Blunt Force

by La Plante, Lynda

  He then moved along the incident board and pointed to the post-mortem details.

  ‘We have an approximate time of death but, as you know, the pathologist always gives a fairly wide spectrum and believes the victim was killed in the early evening of that Monday. This could mean anywhere between five p.m. and nine p.m. I have ruled out Mandy Pilkington as a suspect because he was a regular and lucrative client for her.’

  DCI Tyler stood up. ‘We still have no motive, however, I believe DCI Collins will be making inquiries into the financier Max Summers and his brother, Ivor, in the US.’ Tyler looked around. ‘Have we any further developments from anyone?’

  Jane put up her hand just as the young DC Tony Johnson stood up.

  ‘I have just switched surveillance on Justine Harris’s Barnes property, sir. She is still there with her daughter Clara, her mother and George Henson. The only time Ms Harris left the property was at three p.m. when she got into a local minicab. I left my partner and followed her to Wardour Street in the West End. She went into Paramount House while I remained outside the premises. She came out after three quarters of an hour and hailed a black taxi, which I subsequently followed back to the Barnes property.’

  Tyler nodded. ‘Make sure those details are on the incident board.’

  By ordering surveillance, it was now clear that Justine Harris had been the prime suspect.

  Tyler turned towards Jane. She cleared her throat before opening her notebook.

  ‘I do have what I believe is new information regarding Charles Foxley’s visits to Mandy Pilkington’s establishment.’

  Jane succinctly repeated everything she had been told about Foxley’s brother Thomas and how his aunt, Eunice, felt that Foxley suffered from a guilt complex that had tortured him for most of his life. Jane further explained that Eunice was uncertain whether Justine knew about Thomas.

  ‘However, she did hint at something else, which might be relevant. She questioned whether Clara was Charles Foxley’s daughter.’

  Tyler held up his hand. ‘So did she suggest who the father was?’

  ‘No, but I wondered if it was possibly George Henson.’

  There was a murmur from around the room – but it wasn’t because of what Jane had just said. She turned around to see everyone was looking at DS Lawrence, who held up an Evening Standard as he made his way towards the incident board. On the front page there was a photograph of Justine Harris holding her daughter’s hand with the headline: Widow of famous theatrical agent says a final goodbye.

  Jane sat down. She suddenly remembered that when she had seen Justine coming into the crematorium, there had been the flash of a camera – and George Henson had been holding a camera when he walked down the aisle towards the coffin. The front-page photograph had to have been taken then because Clara had left the church wearing the rose-bud coronet.

  Lawrence removed his coat and placed a large cardboard evidence box on the desk nearest to the incident board. He opened the box and removed a sheet of paper.

  ‘I have here, way ahead of the usual time, a toxicology report on our victim. He had a very high level of cocaine in his nostrils and airways, and there was a residue of amphetamines. But although we did find a large quantity of vitamins at his flat, we did not find any amphetamines or cocaine. However, a quantity of amphetamines was discovered at Justine Harris’s house.’

  Jane realised there was more to come because Lawrence appeared to be very pleased with himself. He then withdrew the blood-stained camel-hair coat from the box.

  ‘Although we cannot yet confirm an identical match, the blood stains on Ms Harris’s coat are the same blood group as the blood of our victim. The same goes for the trainers. But that’s not what I wanted to share with you.’

  He then held up the camel coat and put his hand in the right pocket. ‘We discovered this crucial piece of evidence while testing for the blood.’ He withdrew, in a plastic cover, a parking ticket. ‘This ticket is for Justine Harris’s car and was timed at five fifteen p.m. on the evening of the murder. The car could have remained there longer and it could have been parked there earlier, but it is confirmation that Justine Harris was at the victim’s location the day he died. The ticket was issued in Onslow Square.’

  The room almost erupted. This was the piece of evidence they had all been desperate for because it meant Justine Harris had lied.

  Tyler held his hands up for quiet. ‘Right, the surveillance will continue on Justine Harris’s house. Then I want Justine Harris and George Henson arrested for the murder of Charles Foxley and brought in for questioning. But it’s imperative that the child’s grandmother be present to take care of her daughter and the dogs.’

  After finishing her report Jane was called to DCI Tyler’s office. ‘You’ve screwed up badly, Tennison. When you removed the coat from the property it was your job to search the pockets. Let this be a lesson for you.’

  Jane flushed with embarrassment.

  ‘You can go now.’

  She nodded, utterly crestfallen.

  *

  It was after 10 p.m. when she let herself in and hurried up the three flights of stairs to her flat. She wanted to scream, because it didn’t matter that Lawrence may have covered for her. She had made a major error.

  She had a glass of wine and lit a cigarette from her emergency packet, which was getting worryingly depleted. Then she dialled a number, and even before it was answered she knew she would regret it.

  Dexter’s answering machine clicked on and Jane left a message to say that she just wondered how he was and if he would like a drink, but she realised how late it was so she would call again another time. She hung up, furious with herself, but at the same time relieved he hadn’t answered.

  When the phone rang a few minutes later she was reluctant to answer it, but it turned out to be Spencer.

  ‘Well, you certainly fucked up, Jane, but I think your friend Lawrence must have got you out of the shit somehow because you and I are on the arrests at seven tomorrow morning.’

  ‘Thank you for that vote of confidence,’ she said glumly.

  ‘I’m with Tyler, and you’re going in with the pink-shirted mighty midget. It’s a covert operation, no paddy wagon or blue lights flashing. It’s about time we got a result.’

  Jane tried to match his excitement, but was too busy worrying about the repercussions of her mistake.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Jane and DI Miller were in an unmarked car parked behind DCI Tyler and Spencer. It was 7.05 a.m. The two drivers got out and positioned themselves beside the cars, while the four officers gathered at the front door.

  Tyler rang the doorbell and, after the usual cacophony of barking, the front door was opened by George Henson, eating a piece of toast.

  ‘We’d like you to accompany us to the station for further questioning about the murder of Charles Foxley,’ Tyler said, briskly.

  Henson stepped back with a frown and they trooped inside.

  ‘We also want Justine Harris to accompany us for further questioning,’ DI Miller added, curtly.

  ‘Dear God, how many more questions do you lot want to ask?’ Henson said, testily.

  ‘As many as necessary,’ Tyler said. ‘You are both being arrested on suspicion of murder.’

  Jane watched Henson as Tyler cautioned him, and was astonished at how relaxed he seemed.

  ‘Well, can you just wait a moment?’ He started heading towards the kitchen.

  ‘Please remain in the hall, Mr Henson,’ Miller snapped.

  ‘All right, fine . . . I just want to talk to Justine’s mother first.’

  He opened the door to the kitchen a fraction, keeping the dogs inside. He told Florence Harris to call McDermott immediately and to go upstairs and tell Justine the officers needed to speak to her. Florence eased her way out of the kitchen, looking distressed. She explained that Justine was in the shower and Tyler gestured towards Jane for her to accompany her up the stairs to the bedroom. Henson nonchalantly finished his
slice of toast and asked if he could go and collect a jacket. Spencer was told to accompany him, and before any of them reached the top of the stairs, Justine appeared in a towelling robe with her wet hair wrapped in a towel.

  ‘What is going on? I need to know what is going on. Why are you all here? This is outrageous,’ she screeched.

  ‘They’ve come to take us to the station,’ Henson explained calmly.

  Justine carried on screaming. ‘You can’t do this! You have no right!’

  ‘Justine, listen to me. There is no need for you to panic, I am going to be with you.’

  She stopped shaking and began rubbing her wet hair frantically with the wet towel.

  ‘Listen to me, Justine, do not say one word to them, do you understand me? Not one word. Not until Darren McDermott gets there.’

  Spencer and Miller ushered Henson out of the house.

  Jane waited in the bedroom while Justine insisted on blow-drying her hair. Meanwhile her mother had returned to the kitchen to quieten the dogs. Eventually, Justine came downstairs, wearing the black raincoat she had previously worn over a polo-neck sweater and a pair of white slacks. She was also wearing dark glasses. She was calm, but Jane could see she was trembling.

  No one spoke on the drive back to the station. As Tyler’s car drew up, the press were already gathering at the front. When they saw the car carrying Justine, they ran at it with their cameras flashing.

  ‘How in the hell did those bastards get here so fast?’ Tyler snapped angrily.

  Two small interview rooms had been prepared with instructions to keep Henson and Justine apart and to give them no opportunity to talk to each other. DI Miller was to lead the interrogation of Justine, and Tyler would take charge of the interview with George Henson.

  Miller was keen to start, but before they could interview Justine, Tyler received a call from Darren McDermott’s assistant to say that Mr McDermott would be arriving at the station and that there was to be no questioning of his client Justine Harris until he had arrived. Tyler sighed with frustration. McDermott was one of the toughest QCs around and a very experienced operator. He was stunned that such an eminent lawyer should want to be present instead of a regular brief. McDermott’s assistant also said that his boss demanded to meet with DI Miller.

  ‘Who the fuck does he think he is?’ Miller swore.

  ‘He’s a heavy hitter,’ Tyler told him. ‘We’d better have all our ducks in a row when he gets here.’

  Justine was given a cup of coffee and taken into the interview room. A uniformed officer remained with her until McDermott arrived.

  Jane took the opportunity to go into the canteen and get some breakfast. The news that the infamous QC McDermott was representing Justine Harris was spreading like wildfire. Considering that no charges had yet been brought, his attendance sounded a bit heavy-handed.

  George Henson remained nonchalant as he was offered refreshments in the second interview room, replying pleasantly that he would love a coffee with milk and sugar. DI Miller and Spencer sat at the desk in front of him. Miller repeated his caution and Henson laughed.

  ‘My, my . . . this really is serious, isn’t it?’

  Miller opened a pristine new notebook and then set beside it his own personal one. Spencer sat with his pencil poised ready to take notes.

  ‘Could you tell us where you were on the night of Charles Foxley’s murder?’ Miller began.

  Henson gave an exasperated shrug. ‘I have been asked this numerous times, and I have clearly stated that on that Monday evening I was at my cottage in Kent, entertaining three friends at dinner. I have given their names, and I believe they have been questioned. They will explain that I was there all evening and did not leave my cottage until late the next afternoon, when I received a distressed call from Justine after she had seen her ex-husband’s body. How many more times do you need me to explain this?’

  Miller took the cap off his fountain pen. ‘We need, Mr Henson, to verify those alibis. After questioning your three friends, they all explained that a lot of alcohol was consumed on the evening. Although you were the host, they could not be one hundred per cent sure that you were indeed with them the entire evening.’

  Henson threw his hands up. ‘Oh, bollocks to that . . . I absolutely admit that I was two sheets to the wind, but as you could easily have worked out for yourselves, I do not own a car and the last train, I believe, leaves for Waterloo at ten thirty p.m., so how do you think I could have got to Charles Foxley’s flat? If I had hired a taxi the fare would have been astronomical, and you detectives would very easily discover the identity of the taxicab if I had used one.’

  Miller pursed his lips. ‘I now want to ask you about your relationship with Justine Harris. How long have you known her?’

  ‘For God’s sake! I don’t know, maybe twenty-five years, maybe more . . .’

  ‘And you frequently stay at her property in Barnes?’

  ‘Yes, I have told you that and have explained that I work from there. I rent a bedroom and a small office. It’s just a peppercorn rent – Justine is a very generous soul and is aware of the costs of me commuting back and forth to the West End.’

  ‘So, you rent a couple of rooms at Ms Harris’s home and have done for many years?’

  Henson waved his hand in the air. ‘Dear God. I have not always rented there, nor have I always worked there, but after her divorce she kindly asked me to stay.’

  ‘So, you were very familiar with her husband, Charles Foxley?’

  ‘I don’t know what you mean by “familiar”. I detested him. He was an obnoxious man, and I had very little time for him – particularly recently as I believe he was getting out of control, or his drug abuse was. I know Justine was fearful as he would leave packets of drugs open in his bedroom. I had little or no interaction with him, and in all honesty, I would have liked to thrash him.’

  ‘Did you?’ Miller asked, quickly.

  ‘No, I did not, probably due to the fact that he was a very fit man and could likely beat the living daylights out of me.’

  ‘But he must have found your closeness to his wife, now his ex-wife, disturbing?’

  ‘He probably did,’ Henson said.

  ‘When was the last time you saw him?’ Miller asked, quietly.

  ‘Probably a week or so before he was killed. I saw him pulling up outside, with his bloody dogs, and I made my escape.’

  ‘And how did Justine feel about that?’

  ‘What, about his bloody dogs or that I escaped?’

  ‘That you allowed Charles Foxley to stay at his ex-wife’s property even though you did not approve.’

  ‘Dear God! It was not a question of me approving; he would just turn up, whether she liked it or not.’

  ‘Are you the father of Clara, Justine’s daughter?’

  Miller leant back in his chair and folded his arms. ‘Well, I don’t know who suggested that, but I can tell you unequivocally that I am not Clara’s father.’ He smiled. ‘DI Miller, I can categorically state that I could not have fathered Clara because I had a vasectomy after the birth of my second son. He is now in his twenties, so I suggest you do the maths.’

  Spencer had to hand it to Henson, he had answers for everything.

  Henson then leant forward and his tone became more serious and even emotional. ‘All I have ever done is care for Justine deeply for many years. She is one of the sweetest, most generous and, at one time, the most talented of people. As someone who adored her, I had to watch as Charles Foxley caused her such pain and anguish. Sadly, no matter what I said or what any of her friends said, she would always side with him. In my opinion, she could see the darkness in him and ultimately felt pity for him.’

  Miller wrote a few sentences in his notebook, trying to look as if he was still in control, but the truth was, the interview had been a disaster. He hoped Tyler was having better luck with Justine Harris.

  *

  At 8.15 a.m. Darren McDermott was in his Bentley waiting for the
station yard gates to be opened to allow him entry. There were still two persistent journalists hanging around, but the rest of the paparazzi had left. A uniformed officer led him into the station, where DCI Tyler was waiting.

  Jane was at her desk and watched as Tyler greeted him. Tall and elegant, McDermott was wearing an immaculate charcoal-grey overcoat with a black velvet collar over a grey suit. He was slightly tanned, with thick, iron-grey curly hair. He didn’t look to either side or acknowledge anyone as he followed Tyler into his office.

  Spencer came out from interview room two and joined Jane at her desk.

  ‘What’s going on?’ she asked.

  He shrugged. ‘Henson’s more than likely going to be released without charge after Miller’s interviewed Justine.’ He then turned and nodded towards Tyler’s closed door. ‘What’s going on in there?’

  ‘A big-time QC called Darren McDermott has arrived. I think he’s here to represent Justine Harris.’

  Spencer frowned. ‘He’s a bit of a heavy hitter to come in as a brief for her.’ Spencer looked at Tyler’s closed office door again. ‘How long are they going to be in there?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ Jane said.

  Spencer leant close, grinning. ‘I have to say, Henson made DI Miller look a right twat.’

  ‘What about him fathering Foxley’s daughter?’

  Spencer shook his head. ‘He had a vasectomy after his second son, and even had the surgeon’s number if we wanted to call to verify it. You know something, I quite like him.’

  DI Miller walked in. ‘Well, I’m glad you do, Detective Sergeant Gibbs, and if you have nothing better to do but stand around here gossiping, you can make yourself useful and do something for me. Go and speak to the agent who knows about Foxley’s drug use.’

  ‘Emma Ransom?’

  ‘Yes. We just heard Henson confirm that Foxley’s drug habit was getting out of control, so we may be looking for a drug dealer.’

  ‘So, you don’t think Justine is involved?’