Blunt Force

by La Plante, Lynda

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Tyler called a briefing with Jane and Spencer as soon as they returned to the station. Spencer now had a thudding headache and Jane only had time to grab a sandwich for them both before returning to the incident room. The crime scene photographs were displayed on the board, along with all the notes that had been compiled in their absence, detailing two statements that the house-to-house inquiries had produced.

  Foxley had been seen walking Toots at around 3 p.m. on the day of the murder, while another neighbour had reported seeing Foxley arguing with a man on the pavement outside his basement flat very early in the morning of the day before he died. They described the man as being a thin-faced and surly, wearing a cloth cap, and ‘Eric Newman?’ was written on the board. There were also photographs from the post-mortem pinned up, but due to their shocking content they had been covered by sheets of A4.

  Tyler was now waiting impatiently for Jane and Spencer to join him in the boardroom. He had made copious notes but avoided showing them the photos of the post-mortem as Spencer was still eating his egg sandwich. Neither of them had had time to type up their reports of their morning at Foxley’s agency, so Jane gave Tyler a condensed version. Tyler listened intently and asked a few questions.

  ‘We still need to do more investigation to discover a possible motive,’ Jane concluded. ‘And until we know the beneficiaries of Foxley’s will, we don’t know who gains anything from his death. But there was no one who had a good word to say about his ex-wife, Justine Harris, who seems to be a violent alcoholic.’

  ‘Do you think this ex-wife could be capable of murder?’ Tyler asked.

  Spencer shrugged. ‘Apparently she gave one of the other agents a right uppercut that knocked his tooth out, but to be honest he’s a bit of an arsehole so I don’t really blame her.’

  ‘Sir, you know that Justine Harris attempted suicide, which could be due to her emotional distress at seeing the appalling state the body was in,’ Jane said.

  Tyler leant back in his chair. ‘She was definitely hysterical, but at the same time she seemed angry that he was dead. By rights I shouldn’t have allowed her inside the crime scene, but frankly she was unstoppable – plus she might have been able to give us a positive identification. But I swear she was going to kick him. We had to drag her out in the end and—’

  There was a knock at the door and DC Dors put his head around. ‘Excuse me, guv, there’s a Mrs Florence Harris on the phone who wishes to talk to, as she puts it, “the man in charge”.’

  Tyler frowned.

  ‘I know you said you didn’t want to be interrupted,’ Dors said, ‘but I think it’s Justine Harris’s mother.’

  ‘For Christ’s sake, just put her through,’ Tyler snapped.

  Tyler was tight-lipped, waiting for his phone to ring, but he didn’t snatch it up; instead, he carefully picked up the receiver. ‘Mrs Harris, this is DCI Tyler. How can I help you?’

  Although neither Jane nor Spencer could hear clearly what Mrs Harris was saying, there was a strident, aristocratic voice on the other end of the phone, and Tyler had to hold it away from his ear while he made a few scrawled notes.

  ‘Thank you for the update, Mrs Harris. Much appreciated.’

  Tyler replaced the receiver and turned to them both. ‘Well, Justine Harris was released early this morning from St Mary’s and she’s been taken to her mother’s home in Ascot. Apparently her mother is taking her granddaughter out of boarding school and is trying to get Justine to see her previous psychiatrist at the Priory.’

  ‘Is Justine Harris now with her mother?’ Jane asked.

  ‘I presume so.’

  Spencer brushed the crumbs of his sandwich off his jacket and tossed the plastic container into the bin.

  ‘Foxley’s business partner, James Myers, gave us a long list of people he thought had grievances against Foxley, but so far the only other possible motive we’ve uncovered regards the previous owner of Foxley’s flat, Sebastian Martinez. We haven’t got all the details yet.’

  Spencer put the file on the table and Tyler started flicking through it.

  ‘Bloody hell! Have you seen how many people he has listed?’

  ‘To be honest, guv, I was at the hospital nearly all night, we’ve been at the agency all morning and then we came straight here . . . I haven’t even had time to look at it.’

  ‘We’ll need to sift through this list as soon as we’re finished. Right, let’s take a look at the post-mortem report. The pathologist concluded that the cricket bat was used to inflict the blunt-force injuries to Foxley’s head. The blood grouping on the cricket bat was matched to the victim’s. No surprises there. The forensic team are expected in at any moment and I hope Detective Sergeant Lawrence will have some more details.’

  ‘Could robbery have been a motive?’ Spencer asked.

  ‘Doubtful, as we have no forced entry and no drawers or cupboards were ransacked. The safe contained jewellery, money, Foxley’s will and mortgage papers. Again, Paul Lawrence might have more, as they have numerous fingerprints from the scene. We also have clear footprints in the victim’s blood from, we believe, quite a common trainer-type shoe.’

  ‘Do we have anyone who can fill us in about Foxley’s private life? And who he might have allowed into his flat?’

  Tyler shook his head. ‘We had a lengthy interview with his cleaner, Frieda Lunn – when she wasn’t crying her eyes out – but she didn’t really know much. She did mention that Mr Foxley occasionally had people sleeping over, mostly on weekends. She worked on Mondays, Wednesday and Fridays, from nine until twelve, and he was not at home on the Monday when she went in. Toots the dachshund was there, and she left just after ten for a dentist’s appointment. If Foxley had had guests at the weekend, he would have left the bed linen ready to go to the laundry. And on the Friday he would have left her a shopping list if he was going to be entertaining at the weekend.’

  ‘How long had she worked for him?’ Jane asked.

  ‘Two and a half years. She had previously worked as a cleaner in his office, and she had only recently been doing three days a week for him. She said he was generous, likeable, if rather untidy. The three dogs made a lot of work for her shedding their fur all over the place.’

  ‘Did you ask her about the ex-wife?’

  ‘She said she’d been very rude to her on several occasions. Foxley was always apologetic and explained that his ex-wife was in psychiatric care. Frieda had met his daughter a few times but said that when the daughter was on holiday from school she would stay with her mother or grandmother.’

  There was a tap on the door and Paul Lawrence walked in carrying a takeaway coffee.

  ‘We’ve just about wrapped up at the murder site, sir. I’ll need to go back to the lab for a couple of hours to double-check on progress.’

  He sat down and glanced towards Jane and Spencer as he opened his briefcase.

  ‘I spent a considerable amount of time with the pathologist and together we have put together a timeline of events. The assailant was in the basement flat. There must have been some altercation, which resulted in a frenzied and brutal attack. We know the cricket bat was Foxley’s as his name is scrawled on one side. There is blood spattering by the front door, which could have been caused by the bleeding from the nose and mouth. Foxley then fell forward and was dragged down the hallway and into the bathroom, bleeding profusely from his head wounds. The second weapon, an old-fashioned cut-throat razor, was found in the bath. Foxley’s body was possibly hauled up by his hair – we found a considerable amount of hair around the bathtub. When he was positioned over the bath his throat was cut. There are blood spurts on the tiles, the bath and the walls. The body was dragged into the master bedroom, Foxley was then positioned spread-eagled on the bed, and he was disembowelled. According to the pathologist, a third weapon was used – a very sharp serrated knife, around ten inches long and two inches wide. As you know, this weapon has not been recovered.’

  As Lawrence talked
, Tyler brought out the photographs he had held back while Spencer had been eating. Jane slowly moved through one photograph after another.

  ‘Was he stripped of his clothes in the bathroom?’

  Lawrence sifted through the photographs and pulled one out that showed a blood-soaked shirt and a pair of corduroy trousers.

  ‘I think the victim was unconscious and his assailant stripped him, as you see on photograph fourteen, down to white underpants and white socks. We found his shoes in the bathroom, along with his bloody clothes. I would say he was stripped before his throat was cut. There are numerous fingerprints, some in blood, some possibly left from a previous occasion, which would say that this was not the first time our killer had been in that flat.’

  Tyler gathered up the photographs and stacked them like a pack of large cards, before sliding them into a large brown manila envelope. Lawrence did likewise with the photos he had brought.

  ‘The killer would have to be physically strong and probably quite muscular to be able to drag Foxley to the bathroom and the bedroom,’ Lawrence added.

  ‘So most likely a young man?’ Jane asked hesitantly.

  ‘Who knows? He could be middle-aged and fit . . . I can’t tell you for certain. All I can say is that this was a rage-driven murder.’

  ‘Is there a possibility there were two killers?’ Jane asked.

  ‘It’s possible, if one was keeping lookout and didn’t get involved in the attack, but I only found one set of bloody shoeprints,’ Lawrence replied.

  Spencer flicked through his notebook. ‘What about the handcuffs?’

  ‘They are police issue. There must be thousands out there. He didn’t have any abrasions to either wrist.’

  Jane scribbled in her notebook. ‘Was there any indication that Foxley was a sadomasochist?’

  Lawrence shook his head. ‘I didn’t find any pornography or S&M magazines. In fact, we didn’t find very much. It’s unusual not to find any papers, letters or diary . . . anything that would give us an insight into Foxley’s private life.’

  ‘Any drugs?’ Spencer asked.

  ‘No, just a lot of vitamins and health drinks. The toxicology report will come back in a couple of weeks. The pathologist did observe that the victim’s nasal cavities seemed raw. He took samples so we’ll wait for the results. Obviously he examined the body for injuries and bruising, and also checked his anus for any signs that he was raped or in a homosexual relationship.’

  Tyler stood up, thanked Lawrence and asked if he could join him in the incident room as some of the other officers would like to ask him questions. He picked up the file from James Myers and held it up in the air.

  ‘We’ll need to go through this and decide who interviews who. But first off, let’s bring in this bloody dog walker, Eric Newman.’

  Tyler and Lawrence walked out.

  Jane turned to Spencer and saw he was nodding off to sleep. She poked him in the arm. ‘Spence!’

  He opened his eyes wearily. ‘Jane, I’ve got to have a kip . . . I can’t take it all in. I’m too knackered.’

  ‘Well, have a sleep in here. I’ll go and start putting together some reports from this morning.’

  She watched as he rolled his jacket up into a cushion and crawled under the boardroom table.

  As Jane walked over to her desk and started typing, Tyler came over and was about say something when DC Dors piped up: ‘We’ve got Eric Newman. He’s in interview room one.’

  ‘About bloody time.’ Tyler tapped Jane on the shoulder. ‘Come and interview him with me.’

  *

  Eric Newman’s body odour filled the small interview room. He had a rat-like face, with a thin moustache. He was still wearing the same stained jacket and around his neck he had a thick woollen scarf. He was tapping his dirty fingernails on the table.

  ‘I’d like to know what I’ve been brought in here for. I’ve done nothing wrong, me rent’s been paid up, and I’ve been straight now for ten years.’

  ‘You’re not under arrest, Mr Newman, but you have been somewhat elusive, so we thought it best to interview you here at the station. We are just interested in your relationship with Charles Foxley,’ said Tyler.

  ‘Well, I wouldn’t call it a relationship. I walk his effing dogs. He’s got three of them.’

  ‘We are aware of that, Mr Newman. What we need to know is when exactly was the last time you saw Mr Foxley?’

  ‘That would be around about three p.m. last Monday.’

  ‘And where did you see him?’

  ‘I went to his flat. He wanted me to take his other two dogs, Stick and Jack, because his dachshund was coming on heat. I’ve told him about this before because even though the Jack Russell has lost his balls, he’ll hump anything and goes crazy.’

  ‘So it was unusual for you to collect the two dogs that afternoon?’

  Newman scratched his nose. ‘Yeah, it was unusual. He asked if I could walk them and keep them overnight, away from the sausage.’

  ‘Would you say you had an argument with Mr Foxley?’

  ‘I was a bit tetchy, ’cause that fuckin’ Toots gets the other dogs going apeshit. I told him I wouldn’t take her. I got a poodle and a Dalmatian I walk as well, so I was pretty firm about it. I might have raised me voice a notch when I refused to take her.’

  Jane was making notes. ‘So, the following day, when you returned with Mr Foxley’s dogs, you were met by the uniformed police officers?’

  ‘Yeah, I was. I rung him and he didn’t answer me. I even called his office and no one seemed to know where he was. But he owed me money for keeping the dogs overnight.’

  ‘The day before, when you went to get the two dogs, how did Mr Foxley seem to you?’

  ‘How do you mean?’

  ‘Was he agitated, nervous . . . ?’

  ‘He didn’t seem any different from normal. He gave me the dogs on their leads and the car keys, then I left.’

  ‘What car were the keys for, Mr Newman?’

  ‘The Volvo. I couldn’t carry the dogs back and forth on the bus, could I?’

  ‘Was this the usual arrangement?’

  ‘No, it was a bit different this time. Not our usual arrangement.’

  Tyler was becoming impatient. ‘Mr Newman, could you tell me what your usual arrangement was?’

  ‘Right . . . Mr Foxley would go into his office around seven thirty or eight in the morning. He would call me to pick up all three dogs. Then I would walk them and feed them and take them back to his office late afternoon and give him back his keys.’ He looked at Jane. ‘Am I going too fast for you, love?’

  ‘No. I’m fine, thank you, Mr Newman.’

  ‘This arrangement was mostly during the week and he would pay me extra if he was going away on a weekend and wanted me to keep them overnight. But he should have had that bloody sausage dog spayed when I told him to. That’s why he had her and I had the other two.’

  Jane looked up. ‘Did you know Mr Foxley’s ex-wife?’

  ‘Oh, yes. Sometimes I used to take the dogs over to her place. His daughter Clara loved having the dogs. I don’t think his missus did, though. But those times I’d drive them over to her house in Barnes and leave her the keys to the Volvo. When I knew about this situation, God rest his soul, I was getting worried that I’d be dumped with the bloody dogs and I’d be right out of pocket – and he owes me anyway.’

  ‘Were you always paid in cash?’ Jane asked.

  ‘Always. If the dogs stayed overnight, I’d get ten quid. That’s picking them up, taking them for a walk, feeding them and taking them back the next day. So I then get a call from George.’

  Tyler raised his hand. ‘George who?’

  ‘George Henson. He’s a film director, a friend of the ex-Mrs Foxley. He calls me to ask if I could pick up Toots and still look after the dogs. I told him I was owed money and I needed transport. But I’ve got a mate who said he’d lend me his van for a tenner. George told me there wasn’t going to be anybody i
n later.’

  Tyler raised his hand again. ‘So, you took a van with two dogs to Justine Harris’s house, where George Henson was, and you collected the third dog?’

  ‘Correct.’

  ‘Did he pay you?’

  ‘He gave me eight quid, which was not the full amount if I was to keep these dogs, and there was the extra money for the van, so I decided I’d had enough and took them to the agency and left them there.’

  ‘Did you ever meet any of Mr Foxley’s associates?’

  ‘I met the two silly cows at the reception desk and a couple of others, but I was basically in and out.’

  ‘What about his friends?’

  Newman grinned, shaking his head. ‘Do me a favour, do I look like someone who would be mixing in the same social circles as Charles Foxley? Not that I didn’t get along with him. He was down-to-earth, no airs and graces, you know? He liked a flutter on the gee-gees, as it happens.’

  ‘Did you put any bets on for him?’

  ‘Yeah, now and then . . . And the dogs. If he won big, he’d always give me a cut, and when he lost, he didn’t get too cut up about it. He was a good bloke.’

  ‘So, along with walking his dogs and placing bets for him, was there anything else you did for Mr Foxley?’

  For the first time Newman shifted around in his seat. ‘How’d you mean?’

  ‘It’s a simple question, Mr Newman.’

  His small eyes glinted as he chewed at the corner of his droopy moustache. ‘I’ve done nothing wrong. I’ve been straight for ten years. All I do is walk dogs for people who can’t walk them themselves and I declare all my earnings, too.’

  Tyler slapped the table hard. Jane almost jumped and Newman froze.

  ‘Just tell us what else you did for Mr Foxley.’

  Newman licked his lips. ‘You mean putting him in touch with Mandy?’

  Tyler nodded, as if he knew what Newman was talking about. ‘Why would Mr Foxley want to contact Mandy?’

  Newman shrugged his shoulders and looked down at the desk. ‘This is nothing to do with me. I’ve never got into that kinda thing . . . but each to their own. I’d been walking her Doberman because the bloke that did security for her had got sciatica and I knew him from the tracks.’