The Fifth Suspect

by Robert McNeil

  Thunder rumbled in the distance as Emma’s mind drifted. The steady hum of the engine was making her feel tired. She pulled into a service station and closed her eyes. Heavy rain hammered down on the car roof and she fell asleep dreading the thought of going home to her boring husband. He’d suffered depression, anxiety and migraines for years and had finally accepted an offer of medical retirement. He was fifty-five and burnt out.

  She’d been asleep for two hours when she woke to car doors slamming shut next to her. A noisy couple were arguing over how long they’d driven without a break. Suppose I ought to move, Emma thought. She turned the ignition on and eased out of the service area car park before accelerating to merge into the motorway traffic.

  Soon she was heading up the A34 towards Oxford, then onto the A44 for Woodstock. Their detached house was on a quiet estate and had three bedrooms and an integral garage. She pulled the car into the driveway behind Anthony’s car.

  Emma unlocked the front door and let herself in. There was no sound in the house. It felt eerie, empty. ‘Anthony! I’m home.’

  No reply.

  Emma frowned. He’d usually have the radio or TV on while he reclined in his chair. She opened the hall door and crept into the living room. Maybe he was asleep. There was no sign of him. There was no newspaper or empty mug on the coffee table. Emma was forever telling him off for not taking empty cups or plates through to the kitchen. ‘Anthony!’

  Still no answer. The house was silent. She wasn’t sure why, but Emma began to feel uneasy. As she opened the kitchen door, she whispered urgently, ‘Anthony, where are you?’

  The kitchen was empty. There was no sign of unwashed dishes on the drainer. This was decidedly unusual. Emma made her way along the short hall to the stairs. She looked up to the landing, exasperated. ‘Anthony!’

  Maybe he was asleep. She made her way slowly up the stairs, not knowing quite what to expect. Their bedroom door was ajar. She carefully pushed it wide open, but Anthony wasn’t there. A half-finished bottle of whisky sat on the bedside table. Frowning, she quickly looked in the other two bedrooms. There was no sign of her husband.

  Walking back onto the landing, she pulled her mobile out of her bag and tapped in Anthony’s number. She heard the phone ringing. The sound seemed to come from under the bed in their room. With her heart pounding, she knelt down and looked under the bed. There, vibrating and ringing on the floor, was Anthony’s mobile.

  Emma’s pulse was racing as she rushed downstairs and into the kitchen where a door led into the back of the garage. She opened the door and looked towards the far end.

  Her scream was loud and hysterical. Her hands went to her mouth as she stared in open-eyed disbelief. The rope hanging from a wooden beam in the roof was tight round Anthony’s neck. His distorted face and bulging lifeless eyes stared back at her.

  13

  Temple looked up from DCI Hayden’s file as Fleming entered her office. She closed the folder, pulled her reading glasses off and placed them carefully on the desk.

  Fleming sensed from her demeanour that something was wrong. ‘You wanted to see me, ma’am?’

  ‘Bill Watson tells me you were asking about DCI Hayden and his wife.’

  It was a statement not a question, but somehow Fleming knew it demanded an explanation. ‘Yes, I was.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘You were at the briefing. You heard about the postcard we found on Nielson’s boat, and that the description of the woman the cleaner had seen with Nielson fitted that of Hayden’s wife.’

  ‘So you intend to go and see her?’

  ‘Today.’

  Temple frowned. ‘You haven’t heard then?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘She found her husband hanging in their garage this morning. I got a call after I’d spoken to Bill. It’s not a good time to interview her.’

  Fleming cursed under his breath. ‘Anything suspicious?’

  ‘Local cops found nothing that might suggest foul play. Everything points to suicide. You probably heard he retired on medical grounds. He suffered from depression and anxiety – had a breakdown. He was completely stressed out.’

  ‘I’d still like to go and see her. She’s crucial to the investigation into Nielson’s murder. You said yourself that the chief constable was under pressure for a quick result on this. How long do you suggest I wait before I speak to her?’

  Temple winced. They both knew it couldn’t wait. ‘Okay, go and see her today, but tread very carefully. The last thing I want is a complaint from the distressed wife of a former colleague saying she’s being harassed the very day she found her husband hanging in their garage. This requires the utmost sensitivity, Alex.’

  ‘Understood.’

  ‘And take DC Anderson with you. It might be a good idea to have a female present.’

  ‘Fine. Anything else?’

  Temple hesitated and looked closely at Fleming. ‘Are you all right, Alex? You seem a bit out of sorts.’

  ‘I’m fine,’ Fleming lied. ‘Bad night, that’s all.’ The recurring nightmares was not something he wanted to talk to her about. That was for Freya who he’d made another appointment to see.

  Two hours later, Fleming and Anderson were on their way to Emma Hayden’s house. Fleming had made sure Anderson was aware of the need for sensitivity.

  The house was on a quiet estate on the edge of Woodstock. A black Audi sat on the driveway. Emma came to the door with a glass of white wine in her hand. Her eyes were red.

  Fleming wondered whether it was from the effects of the wine or from crying. He gave her the benefit of the doubt. ‘Mrs Hayden?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘DCI Fleming and DC Anderson. Is it convenient to come in? We won’t take long.’

  A look of confusion passed over Emma’s face. ‘I spoke to the police this morning. What–?’

  Anderson was quick to respond. ‘They would be the local police from Oxford. We’re from the Major Crime Unit, where your husband used to work.’

  ‘Oh, I see. You’d better come in then.’

  Emma showed them into a large living room. ‘Sorry everywhere’s such a mess. It’s just… oh, I don’t really know.’ Tears flowed.

  Anderson intervened. ‘Why don’t you sit down and I’ll make you a cup of strong tea.’

  Emma nodded and sniffed. ‘Okay. You’ll find everything in the kitchen.’

  ‘Want one, sir?’ Anderson asked Fleming.

  He nodded and Anderson disappeared into the kitchen.

  Emma put her wine glass down on a coffee table. ‘Probably wasn’t a good idea to start on this so early.’

  Fleming smiled. ‘I can’t say I blame you under the circumstances, Mrs Hayden. We’ve come to say how sorry we were to hear what happened to your husband. It must have been a terrible shock.’

  Emma ran a shaky hand through her long blonde hair. ‘Yes, a terrible shock. I’d been away to see an old friend in Bristol. I went on Friday night. Anthony seemed fine. I mean… he was his usual self. There didn’t seem to be anything…’ Emma’s voice trailed away. She paused and wiped tears from her eyes with the back of her hand.

  ‘Take your time,’ Fleming said.

  ‘I came home this morning and he didn’t seem to be here. I looked everywhere but he wasn’t in the house. I began to suspect something was wrong and went into the… Oh, God, it was awful.’ Emma took a deep breath and continued, ‘I went into the garage and that’s where I found him.’

  Fleming glanced across the room to a photograph sitting on top of a bookcase. ‘Is that you with your husband?’

  Emma followed his gaze. ‘Yes. It was taken after he retired.’

  Anderson returned with three cups of tea on a tray. She bent down next to Emma to put her cup on the coffee table. ‘What’s that perfume you’ve got on, Mrs Hayden? It’s very nice.’

  Emma seemed surprised. ‘Oh, it’s Eternity. Calvin Klein.’

  Anderson smiled. ‘I should try some.’

  Emma seeme
d relieved with the distraction. ‘I’ve got some upstairs that’s almost finished. I bought a new bottle when I was away for the weekend so you can have the old one if you like.’

  ‘No, I couldn’t take–’

  ‘It’s fine, honestly. Please, I’ll go and get it for you…’

  Anderson was about to protest but saw the warning look in Fleming’s eyes and the imperceptible shake of his head. She wasn’t sure what was going on, but caught on quickly. ‘If you’re sure. That’s really very kind of you.’

  Emma got to her feet rather unsteadily. ‘Back in a minute.’

  As soon as Emma left the room, Fleming got up and walked over to the photograph he’d noticed. ‘Can you get decent photos on your mobile?’ he asked Anderson.

  She frowned. ‘Yes, why?’

  Fleming nodded at the photograph. ‘Take a photo of that. It’s Mrs Hayden and her husband.’

  Anderson understood why he wanted the photograph. She quickly pulled her mobile out of her bag and took four snaps.

  Emma returned and handed over the bottle of perfume. ‘There you are. There’s probably enough left for a few days.’

  Anderson took the bottle. ‘Thanks. That’s really very kind of you.’

  They finished their tea and Fleming made to leave. ‘Sorry to intrude, Mrs Hayden. We wanted to offer our condolences on behalf of the office.’ He turned at the door. ‘By the way, did your husband ever mention a man by the name of Nielson… Ronnie Nielson?’

  He saw Emma stiffen, but there was no look of shock. Maybe she didn’t know that he was dead.

  Emma shook her head. ‘No… not that I can remember. Why?’

  ‘Oh, it’s just that your husband was investigating him some years back. Nielson was found dead on his river boat on Saturday morning…’

  Emma gasped.

  Fleming could see the pain in her eyes. He was pretty certain Emma was the woman who’d been on Nielson’s boat. And she wore the same perfume.

  14

  Fleming, Logan and Anderson were back at the mortuary. Anderson was not her usual self. She looked serious and subdued. Fleming guessed she was not looking forward to seeing the results of Dr Kumar’s autopsy. Fleming had some sympathy, but she would need to face this sort of thing if she was to stay in CID.

  Kumar smiled at Fleming and his two colleagues as they entered. ‘Morning all, you’re right on time,’ Kumar said as he placed a scalpel on the metal table beside him and pulled a sheet over Nielson’s body.

  Anderson looked open-eyed at the instruments on the table and shuddered.

  Fleming had noticed Anderson’s unease and hoped she was going to be okay. He shook hands with Kumar. ‘Morning, Nathan. What’s the verdict?’

  Kumar smiled then looked at Anderson as he joked, ‘He’s dead.’

  Fleming grinned. ‘Nathan, your powers of observation never cease to amaze me. I trust he was dead before you started on him?’

  Fleming looked at Anderson and thought he detected the hint of a smile crossing her face.

  Kumar laughed. ‘I think so. Anyway, enough of the frivolities, I’ll talk you through what I’ve found and let you have a full written report later.’ He drew back the green sheet exposing Nielson’s body and pointed to Nielson’s head. ‘Here, high up on the left side of the forehead, you can see heavy bruising, broken skin, and a depressed skull fracture in the frontal cranial bone which caused a subdural haematoma–’

  Logan coughed gently. ‘What’s that, Dr Kumar?’

  ‘It’s when blood collects between the skull and the surface of the brain – more often than not caused by a head injury. The nature of the wound suggests a blow from a heavy blunt instrument. It could have been from the glass ashtray found on the floor at the murder scene.’

  Anderson looked pale. ‘Was that the cause of death?’

  Kumar shook his head. ‘Good question, but no – that was the knife wounds. My guess is that the assailant struck the blow to the head first, and then found the knife to stab Mr Nielson. There would be no point in hitting him on the head after stabbing him. From the position of the head injury, I’d say he was struck while facing his assailant, and from the angle of impact it’s almost certain the murderer was right-handed.’

  Fleming looked thoughtful. ‘Two scenarios. One, a chance intruder thinks there’s no one on the boat, climbs aboard and comes across Nielson. A struggle breaks out and the intruder sees the ashtray, picks it up and strikes Nielson on the head. He can’t afford Nielson being able to identify him so he stabs him with a knife found in the galley. Or someone could have been with Nielson. Someone he invited maybe. An argument breaks out. The murderer picks up the ashtray and swings it at Nielson’s head, knocking him out. But this is more than a fallout and sudden fit of temper. The man intends to kill Nielson. But why…?’

  Logan scratched his head. ‘Doesn’t get us very far at this stage though. We still don’t know if the killer was known to Nielson or knew of him. We’re also no nearer to knowing whether it was planned or not.’

  ‘But,’ Anderson mused, ‘why would a chance intruder risk going onto the boat to see if there was anything worth stealing if the door was open? Isn’t it likely that he would have assumed someone was there? If that’s the case, it would seem to point to Nielson inviting someone to visit him, in which case we’re looking for someone known to him.’

  ‘Good point, Naomi,’ Logan said. ‘Except you’re assuming the door was open before the murder took place. We don’t know it was. All we know for sure is that it was open when the cleaner found it. It could have been closed when the murderer arrived and left open in his rush to get away. We need to keep an open mind on everything other than known facts.’

  ‘I admit it’s all speculation at this stage,’ Fleming agreed. ‘What else have you got, Nathan?’

  ‘The knife wounds. Two to the front and two to the back. The length of the wounds is broadly consistent with the breadth of the empty slot in the wooden knife block. But you should be aware that skin elasticity and angle of the cut can make estimates vary by a few millimetres. It’s hard to say which blows the murderer struck first, but my guess is the ones to the stomach and chest. The angle of entry of the blade to both areas suggests upwards thrusts from the right side. This is consistent with my view that the murderer was right-handed.

  ‘It also suggests that the victim was in a crouched position when the murderer stabbed him. He was possibly recovering from the blow to the head and was trying to get up when he received the wounds to the stomach and chest. My guess is he had slumped forwards when his attacker stabbed him in the back. Again, the angle of entry of the blade suggests the attacker was standing over the victim’s head.’

  Fleming rubbed his chin. ‘Not that it makes a lot of difference to us, I suppose, but which blow do you think was the fatal one?’

  ‘Without doubt, the one to the chest. The blade severed the anterior interventricular artery.’

  ‘His heart, Naomi,’ Logan explained with a smile.

  ‘Thank you, Sarge,’ Naomi quipped with a hint of sarcasm. ‘I’d worked that one out.’

  Kumar smiled. ‘Exactly, Sergeant Logan. It’s actually a branch of the left coronary artery.’

  ‘And time of death?’ Fleming asked.

  Kumar shrugged. ‘I estimate the time of death – that is to say the physiological time of death–’

  Logan gave Anderson a knowing nudge and broke in, ‘That’s when the body, including vital organs, ceased to function.’

  Kumar smiled. ‘Thank you once again, Sergeant Logan. You’re being most helpful,’ he said with a hint of irony.

  ‘Not at all, Doctor. Not at all. Just need to ensure rookies like Anderson here understand the jargon.’

  Anderson glared at him and thumped his arm.

  Kumar laughed and looked at Fleming. ‘Do you have to put up with this banter all the time, Alex?’

  Fleming smiled. ‘They haven’t been on my team very long, but I’m beginning to realise what I m
ight have to put up with.’

  ‘If I may continue,’ Kumar said, stifling a laugh, ‘I estimate the time of death to be around ten o’clock on the Friday night, the evening before he was found. However, I have to add a word of caution – this is an estimate and he could have died up to an hour either side of that.’

  ‘Thanks, Nathan,’ Fleming said. ‘Anything else we should know?’

  ‘Yes,’ Kumar replied with a trace of excitement. ‘I removed a sample of tissue from under the fingernails of the victim’s right hand. It’s skin. Could well be from his attacker if there was a violent struggle.’

  ‘Thanks for that, Nathan,’ Fleming said. ‘I’ll look forward to reading your full report.’

  On the way back to Oxford in the car, Logan broke the silence. ‘You thinking what I’m thinking, boss?’ he asked Fleming.

  ‘What are you thinking?’ Fleming replied.

  ‘Did you notice Mr Rainer’s face when we saw him at the mortuary yesterday? He had some scratch marks down his left cheek.’

  Fleming had wondered if anyone else had seen it. ‘Yes, I did notice. Naomi, can you run a criminal record check on him? Be worth finding out if he has any previous convictions.’

  ‘Today would be good, if you can find the time,’ Logan teased, looking over his shoulder at Anderson.

  Anderson thumped his arm with her newspaper. She’d been reading an article on the front page. It covered the mounting speculation that the prime minister might face a leadership challenge. The press tipped Charles Trenchard as a potential successor to Oliver Huxley despite Trenchard’s protestations of continued support for the PM.

  15

  Sarah Nielson’s house was on the outskirts of Marlow. It was a lovely two-bedroom period cottage within walking distance of the River Thames, only a mile from the town centre. Fleming had brought Anderson with him. He’d noticed how concerned she was for Mrs Nielson at the mortuary and thought it a good idea to bring her along.