nasty old black thing that was much too small for him.’
‘Are you sure it was black?’ Elsie jotted it down in her notebook.