Blunt Force

by Lynda La Plante

  ‘What? Do you mean right now? No, no, it’s impossible. I have an incredibly important meeting with a client; in fact, I have back-to-back meetings all day – and, of course, I need time to recover from this appalling news.’

  ‘Would it be convenient to speak to you at nine tomorrow morning?’ Spencer asked.

  Myers pursed his lips. ‘I’ll have to move a couple of appointments, but yes, I suppose I could be available.’ He paused. ‘Charles did have an awful lot of enemies.’

  Jane glanced at Spencer as they walked behind Myers, who was now intent on hailing a taxi.

  ‘One moment please, sir,’ Jane said sharply. ‘You just said Mr. Foxley had a lot of enemies. Is there anyone in particular you were referring to?’

  ‘Dear God! I was being flippant. It’s the shock. I’m in a state of shock.’

  A taxi pulled up, and before they could stop him, Myers had hurriedly climbed in, slamming the door shut behind him.

  Jane and Spencer watched the taxi drive off.

  ‘Incredible. He didn’t appear to give a shit that his partner had been murdered,’ Jane muttered.

  Spencer shrugged. ‘Yeah, well, we’ll see him again tomorrow. Come on, we should go and catch up with the boss at the crime scene.’

  *

  At Paramount House Myers ran up the stairs two at a time, bursting into the reception area. ‘How are my babies?’ he demanded.

  ‘Oh, they’re back and all lovely – nails cut and coats shampooed. They smell divine,’ said the blonde girl.

  Myers hurried down the corridor and opened his office door. Two Pekingese dogs raised their heads in unison from their hand-woven Harrods dog basket. He closed the door quietly behind him, took off his coat and sat behind his desk. Plucking a handful of tissues from the box, he twisted them in his hands, then burst into tears.

  ‘You stupid bastard, you stupid bastard . . . ’ he repeated over and over again as he tried to stifle his sobs.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Two uniformed officers remained at the entrance to Foxley’s flat, which had been cordoned off with yellow tape. Spencer showed his ID and Jane followed him down the steps to the open front door. There was cardboard across the entrance and placed like stepping stones along the hallway. DS Lawrence was at the end of the corridor and turned towards them, removing his latex gloves. He gave a small nod of recognition to Jane.

  ‘It’s been a very long day. I’ll come back first thing in the morning, but I need to get to the lab to work on all the evidence we have removed so far. I’m asking everyone to keep to the cardboard to avoid contamination. By morning I should be able to give a clear account of what I believe happened.’

  Spencer looked at him quizzically. ‘It’s pretty obvious, isn’t it, Paul? Killer used the cricket bat, hammered him at the front door.’

  Lawrence put up his hand. ‘Don’t make assumptions, Spence. So far we don’t know which blunt-force trauma occurred first. By that I mean whether he was hit first from behind, suggesting that his assailant was already inside the flat. As yet we have had no indication of forced entry.’

  Duly chastised, Spencer muttered his apologies. Jane smiled at Lawrence.

  ‘Is DCI Tyler here?’ she asked.

  Lawrence nodded and gestured towards the kitchen. ‘In there.’

  As he finished packing up, Jane had the opportunity to take in the flat’s luxurious furnishings. There were antique oil paintings along one side of the hallway, and a small Georgian side table opposite. The elaborate gold-framed mirror was spattered with blood. The hall carpet was a pale blue, the weave so thick that the corrugated cardboard sank into it. The ceiling cornices had gilt decorated scrolls and Jane looked up at the ornate chandelier, made from numerous pieces of beautifully colored glass.

  ‘Murano glass,’ Lawrence said. ‘Probably 1920s.’

  Spencer glanced up at the chandelier. ‘Looks quite cheap to me.’

  ‘No, it’s very, very expensive,’ Lawrence replied.

  Suddenly they heard Tyler’s voice from the kitchen. ‘If you antique aficionados are finished assessing the value of the furnishings, could you come over here?’

  Jane followed Spencer into the kitchen, and couldn’t help gasping in surprise. It was in a totally different style to the ornate hall and Jane had never seen such modern equipment. There was a state-of-the-art stove, and all the cupboards and worktops were black granite and silver. The white tile floor had been partly covered with corrugated cardboard to protect it and there was a kitchen bar with chrome and black leather stools. Every available wall space was occupied by kitchen cabinets. Tyler had a large notebook open on the counter and a takeaway coffee. He gestured for them to sit down, then jerked his thumb towards one of the cabinets.

  ‘That’s a dishwasher in there, next to it is a deep-freeze and next to that is a fridge. You’ve got a coffee percolator that looks like a power-station and I would say they must’ve lowered the ceiling for these spotlights.’

  Spencer nodded. ‘Yeah, we found out he’s worth a bob or two. His partner has formally identified him. He didn’t show any emotion at all. Not a thing.’

  ‘Well, somebody certainly got very emotional towards Foxley,’ Tyler said. ‘I’ve never seen anything like it. Until we’ve had the postmortem and we meet with Paul Lawrence again, our priority is to identify a suspect. It’s very difficult to ascertain if robbery was involved, but I’ll walk you through the bedroom and the drawing room, so you can get a feel of the place. Apart from the blood bath, nothing looks disturbed. So that means we have to consider that this horror may have been staged, the killer making it look as if he acted in a fit of uncontrolled rage, and then the dismemberment done to make us think we’re looking for a psychopath.’

  They spent another twenty minutes discussing the neighbor who had alerted them, agreeing that she needed to be spoken to again to verify the timeline Spencer had made a note of when she called the station.

  They also urgently needed to talk to Foxley’s ex-wife.

  Tyler led them from the kitchen into the large drawing room. One set of barred windows looked out to the stone steps at the entrance. On the opposite wall were large French windows with elegantly draped curtains, which opened onto a York-stoned patio with steps leading up to a small walled garden with mature trees and flower beds.

  Spencer examined the French windows, which showed no signs of a forced entry. There were also no bloodstains in this room, which had polished pine floors and an elaborate Persian rug, two white sofas and a large tapestry depicting Tudor couples performing some kind of dance. On the opposite side of the room were beautifully carved floor to ceiling bookcases. In the center of the room was a glass-topped coffee table displaying an array of architectural books.

  ‘As you can see, nothing looks out of place here,’ Tyler said.

  ‘Is that him?’ Jane asked. Along one shelf of the bookcases were silver-framed photographs. In one of them the victim was smiling broadly, wearing an evening suit, his arm around Roger Moore.

  ‘That’s James Bond,’ Spencer said.

  All three stood together looking from one photograph to the other. Charles Foxley was photographed at various premieres, always smiling, always immaculately dressed. The photographs were signed ‘With thanks’ or ‘With love’. One of the large framed photographs had a crack across the glass. The photograph was of Foxley standing beside a white pony with a pretty little girl. Jane looked closer.

  ‘This could be his daughter, Clara. Interesting: if you look closely, the photograph has been folded.’

  Tyler nodded at Jane, and with her protective gloves, aware the glass was cracked, she carefully laid the frame face-down to remove the clips from the back and ease off the cardboard backing.

  ‘I’m right! Look.’ The folded-under part of the photograph showed Foxley’s ex-wife, Justine, with a black felt-tip cross over her face.

  ‘I want that bagged,’ Tyler said.

  The same pale blue carpet ran through into t
he bedroom. The simplicity of the room was enhanced by the almost matching pale blue silk-covered walls and the white fitted wardrobes. The vast king-sized bed had an array of blue silk throw pillows and a quilted silk bedspread. There were pieces of cardboard running along the carpet to the bed, where the pooling blood had taken on a hideous body shape. There was a gold ormolu clock on the bedside table and a selection of leather-bound books on the opposite matching table. Tyler stepped carefully across the cardboard to ease open a wardrobe door. Behind it was a safe and a number of slender drawers. He crooked his finger to pull out a drawer.

  ‘Nice array of watches, wouldn’t you say? We haven’t yet had access to the safe, but we should get that open tomorrow morning.’ Tyler then pointed upwards to the ceiling, where there was an enormous mirror. ‘What do you think of that? When Lawrence was here, he took a lot of pictures of the blood spatter.’

  Just by the open door was a large, dirty velvet dog bed with an empty water bowl beside it. The only indication that they were in a basement came from the dank smell that pervaded the air. Jane was beginning to feel nauseous.

  ‘OK, last but not least.’ The smell became stronger as Tyler pushed open the connecting door. The elegant bathroom had obviously been designed by the same architect as the kitchen. But instead of black marble, everything was porcelain white.

  ‘The pathologist reckoned this was where his throat was cut. The weapon, a cut-throat razor, has been taken in to be tested for fingerprints. It was found in the bathtub. The suggestion is that the body was dragged from the bathroom and disemboweled in the bedroom.’

  Tyler looked at his watch. It was coming up to seven p.m. and already getting dark.

  ‘Right, I’m going to head back to the station and start on the reports. I think it’s imperative we don’t waste any time. I need to have a statement from the ex-wife and the neighbor by tonight. You can work on it between you or do one each. There’ll be two uniformed officers on duty here around the clock as the premises need to remain secure.’

  As Tyler left, Spencer looked at Jane. ‘Do you want to do it together?’

  ‘I don’t mind. I mean, the neighbor is only upstairs so we could do that now, and then head over to Barnes,’ Jane said.

  ‘I’ll have to call the wife,’ Spencer said. ‘It’s been a long day.’

  ‘I don’t mind going to Barnes by myself, Spence. And we have to meet Mr. Myers tomorrow morning.’

  ‘OK, let’s do it that way,’ Spence said as they headed out. They paused at the front door as they heard one of the uniformed officers saying loudly, ‘I’m very sorry, sir, but you are not allowed to enter the premises.’

  There was a good deal of barking going on.

  ‘I have every fucking right to be down there and I want to know what the fuck is going on.’

  ‘There is no need to swear at me, sir,’ they heard the uniform insisting. ‘I am just doing my job. You cannot enter these premises.’

  ‘Listen, mate, I’ve had his dogs all fucking day and I have a job to do.’

  Spencer came out just as a small, wizened man wearing a trilby and a stained wax jacket looked as if he was about to throw a punch at the officer. As he was restraining two dogs on leads at the time, he was slightly off-balance and looked as though he was about to fall over. Spencer walked quickly up the stairs.

  ‘Can I help you?’

  ‘Yes, I’ve got to leave his dogs – I’ve had them all night and day and I’ve got things to do.’

  The neighbor was caring for Foxley’s dachshund, so Spencer assumed these were the Jack Russell and whippet cross, who were now being returned.

  ‘I’m afraid I cannot allow you into the premises. There has been an incident.’

  ‘I just want to leave the fucking dogs. I’ve already had them longer than he pays me for – I’m a dog walker not a dog babysitter.’

  Spencer lifted his hand. ‘Just a minute, sir.’

  Jane pulled the front door closed behind her and checked the yellow tape was secure. She looked up as the irate dog walker handed the leads for the two dogs to Spencer.

  ‘What’s your name please, sir?’

  ‘Mind your own fucking business.’

  ‘I really need to know your name, sir. I am Detective Sergeant Gibbs.’ He showed his ID.

  Jane walked up the steps.

  ‘Oh, fucking hell. Has the place been burgled?’

  ‘No, I’m afraid it’s far more serious than that. I really do require you name,’ Gibbs said firmly.

  ‘Eric Newman.’

  ‘Do you have any identification?’

  ‘I don’t believe this! What’s so serious you need ID? Will my unemployment benefit card do?’

  Mr. Newman took out an old crumpled document.

  ‘Are you employed by Mr. Foxley?’ Jane asked, as Gibbs passed her Newman’s benefit card.

  ‘I do a few cash-in-hand jobs. I’m not on any payroll. I walk his dogs when he can’t. If he has business I look after them. Like I said, it’s just cash-in-hand, but he usually gives me good warning. I’ve had them all night and all day – I’ve been calling him but there’s been no reply.’

  ‘Do you ever house-sit for Mr. Foxley?’ Jane asked, passing his document back.

  ‘What do you mean?’ Newman looked evasive.

  ‘Exactly what I asked. Do you ever stay in Mr. Foxley’s flat when he is not there?’

  ‘No . . . no, never.’

  ‘Do you come to his flat to pick up the dogs?’

  ‘No. He calls me if he needs me to walk the dogs. What he does is he takes the dogs to his office and I pick them up from there. Sometimes he asks if I can keep them for the afternoon. Then what I do is I bring them back here. Or if he’s away, he pays me extra and I have them with me. But he’s not told me to keep ’em.’

  ‘What about the dachshund?’ Spencer asked.

  ‘I never have her. Mr. Foxley’s ex looks after her as she can be vicious – goes for the ankles.’ Mr. Newman seemed to be getting more nervous by the second.

  ‘Do you have a key to Mr. Foxley’s premises?’

  ‘Shit, no! No, I don’t have a key. He’s been burgled, hasn’t he? That’s what it is.’

  ‘Mr. Newman, I am going to ask you if you could please keep the dogs and you will be contacted first thing in the morning,’ Jane said calmly.

  ‘I can’t take them. I have a job to do. That’s why I’ve come round now.’

  Spencer could hardly believe it. Newman turned as if to walk off but Spencer grabbed him by the arm. ‘Just a minute, sir.’

  Spencer quickly withdrew his arm as the ferret-faced Newman whipped around.

  ‘Don’t you lay your hands on me. I’ve done nothing wrong. You got my name, you got my address. I’m not taking charge of them dogs no more. He owes me fifteen quid.’

  Spencer caught the smirk between the uniformed officers and gave them a sharp look. ‘This isn’t funny.’

  ‘Well, at least they’re well-behaved,’ Jane said. She looked at Newman. ‘It would be exceedingly helpful to us if you took the dogs this evening. We are scheduled to be at Mr. Foxley’s office at nine a.m. tomorrow. If you, or someone else, can meet us there, we will have the dogs taken care of. In the meantime, my colleague will give you twenty quid to take them tonight.’

  Spencer, known by his colleagues for being tight, was forced to open his wallet, and grudgingly handed over a well-worn twenty-pound note. Newman then moved off quickly with both dogs.

  One of the uniformed officers smiled to Spence. ‘That was the easiest twenty quid I’ve ever seen earned.’

  Spencer angrily instructed the uniforms to remain on duty until they were relieved and walked off with Jane, who was trying not to laugh herself.

  ‘As you handled the dog situation so well, Spence, I’ll leave the next-door neighbor to you. I’m going back to the station to grab a bite to eat before seeing the ex-wife in Barnes.’

  Spencer was eager to get home so he headed up the steps to t
he neighbor’s flat and rang the bell. He could hear the sound of the dog yapping and a loud voice saying, ‘No, get down, no!’ He had to wait for a few minutes before the door was opened, still with the security chain in place.

  Spencer held out his ID. ‘Mrs. Compton, it’s Detective Sergeant Spencer Gibbs.’

  She frowned at him. ‘Nobody told me I would have to look after this dog for the entire afternoon. I’ve had to wash it, dry it and feed it, and keep my cat in his cat basket in a different room.’

  ‘Mrs. Compton, I do apologize for any inconvenience. You have my sincere thanks for taking care of Mr. Foxley’s dog.’

  ‘I really didn’t have any option, did I?’ she snapped.

  ‘We are very grateful, but do you think I could possibly come in, as I need to take a formal statement from you?’

  Mrs. Compton unhooked the door chain. ‘All right, but I really don’t have much time. Coronation Street is about to start. Quickly, quickly. I don’t want to let it out.’ She slammed the door shut.

  The entire conversation was overheard by the uniformed officer who had witnessed the earlier interaction with Eric Newman. He turned to his partner. ‘He’s a glutton for punishment, isn’t he?’

  *

  Back at the station, Jane could hear the click-clack of typewriter keys as she passed Tyler’s office. She went up to the canteen and was able to get a rather stale sandwich and a cup of tea just before it closed for the evening. She sat at her desk typing up her report, looking over the empty desks of both of the young DCs who she knew would have their work cut out for them in the morning. She typed quickly, attempting to make the interaction with Mr. Newman as humorless as possible. She then contacted the collator at Hammersmith police station, remembering that Newman’s address was in that area, and asked if he could look into Newman’s history. It didn’t take long before she was informed that Mr. Newman had a lengthy record of petty crimes and was well-known on the greyhound circuits. Jane added the new information to her report.