‘So you don’t think the car has moved for a couple of days?’ Morgan asked since it was obvious she preferred to speak to him. Her response was a shrug.
‘Okay, thank you Mrs Granger. We won’t detain you any longer,’ said Spence and turned back to face the house.
Gladys Granger stepped closer to Morgan and rested her hands on his right forearm. She rose a little on to her tiptoes and spoke in his ear. ‘The woman at number twelve has a key. They think nobody knows but I’ve seen them. Why would she need to be watering the plants when he’s inside?’ Morgan smiled at her and patted her clasping hands.
‘Thank you Mrs Granger, you’ve been very helpful,’ he said.
‘I’m thinking about putting the kettle on, if you’d like a coffee.’
‘That’s kind, thank you, but we must get on.’ He smiled again and with obvious reluctance she released him and walked away.
‘Remind me never to take you on in a “Grab a Granny” contest,’ said Spence. ‘I’d stand no bloody chance!’
‘I’ll remind you not to disrespect our more mature citizens, especially when they tell us where we can get a key.’
‘We’ll need a warrant.’
‘Oh, put the manual away, Spence. No one has seen the man for two days and his wandering hands are all over the internet. If we need an excuse, we’ll think of one.’
Chapter 50
Thursday 20th February
The woman who answered the door of number twelve was not happy. She started by flatly denying she had the key, and when Morgan explained that they needed to ensure that Councillor Wyatt was okay, she demanded to know who had told them about the key.
‘Does that matter?’ asked Spence. ‘He may be unwell or injured – we need to check.’
‘I’m responsible for the key. I can’t just give it to you. I’ve never seen a police warrant card so I wouldn’t know if yours are real.’ Morgan thought she had a point. People focused on the word “Police” and it seemed to him that you could show a library card and it would be accepted.
‘The best I can offer, and this is against protocol but I need to speed things up, is that you come and open the door for us, and then you stay on the doorstep. You cannot come in, do you understand?’ said Morgan.
She nodded and produced the key from the pocket of a coat hanging in the hall.
It took less than a couple of minutes for them to get to the Wyatt’s house. She held out the key to Morgan. ‘If they’re not in, the alarm will be on. The box is on the left, but I’m not telling you the code,’ she said.
‘Okay, but no further than the control panel. Understood?’ She replied with a nod.
Both men put on latex gloves, retrieved from their pockets, and Morgan opened the door. They waited for the alarm breach siren but there was nothing. Some mail lay behind the door and a few newspapers. That morning’s Gazette was on top and, as he picked it up, Morgan saw Councillor Wyatt’s face was filling a quarter of the front page. The headline was “Local Councillor in sex pest allegation.” Brutal but accurate, he thought as he laid it on an antique shipping trunk. He heard the woman choke back a small cry, but she didn’t say anything.
‘Please wait here,’ said Morgan and opened the lounge door. Spence took the stairs, two at a time.
Downstairs, Morgan searched through two reception rooms and a kitchen which had been extended into a conservatory. Behind the front door he found a small toilet and shower room and next to it, a utility area. He checked behind doors and furniture before going back to the hallway.
Spence came back down the stairs and shook his head. ‘Four bedrooms, but only the master looks as if it’s been recently used. It’s very smelly in there. Sweat; whisky and aftershave. The shower in the en-suite’s dripping and lime scale in the toilet bowl’s stained.’
‘But no body,’ the woman scoffed, ‘so can I get back to the TV? They’re going to do a Yorkshire pudding recipe.’
When she had crossed the threshold, Spence whispered that there were no women’s clothes in the master bedroom wardrobe, and no cosmetics or toiletries in the en-suite or on the dressing table. Morgan nodded, but when he stepped outside, he paused. ‘What about the garage?’ he asked. ‘Do you have a key for the garage?’
‘Why would I need a key for the garage? I’ve got a front door key so I can water the plants. That’s all.’ Her voice was firm but her face reddened under their scrutiny.
All three now headed to the kitchen where the back door was locked, but the key was on the kitchen unit by the doorframe. It opened on to a flagged path. In front of them was a separate brick built garage with a partially glazed side door.
‘Where are the garage keys?’ Spence asked.
‘I don’t even know if it’s locked,’ she said. ‘His wife put her car in there, so I suppose she has the keys.’
Morgan smoothed his gloves before crossing to the garage. He turned the white handle downwards and pulled the door towards him. He kept his feet outside and leant in. It was much tidier than any garage he had ever owned but that was because his DIY obsession filled every available storage area.
In the limited light, he could see there was no car. Mrs Wyatt must either be enjoying another few rubbers of bridge, or perhaps she really had left him. He screwed up his eyes in the gloom. Was that a punch bag hanging from the wooden beams? Too big for a punch bag, surely? He ran his gloved hand down the wall to the left of the door and found a light switch. Ensuring that the woman had remained at the kitchen door, he flicked it.
Hanging from the beam was something or rather, someone, sheathed in a wheelie bin liner with only two legs visible. Then he could smell it. Urine, faeces and death. Turning the light off, he walked back to the kitchen door and asked Spence to take the woman home.
Wyatt’s lady friend was hysterical even though she had seen nothing and neither officer had specified their findings. As Morgan watched Spence walk her back to number twelve, her feral howls of anguish were bringing people to their windows but nobody came to help her.
Morgan was standing in the Wyatt’s front garden when Spence got back.
‘I waited till she had spoken to her sister on the phone. She’s coming over,’ he said. ‘I made her some tea and she’s a bit calmer now.’
A marked police car was parked on the other side of the road and two officers were wrapping crime scene tape around fence posts and street lamp poles.
‘That’s the Medical Examiner,’ said Morgan, pointing to a man in a mud encrusted Range Rover. ‘He was also Wyatt’s GP, so he’s local. I’m waiting for the rest of the team before he goes in. CSI’s already going to be upset with us.’
‘Is Dr Mack coming?’ Spence asked, ‘Or have we worn him out?’
‘No idea,’ said Morgan.
‘You’re sure he’s dead?’ asked Spence and then raised both hands submissively in response to Morgan’s look.
‘He’s got no right to smell as bad as that if he’s not dead and, come to think of it, we don’t know if it’s a he. We’re assuming...’ he accentuated the word, ‘assuming that it’s Kenneth Wyatt, only because he’s missing and that’s his garage. It might even be Mrs Wyatt for all we know,’ said Morgan.
‘Suicide when he heard The Gazette was after him do you think?’
‘He’s wrapped in a bin bag, Spence. He didn’t do that himself.’
They gave their names to the young PC at the door and this time, put on coveralls, gloves and shoe covers before entering. They walked through the house and crossed the paving flags to the garage.
‘What are we going to tell CSI,’ asked Spence.
‘We were concerned for his welfare. At least that’s how I remember it. And if it is him, we were right to be.’
A petite woman dressed in the same protective clothing and carrying an aluminium flight case followed them and called out. ‘Which one of you is DI Morgan?’
‘The one with the grey hair,’ said Spence, pointing to his right. Morgan shook hands as she introduced h
erself as Dr Mackenzie.
‘Can’t be,’ said Spence. ‘He’s a short, irascible Scottish person with a beard.’ She turned to look at him with warm brown eyes which were smiling over her face mask.
‘I inherited my height from my father, but not yet his propensity for facial hair. Now where is the deceased please?’
‘You’re a Home Office Pathologist too?’ asked Morgan.
‘Yep. My father is soon to go into hospital for a knee replacement and so I have transferred in from the West Midlands for a few weeks or maybe longer.’ Her expression and tone evidenced how regularly she had to explain her family connection.
‘I’m so sorry, Dr Mackenzie,’ Spence reached out and they shook hands ‘I’m DS Spence.’
‘I know. My father has briefed me,’ she replied. ‘Now where’s the deceased?’
She joined the team of CSIs swarming around the garage. Some carried camera cases and others had plastic or metal crates which contained the paraphernalia needed to collect evidence. Lights were being set up and the second to last in the procession was carrying a step ladder.
‘I always think it’s important to make a good first impression,’ said Morgan with a mischievous grin, ‘Particularly when you’re going to be working closely together.’
‘Oh shit,’ Spence sighed. ‘I don’t even know why I said it. I like Dr Mack and I’ve never known him be testy.’
‘Irascible is the word you used. Great word that.’ He paused before continuing. ‘You can’t think she won’t tell him. Good luck getting your PMs to the front of the queue in the future.’
‘And how did she know who I was?’ continued Spence.
‘Must have seen the designer suit before you put the coveralls on. Your wardrobe has its own Twitter feed. Come on! Let’s see how they’re getting on.’
Chapter 51
Thursday 20th February
‘I’m sorry I’m late,’ said Spence.
Dr Morag Mackenzie’s broad smile was welcoming as he hurried into the mortuary. ‘The suit has arrived,’ she told Annie Geeson, ‘so now we can get on with it. You missed the identification DS Spence. DC Greenfield brought Mrs Wyatt along and Annie tells me she never saw a widow less upset.’
Spence nodded at Annie. ‘Did she mention the on-line stuff when she was here?’
‘Not to me, but she had quite an animated conversation in the car park with DC Greenfield. You should ask her.’
As the women carried out the last preparations before starting the postmortem, he went to sit in the viewing gallery. Staring down at the pile of flesh that had so recently been Councillor Kenneth Wyatt he found it difficult to see any similarity between the loud, outspoken man who had been filmed at the dinner and what he was now.
When the body was cut down from the rafters of the garage and the huge black wheelie bin liner removed, they’d found a leather dog lead digging into his neck. Dr MoMack, as she was becoming known, had asked for it to be left in place while the body was transported to the mortuary. They now had a number of digital photos of the neck before and after the lead was removed and she had emailed them to Spence’s phone. He was swiping through them when she called his name.
‘I’m going to start now.’ He wished she had made the first cut without him knowing. For Spence, the Y-incision and the removal of the top of the skull were the worst parts of an autopsy and he braced himself.
When she finished the dissection, Dr MoMack suggested to Spence that they meet in her office.
‘I’ve taken tissue samples for completeness,’ she said, ‘But I believe he was hit on the back of the head, or maybe fell and hit his head. It’s a serious laceration so there will be blood and hair where it happened. While he was unconscious, someone put the lead around his neck and pulled it tight. There are no fingernail scratches on his neck, so I don’t think he had a chance to try to loosen it. Whoever did it must be quite strong because, even with the pulley attached to the rafters in the garage, they had to heave his full weight up off the ground.’ She looked puzzled. ‘Why would there even be a pulley system in the middle of the garage?’
‘We found a punch bag on a trolley in the corner. We think he must have stored it out of the way, then wheeled it into the middle and hoisted it up when he wanted a workout.’
‘Why not just leave it there?’
‘His wife kept her car in the garage.’
‘You saw the size of him, and if you hadn’t kept your eyes closed most of the time, you would have seen how much fat there was. He could have done with wheeling that trolley out more often. His arteries were pretty blocked too. He could have gone at any time.’ Dr MoMack looked genuinely saddened, ‘But he didn’t deserve to go like that. Slow asphyxiation is a bastard of a way to die. Let’s hope he stayed unconscious till it was over.’
Spence agreed then asked, ‘If you were a betting woman would you say he was hit or fell backwards? It’ll help narrow the search for the crime scene team.’
‘You heard me mention the ante mortem bruising to his chest. It looks like punches, but not very hard ones. If he stepped back to avoid them and fell, I would be looking for something hard and low; a mantelpiece, fireside kerb maybe, or furniture, like a coffee table. I say that because if he was in a fight, I don’t think he would turn his back so someone could smash something down on his head with that degree of force. On the other hand, if he fell, with his weight and height, he would go down like a Douglas fir in a forest.’
Spence thanked her and apologised again for his previous remarks about her father. ‘I’ve got a lot of respect for your dad. I don’t know what made me say it.’
‘I’d already forgotten it DS Spence, so thanks for reminding me. I’m having dinner with him tomorrow and it’ll be good to open with a funny story. He can be so irascible.’ She wiggled the two first fingers of both hands as quotation marks and he heard her laughing with Annie Geeson as he made his way down the corridor.
After the last of the furniture and boxes were unloaded at Cliffside, Samantha handed the removal van driver an envelope with a wad of ten pound notes. She stood at the door, listening to the clang of the tailgate being closed and the bolts driven home then watched as the van edged out of the drive and turned on to the cliff top road. Closing the door, she noticed how quiet the house was with nobody else in it.
When she had packed up in south London she had taken time to label each box with its ultimate destination. Having decided not to move into the master bedroom until it had been completely refurbished, her system had unravelled and it was obvious that the removal men had taken advantage. She almost wept when she thought how long it would take to make Cliffside into their new home.
The boiler had performed well overnight and the house was warmer now but she decided that their beds and bedding needed to be aired after being in storage. They would spend one last night in the park home.
When she collected the children from school, they were disappointed but accepted it before starting to argue over bedrooms.
She parked in the reception car park and went in, leaving the twins in the car. Maisie appeared from the back and greeted her cheerily. ‘We’ll need the extra night after all,’ said Samantha. ‘The house is nearly ready, but the mattresses and bedding are very cold. I don’t know where the storage unit is but it must be freezing in there.’
‘That’s okay, Mrs Morgan. I’m pleased to have you here.’
Samantha returned Maisie’s smile. ‘That’s kind, thank you. Do you want me to settle up now and then I’ll hand the keys in when we leave tomorrow?’
Maisie typed a few commands on her keyboard. ‘It’s DI Morgan’s credit card that the booking is on. I’m afraid I’ll need him to come in and sign it off.’
‘He’s very busy at the moment and I’m named on the account. Can we not do it now to save him the trouble?’
‘Sorry. Tell him it won’t take long. He can pop in tonight, or tomorrow.’ Maisie came round the desk. ‘Is that your children outside? I’ll just go and
say goodbye to them.
At the car, Maisie hugged Victoria and shook hands with Alex who told her he was too old to hug. Samantha’s phone rang and she rummaged through her large handbag. When she looked at the screen, she scowled and compressed her lips. The caller spoke briefly before she responded.
‘No, Nick. The beds are too cold. Come back to the estate tonight. And it seems you have to sign off on the bill.’ The two women locked eyes and Maisie beamed as Samantha glowered back at her. She ended her conversation before thrusting the phone back into her bag.
‘He says he’ll drop in on his way back tonight if you feel it’s really necessary.’ The sentence dripped with resentment and maybe a hint of suspicion.
Chapter 52
Thursday 20th February
In his office, Morgan carefully placed his personal phone on his desk as if it might explode. Why was it necessary for him to sign off the bill? Oh God, please don’t let Maisie Sangster turn out to be a vengeful bunny boiler. The desk phone rang, making him jump.
‘DI Morgan.’ He picked up a pen to make notes.
‘DI Morgan, it’s Andrew Slater... Abigail Slater’s father. My wife and I were wondering how the investigation is progressing. It seems to have gone very quiet.’
Morgan winced. He had thought of ringing Slater a number of times but, with nothing to report, had always put it off. Now, the uncomfortable conversation had arrived and there was no way of ducking it.
‘The investigation is on-going, Mr Slater. We’ve spoken to Abi’s fiancé, and to a number of people she saw socially. We still have quite a list of those to identify and contact. Do you remember any names she might have mentioned in passing?’
Slater made a noise which sounded like a snort. ‘She stopped confiding in us when she was fourteen,’ he said.
‘Mmm. My sergeant tells me that there has been quite a lot of social media activity since your daughter was found. We have been monitoring that, but nothing has come out of it. Not so far, anyway.’ Morgan glanced at his watch, judging how long to continue a conversation that was going nowhere.
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