There was a pause as Walker turned towards Lucas Miller, who gave a brief nod and stood up. He made a quick adjustment to his pristine white cuffs and began.
‘Reading the statements, I felt it was imperative that we get a clearer idea of who the victim was. From all the conflicting statements, he comes across as a man of many contradictions. On the one hand, he’s an exceedingly successful, respectable theatre agent. On the other, he’s a masochistic sexual pervert. On the one hand, he’s well-liked, with an impressive list of clients. On the other, there seems to have been numerous people with grievances against him. Now, grievances about mismanagement are, in my estimation, rarely powerful enough to be the motivation for such a brutal, vicious murder. Which is why we’re hoping my associate from the FBI can help us with a possible profile of the killer.’
He turned to acknowledge Bellamy, before turning back to the expectant faces in the room.
‘I want to start with the person who has been most frequently described as having a motive, but we know very little about.’
Spencer leant closer to Jane. ‘Maybe we didn’t bother digging too deeply because he committed suicide six months before the murder!’
Miller glanced towards them and asked Jane and Spencer to kindly move to one side so he could screen the pictures on the white wall behind them.
The room waited patiently as Miller prepared the slide projector, with the boxes of slides already in position beside it.
‘This man is Sebastian Martinez.’ Everyone turned to the wall as the machine clicked and a picture of a handsome, slender, Spanish-looking man appeared.
‘Martinez was a very talented theatre set designer, whose work was much in demand. He was also addicted to cocaine and was a promiscuous homosexual. Martinez had accrued a number of awards and was possibly at the peak of his career when the accident occurred. A leading soprano fell from a balcony during a performance.’
There was a mild titter in the room, which was quickly stilled as Miller glanced coldly towards the offenders.
‘Martinez was sued for producing an unsafe design. He counter-sued, blaming the opera company, but he lost the court case. His drug addiction subsequently began to spiral out of control. Charles Foxley was his agent, and he had encouraged him to counter-sue. At the same time, the famous director, Zeffirelli, had approached Martinez to design a film set. Martinez borrowed a significant sum from Charles Foxley to help with his spiralling costs. But by now two further complaints had emerged and Zeffirelli’s offer was withdrawn. Martinez blamed Foxley for his financial ruin. Foxley attempted to help Martinez by purchasing his flat and apparently did everything in his power to keep the deal with Zeffirelli. Everyone has stated that Foxley bought the property for way below its asking price, but as he had already loaned a substantial amount to Martinez, he refuted the claim. There were heated arguments as Martinez began insinuating Foxley had ruined his career.’
Miller turned off the slide projector.
‘The reason I felt it was necessary for you to be aware of this is that Foxley, contrary to what is claimed, did try to protect his client, and after Martinez committed suicide, Foxley was never reimbursed for the money he was still owed.’
He paused and gestured for some water. He took a few sips before continuing.
‘The point is, we have to be very careful dealing with people in this business. We’re dealing with actors and people who sometimes lie for a living. Sometimes they’ll tell very convincing stories, and we have to be on our guard against swallowing them hook, line and sinker. Which means, I’m afraid, that right now we still have no definite suspects.’
Across the room a red-haired officer leant forward. ‘Unless, like Dracula, Martinez came out of the grave to do it!’
There were a few guffaws around the room, but from his expression, Miller did not seem to appreciate the joke.
‘Thank you for your attention,’ he said, coolly.
Miller sat down as Jane moved her seat back in position next to Spencer. She now felt that all the hours the pair of them had spent interviewing, along with most of the other detectives gathered in the boardroom, had basically been a waste of time. Before anyone asked any questions, DCI Collins stood up.
‘I have been working on Mr Foxley’s finances. Gaining access to his accounts at Coutts was a time-consuming and frustrating process, but we know the dent in his finances during the period he bought Martinez’s flat was considerable. He was then very generous in his divorce settlement. Although he earned considerable sums, he paid substantial amounts in alimony to his wife, on his own mortgage and on the property he handed over to her. He had no substantial savings, but often withdrew two to three thousand pounds per week in cash, which we assume he was spending at Mandy Pilkington’s. I believe Foxley was also spending money on drugs, but we haven’t found where he was purchasing them.’
Spencer stood up. ‘We’re still waiting on the toxicology report from the post-mortem.’
Collins nodded and gestured for Spencer to sit down. ‘I suggest we make further inquiries with all the agents in the company to discover if his drug use was common knowledge, and if anyone else there uses drugs recreationally. Mr Foxley did have considerable earning power but it appears he was living above his means.’
He glanced towards Jane, who stood up.
‘We have information that Foxley was an obsessive gambler on the horses, sir. On one credit card alone, he owes ten thousand pounds. Also, his will stipulates that his wife inherits his shares in the business.’
Collins tapped the table with his pen. ‘We need to clarify just how the agents plan to run the company without him. Apparently clients are leaving in droves, but we need to confirm if there was a possible monetary motive.’ Collins closed his notebook and looked around the table. ‘I have to say that I have not come across a compelling one as yet; a motive, that is. Like him or dislike him, Foxley was a major part of this company and was able to secure, even in the last months before his death, two exceedingly big artists.’
As he sat down, Walker poured some water for him and topped up his own beaker. The last one to speak was Harry Bellamy, he stood up and gave a slow look around the room.
‘OK. I’m afraid that due to the little time I’ve had, this will be a rough sketch until I’ve gained further access to all the evidence, specifically to go through the diary. This is vitally important, in my opinion, for what it doesn’t say. We are presuming the dates and times of “family matters” refer to visits to Mandy Pilkington, but this can only be confirmed once we know just how much money the victim was paying out to her.
‘Charles Foxley was a successful and outgoing man, someone able to deal with big stars and powerful movie company executives. He therefore must have had a great deal of self-confidence. But the flipside of that was his secret visits to a dominatrix. He liked to be abused, humiliated and whipped. The obsessive need for this constant flagellation – sometimes twice in one day – must mean self-hatred was deep-rooted in his psyche. This is an important area we need to uncover in his background. As I said, I have had very little time to familiarise myself with the case to date and will obviously have a lot more to say in due course. But my instinct tells me that this could be a key element in the investigation.’
He paused and removed a small notebook from his pocket. He glanced through it and then put it back.
‘But we are, at this point, without a motive for the killer. So what do we know? The killer is almost certainly male, because of the strength needed to lift and carry the victim to the bathroom, slit his throat and then drag him to the bedroom for the disembowelment. And Foxley was himself a strong, athletic man, so it was unlikely he was overpowered by a female. That said, there is only one clear footprint in the victim’s blood and DS Lawrence has determined that it was a size six Adidas trainer, which could suggest that a female was at the scene.’
A murmur of interest went around the room.
‘Then there are the handcuffs. If we consider th
e possibility that the killer brought the handcuffs with them, that suggests they knew about his predilections. So we must ask ourselves, did the victim know his assailant? Did he allow entry to the killer because he knew him? The blunt force occurred to the back of his head, close to the front door. The blow would have made him semi-conscious, then two further blows followed and he was dragged to the bathroom.’
Bellamy flicked through a few pages of his notebook. ‘Ah, yes . . . the weapon used for the disembowelment hasn’t been found. Which strongly suggests the killer knew Charles Foxley and went with the sole purpose of committing murder.’
Bellamy glanced around the room and then sat down.
There was a weighty silence as Detective Chief Superintendent Walker got to his feet.
‘You will all now be given your assignments. Weekend leave will be cancelled and half of you will be working late or early shifts each day.’ He gestured to the three detectives sitting next to him. ‘My associates will remain at the station for discussions on moving the investigation forward. Some of you will be assigned one-on-one sessions. That’s all for now. Thank you for your attention.’
Tyler opened the door for Walker and the others to leave. He looked around the faces in the room as he listed the officers required to remain at the station. Jane and Spencer were among them. He left the door open as he walked out.
The canteen ran out of hot meals and were now making sandwiches as the detectives waited to have their one-on-one sessions. There were a few disgruntled moans; some of them, like Jane and Spencer, had been on duty since early morning. The meetings scheduled were taking place in two bare interview rooms, in Tyler’s office and in a corner of the incident room where DI Arnold’s now empty desk was.
Jane saw Spencer heading into an interview room with Bellamy. She wished she had been allocated him, but instead she was instructed to meet with Lucas Miller in Tyler’s office. It was now after 9 p.m. Miller had a large bound paper notebook and beside it there were stacks of Jane’s official reports. He gestured for her to sit down, and it felt as if she was back in school. Miller had a habit that she recalled an unpleasant geography teacher shared: when he looked at you, he didn’t meet your eyes but focused on your forehead.
‘I’ve been reading your report, Tennison. It’s very interesting. I also now have the warrant to search Justine Harris’s house in Barnes. As you live near Baker Street, I will collect you at eight thirty a.m. sharp.’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘The reason I’d like you with me is that I have read your interview with Mr Foxley’s ex-wife.’
‘I see.’
‘So can you explain the reason you thought the warrant was necessary?’
‘I felt that, with her mother present, along with her friend George Henson, she was not being very forthcoming. She was also present at the victim’s flat.’
‘I know that,’ Miller snapped.
Jane swallowed, then continued. ‘I just felt that, with the information regarding the small shoe-size footprint, we should search her house.’
Miller gave a disparaging wave of his hand. ‘That should have been done a long time ago.’
‘Yes, but I don’t know if you are aware, sir, that Ms Harris attempted suicide. We were therefore delayed in interviewing her.’
‘Yes, yes . . .’ he said, curtly. ‘Now, tell me, do you believe it was a deliberate delaying tactic and her suicide attempt wasn’t serious?’
‘She had to have her stomach pumped, and you know she had attempted suicide on two previous occasions.’
‘Yes, well, obviously she isn’t very good at it,’ he said, sarcastically. ‘Now, I’d like you to take me through the entire interaction with her, if you wouldn’t mind.’
Jane nodded. ‘May I get my notebook, sir?’
‘Yes, by all means. May I just say, Sergeant Tennison, that your reports are very thorough. They often contain inconsequential information, as if you are not really aware of what is important in an investigation.’
Jane felt even more as if she was in school. But Miller was ruder and more intimidating than any teacher she had ever had. As she went through her notes of the interview with Justine Harris, he didn’t make a single encouraging or positive remark. To the contrary, he made her feel as if she were a rank amateur. He even made a very uncomplimentary remark about women gaining promotion too early.
She was finally released to go home and was told that Spencer was still being grilled by Bellamy. It had been a long time since she had felt so depressed. She wished she had someone to lean on, but it was too late to call her parents or her sister. She was also starving. She decided to have fish and chips and, without thinking, drove straight to the place that Dexter had taken her the first time she had been with him. She often wondered where he was and how he was doing, but she had listened to all the advice she’d received to stay clear of him.
And yet here she was, not even admitting to herself the possibility of seeing him. Dexter had real style and had showed genuine heroism when she had been involved in the bombing. He had also made her more sexually aware than any of her previous lovers.
She stood in line and ordered cod and chips with salt and vinegar. After Miller’s grilling, she was feeling at a low ebb, so much so that she wanted to cry.
‘Well, well, well, if it isn’t Jane Tennison.’
Suddenly, there he was. He looked as handsome as ever, and a little bit sun-tanned. A bit like Steve McQueen, she always thought, with the same vivid blue eyes.
‘Oh, hi . . .’ Her voice caught in her throat. ‘I’ve been working late and the canteen was closed, so I thought I’d come here. I’ve made this quite a regular stop.’
It sounded lame, even to her, but he grinned.
‘Well, they do sell the best fish and chips in London. Are you taking them out?’
As there were only a few tables inside and they were occupied, it was obvious she would not be eating in the shop. But before she could answer, her chips were rolled up in a newspaper and put into a brown bag. She fumbled to get her purse but Dexter already had his wallet out.
‘That’s very nice of you, but it’s not necessary.’
‘I know it’s not necessary, but it’s good to see you.’ He leant forward and kissed her cheek as he put a five-pound note on the counter. ‘Cod and chips for me, too.’
Jane hurried out and was so annoyed with herself she almost threw her fish and chips onto the passenger seat of her car. What a fool! She knew she must be flushed, her cheeks red with embarrassment.
It took only ten minutes to get back to her flat in Malcomb Street. She had just locked the car and was heading to the front door when Spencer appeared. He had a takeaway bag and a bottle of scotch tucked under his arm. Given the circumstances, he was the last person she wanted to see.
‘Spence . . .’
‘I’m sorry about this, Jane. The wife’s kicked me out. I’ve got us a burger.’
‘D’you want to stay the night here?’ Jane asked without enthusiasm, as she unlocked the front door.
‘Just for tonight. I had a bloody nightmare session with that fucking Harry Belafonte lookalike. He’s a sarcastic bugger. He questioned virtually every fucking thing I’ve written in every fucking report. I felt like saying to him that from the little I know about so-called fucking profilers, he should have been sitting down with Paul Lawrence and the pathologist, questioning the bloody forensic scientists.’
Jane laughed. ‘I felt the same way with Miller.’
She unlocked the front door.
‘You know one of the things in my report that he picked on? My fucking description of that Mandy Pilkington’s security guy. He tapped my report with his pen and said, “What is this?” You know me, Jane, I just put in brackets: “Looks like Odd Job from Goldfinger”. It’s a pretty good description of him.’
As Spencer passed her and went into the hall to go up the stairs, Jane was about to shut the main front door and thought she was imagining it fo
r a moment as she heard the deep vibrations that could only come from a Porsche. She was right. It was Dexter slowly driving past her flat. He glanced towards her as she looked out of the door and he gave her the lopsided smile that she loved so much, but he didn’t stop. He couldn’t have been heading home, as it was the wrong direction. If Dexter had been intending to drop by, seeing her with Spencer had obviously made him change his mind.
She closed the door and trudged up the stairs to her flat, where Spencer was slumped onto the stool in the kitchen, heaving for breath. ‘Bloody hell, three floors and those stairs are steep!’
She got two glasses and he poured them both large ones. They were both exhausted, and so hungry that they ate mostly in silence – she ate her fish and chips and Spencer consumed both burgers and chips, and in the end had three large glasses of scotch.
Jane only had a small two-seater sofa and her own double bed. There was no way she wanted Spencer in bed with her so she put the cushions from the sofa on the floor, took a pillow off her own bed and blankets from the cupboard.
‘Don’t worry, I’ll be gone early to get a change of clothes.’
While she was trying to find a toothbrush for him in the bathroom cabinet, he lit a cigarette.
‘You know what, Jane? I think maybe my time is up. You and me have just been given the crumbs of the case to investigate. And the way Bellamy spoke to me was the last straw. Do you ever think back to those days with Bradfield?’
She was taken aback. ‘Don’t go there now,’ she said, softly.
‘I do go there a lot, Jane. You know, after his death, I was drinking way too much. I was well looked after, I admit that, but I never really got over it. I loved that man.’
‘We all did,’ Jane said. She didn’t want to talk about it, so changed the subject. ‘How’s your band doing?’
He shrugged. ‘I’m getting a bit long in the tooth to be schlepping out to bars and pubs. The truth is I’ve lost interest in it.’
‘I think you’re just tired,’ Jane said.
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